Charitable giving shrinks in tough economic times, when it’s needed the most. Churches especially see that need, with more people knocking on their doors looking for food and shelter, more people in their own congregations needing help. The Barna Group found that in the last quarter of 2008 people were planning significant reductions in giving, even to their churches. There will be more empty hands coming in need and in hope to the storehouse, and fewer of us bringing full wagons to replenish the shelves.

It’s frightening, even in good economic times, to give in the face of seemingly endless need. Many of us have been in a position to write a check or hand over a bundle of cash or food to someone who we have no confidence will be anything other than needy next week, too. And now that we’ve given to them, won’t they be more likely to come back for more? How much will they end up taking from us? What if misfortune darkens our own door and we find ourselves sorely missing what we have given to others? Their very presence, their desperate, fearful faces is like a mirror in which we can imagine our own possible futures.

So we wrap ourselves up in notions of good stewardship. We investigate their needs more thoroughly. We ask tough questions. We remind them to take some responsibility for their lives. These can be good actions, but I know in my own case they’re often sparked by selfish motivations. I remind myself that this homeless man is likely a drug user, and that the poor family over there spent money on a satellite dish. I recall the biblical injunction: If a man will not work, neither shall he eat. I do this not because I am holy or steward-minded but because deep down I am afraid of a relationship with them. I am terrified they will latch on to me in their need and never let go.

Churches do this, too, setting up doorkeepers and committees and budgets between the poor and the storehouse. We don’t want to get ripped off, after all. What if word got round that anybody who knocked on their doors got a handful of bills, a box of food, a trunk of clothes, no questions asked. Why, people would come from all over the city!

It’s a foolish idea, but I’m wondering if we can work up the courage to give recklessly this year. Wouldn’t it be something if our response to hard economic times was not to give less but to give more? What would the world think of us if all of us turned off the financial advice shows, imperiled ourselves just a little, and gave so much that every crook and lowlife and spendthrift in town darkened our churches’ doors?

They’d call us fools, most likely. Which is a sign, I think, that we were getting ourselves on a better path. It’s when the world thinks us prudent, or business-like, or—merciful God forbid—normal, that we’d better worry.

The land is filled with need and a growing fear. What will we do in the face of it?