What Did You Do With the Milk When the Cow Was Producing?
I have recently come across several pastors complaining that church members are no longer giving offerings and tithes as generously as they used to. Some have expressed their disappointment openly, accusing Christians of becoming selfish, unfaithful, and unwilling to support the work of God. Others have gone further, claiming that the decline in giving is a sign that believers are losing their love for God. To them, the amount of money collected during church services seems to have become a measure of the spiritual condition of their congregations.
I have even seen accounts of pastors sorting through the money collected from church members, separating large notes from small notes and coins. Some reportedly go as far as throwing away the coins and smaller denominations, as though money loses its value simply because it comes in small amounts. I find this attitude disturbing, especially when I remember that some of those coins may have come from people who sacrificed the little they had to give something to the advancement of the Gospel.
Whenever I hear such complaints, I remember a simple but powerful piece of wisdom from my village. Ng’ombe níhiûkagia. In my mother tongue, this means that a cow does not give milk all the time.
I grew up in a community where people understood the value of a cow. A cow was not merely an animal kept in the compound. It was a source of nourishment, income, and sometimes the difference between a family having something to eat and going to bed hungry. However, those who kept cows understood something that appears to have escaped many people today: no matter how good a cow is, it cannot produce milk continuously.
There are seasons when a cow produces plenty of milk. There are also seasons when its production decreases, and there are times when it stops producing milk altogether. A wise farmer understands these seasons and prepares for them. A foolish farmer behaves as though the cow will produce the same quantity of milk every morning for the rest of its life.
And this is where my village wisdom becomes particularly relevant to the complaints I hear from some pastors. Instead of crying that church members are no longer giving as much money as they used to, perhaps these pastors should first ask themselves a more important question: What were we doing with the milk when the cows were producing it? I believe this question deserves serious reflection.
There was a time when some churches received enormous amounts of money through offerings, tithes, donations, fundraising events, and special contributions. Members gave faithfully, sometimes beyond their financial abilities. Some gave from their salaries, others from their businesses, and others from the little money they earned through casual labor. There were widows who gave from their meagre resources, young people who contributed from their first earnings, and elderly people who sacrificed part of their pensions to support church activities.
The money came. The milk was flowing. But what happened to it? Did church leaders build institutions that could sustain their ministries during difficult seasons? Did they invest in projects that would reduce the financial burden on members? Did they establish schools, hospitals, farms, businesses, or other income-generating activities that could support church operations? Did they create emergency funds to assist struggling members? Did they prepare for a time when their congregations might not be financially capable of giving as much? Or did they assume that the cow would continue producing milk forever?
I am not suggesting that every church has mismanaged its resources. I know there are churches that have used their finances responsibly, supported vulnerable families, educated children, and made remarkable contributions to their communities. Such churches deserve recognition. My concern is with those who appear to have built their entire financial future around the assumption that members will always have money to give.
A pastor who receives money today and spends it all today, expecting another collection next Sunday, is not very different from a farmer who sells every litre of milk without considering what will happen when the cow becomes dry. When the milk stops flowing, both begin to panic. And unfortunately, in some churches, that panic is directed toward the members.
Instead of examining past financial decisions, some leaders begin accusing their congregations of lacking faith. Instead of asking whether the church has been living beyond its means, they introduce additional fundraising activities. Instead of reducing unnecessary expenditures, they increase pressure on people who may already be struggling to feed their families. But I wonder: when did financial pressure become evidence of spiritual weakness?
A church member who gives less today than yesterday may not have become less faithful. Perhaps the person has lost a job. Perhaps business has declined. Perhaps school fees have increased. Perhaps the family is dealing with medical bills, debts, or other responsibilities. Perhaps the person who previously gave generously is now surviving on the assistance of relatives and friends. Should such a person be condemned for failing to give what he or she no longer possesses?
I am reminded of the poor widow Jesus observed at the temple. While wealthy people gave from their abundance, she contributed two small coins. Jesus did not despise her offering because it was small. Instead, He recognized the sacrifice behind it, as recorded in Mark 12:41–44. I find this particularly important when I hear stories of pastors rejecting coins and small notes. If Jesus could recognize the value of two small coins, who are we to despise the small offerings of struggling believers? A coin may be small in monetary value, but the sacrifice behind it may be enormous. A large note may represent a tiny fraction of one person's wealth, while a small coin may represent everything another person has left. I believe we must be careful not to confuse the size of a gift with the size of the giver's faith.
But my village wisdom is not intended for pastors alone. Ng’ombe níhiûkagia is a message for every person who receives money.
I have observed that many people behave as though their present income is permanent. When business is doing well, they spend without restraint. When salaries arrive regularly, they make financial commitments that assume employment will continue uninterrupted. When opportunities are abundant, they forget that circumstances can change.
A young person gets a well-paying job and immediately adjusts his lifestyle to consume nearly everything he earns. A businessperson enjoys several profitable years and begins spending as though customers will never disappear. A farmer enjoys a good harvest and forgets that droughts, pests, and poor market prices are part of agricultural life.
Then one day, circumstances change. The job disappears. The business slows down. The harvest fails. The customers stop coming. The source of income that appeared dependable suddenly becomes unreliable. And the person begins asking where all the money has gone.
The truth is that the money did not necessarily disappear mysteriously. It came, and it was spent. The problem was not always the absence of income. Sometimes the problem was the absence of preparation.
I have come to appreciate that one of the greatest financial mistakes a person can make is to confuse a season of abundance with a lifetime guarantee of abundance. When money is flowing, it is easy to imagine that tomorrow will resemble today. We begin treating temporary opportunities as permanent possessions. We increase our expenses to match our income, forgetting that while income can decrease unexpectedly, financial obligations are often difficult to reduce. That is why I believe the real test of financial wisdom is not simply how much money we receive, but what we do with it while we have it.
The biblical story of Joseph in Egypt illustrates this principle beautifully. When Pharaoh dreamed of seven healthy cows and seven thin cows, Joseph interpreted the dream as a warning that seven years of abundance would be followed by seven years of famine. What impresses me about Joseph is that he did not merely celebrate the coming years of abundance. He proposed a plan to preserve part of the harvest so that Egypt could survive the coming famine.
Joseph understood something that many people still struggle to accept: the purpose of abundance is not merely to enjoy the present but also to prepare for the future. Imagine if Joseph had advised Pharaoh to consume everything during the seven prosperous years. Imagine if he had told the Egyptians that because their fields were producing abundantly, they had no reason to save anything. The famine would still have arrived, but the nation would have faced it without preparation. The famine did not become less dangerous because Egypt had previously enjoyed prosperity. What made the difference was how the nation managed its abundance.
I believe this lesson applies equally to pastors, employees, businesspeople, farmers, politicians, and families. A pastor should understand that the congregation giving generously today may face financial difficulties tomorrow. An employee should understand that a monthly salary is not a guarantee of permanent employment. A businessperson should understand that customers can change their preferences. A farmer should understand that favorable weather is not a permanent condition. Even parents should teach their children that money must be managed with an understanding of life's changing seasons.
However, there is another dimension to this village wisdom that I consider equally important. A wise farmer does not merely collect milk from the cow. He also takes care of the cow. He feeds it, provides water, protects it from disease, and ensures that it has a suitable place to rest. He understands that the cow is a living creature whose well-being matters. I wonder whether some church leaders have forgotten this part of the relationship.
Church members are not cows, and they should never be treated as financial instruments whose only purpose is to produce offerings and tithes. They are human beings with families, dreams, responsibilities, struggles, and needs. If a church is constantly asking members to give, does it also care about their welfare? When a member loses employment, does the church offer encouragement and practical support? When a family cannot afford food, does the church respond with compassion? When children cannot attend school because of unpaid fees, does the congregation consider how it might help? Or does the church only remember its members when it is time to collect money?
I believe a healthy church should be a community where people give according to their ability and where those who are struggling can also receive help. This is not merely a financial arrangement. It is an expression of Christian fellowship.
The early church described in Acts 2:44–45 shared resources so that people in need could be assisted. Their generosity was not presented merely as a system for collecting money from believers, but as a way of caring for one another.
There is something deeply troubling about a church that can raise large amounts of money for luxurious projects but cannot find anything to assist a hungry member.
And there is something equally troubling about an individual who enjoys years of financial prosperity but never thinks about the possibility of becoming dependent on others.
This is why I believe Ng’ombe níhiûkagia should be taught far beyond the boundaries of the church. It should be taught in schools, workplaces, homes, businesses, and community gatherings. It should be whispered into the ears of young people receiving their first salaries. It should be remembered by entrepreneurs celebrating record profits. It should guide families making decisions about their expenditure. It should challenge leaders responsible for managing resources entrusted to them.
I am not advocating a life of fear, where people refuse to enjoy the fruits of their labor because they are constantly worried about tomorrow. Neither am I suggesting that every financial difficulty is the result of poor planning. Some hardships are unavoidable, and even the most responsible people can experience devastating losses.
My argument is much simpler. When we have an opportunity to prepare for difficult times, we should not waste it. When money comes into our hands, we should remember that it may not always come in the same amount or with the same regularity. When we enjoy abundance, we should resist the temptation to believe that scarcity has been permanently defeated. And when scarcity eventually arrives, we should have the courage to examine our past decisions before blaming those who can no longer provide what they once provided.
I sometimes imagine a farmer standing beside his cow, angrily demanding milk when the animal has entered its dry period. He shouts at it, threatens it, and complains that it has become ungrateful. Yet all his shouting cannot change the natural season through which the cow is passing. The farmer's anger cannot produce milk.
In the same way, a pastor's anger cannot create money in the pockets of struggling church members. An employer's complaints cannot create customers for a declining business. A family's frustration cannot restore income that has disappeared.
There are seasons when the most important question is not why the milk has stopped flowing, but what we did with the milk when it was available. Perhaps we consumed too much. Perhaps we invested too little. Perhaps we ignored opportunities to build something sustainable. Perhaps we confused our ability to receive money with our ability to manage it. And perhaps, if we are willing to admit these possibilities, we can begin making wiser decisions.
I would like every pastor who complains about declining offerings to consider this question: If the church had managed its resources differently during the years of generous giving, would it be facing the same level of financial pressure today?
I would also like every individual to ask a similar question: If my current source of income stopped tomorrow, what would I have to show for the money that has passed through my hands? Would I have savings? Would I have useful investments? Would I have acquired skills that could help me earn a living elsewhere? Would I have built something that could support my family? Would I have used part of my resources to improve the lives of others? Or would I have nothing but memories of the days when money was plentiful?
I believe these questions are uncomfortable because they force us to confront the difference between receiving wealth and managing wealth. It is possible to receive a great deal of money and remain financially vulnerable. It is also possible to receive relatively little and, through discipline and wise decisions, build a measure of security over time.
The difference is not always the quantity of milk. Sometimes it is what happens to the milk after it leaves the cow.
As I conclude, I return to the wisdom of my village. Ng’ombe níhiûkagia. A cow does not give milk forever. The elders who understood this truth were not merely speaking about livestock. Their observation carries a lesson about the changing nature of opportunities, prosperity, and human circumstances.
There will be seasons of abundance and seasons of scarcity. There will be days when money comes easily and days when even a small amount becomes difficult to obtain. There will be moments when people are capable of giving generously and moments when those same people need assistance.
The wise person prepares during abundance without despising those experiencing scarcity. The wise pastor manages church resources responsibly without treating members as endless sources of money. And the wise farmer remembers that the cow must be cared for, even when it is not producing milk.
Therefore, before you complain that the milk is no longer flowing, ask yourself what you did with it when it was plentiful. Before you accuse others of failing to give, examine how you managed what they previously entrusted to you. And before you spend everything you receive today, remember that tomorrow may introduce a season you did not anticipate. Ng’ombe níhiûkagia. The cow will not always give milk.
The question is not merely whether the milk will stop flowing. The question is whether, when that day comes, you will have anything to show for the milk you received when it was flowing.
I have recently come across several pastors complaining that church members are no longer giving offerings and tithes as generously as they used to. Some have expressed their disappointment openly, accusing Christians of becoming selfish, unfaithful, and unwilling to support the work of God. Others have gone further, claiming that the decline in giving is a sign that believers are losing their love for God. To them, the amount of money collected during church services seems to have become a measure of the spiritual condition of their congregations.
I have even seen accounts of pastors sorting through the money collected from church members, separating large notes from small notes and coins. Some reportedly go as far as throwing away the coins and smaller denominations, as though money loses its value simply because it comes in small amounts. I find this attitude disturbing, especially when I remember that some of those coins may have come from people who sacrificed the little they had to give something to the advancement of the Gospel.
Whenever I hear such complaints, I remember a simple but powerful piece of wisdom from my village. Ng’ombe níhiûkagia. In my mother tongue, this means that a cow does not give milk all the time.
I grew up in a community where people understood the value of a cow. A cow was not merely an animal kept in the compound. It was a source of nourishment, income, and sometimes the difference between a family having something to eat and going to bed hungry. However, those who kept cows understood something that appears to have escaped many people today: no matter how good a cow is, it cannot produce milk continuously.
There are seasons when a cow produces plenty of milk. There are also seasons when its production decreases, and there are times when it stops producing milk altogether. A wise farmer understands these seasons and prepares for them. A foolish farmer behaves as though the cow will produce the same quantity of milk every morning for the rest of its life.
And this is where my village wisdom becomes particularly relevant to the complaints I hear from some pastors. Instead of crying that church members are no longer giving as much money as they used to, perhaps these pastors should first ask themselves a more important question: What were we doing with the milk when the cows were producing it? I believe this question deserves serious reflection.
There was a time when some churches received enormous amounts of money through offerings, tithes, donations, fundraising events, and special contributions. Members gave faithfully, sometimes beyond their financial abilities. Some gave from their salaries, others from their businesses, and others from the little money they earned through casual labor. There were widows who gave from their meagre resources, young people who contributed from their first earnings, and elderly people who sacrificed part of their pensions to support church activities.
The money came. The milk was flowing. But what happened to it? Did church leaders build institutions that could sustain their ministries during difficult seasons? Did they invest in projects that would reduce the financial burden on members? Did they establish schools, hospitals, farms, businesses, or other income-generating activities that could support church operations? Did they create emergency funds to assist struggling members? Did they prepare for a time when their congregations might not be financially capable of giving as much? Or did they assume that the cow would continue producing milk forever?
I am not suggesting that every church has mismanaged its resources. I know there are churches that have used their finances responsibly, supported vulnerable families, educated children, and made remarkable contributions to their communities. Such churches deserve recognition. My concern is with those who appear to have built their entire financial future around the assumption that members will always have money to give.
A pastor who receives money today and spends it all today, expecting another collection next Sunday, is not very different from a farmer who sells every litre of milk without considering what will happen when the cow becomes dry. When the milk stops flowing, both begin to panic. And unfortunately, in some churches, that panic is directed toward the members.
Instead of examining past financial decisions, some leaders begin accusing their congregations of lacking faith. Instead of asking whether the church has been living beyond its means, they introduce additional fundraising activities. Instead of reducing unnecessary expenditures, they increase pressure on people who may already be struggling to feed their families. But I wonder: when did financial pressure become evidence of spiritual weakness?
A church member who gives less today than yesterday may not have become less faithful. Perhaps the person has lost a job. Perhaps business has declined. Perhaps school fees have increased. Perhaps the family is dealing with medical bills, debts, or other responsibilities. Perhaps the person who previously gave generously is now surviving on the assistance of relatives and friends. Should such a person be condemned for failing to give what he or she no longer possesses?
I am reminded of the poor widow Jesus observed at the temple. While wealthy people gave from their abundance, she contributed two small coins. Jesus did not despise her offering because it was small. Instead, He recognized the sacrifice behind it, as recorded in Mark 12:41–44. I find this particularly important when I hear stories of pastors rejecting coins and small notes. If Jesus could recognize the value of two small coins, who are we to despise the small offerings of struggling believers? A coin may be small in monetary value, but the sacrifice behind it may be enormous. A large note may represent a tiny fraction of one person's wealth, while a small coin may represent everything another person has left. I believe we must be careful not to confuse the size of a gift with the size of the giver's faith.
But my village wisdom is not intended for pastors alone. Ng’ombe níhiûkagia is a message for every person who receives money.
I have observed that many people behave as though their present income is permanent. When business is doing well, they spend without restraint. When salaries arrive regularly, they make financial commitments that assume employment will continue uninterrupted. When opportunities are abundant, they forget that circumstances can change.
A young person gets a well-paying job and immediately adjusts his lifestyle to consume nearly everything he earns. A businessperson enjoys several profitable years and begins spending as though customers will never disappear. A farmer enjoys a good harvest and forgets that droughts, pests, and poor market prices are part of agricultural life.
Then one day, circumstances change. The job disappears. The business slows down. The harvest fails. The customers stop coming. The source of income that appeared dependable suddenly becomes unreliable. And the person begins asking where all the money has gone.
The truth is that the money did not necessarily disappear mysteriously. It came, and it was spent. The problem was not always the absence of income. Sometimes the problem was the absence of preparation.
I have come to appreciate that one of the greatest financial mistakes a person can make is to confuse a season of abundance with a lifetime guarantee of abundance. When money is flowing, it is easy to imagine that tomorrow will resemble today. We begin treating temporary opportunities as permanent possessions. We increase our expenses to match our income, forgetting that while income can decrease unexpectedly, financial obligations are often difficult to reduce. That is why I believe the real test of financial wisdom is not simply how much money we receive, but what we do with it while we have it.
The biblical story of Joseph in Egypt illustrates this principle beautifully. When Pharaoh dreamed of seven healthy cows and seven thin cows, Joseph interpreted the dream as a warning that seven years of abundance would be followed by seven years of famine. What impresses me about Joseph is that he did not merely celebrate the coming years of abundance. He proposed a plan to preserve part of the harvest so that Egypt could survive the coming famine.
Joseph understood something that many people still struggle to accept: the purpose of abundance is not merely to enjoy the present but also to prepare for the future. Imagine if Joseph had advised Pharaoh to consume everything during the seven prosperous years. Imagine if he had told the Egyptians that because their fields were producing abundantly, they had no reason to save anything. The famine would still have arrived, but the nation would have faced it without preparation. The famine did not become less dangerous because Egypt had previously enjoyed prosperity. What made the difference was how the nation managed its abundance.
I believe this lesson applies equally to pastors, employees, businesspeople, farmers, politicians, and families. A pastor should understand that the congregation giving generously today may face financial difficulties tomorrow. An employee should understand that a monthly salary is not a guarantee of permanent employment. A businessperson should understand that customers can change their preferences. A farmer should understand that favorable weather is not a permanent condition. Even parents should teach their children that money must be managed with an understanding of life's changing seasons.
However, there is another dimension to this village wisdom that I consider equally important. A wise farmer does not merely collect milk from the cow. He also takes care of the cow. He feeds it, provides water, protects it from disease, and ensures that it has a suitable place to rest. He understands that the cow is a living creature whose well-being matters. I wonder whether some church leaders have forgotten this part of the relationship.
Church members are not cows, and they should never be treated as financial instruments whose only purpose is to produce offerings and tithes. They are human beings with families, dreams, responsibilities, struggles, and needs. If a church is constantly asking members to give, does it also care about their welfare? When a member loses employment, does the church offer encouragement and practical support? When a family cannot afford food, does the church respond with compassion? When children cannot attend school because of unpaid fees, does the congregation consider how it might help? Or does the church only remember its members when it is time to collect money?
I believe a healthy church should be a community where people give according to their ability and where those who are struggling can also receive help. This is not merely a financial arrangement. It is an expression of Christian fellowship.
The early church described in Acts 2:44–45 shared resources so that people in need could be assisted. Their generosity was not presented merely as a system for collecting money from believers, but as a way of caring for one another.
There is something deeply troubling about a church that can raise large amounts of money for luxurious projects but cannot find anything to assist a hungry member.
And there is something equally troubling about an individual who enjoys years of financial prosperity but never thinks about the possibility of becoming dependent on others.
This is why I believe Ng’ombe níhiûkagia should be taught far beyond the boundaries of the church. It should be taught in schools, workplaces, homes, businesses, and community gatherings. It should be whispered into the ears of young people receiving their first salaries. It should be remembered by entrepreneurs celebrating record profits. It should guide families making decisions about their expenditure. It should challenge leaders responsible for managing resources entrusted to them.
I am not advocating a life of fear, where people refuse to enjoy the fruits of their labor because they are constantly worried about tomorrow. Neither am I suggesting that every financial difficulty is the result of poor planning. Some hardships are unavoidable, and even the most responsible people can experience devastating losses.
My argument is much simpler. When we have an opportunity to prepare for difficult times, we should not waste it. When money comes into our hands, we should remember that it may not always come in the same amount or with the same regularity. When we enjoy abundance, we should resist the temptation to believe that scarcity has been permanently defeated. And when scarcity eventually arrives, we should have the courage to examine our past decisions before blaming those who can no longer provide what they once provided.
I sometimes imagine a farmer standing beside his cow, angrily demanding milk when the animal has entered its dry period. He shouts at it, threatens it, and complains that it has become ungrateful. Yet all his shouting cannot change the natural season through which the cow is passing. The farmer's anger cannot produce milk.
In the same way, a pastor's anger cannot create money in the pockets of struggling church members. An employer's complaints cannot create customers for a declining business. A family's frustration cannot restore income that has disappeared.
There are seasons when the most important question is not why the milk has stopped flowing, but what we did with the milk when it was available. Perhaps we consumed too much. Perhaps we invested too little. Perhaps we ignored opportunities to build something sustainable. Perhaps we confused our ability to receive money with our ability to manage it. And perhaps, if we are willing to admit these possibilities, we can begin making wiser decisions.
I would like every pastor who complains about declining offerings to consider this question: If the church had managed its resources differently during the years of generous giving, would it be facing the same level of financial pressure today?
I would also like every individual to ask a similar question: If my current source of income stopped tomorrow, what would I have to show for the money that has passed through my hands? Would I have savings? Would I have useful investments? Would I have acquired skills that could help me earn a living elsewhere? Would I have built something that could support my family? Would I have used part of my resources to improve the lives of others? Or would I have nothing but memories of the days when money was plentiful?
I believe these questions are uncomfortable because they force us to confront the difference between receiving wealth and managing wealth. It is possible to receive a great deal of money and remain financially vulnerable. It is also possible to receive relatively little and, through discipline and wise decisions, build a measure of security over time.
The difference is not always the quantity of milk. Sometimes it is what happens to the milk after it leaves the cow.
As I conclude, I return to the wisdom of my village. Ng’ombe níhiûkagia. A cow does not give milk forever. The elders who understood this truth were not merely speaking about livestock. Their observation carries a lesson about the changing nature of opportunities, prosperity, and human circumstances.
There will be seasons of abundance and seasons of scarcity. There will be days when money comes easily and days when even a small amount becomes difficult to obtain. There will be moments when people are capable of giving generously and moments when those same people need assistance.
The wise person prepares during abundance without despising those experiencing scarcity. The wise pastor manages church resources responsibly without treating members as endless sources of money. And the wise farmer remembers that the cow must be cared for, even when it is not producing milk.
Therefore, before you complain that the milk is no longer flowing, ask yourself what you did with it when it was plentiful. Before you accuse others of failing to give, examine how you managed what they previously entrusted to you. And before you spend everything you receive today, remember that tomorrow may introduce a season you did not anticipate. Ng’ombe níhiûkagia. The cow will not always give milk.
The question is not merely whether the milk will stop flowing. The question is whether, when that day comes, you will have anything to show for the milk you received when it was flowing.
