Article
Comment
Economics
Generosity
5 min read

This year’s Budget won’t define your future

Dare to be generous in a time of constraint
Rachel Reeves holds a red briefcase up.
Chancellor Rachel Reeves preps.

There’s been much speculation about what Chancellor Reeves will announce on November 26, and it seems the country is holding its collective breath, fearing the worst. As a nation we’ve been privy to the disorganised to-ing and fro-ing of our politicians for a while now (but to be fair to the current government, waffling and backtracking aren’t unique to them).  

For many weeks, the political news reporting hinted strongly at Reeves breaking her election promise and raising income tax. With less than two weeks to go, Reeves decided to scrap the idea of raising income tax, which I’m sure is a relief to many. But the fact that she was steadfastly planning to go back on her word before retreating at the last minute does little to nurture public confidence.  

So, we’re left in a fog of uncertainty and confusion, with very little good economic news to look forward to. Do I paint a bleak picture?  

The real question is, how should I respond as a Christian?  

Living in tension 

So much of the Christian faith is about holding two seemingly contradictory truths in tension. We live in the natural world with all of its limitations, but we also live in a supernatural reality (what Christians call the Kingdom of God) where naturally impossible things become possible.  

One of the tensions surrounding this Autumn Budget – and our present moment – is that despite the government clearly not being able to offer viable solutions, the public’s dependence and expectation on the government to offer such solutions seems to be increasing. The result is perpetual disappointment in our politicians.  

But this shouldn’t surprise us. Democracy’s biggest weakness is that elected politicians are incentivised to say they are making decisions for our benefit, all the while making decisions that are in their own best interest in order to stay in power, offering the public the occasional short-term win at the expense of long-term gain.  

God operates in a different way entirely. He genuinely plays the long game for humanity’s benefit. Though at times it may appear that he is slacking on his promises (i.e. why is there so much sickness and abuse in the world if he is our healer and protector?), but he holds the big picture in mind. We might ask for something and not get it, but he will give us something better because he knows what we really need. He might allow us to fall flat on our faces, but he has a bigger redemption plan waiting for us. Our earthly government does not.  

In that light, we can trust God when his arm appears to be too short, because we know that he will work all things together for our good. His character does not change and His principles aren’t sacrificed on the altar of survival. He’s seen the end from the beginning, and he is committed to his purposes and plans. Unlike our earthly government, God is able to provide above and beyond what we can ask or think. He is able to supernaturally multiply meagre resources. He is able to make a way where there seems to be no way.  

The hard part is, he does require of us to walk in trust and obedience. But this is what true freedom is.   

Dominion  

For Christians, this bleak economic environment presents a great opportunity to be encouraging personal agency and creativity. This is a time to be leaning into entrepreneurship and collaboration, a time to challenge the pervasive narrative of scarcity. In other words, it’s a great time to exercise dominion to a greater degree than we ever have before.  

Considering how badly various parts of the Church have handled this mandate throughout history, it’s understandable that the word dominion might raise a few eyebrows. I want to be clear that dominion is not another word for imperialism or colonialism or any other ‘ism’ that seeks to exercise control over people. Biblically, exercising dominion means to make all of creation flourish, to create order out of chaos, and to bring all things under the Lordship of Jesus Christ. It’s what God commanded human beings to do at the very beginning of our existence, and it’s what Jesus reaffirmed in the Great Commission.  

We do this by modelling a Kingdom way of doing things that brings about righteous results. We do this by thinking differently, by being transformed by the renewing of our minds. We do this by moving in the opposite spirit to the one that is driving the rest of the world.  

Generosity 

We cannot exercise Godly dominion without pressing into generosity. This one is hard, because as so many of us can attest to, budgets are tight, our pay checks aren’t reaching as far as they used to, and it’s incredibly tempting to give in to fear and worry that we won’t have enough. I certainly struggle with this.  

The tension is: when we believe that our God is generous beyond measure, we confidently take a step of faith to continue giving. With the complete understanding that how much we give may need to vary depending on what kind of season we’re in, the truth is that we have resources to share, monetary or otherwise.  

I want to emphasise that generosity isn’t just about giving money. It’s a much fuller picture that furthers the ministry of reconciliation. By giving of all that we have and are, including our time, our hospitality, our attention, our emotions, and our power, we are inviting people into a reconciled relationship with God and man. Our generosity should ultimately be about reflecting the profoundly generous nature of God and the way He consistently brings hope and restoration where things have been badly broken.  

Our response 

It’s crucial to remember that we cannot reflect God’s generous nature without the Holy Spirit. He is present to help us discern how to make God’s Kingdom known in this fog of uncertainty and confusion. He is with us and will lead us.  

We don’t know what’s ahead; the Autumn Budget may or may not have a significant impact on your situation. But if you’re feeling worried about how your finances are going to stretch to the end of the month, God is with you in your lack. And if you’re feeling secure in your ability to remain financially comfortable and weather the storms, God is with you in your abundance.  

Regardless of which category we find ourselves in, our best response is to hold things lightly before the Lord, knowing that everything we have is from him, and everything we have is to be stewarded for his glory.  

Ultimately, our freedom isn’t determined by government policy or the Autumn Budget. Neither is our freedom determined by how much or how little financial security we have. Our freedom is found in maintaining a posture of trust and obedience, and a heart that dares to be generous in a time of constraint. 

Stewardship UK sponsors series 8 of the Re-Enchanting podcast. Find out more. 

Article
Comment
Purpose
Sport
5 min read

So we won the Ryder Cup. At what cost?

When beer flies and etiquette dies, maybe we’ve mistaken sport for something else

Graham is the Director of the Centre for Cultural Witness and a former Bishop of Kensington.

A video still shows a beer can thrown at a golf amid a crows
The beer flies towards Rory McIlroy.

Phew. The Ryder Cup was an epic. After a couple of days of European dominance, fans on this side of the pond looked forward to the Sunday one-on-one single matches as a formality, only needing a few more points to wrap up the Cup, only for the American team to suddenly discover they could play a bit after all. It turns out Europeans play better together (the matches on Friday and Saturday all involved teams of two playing against each other) but the Americans excel when they're on their own. The latter nearly pulled off a famous comeback but finally fell short as the gritty Europeans stumbled across the line, Shane Lowry holding his nerve to sink an eight-footer on the 18th, and Tyrell Hatton sealing the win with a nerveless par on the last.

Much of the talk afterwards however was not about the match but the behaviour of the American fans. The European golfers, especially their talisman Rory McIlroy, were subject to some pretty vile abuse throughout the three days. His wife was drenched by a beer thrown in her direction, insults were shouted as he prepared to play a shot (you just don’t do that in golf) and some idiots seemed more keen to abuse their opponents than support their own players. It seemed strange that Keegan Bradley, the American Captain made no effort to call out his own errant supporters. Yet it was perhaps not surprising in a country where public models of leadership hardly encourage moderation and restraint.

Of course, we are used to this kind of thing in football stadiums in the UK, but golf has somehow always felt different. Football is a fast-paced, hectic game with players running full tilt for just 90 minutes and so it’s understandable that emotions get high and passions flare. Golf is more measured. It takes time, has always laid a great stress on etiquette, following the rules and respecting your opponent. Yet none of that seemed to matter in the bearpit of Bethpage.

To be fair, European fans get pretty partisan when the Americans come here - yet they do seem to stop short of personal vitriol. It seems every time the Ryder Cup is played, the rivalry just gets a notch higher. You just have to hope they rein it in in Adare in Ireland in two years’ time. As the match reached its climax, players (on both sides) leapt about like wild things, thumping their chests like cavemen on winning a point. The crowd hollered their lungs out, or continued hurling insults at the opposition.

I found myself wondering why all this seemed to matter so much? Why were grown (mostly) men reduced to appalling behaviour or breaking down in tears over hitting a small white ball around a field?

Maybe I’m just getting old and nostalgic, but Ryder Cups in the early days were different, with those grainy black and white photos of players in baggy plus-fours and tartan socks. It was the same with Wimbledon before the Open era, Wembley Cup finals back in the day, cricket matches with baggy flannels and thin bats. At the end of titanic struggles there would be a gentle skip towards the opposition, a polite shaking of hands, a wave to the cheering crowds and the presentation of the cup, which was held aloft briefly, before everyone went home. Yes, of course, people got steamed up about sport back then. The 'bodyline' cricket series in Australia in 1932 got the blood boiling between Aussies & Poms, but it was precisely because the English team were playing unfair. There were street parties and public joy when England won the World Cup in 1966, yet there is the famous story of Geoff Hurst after scoring a hat-trick in the Final going home and mowing his lawn the day after. Hard to imagine that today.

Nowadays, the presentation ceremony goes on forever, with microphones thrust into players’ faces with the most boringly predictable question: “how do you feel having won (or lost)?” asked every single time. Emotion pours out everywhere. Superlatives are expected and duly uttered.

My mind went back to something the theologian James K. A. Smith said to me in a conversation some time ago. “When there is no longer any Ultimate”, he said, “the Penultimate seems to matter so much more.” His point was that in the absence of a general social belief in God, or a divine order above us, with little sense of any social or divine sanction for, frankly, atrocious behaviour, then things like politics or sport become more and more charged with meaning.

When there is nothing higher than politics, electoral victory becomes all-important. And anything goes in silencing the opposition. When the most significant thing in life is a sporting achievement - even vicariously as a fan - then winning is everything. Where there is a more pervasive sense of belief in God, or an afterlife, where the death of friends or neighbours is a more common occurrence throughout life, or even the task of putting food on the table is a daily struggle, such things matter less. Activities such sport, which were once seen as mildly significant, a pleasant diversion from more onerous tasks, found their true place as something important, but not that important.

Blaise Pascal once wrote: “People are bored stiff with their normal lives and so they need perils and excitement.” He thought that we crave distraction to stop us looking into the abyss, or up into the heavens, to contemplate the ultimate meaning of our lives, the reason why we are here in the first place, and our final destiny. It is classic displacement activity. It is why we pay entertainers more than doctors, vicars or philosophers - because we need the distraction.

The Penultimate begins to matter too much when we no longer have an Ultimate to relate to. Sinking a clutch putt to win a game is satisfying. Yet it is not the reason why we exist. Sport is a great diversion. But it is just that, and realising that might make us behave a bit better towards our opponents and help us to focus on the things that really matter – the questions of meaning and purpose that humans have always asked since the dawn of our race.

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