“I appreciate your coming by, pastor. There’s something I need to talk with you about.”

“Always glad to see my director of missions. What’s going on?”

“I want to tell you a little story about a pastor I met this week. I was speaking at a senior adult thing at Camp Living Waters up at Loranger.”

“I love that place. We take our kids there every summer.”

“After my message, various ones were coming by to express thanks or to ask a question. Then, this pastor came by. He reminded me that I had drawn a cartoon for him several years ago. Of course, I didn’t remember it.”

“Anyway,” I continued, “it had to do with a revival he had preached in another pastor’s church. He drove a couple of hundred miles to get there, spent four days in the town doing everything he could to help that church, including preaching six sermons. And when it was over, he said, they gave him 75 dollars. That, and two cases of toilet cleanser.”

“Are you serious?”

“That is exactly what I asked. He said he was. The cartoon I drew showed him hanging around the church with all that toilet cleanser. And someone is saying, ‘I think he’s waiting on the turnip greens.'”

“Turnip greens? I don’t get it.”

“It’s the way they did things in the old days, you know. They’d pay the preacher in vegetables.”

“Oh. That was rather cruel, wasn’t it.”

“It was. This man has a family to provide for, bills to pay, and a car to maintain. And they hardly gave him enough to buy the gas.”

“And your point for me is?”

“Hold on. I have another story. This time it’s mine. I did a six day revival meeting in a church once, where I drove 75 miles every afternoon to get there and that far back home each night. I’d arrive around 4 o’clock so the pastor and I could visit in the neighborhood. Then, we had supper with a church family. As always, I brought my sketchpad and drew people in the services before and after church. I preached my heart out. I would get home about 11 o’clock each night. And then….”

“Bad offering?”

“Excellent offering, actually. One afternoon, as we were driving to a visitation appointment, the pastor pointed at a house and said, ‘The lady who lives there put 500 dollars in the offering last night.’ So, evidently the offering was excellent.”

“And?”

“And, on Friday night, after the last meeting ended, the chief layman in the church, the man who sort of ran things–he had a reputation that far exceeded their community–called me off to the side and peeled off 200 dollars in bills. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening, and finally decided he was buying the gasoline for my car that week.”

“But no?”

“Nope. That was the entire offering from that church. Several years later, a friend of mine was pastoring that church and I asked him what he thought that was all about. He nodded and said, ‘That gentleman controlled the shots around here. He did not believe in giving the offering to the revival guests. Said they already have incomes from the churches they pastor, and it wouldn’t be fair. So he would pay the visiting ministers a pittance, and put the rest of the offering in the church budget.'”

“Hey, that’s dishonest.”

“It is. The people who gave the money thought they were showing appreciation to the visiting preacher and singer, and maybe the accompanists. But the bulk of the offering was diverted by that church boss into other areas. It’s as dishonest as though he stole it from the members. The principle here is if a church is not going to use the money for the purpose for which it was intended, they have a duty to give it back or at least tell the donor so he can decide whether he wants it back or designated for some other purpose.”

“Okay. Interesting story. Any more?”

“Do you see a pattern here?”

“What’s that scripture–‘The laborer is worthy of his hire.’ Luke 10, I think.”

“Bingo. That’s why we needed to talk.”

“Have I been underpaying the help? We’re a small church and don’t have a big income like some of these churches.”

“Remember the two ladies you invited to do the drama program in your church a couple of Sundays ago?”

“Katie and Reba. They were terrific. Our people really enjoyed them. I hope to have them back.”

“Can I ask you, pastor, what you gave them for coming to your church?”

“I’m not exactly sure, but I think it was 50 dollars each.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Okay. I see where you’re going with this. You think it should be more, right? What happened–did they rat me out to you?”

“Actually, we were in my car traveling to the conference at Camp Living Waters. They did a short feature before I spoke. These ladies are trying to get established in the ministry and we got to talking about what they get paid and what some churches have done for them. Your church’s name came up.”

“Well, let me try to defend myself. They took 10 minutes in the morning worship service. As I say, it was wonderful and the congregation is still talking about it. But it was just 10 minutes.”

“Did they do anything else?”

“I think they went to the youth department during Sunday School and put on a little program there. But that was their decision. I didn’t invite them for that.”

“But you appreciated it, right?”

“Of course. I appreciated them meeting with some of our people after church to talk about setting up a drama program, too. Again, we didn’t invite them for that, but the wife of our chairman of deacons asked them to stay for a few minutes to meet with the committee.”

“How long did that meeting last?”

“My wife was there. She got home about 1 o’clock.”

“It took an hour. Then Reba and Katie had to drive home, some 50 miles. I’m going to guess they left their homes–and their families–that morning around 8 am and they got home at 2 pm. That’s six hours, pastor. Deduct the mileage–at 44 cents a mile, that comes to 44 dollars–and now they are down to 28 dollars each for the six hours.”

“Yeah, but you can’t measure it like that. This is the Kingdom of God. You of all people know that.”

“Are you saying because this is the Lord’s work, we can take advantage of God’s workers? That’s how it sounds. I’m surprised to find a pastor saying that since you draw your income from the offering plate. That sounds more like some skinflint in your church who doesn’t think the servants of the Lord should be paid.”

He had no answer, so I said, “Is your church hurting for funds? Running in the red?”

“No. We have a nice cushion in the bank.”

“Then, I suggest you start obeying the Lord. The laborer is worthy of his hire. Take care of God’s servants who come to invest in your ministry. Pastor, these women are not in the Lord’s work for the money. But they have serious expenses just like the rest of us. Their husbands are seminary students and are part-time on church staffs. They have tuition costs and books to buy and cars to maintain. They have small children and that means medical bills. I happen to know one of them has serious medical bills.”

“Yeah. And they drive up here and give my church the better part of their Sunday and I stiff them.”

“That is precisely what you did. Now, pastor, I’m not trying to make you feel bad about it. I’m trying to get you to do something good about it.”

“Like send them more money?”

“If you agree that you should. In fact, I’d suggest that the checks should have been 200 dollars each.”

“That’s a lot.”

“Look, pastor, let me make a suggestion. Next time you think about inviting someone, stop and figure out what kinds of expenses they will have. Think about how much time they will be away from their families in order to invest in your work. Then, do one more thing.”

“Pray about it?”

“That’s always a good thing to do, but not what I had in mind. I was going to suggest you call me and I’ll give you my suggestion as to what would be an appropriate amount to pay them.”

“What if I can’t afford it?”

“Then you don’t invite them. Simple, huh? Or, if you really really want them badly, but you can’t afford them, go to your church leadership and tell them the reasons the church needs to invite this person. Ask them to help you find the funds. If worse comes to worse and you can’t come up with a fair monetary gift for them, there’s one more possibility.”

“Ask you?”

“Not hardly. Call the person and tell him you’d like him to come, but tell him how much money you have to give him. Let him or her make the decision whether they can make do on the amount you’re offering.”

“I think I see what you’re getting at. If I tell him up front, then it’s his decision. But if I invite him and don’t tell him that he’s going to be getting a small offering, then I make the decision for him–and I’m taking advantage of him.”

“Good analysis.”

I said, “By the way, pastor. Am I still on to preach in your church the second Sunday of next month?”

“Oooh. So that’s what this is all about! You want a good honorarium, is that it?”

“Very funny. I don’t want one at all. You already pay my salary out of your gifts to the association. My work really is free, and I’m happy with it that way. However, two years from now when I retire, all bets are off. Thereafter, when I come to work in your church, I’ll be happy to receive a nice check!”

We both laughed. He knew I was teasing. But I wasn’t.

My hunch is this young pastor is not through learning this lesson. But he will learn it soon enough when it’s he himself who gets stiffed.