Devoted to Radical Generosity

To speak of generosity in the 21st century West is no controversial topic. Sure, people prefer not to be told what to do with their money, but we generally agree that those who have excess ought to share some of it with those who don’t have enough. That’s no radical idea.

But what was happening in the first local church in Jerusalem went far beyond anything the modern Westerner could ever imagine. This little community was filled with people selling their possessions to meet each other’s needs. What’s more, this wasn’t done under compulsion! No evidence exists that church leadership forced this kind of generosity. No membership covenant compelled the churchgoers to give beyond their means. So how did they come about such a defining practice?

For help in understanding, I turned to a fairly famous story in Luke’s gospel. On His way to Jerusalem for the last time, Jesus entered the town of Jericho. There He encountered an interesting sight: a man sitting up in a tree in order to see Him. 

This man was Zacchaeus. Luke tells us, “He was a chief tax collector and was rich.” Tax collectors had a pretty sweet gig. Under protection from Rome, they would gather taxes from the people to meet the bid they had offered. Anything they gathered in addition and kept for themselves, well that was no concern of Rome’s. So Zacchaeus, as a tax collector, was a very rich man. 

But Jesus saw something more than a chief tax collector sitting in that tree. The desire to see Jesus, even if it meant having to climb a tree to do so, was a fledgling faith in Zacchaeus. Jesus saw it and loved it, so He invited Himself over to Zachhaeus’ house for dinner. Zacchaeus’ reply saw his fledgling faith come into full bloom. “‘Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham’”  (Luke 19:8-9).

So what changed about Zacchaeus that led to Jesus’ proclamation of salvation over his household? Certainly it cannot be that Zacchaeus earned salvation by restoring those whom he defrauded, still less by his generosity to the poor. Jesus tells us why salvation came to the house of Zacchaeus: “since (for/because) he also is a son of Abraham” 

Jesus cannot be referring to Zacchaeus’ heredity. If his salvation were based on his biological relationship to Abraham, then why did salvation come “today,” the day he gave to the poor and restored those whom he defrauded? Something had changed about Zacchaeus. “Today,” he was awakened to a faith like Abraham’s. “And [Abraham] believed the LORD, and he counted it to him as righteousness” (Gen. 15:6). “Know then that it is those of faith who are the sons of Abraham” (Gal 3:7). 

By revealing Himself to Zacchaeus as the Seeker and Savior of the lost (Luke 19:10), Jesus brought faith to Zacchaeus, making Zacchaeus a true son of Abraham. Zaccheaus’ blind eyes were opened to see the One standing before Him, the One he climbed a tree in order to see. That faith compelled Zacchaeus, joyfully and of his own accord, to right what he had wronged and to give generously to the poor.

What is the essence of that faith? Why would trust that Jesus is the Son of God and Savior of the lost compel the rich to give generously to the poor? Again, earning or repayment cannot be at play; salvation is “not a result of works, so that no one may boast” (Eph. 2:9). 

The essence of saving faith is a new affection, a new ultimate love for God above all else. The essence of saving faith agrees with Paul when he says, “Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ” (Phil. 3:8).

We cannot only agree with the truth claims Scripture makes about God. “Even the demons believe -- and shudder!” (Jas. 2:19). Faith is not something that originates in the mind, but in the heart. It is a new affection for something other than ourselves. And that affection reorders all the other affections of our hearts.

I’ve heard it illustrated this way: imagine I gave you a jar, access to the most advanced suction technology known to humanity, and instructions to drive all the air out of the jar. How would you do so? If you could create a perfect seal, and if you could constantly run the suction device, you could remove most of the air from the jar. But once the seal is broken, or once the device runs out of power, air will immediately rush back in. As Aristotle told us, “Nature abhors a vacuum.”

But a much simpler, longer lasting, more effective way exists. Simply fill the jar with water. The dense, heavier substance effortlessly drives out the less dense, less heavy air. Grasping this idea, the Scottish pastor, Thomas Chalmers, put it this way: 


We are born into this world filled to the brim with affection for ourselves. Theologians call this “original sin.” No one has to teach a toddler to throw a tantrum when hungry, or tired, or wronged. We are born believing the lie that the best life exists when we belong to ourselves and live for our own pleasure, comfort, and control. We can no more permanently expel these desires than we can suck the air out of a jar; God’s design for us means our hearts abhor a vacuum. They must desire.

What changed about Zacchaeus the day salvation came upon his house was that he found a new, stronger, more substantial affection than the one that caused him to defraud his neighbors and withhold from the poor. Where once he loved himself and the lifestyle he could enjoy as a tax collector, now he had come to love Jesus more. His trust that Jesus is the Seeker and Savior of the lost went hand in hand with his affection for Jesus as such. Zacchaeus once was lost, but now was found.

This brings a whole new degree of understanding to Paul’s admonition in 2 Corinthians 9: “Each one must give as he has decided in his heart, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver” (9:7). The former man, in love with himself, sees this passage as license to avoid generosity when he doesn’t feel like it. The new man, with his new affection, sees this as a command to find the joy of generosity when our affection for material possessions are driven out by our greater affection for Christ. 

When we give generously and sacrificially for the glory of Christ, we commune with Him, relate to Him, and experience Him in unique ways. After all, it was His ultimate act of generosity by which we have been saved (2 Cor. 8:9). And since our hearts have received a new ultimate affection, we take every chance we can to fellowship with the One who sought and saved us.

¹ Chalmers, Thomas. The Expulsive Power of a New Affections. Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2020: 47-49.