faith & finance

Nicholas Garofalo

The Faith & Finance newsletter, read aloud — weekly reflections on money, stewardship, and the Christian life. faithandfinance.substack.com

  1. “enough” and all its implications

    5d ago

    “enough” and all its implications

    Do you need more money? Honestly. Sit with question for a minute. Do you think you need more money? Would more money be helpful in fulfilling God’s calling on your life right now? Would more money be catalytic to making you more like Jesus? Would it enhance your prayer life? Or your relationships with others? (Spoiler alert: You don’t need more money.) You’ve probably heard the famous Rockefeller response to the question, “how much is enough?” Just one more dollar. Oof. That’s rough, John. Talk about a hamster wheel. Not me! No siree. I’ve found contentment in Jesus and never struggle with loving money. …right? Contrary to what you might expect, this is not a math problem. It’s a lack-of-clarity (i.e. fog) problem. If you don’t know what “enough” is, every dollar becomes a question: “do I need you? should I keep you? or can I deploy you to someone else?” fog is expensive Last week, we talked about the questions under the question and how most money questions are really questions of the heart disguised as questions of the mind. This is the first place that fog shows up in real life: an undefined finish line. If you’ve never taken the time to define “enough”: * Every expense feels stressful * Every market dip throws your future into uncertainty * Every generous impulse runs through a panic filter * Your spouse’s “can we afford this?” feels more like an accusation than a question. It’s like flying through clouds without instruments. At least you know you’re still in the air, but for how much longer? You feel unsafe. What “enough” is, and isn’t Let me be clear, because this gets misunderstood in both directions. “Enough” is not: * A guarantee that life won’t get hard. * A magic number that removes the need for daily trust in God. * A retirement fantasy copied from a Fidelity commercial. * Set in stone, never to be reevaluated. “Enough” is: * A reference point that makes small decisions easier. * A tool for honesty between you and your spouse. * A starting place, not necessarily a finish line. * A working definition of what your family actually needs, plus what you’d love to be free to do. In a word, enough is choosing contentment. contentment …and discontentment Speaking of which, let’s talk about that for a minute. “Be content” is often a scold that’s really just demanding desire-management or hunger-mitigation. Want less, ask less, expect less. But contentment isn’t passivity. Or resignation. Or the compression or elimination of desire. In fact, it’s not necessarily holy — or holier than discontentment. It just depends on where your longings reside and where they lead you. There’s a kind of holy desire that saturates the Psalms. And that desire sits deeply rooted in God’s abundant plenty. And that’s the secret sauce—the ability to sit with what God has given right now without scrambling to control tomorrow. Content with what you have, but discontent this side of heaven. That discontentment is desire. Longing. Ache. It’s yearning that’s ultimately aimed at the Kingdom to come: for your kids, your church, your work, your future, your legacy. It’s what makes you earn and save and give — and dream, for that matter. Defining “enough” is where—in the context of your financial life—these two finally stop fighting. You name what’s actually needed for a reasonable lifestyle. You name what you’d love to be capable of (in work, philanthropy, legacy, etc.). And you stop treating every desire as suspicious or every limit as a threat. Simultaneously, you start to flex your “no” muscle as an active defiance against the culture of Vanity Fair in which we all live. A small next step If this is hitting close, you don’t need to overhaul anything this week. Try this: Sit down with your spouse (or by yourself, if you’re single) and answer three questions in pencil: * What does our household actually need each year to be okay? * What would “good” look like: generosity, margin, real rest? * What’s one number we’re currently guessing about that we could actually define this month? That’s it. Just tugging on one string at a time. Next week We’ve named the fear. We’ve started clearing the fog. Next week, we go underneath both: trust, control, and what generosity actually has to do with your view of God. Because once “enough” is on the table, the next question shows up almost immediately. If we have enough, what’s it for? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    12 min
  2. the question under the question

    May 25

    the question under the question

    I’ve heard it said that the “real” answer to any question is buried only 3 layers deep. You have to ask the question, then ask the question beneath that, and then go one level deeper — then you arrive at the true answer. As an advisor, I’ve learned from many of the greats that the answer a client is seeking often lies somewhere between me asking a better question and them surfacing a deeper answer. And these answers are never black or white, right or wrong, smart or foolish. In practice this means that “simple, everyday questions” like: “My tax bill was really high last year - can it be lowered?” “Should I max my retirement accounts?” ”How much can we afford to give to this ministry we really care about?” ”Are we saving enough for our kids college? How much should we even save?” Each have miles of context beneath them, influencing the answer we hope to get, the plan we might’ve already committed to (regardless of the advice), and the baked in assumptions we brought into the conversation. These easily-google-able questions are anything but simple. Tax strategies are packed with trade-offs, compliance requirements, and implications for future-you. Same for your retirement accounts. And that question about giving first requires you to define “enough” which means taking an honest look at your needs, wants, goals, and surplus cash flow (if there is any). They weave into marriage roles, career decisions, core beliefs, emotions, family of origin, religious convictions — and I’m just getting started! It’s easy to see how a client could get lost in complexity and give up before ever arriving at a decision. A common term for this is “analysis paralysis” (and I can tell you from experience — this is a terrible place to be!) Here’s a simple framework to help you navigate from the question you’re asking to the deeper tensions holding you in indecision: * Start here: The Tactical Ask: “What should I do?” This is the pain point that usually triggers the google search, the text to your friend, colleague, or professional. * The Emotional Drivers: “What am I afraid will happen if I don’t do this? … What will I regret if I do?” Emotions are so important. They’re windows into our souls and tell us a lot about our internal world. God cares about that world and wants to meet us in it. Emotions should never drive the bus or fly the plane, but we ignore or underestimate them at our own peril. * The Foggy Gap: “Where does my analysis fizzle due to lack of information or clarity? Are there actual learning gaps here?” Oftentimes, complex situations have multiple moving inputs and myriad variable outputs. They’re not sequential, binary, or simple. And evaluating the trade-offs does require a lot of information. Finding the gaps can be helpful for your analysis. * The Faith Question: “What am I believing about God’s provision—and what am I trying to control?” You can certainly start here, but I strongly advise that you also end here. Once you’ve done your best to love the Lord your God with all your mind — distilling the questions, motives, emotions, and information you need — surrender it to Jesus and ask what He thinks. Let me walk through a (hypothetical) example. Say I’m talking with someone like Aaron. He’s been thinking about Biblically Responsible Investing after hearing his pastor mention something a while back. Aaron feels tension knowing his portfolio doesn’t match his convictions, but he didn’t know there was a better way. As a Christian, I know it’s wrong to profit from things that grieve and hurt the heart of God… but let’s face it, you can’t just invest in companies you go to Sunday school with. I’m also hearing these funds can underperform, and they cost more. So… is it better to just invest like the world and then use the money for Kingdom growth? That’s not a dumb question. And it’s thoughtfully approached by many faithful Christians. So when I hear something like that, here’s how I try to walk through it with him: Step 1: The Tactical Ask On the surface, Aaron’s asking about investment strategy because his current plan feels out of alignment with his faith. But he’s concerned about fees, performance, etc. Also his current advisor might not offer this investment approach. Step 2: The Emotional Drivers Underneath that, there’s grief. There’s also uncertainty. He wants to be faithful, but he’s not totally sure what “in alignment” actually means in the real world. And he’s afraid of making a sincere choice that costs his family later: higher fees, potential underperformance, maybe working extra years because retirement gets pushed out. Step 3: The Foggy Gap (where your “enough line” is missing) For Aaron, “biblical investing” sounds good, but it’s hard for him to define. And without clarity on “enough,” it’s tough to know what he really needs for retirement anyway—what he’s on-track for and what kind of trade-offs he can actually afford to make. When the finish line is fuzzy, most everything else is too. It’s like you’re on a lifelong journey to a destination you haven’t totally mapped out yet. You never quite know if you’re on-track to get there — or even where “there” is. This lack of clarity turns everyday financial questions into foggy indecision that leads to frustration and lack of execution. Step 4: The Faith Question And then we end up where these conversations usually lead: if he’s convinced there has to be a way to reconcile this tension, what is he really believing about God’s provision? And where is he trying to buy certainty or control with the “right” strategy? Underneath it all, he’s not just afraid of underperformance. He’s afraid he’ll choose faithfulness and accidentally hurt his family. He’s afraid he doesn’t have enough margin to “get this wrong.” Aaron’s not alone. Maybe you’re Aaron. And maybe, like him, you just needed permission to slow down long enough to ask yourself those 2-3 “deeper questions”—so you can make decisions with clarity, conviction, and open hands. And this is why I keep coming back to the “enough line.” When you don’t know what “enough” is for your family, every decision feels like it could be the one that breaks you. So you grab for certainty: the perfect strategy, the perfect fund lineup, the perfect tax move. But when you can draw a sober, realistic enough line in real numbers, something changes. You can finally see what’s required… and what’s available. And that’s where conviction stops being a weight and starts becoming a path. So here’s the real question: Do you actually need “the best” strategy… or do you just need an “enough” line you can trust? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    11 min
  3. are we making money too important?

    May 18

    are we making money too important?

    A few weeks ago I wrote about a man who slept with his pet snake. (You can view the archives here). The metaphor comes from a fellow financial advisor, and his application was for investment accounts specifically. But I’ve started wondering where else we may find “the snake” at work in our lives and where we may be ignoring its power. When stewardship tools make money bigger Here’s what I mean. The stewardship conversation in Christian financial planning is genuinely good. Finish lines & lifestyle caps, giving percentages, kingdom investing — these are tools built to relativize money, to put it in its proper place as an instrument rather than an end. The intent is to harness the snake’s power by redirecting its energy toward something good and wholesome. And it works. Partially. But when money becomes the primary category through which we discuss faithfulness — when the central question of the Christian life becomes “what are you doing with your resources?” — we have made money very large and very important, even while arguing that it need not be. The cure has contracted the disease. The snake is still in the house, just maybe not in the bed. Randy Alcorn, speaking to a room of Christian financial advisors, put a warning into his notes that I keep returning to: “be careful what you promise or imply. Do real good when you help people plan responsibly. But don’t imply that money can make people safe, significant, or whole.” It can’t. And the moment we let it carry that weight — even in the direction of generosity — we’ve handed it more power than it deserves. Have I “made peace” with something that’s actually dangerous to my soul? Do I ever self-justify by good works: love for God & others, obedience to Scripture, money management, or something else? The drift: money expands in every direction The problem of loving money isn’t solved by managing it — or fixating on our management of it. The problem is that money, in almost any direction you point it, tends to expand into whatever space you give it. Point it toward accumulation and it becomes a security blanket. Point it toward generosity and it can become a metric of holiness. Point it toward kingdom work and it can start to feel like the primary mechanism through which God moves. None of these are the intention, but they’re all the inevitable drift. Paul warned Timothy that the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil — not money itself, but the disordered desire for it. The drift doesn’t require greed. It just requires giving money a seat at the head of the table and letting it run the conversation. The good-hearted Christian is not immune to this. The tools of stewardship — finish lines, giving percentages, etc. — are disciplines, not a measure of the soul. The moment these become our scoreboard — a way to feel righteous, or guilty, or a mountaintop of Christian achievement we’ve finally summited — the snake may still be growing, just in a room you built to contain it. Warm-handed generosity: you are more than your money We are more than our money. Not as a consolation prize for those who don’t have much of it — but as a theological statement about what a human being actually is. You are skills, presence, prayer, creativity, covenant, relationship. You are the person who shows up at the hospital. Who makes the phone call nobody else wanted to make. Who teaches the thing only you know how to teach. Who is present in ways that cannot be denominated in dollars. Alcorn talked about warm-handed generosity — giving while you’re alive and present, with choice, in relationship, rather than cold-handed leaving in a will. The warmth is the point. The relationship is the point. The presence of an actual person behind the gift is what makes generosity generosity rather than philanthropy. Money is one instrument in that. Not the orchestra. Who have I been tempted to “help” with money when what they actually needed was presence? The real question: what are you trusting money to do? So the question underneath the finish line conversation isn’t really about the number. It’s about what you’re trusting the number to do. If you’re trusting it to quiet the anxiety, settle your conscience before God, or make you feel like you’re finally doing enough — the snake may still be in the bed. And it has been growing while you fed it. Augustine’s holy desire runs deeper than any of this. It is the orientation of a person who has looked at money honestly — respected its power, refused to inflate its importance — and then picked up their whole life and walked toward the kingdom. Money is part of that walk. A small part. What am I hoping “enough money” will finally fix in me? If I asked Jesus to define faithfulness, how would His definition look different from mine? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    11 min
  4. disappointment, contentment, & holy desire (part 1)

    May 4

    disappointment, contentment, & holy desire (part 1)

    I know this is a finance newsletter. So bear with me for a minute. Have you ever caught yourself thinking — is this really it? You did the things. Built the career. Bought the dream house. Tithed more than you spent. Showed up for those who depended on you. And yet… underneath it all there’s an ache that you can’t quite name. Loved ones get sick. Or we do. Our career dreams we chased have resulted in an endless monotony or a constantly fear-inducing cycle of change and new normals. Our friends can disappoint us. Our bodies will fail us. Even God — in all of His splendor and glory — can land in our hearts altogether different than we may have expected. That ache — usually most prominent first thing in the morning or late at night — leaves you wondering if the whole arrangement is everything it was supposed to be. If you’ve felt that, I want you to know two things. First: you’re not the only one. Most of the Christians I respect most carry some version of that ache. They just don’t talk about it much, because they’ve been told they shouldn’t. Second: the ache is not the problem. It’s the point. Two of Jesus’ disciples walked the seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus on the third day after the crucifixion. They were leaving Jerusalem — the holy city. They weren’t necessarily renouncing anything — just walking. Heads down. The whole project had collapsed before their very eyes and they were going home. It was over. Rome won. Jesus was clearly a fraud. While they’re traipsing along, dejectedly analyzing their life choices, a kind stranger falls in beside them and asks what they were discussing. And out came one of the most heartbreaking lines in the New Testament: “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” Notice the verb tense: “had hoped”. Past tense. They were grieving the death of a future they had built their lives around. And the hilarious irony is the risen Christ was walking right next to them while they did it. He let them grieve. He let them say it out loud. He didn’t correct their disappointment before he honored it. That scene is doing something the modern church is often too scared to do. It is making room for the haunting. The instinct in a lot of Christian circles is to silence the haunting fast. Be more grateful. Be more humble. Look how much God has done for you. What do you mean “is this it?” — this is great. I understand the impulse. Gratitude is real — and so is entitlement. There are seasons when the “right” answer to a complaint is “Hey - you really need to count your blessings.” But applied as a default, that posture flattens something the Bible takes seriously. It treats discontent as a defect to be scolded down instead of a signal to be listened to. C.S. Lewis named the problem more honestly than most of us do: We are not, he said, creatures whose desires are too strong. We are creatures whose desires are too weak. We make mud pies in a slum because we cannot imagine what is meant by a holiday at the sea. The disciples on the Emmaus road weren’t disappointed because they wanted too much from Jesus. They were disappointed because they had wanted far too little. They had wanted a political messiah. They had wanted freedom from Roman occupation. Instead, Jesus was offering the renewal of all things — and he was intending to take his time. He was offering freedom from the bondage to sin. This is the pattern. We don’t suffer because our desires are oversized. We suffer because they’re undersized — small enough to almost be satisfied, and that almost is the worst place to live. Here’s where the finance part starts mattering, and I’ll spend the next three weeks on it. A lot of what we do with money is an attempt to medicate the haunting. The next house, the next title, the next renovation, the better vacation, the bigger plate. We are not bad people for wanting these things. We are people trying to engineer a private Eden because the real one was lost a long time ago and we cannot quite stop reaching for it. The Christian financial planning world has a counter-move for this, and it’s a good one as far as it goes. We talk about finish lines. Lifestyle caps. Enough. Stewardship over consumption. I believe in all of it. I help clients think about it for a living. But a finish line by itself doesn’t answer the haunting. It just changes which side of the metaphorical fence you’re trying to climb. If you treat the finish line as the destination, you’ve replaced one engineered Eden with another — same project, smaller footprint. If we’re not careful, the goal will be suppression of desire, and discontentment (and even guilt) in the name of altruism and generosity. But the work underneath the work is dealing with that desire. What you actually want versus what you’ve trained yourself to settle for. What you’ve been told to stop wanting because it sounded too spiritual, greedy, or inconvenient. Augustine put it cleanly when he said that the entire life of a good Christian is in fact an exercise of holy desire. Not the suppression of desire. The exercise of it. Pointed in the right direction. So before we get to finish lines and lifestyle caps and the math of enough — which we will, starting next week — I want to leave you with a permission and a question. The permission: if you have a low-grade ache that won’t go away, you do not have to apologize for it or argue yourself out of it. That ache may be the most honest part of you. The risen Christ walked seven miles next to two men who were grieving him. He can handle yours. The question: when you feel the haunting, what do you usually do with it? Most of us reach for something — a screen, a snack, a credit card, a project, a plan. What if it’s a whisper, and the whisper is asking you to want something larger than the thing you keep reaching for? Next week: why your finish line is the wrong place to land — and the better question hiding underneath it. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    9 min
  5. (4 of 4) the snake in your bed

    Apr 27

    (4 of 4) the snake in your bed

    Over the past three weeks we’ve been wrestling with a single question: what is wealth, really? My friend called it a snake. And the warnings behind that metaphor are deadly serious -- Jesus and Paul made that clear. But we also saw that wealth isn’t a predator by nature. God gave us the ability to create it. It can be leveraged like the sun’s warmth, spread like fertilizer, and channeled like sap into fruit that outlasts us. So which is it? the both-and Here’s what I’ve come to believe: wealth is all of these things, and that’s exactly the point. It is dangerous. The rich young ruler proved that. The fool with his barns proved that. The warnings are real, and if you skip past them, you’re the man sleeping with the snake. But it is a tool. Zacchaeus proved that. Deuteronomy 8:18 proved that. Every missionary funded, every church planted, every family fed proves that. If you run from wealth entirely, you’re a tree refusing to grow sap -- and a tree without sap bears no fruit. The Christian financial life is not about choosing safety or generosity. It’s about holding both in tension. Saving for legitimate future needs and giving sacrificially now. Building the tree’s root system and bearing fruit every season. Stewarding the warmth of the sun and refusing to let it pull you into orbit around itself. Wesley called it “earn all you can, save all you can, give all you can.” That’s not three separate instructions. It’s one rhythm. so what do you do now? I’ll leave you with a few questions I’ve been sitting with myself. Not as a financial advisor -- as a fellow tree trying to figure out how much sap is enough and how much fruit is possible. What would it look like to set a finish line -- a number beyond which everything gets given away? What is one act of generosity you’ve been putting off until you “have enough”? If your financial life is the tree, what fruit did it bear last season? And what fruit do you want it to bear next? The snake metaphor was never wrong. It was just incomplete. Wealth can kill you. But it was also designed to flow through you -- like water through roots, into sap, out through fruit -- and into the lives of everyone your tree was made to feed. When was the last time my generosity actually cost me something I’d rather have kept? Are there areas of my financial life I’ve quietly asked Jesus not to touch? Or have I drawn boundaries around what counts as obedience? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    5 min
  6. (3 of 4) the snake in your bed

    Apr 21

    (3 of 4) the snake in your bed

    the snake in your bed (part 3 of 4) In Part 1, we met the snake -- a metaphor for the quiet danger of accumulating wealth. In Part 2, we challenged it. Wealth isn’t a predator. It’s a God-given tool that can be dangerous when mishandled. So how do we hold both of those truths at the same time? the Christian financial paradox John Wesley put it this way: “Earn all you can. Save all you can. Give all you can.” Sounds great, John. But how? That’s the paradox. Two truths that seem to contradict each other but ultimately point to something deeper. On one side: save. Be wise. Plan for the future. Provide for your household. Scripture is clear that failing to do so is worse than being an unbeliever (1 Timothy 5:8). On the other side: give. Sacrificially. Now. Not from your leftovers but from your firstfruits. Not after you’ve “made it” but while it still costs you something. Most of us dislike tension, so we tend to pick one side as default over the other. Some become savers who give occasionally -- responsible, disciplined, but rarely generous in a way that actually hurts. Others give impulsively and find themselves financially fragile, confusing recklessness with faith. Wesley wasn’t describing two options. He was describing one life. the apple tree God has given us many metaphors to help us illustrate the necessity of living in this tension instead of seeking to escape from it. One of them is the apple tree. A single apple tree produces roughly 1,500 seeds per season. Over a 50-to-80-year lifespan, if every seed grew into another tree, one tree could replace itself 100,000 times over. But it takes roughly 1,000 gallons of water (i.e. money, in our metaphor) to keep an apple tree alive for a full year. That tree produces, on average, 500 apples. So about 2 gallons of water per apple. And each apple weighs about 5.3 ounces and contains roughly 85% water -- about 4.5 ounces of it. That water came from the roots, trunk, and branches soaking up those 2 gallons and bearing life-giving, fruit-producing sap to each apple as it grew and ripened. The sap represents your wealth. Your income. Your financial discipline that’s building a solid fiscal foundation for your family and home. Without it, there’s no fruit. No generosity. No kingdom impact. Nothing to give. But the tree wasn’t made to simply drink the water and enjoy the sap. It was made to bear the fruit. The sap serves the fruit. That’s the paradox. Not save or give. Save and give. Build the sap so the fruit keeps coming -- not for one season, but for a lifetime. Not so the tree can admire itself, but so it can reproduce 100,000 times over. Is your financial water producing fruit-bearing sap? Or has sap accumulation become the default? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    8 min
  7. (2 of 4) the snake in your bed

    Apr 13

    (2 of 4) the snake in your bed

    the snake in your bed (part 2 of 4) Last week we discussed my friend’s metaphor of wealth: a snake. Today we’ll address the tension of how two wealthy men in the Bible responded totally differently to Jesus’ invitation. but is wealth really a snake? Here’s my honest problem with the metaphor: a snake in your bed is only a threat. There is no version of the story where the man and the snake coexist well. The only winning move is to never have owned the snake in the first place. And while it rightly captures the dangers of wealth, if that’s where your theology of wealth ends, you’ve got a problem. There’s another half of the metaphor that’s missing. Scripture doesn’t treat wealth as a predator. Deuteronomy 8:18 says it plainly: “Remember the Lord your God, for it is he who gives you the ability to produce wealth.” God gave you that ability. On purpose. If God is the one who gives me the ability to produce wealth, what do I think he intended for me to do with it? Global missions run on money. Medical care costs money. Raising a family, building a business that honors God, supporting your church, caring for the poor -- all of it is powered by wealth generation. These aren’t the side effects of sleeping with a snake. They’re the fruit of something God designed. So wealth isn’t necessarily a snake, but it’s by no means neutral. I’ve described wealth like the sun. It’s magnetic. It draws you in. Get too close and you’ll burn up -- that’s the rich young ruler. But pull too far away and you’ll miss the warmth and light God intended for your life. God made wine and oil to gladden the heart of man. Enjoyment isn’t the enemy. Or think of it like manure. (Stay with me.) Spread wealth around and everything it touches grows healthier. Hoard it in one place and you’re sitting on a toxic pile that breeds disease. The snake metaphor gets the danger right. Wealth can definitely be dangerous. Serving it is. Loving it is. Hoarding it is. We are easily drawn to it, impressed by it, and most of us commit our lives to accumulating it. But the metaphor misses the other half of the truth: wealth is a tool, and in the hands of someone surrendered to God, it can be leveraged for eternal impact. In my orbit around wealth, am I drawing too close to its warmth and comfort? Have I been diligent to spread the fertilizer of my wealth around so that it might bring life and refreshment to others? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    6 min
  8. (1 of 4) the snake in your bed

    Apr 8

    (1 of 4) the snake in your bed

    the man who loved his snake The story goes that there was a man who owned a pet snake. It was kind of the passion of his life. He loved this animal. And his deeply held conviction was simple: if you love the snake, the snake will love you back. So he slept with it. Every night. In his bed. Years went by. And then one night, while he was sleeping, the snake killed him. An expert later explained what actually happened. The snake was never his friend. It was never returning the affection. It was simply waiting until it was big enough that it was sure it could kill him. big enough to kill That’s your investment account. That’s the application from a friend of mine -- also a financial advisor -- who uses the story to illustrate the dangers of wealth. Think about it. When you start off, it’s innocuous. You put 10% of your paycheck into a 401(k). Year after year. It’s just what responsible people do. You barely think about it. And then one day you’re 55 or 60 and you look up and there’s a number on the screen that would have been unimaginable to your 25-year-old self. And now ...the snake is big enough to kill you. Have you ever stopped to consider whether your wealth is serving you... or slowly becoming your master? the warnings are real Jesus was remarkably blunt about money. He didn’t dance around it. “No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.” (Luke 16:13) Paul echoed the warning: “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.” (1 Timothy 6:10) Pierced themselves. That language is violent on purpose. And the Gospels give us a devastating side-by-side. In Matthew 19, a rich young man asks Jesus what he must do to have eternal life. Jesus tells him to sell his possessions and give to the poor. The man walked away sad, because he had great wealth. The snake was already big enough. But in Luke 19, there’s Zacchaeus. Wealthy. Corrupt. And yet when Jesus enters his life, he stands up and gives away more than half of everything he had. Voluntarily. Joyfully. Same Jesus. Same invitation. Two completely different responses. This is where the snake metaphor breaks down a little bit. Why did the rich man succumb to the death blow of his wealth while Zacchaeus somehow escaped the coils of the snake as it attempted to tighten around him? We’ll explore that tension further in next week’s newsletter. How would you describe your relationship with money right now -- and is that the relationship you actually want? Would it change if you believed it was never really yours to begin with? This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit faithandfinance.substack.com

    6 min

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The Faith & Finance newsletter, read aloud — weekly reflections on money, stewardship, and the Christian life. faithandfinance.substack.com