Unpacking #3: The Tithe Isn’t What You’ve Been Sold

How a Temple tithe became a church tax… and why the New Covenant refuses coercion.

If you’ve ever been told, “You’re robbing God,” you already know this isn’t an academic debate.

It’s a pressure system.

It’s the moment a single mom feels fear instead of worship when the offering bucket comes by. It’s the broke college kid who thinks heaven has a fee schedule. It’s the faithful couple carrying debt who still hears, “If you don’t give, God won’t bless you.”

So let’s cut through the fog for a second and let the text do what it does best: expose motives, reorder loves, and force honesty.

The claim we’re testing

The popular claim is simple: “God commands every believer to give 10% of their income to the local church.”

My thesis is just as simple: biblical tithing was a covenant land/Temple system, not a New Covenant payroll rule—and when churches enforce it as law, they often rebuild a priesthood model and fund it with fear.

Define terms fast or the whole thing gets slippery

Tithe (ma’aser) means “a tenth.” But in Scripture it isn’t a synonym for “giving.” It’s a specific covenant practice inside Israel’s covenant economy.

That matters because the modern hustle works like this:

• If everything is called a tithe…

• then anything can be demanded.

And then there’s the infamous “storehouse.” In its own world, that word lives in Temple/Levite provision context. In the modern pitch, “storehouse” quietly becomes “our building, our budget, our payroll.”

If we don’t name that move, we’ll keep arguing shadows. When the church is recast as “the storehouse,” leadership becomes the gatekeeper.

Also, notice what gets smuggled in with that shift: once the “storehouse” is the local institution, your giving stops being framed as worship and starts being framed as membership dues with spiritual consequences. That’s why people get terrified. The system trains them to believe that withholding money equals withholding obedience.

What the Torah actually describes

The tithe in Torah sits inside a real covenant structure:

• Levites don’t have the same land allotment as the other tribes.

• They’re tied to sanctuary service and teaching.

• The tithe functions inside that system.

And the Torah picture isn’t the tidy “10% forever” slogan most people get handed. It has rhythms and layers—support, communal care, rejoicing, provision for the vulnerable. It isn’t a modern payroll policy with an automatic debit.

It’s also not just “write a check to a religious entity.” The Torah’s giving world is embodied and communal. It involves food. Festival. Families. The poor at your table. Levites integrated into community life. It’s a covenant economy, not a fundraising strategy.

Also, the textual center of gravity is hard to miss: land increase—produce, herds, agrarian life in the land. You can debate application, sure. But you can’t honestly pretend the Torah was written as a universal paycheck rule for every nation forever.

And here’s the part that often gets skipped because it complicates the slogan: the Torah’s “tithing” conversation is not always a single, simple 10% in the way modern churches sell it. There are different instructions tied to worship life, communal celebration, and care for the vulnerable across a multi-year cycle. You don’t have to agree with every calculation people argue about today to see the obvious point: the Bible’s own system does not map cleanly onto “10% to our church budget.”

The heart of Torah isn’t funding an entity

Here’s the question hiding under the noise: what was Torah trying to form?

Not a fundraising apparatus. A people.

The Torah’s center is covenant loyalty—love of God and love of neighbor expressed in real life. Giving that pleases God is never fear extraction. It’s a willing heart, clean hands, justice in the community, and protection for the vulnerable.

So when a modern system treats giving like a spiritual toll booth, something is off at the root. Not “off in tone.” Off in design.

Torah wasn’t written to bankroll a religious institution. It was written to form a holy people.

And that distinction matters because Torah generosity—when it’s healthy—does something predictable: it pushes resources outward and downward, toward need. It strengthens community. It protects the weak. It keeps leaders from becoming lords.

When “Torah giving” is preached as “fund the machine,” it flips the whole moral direction.

Malachi 3: the verse everybody loads like a gun

Malachi is covenant rebuke aimed at Israel/Judah in a Temple context. “Robbing God” isn’t a timeless threat to modern Christians who don’t fund a local building project. It’s a covenant correction inside a covenant system.

And “windows of heaven” language is covenant blessing language—rain/harvest/stability—tied to land obedience. It is not a prosperity contract: “pay 10% and God owes you a return.”

Here’s the clarity line that matters: when Malachi is used to threaten broke families, it isn’t faithful teaching—it’s spiritual extortion dressed in Bible language.

Because the spiritual manipulation isn’t just the verse. It’s the fear math it creates:

• “If I don’t give, God will curse me.”

• “If I question this, I’m rebellious.”

• “If I’m struggling, it must be because I didn’t pay.”

That’s not discipleship. That’s superstition wearing a church shirt.

Jesus didn’t build a fundraising religion

Yes, Jesus mentions tithing in Matthew 23:23—rebuking hypocrisy while the Mosaic world is still functioning. That isn’t Jesus issuing a future church policy about income percentages.

Jesus’ bigger ethic is consistent: justice, mercy, faithfulness. And authority is inverted: leaders serve. They don’t extract.

And this is important: Jesus doesn’t just preach generosity. He also exposes religious systems that use holiness language to take from people. He doesn’t flatter leadership. He confronts it.

Which brings us to the text people constantly flip.

The Widow’s Mite: not a fundraising illustration—an indictment

The widow’s mite is regularly preached like this: “Be like the widow. Give even if it hurts. Give even if you’re broke.”

But context is the entire point.

Right before the widow gives, Jesus condemns religious leaders who love status—and who devour widows’ houses. Then He watches people give. Then a poor widow drops in two small coins. Then Jesus says she gave more than all.

That’s not Jesus endorsing a religious economy that consumes the vulnerable. It’s Jesus exposing it.

So I’m drawing a hard boundary here:

Any leader who uses the widow’s mite to demand more from the poor is standing in the exact place Jesus condemned.

If you turn the widow into a fundraising mascot, you didn’t teach the passage—you used it.

And the moral weight is heavy for a reason: the widow isn’t just “an inspiring example.” She’s a warning light. She is what happens when religious leaders are trained to receive without restraint, and when common people are trained to believe that God is pleased when they suffer in silence to keep the machine running.

A modern example: Compass Church (Goodyear) and the widow weaponized

I’m not arguing theory.

At Compass Church in Goodyear—this is my personal recollection—during a building-fund push, Pastor Ronn used the widow’s mite the exact way I’m describing: even if it’s hard to give, you need to give; like the widow, you should give “everything you have” so the building can happen.

Then he stacked an illustration on top of it that turned the pressure up another notch: he shared that he couldn’t put his own lawn in because he was giving that money to the building fund instead.

Listen to what that does in a room.

It’s not just “be generous.” It’s a moral comparison: I’m sacrificing. If you don’t match me, you’re the problem. That’s not teaching. That’s leverage. It turns giving into a loyalty test.

Whether a leader admits it or not, that move does three things immediately:

• It turns a warning text into a universal command.

• It puts the strongest pressure on the most vulnerable and conscientious.

• It quietly equates “faithfulness” with funding a construction project.

And the “lawn” illustration adds a fourth layer: it makes disagreement feel like disloyalty, because now the appeal is emotional, not textual. It also shifts the whole room from “What does Scripture mean?” to “Can I look faithful in front of everyone?” That’s how coercion works at church: not always with threats—often with manufactured shame.

I challenged that interpretation with elders, pointing to the immediate context—Jesus condemning the widow-devourers. Two separate meetings. Two completely different outcomes.

In one lane, an elder asked me to lead—offered me a role. In the other lane, I was removed from the church. We were removed from small group on one side while being invited to lead on the other.

That contradiction tells you something: when the money narrative can’t survive honest Scripture, leadership often reaches for control.

And that’s the takeaway:

When a pastor uses the widow’s mite—plus personal sacrifice stories—to justify “give everything for our building,” Scripture stops being taught and starts being used.

The offerings question: why Yeshua changes the entire money story

A lot of people have never read Leviticus and Hebrews together with fresh eyes. And because of that, they keep rebuilding burdens Messiah already carried.

Leviticus outlines real offerings—real categories, real functions, real weight. Those offerings aren’t donation drives. They’re covenant worship and atonement shadows pointing forward. They teach the seriousness of sin, the cost of reconciliation, the need for cleansing, and the mercy of God who provides a way back.

Hebrews is relentless: Yeshua fulfills what those offerings prefigured—once-for-all, better priesthood, better covenant reality. The point is not “stop worshiping.” The point is: stop acting like access to God is maintained through a sacrificial economy you can fund.

So when a church teaches giving in a way that feels like “pay to stay covered,” they’ve smuggled an old burden back in through the offering bucket. They’ve functionally created a new priestly gate—only now it’s a payroll and a building plan, not an altar.

If we read this without fear, the conclusion gets simpler: if Yeshua is once-for-all, coercion-based giving becomes a denial in practice.

Read Leviticus again—not as a church finance manual, but as a shadow-book that makes Messiah brighter.

Paul’s model: support is biblical—extraction isn’t

This is where people go extreme: one side acts like anyone paid by ministry is a fraud; the other side acts like questioning budgets is rebellion.

Paul gives a cleaner framework: two rights that are both true.

Right #1: the worker has a real right to support.

Spiritual labor is real labor. Communities should care for those who truly serve, teach, and carry responsibility. Scripture doesn’t teach starvation spirituality. It teaches honor, support, and shared burdens.

Right #2: the servant also has a real right to refuse support.

Paul sometimes worked with his hands—tentmaking—not because support was evil, but because money can distort trust. In certain contexts he refused funding so nobody could confuse gospel with profit, and nobody could claim he was extracting.

That’s the pulse:

The gospel doesn’t come with a paywall. Access to God isn’t funded by pressure.

And notice how Paul handles money when it does come in: he treats resources as stewardship. Gifts become fuel for mission, for relief, for building up people—not for building a platform around himself. He doesn’t use giving to create dependency. He uses it to create generosity.

That’s the difference between apostolic support and institutional extraction: one serves people; the other preserves itself.

What the New Covenant actually teaches about giving

The New Testament absolutely teaches giving. Just not as a “10% tax” enforced with threats.

The pattern is consistent: voluntary, proportional, planned, cheerful—not coerced.

And the priorities are obvious: the poor, relief, mission, genuine laborers (not religious royalty).

Support is legitimate. But when “support” becomes entitlement, secrecy, pressure, and insulation from questions, you’ve rebuilt a priest class with a donation app.

And one more thing: the New Covenant pushes giving out of “religious compliance” and into “family responsibility.” It’s not a transaction to keep God happy. It’s love made practical. The fruit of a transformed heart.

Follow the percentages, then tell the truth

I’ve consulted for nonprofits for about a decade. On a trip to California to review metrics, an ad agency that works with churches and large nonprofits shared internal data with me that was blunt: the average church, by their tracking, only carries forward a tiny percentage (they framed it around ~3%), while the system retains most of it. They told me they’d seen a standout exception in the nonprofit space: the Salvation Army pushing a very high share outward.

I’m sharing that as what I was shown and told in a professional setting—an anecdote with teeth, not a universal law. Different churches track finances differently, and “carry forward” can mean different things depending on how the reporting is set up.

But here’s a public anchor: Charity Navigator lists Salvation Army Services Inc. with a program expense ratio of 96.49%. [r]

And for congregational budgets, Lifeway Research reports the biggest slices are typically staff salaries/benefits (43%) and buildings/operations (26%), with missions and benevolence (13%). [r]

So even if you don’t like the agency story, you still can’t dodge the pattern:

Most church money stays inside the institution.

Which means the questions we should ask aren’t mystical. They’re simple:

• What percent went to salaries and benefits?

• What percent went to buildings, debt, and expansion?

• What percent went to the poor—actual relief?

• What percent left the walls for mission?

• What percent is transparent enough that a normal member can understand it?

If leadership gets nervous when you ask for percentages, that tells you something.

And if your church is the rare exception—high transparency, high outward giving, high care for the vulnerable—then good. That’s what it should look like. This isn’t a call to cynicism. It’s a call to honesty.

Hard landing: stop funding the machine

I’m going to be firm here, even if you don’t agree with me, because I don’t think this is right.

Don’t give your money to an institution because you’re pressured, threatened, or guilted. If you want to honor God with your resources, help somebody in need.

And you’d be shocked what happens when you do.

Help a real widow directly—someone you actually know, whose bills are real and whose loneliness is quiet—and watch how fast “ministry” stops being a slogan.

Buy a meal for a real homeless person, sit down with them, and have an actual conversation over coffee. Not a photo. Not a story for social media. A human being in front of you.

Or find a student who can’t afford what they need, take them and their family to Walmart, and buy the supplies that are genuinely missing. Then watch what happens when dignity gets restored in real time.

That kind of giving rewires you. It doesn’t just “feel good.” It puts flesh on the gospel. It forces you to see people again.

And I’ll tell you my own experience: I’ve had more hugs, more fulfillment, and more sense of the Kingdom being real doing that than I’ve ever had writing a check just to belong.

So be open with your giving.

Be open with your home.

Be open with your life.

That’s witness. That’s community. That’s the Way.

Writing a check to an organization is not automatically obedience—especially when the organization is built to preserve itself.

So ask the honest question:

Are you funding mercy and mission… or a pastor’s lifestyle and a building project?

If your “obedience” mostly funds a lifestyle and a building, call it what it is. Put your money where the Kingdom actually shows up: the struggling neighbor, the widow, the family behind on rent, the person who can’t breathe under the weight.

Generosity isn’t a tax.

It’s a life.

May the shalom of our Abba guard you —

shalom v’shalvah.

Your brother in The Way,

Sergio.

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References

[r] Charity Navigator — “Salvation Army Services Inc.” Program Expense Ratio (3-year average): 96.49%.

[r] Lifeway Research — “Church Income Rising, But Still Trails Inflation” (March 25, 2025): average congregational spending categories reported as staff salaries/benefits 43%, buildings/operations 26%, missions & benevolence 13%.

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Disclaimer

This article reflects the author’s religious and biblical views and is provided for general educational purposes only. It is not legal, financial, accounting, tax, or investment advice. Use your own judgment and consult qualified professionals for decisions involving money, employment, or charitable giving.

Copyright

© 2026 Sergio DeSoto. All rights reserved. This work is original and protected by copyright law. You may quote brief excerpts with attribution for commentary or review, but reproduction of the full article (or substantial portions) is not permitted without written permission.