An Invitation to Open Hands
Most weeks at Mercy Village, I’m doing the same thing (and I love it): we preach through books of the Bible, verse by verse. That’s our normal rhythm, and we’re going back to Matthew when this series is done.
But every now and then, it’s wise to pause and speak to a particular season in the life of a church—especially when we’re trying to align our hearts again around what matters most. That’s what we’re doing for the next several weeks: a topical series on stewardship, still rooted in Scripture the whole time, called Faithful Stewardship: Embracing the Weight and Wonder of God’s Varied Grace.
And yes… I’m going to keep bringing up Free Slurpee Day at 7-Eleven.
Not because a Slurpee is spiritual, but because it’s a clean little parable for what we’re talking about. A free Slurpee is a gift. No payment required. But you still have to receive it—show up, make time, pay attention, take the cup they give you, and (if you’re thinking beyond yourself) help somebody else enjoy the gift too.
That’s stewardship: not earning the gift, but receiving it well—and letting it spill over to serve others.
And before we go any farther, I want to protect you from something I know will be a temptation for many of us in a series like this: guilt. Shame. Regret. That feeling of, “I missed it… and now I’m behind.”
Hear me: in the kingdom of God, you don’t get locked out because you missed yesterday. God’s mercies are new every morning. If you’ve stumbled in any area of stewardship, you can stand back up today.
But every now and then, it’s wise to pause and speak to a particular season in the life of a church—especially when we’re trying to align our hearts again around what matters most. That’s what we’re doing for the next several weeks: a topical series on stewardship, still rooted in Scripture the whole time, called Faithful Stewardship: Embracing the Weight and Wonder of God’s Varied Grace.
And yes… I’m going to keep bringing up Free Slurpee Day at 7-Eleven.
Not because a Slurpee is spiritual, but because it’s a clean little parable for what we’re talking about. A free Slurpee is a gift. No payment required. But you still have to receive it—show up, make time, pay attention, take the cup they give you, and (if you’re thinking beyond yourself) help somebody else enjoy the gift too.
That’s stewardship: not earning the gift, but receiving it well—and letting it spill over to serve others.
And before we go any farther, I want to protect you from something I know will be a temptation for many of us in a series like this: guilt. Shame. Regret. That feeling of, “I missed it… and now I’m behind.”
Hear me: in the kingdom of God, you don’t get locked out because you missed yesterday. God’s mercies are new every morning. If you’ve stumbled in any area of stewardship, you can stand back up today.
Big Idea
God owns everything and invites us to steward His varied grace—all that is His—for the sake of His kingdom. This is a wondrous and weighty calling that we experience and embody in Christ alone.
That’s the “series-in-one-sentence” statement, and it’s the heartbeat of Week 1. Stewardship starts with God’s ownership, moves into God’s generosity, and lands in God’s strength—because He never calls His people to carry this alone.
That’s the “series-in-one-sentence” statement, and it’s the heartbeat of Week 1. Stewardship starts with God’s ownership, moves into God’s generosity, and lands in God’s strength—because He never calls His people to carry this alone.
The Owner sets the terms (Psalm 24:1-2)
Stewardship gets confusing when we skip the starting line. So here it is: stewardship is not ownership.
“The earth is the LORD’s and the fullness thereof… the world and those who dwell therein” (Psalm 24:1–2). Not just the stuff in your garage. Not just the money in your account. Not just the hours in your week. Even we belong to Him.
This matters because when I start acting like I own things, entitlement sneaks in. I grip tighter. I protect my little kingdom. I become anxious about outcomes. I start to hoard—not always out of greed, but often out of fear.
But when I remember God is the Owner, something shifts. I’m not free to make up stewardship as I go. I don’t define “faithfulness” by my preferences. Ownership governs stewardship—so we look to God’s Word and the example of Jesus to learn what open-handed life actually looks like.
“The earth is the LORD’s and the fullness thereof… the world and those who dwell therein” (Psalm 24:1–2). Not just the stuff in your garage. Not just the money in your account. Not just the hours in your week. Even we belong to Him.
This matters because when I start acting like I own things, entitlement sneaks in. I grip tighter. I protect my little kingdom. I become anxious about outcomes. I start to hoard—not always out of greed, but often out of fear.
But when I remember God is the Owner, something shifts. I’m not free to make up stewardship as I go. I don’t define “faithfulness” by my preferences. Ownership governs stewardship—so we look to God’s Word and the example of Jesus to learn what open-handed life actually looks like.
The wonder begins at the beginning (Genesis 1:26-31)
Now for the surprising part: the God who owns everything didn’t create human beings merely to consume gifts. He created us to carry responsibility with Him—not as owners, but as stewards.
Genesis starts with this stunning line: we are made in God’s image (Genesis 1:26). That matters more than we can measure. It means every human being has dignity that is not earned. Worth that is not granted by success. Value that can’t be taken away by failure.
There’s a theological phrase for this—imago Dei—which simply means “the image of God.” (That’s all it means.) And it has a very practical implication: stewardship isn’t only about what you possess; it’s also about how you treat people, because they bear God’s image too.
Then God gives dominion (Genesis 1:26–31). That word has been misunderstood a thousand different ways. Dominion is not “domination.” It’s not power for selfish gain. It’s strength used for protection, nurture, and care. In the sermon, I described it like a trellis guiding a vine—supporting growth toward what is good.
This is the wonder: God made us to cultivate goodness, to multiply beauty, to steward relationships, opportunities, work, resources—everything He entrusts—toward flourishing under His rule.
Genesis starts with this stunning line: we are made in God’s image (Genesis 1:26). That matters more than we can measure. It means every human being has dignity that is not earned. Worth that is not granted by success. Value that can’t be taken away by failure.
There’s a theological phrase for this—imago Dei—which simply means “the image of God.” (That’s all it means.) And it has a very practical implication: stewardship isn’t only about what you possess; it’s also about how you treat people, because they bear God’s image too.
Then God gives dominion (Genesis 1:26–31). That word has been misunderstood a thousand different ways. Dominion is not “domination.” It’s not power for selfish gain. It’s strength used for protection, nurture, and care. In the sermon, I described it like a trellis guiding a vine—supporting growth toward what is good.
This is the wonder: God made us to cultivate goodness, to multiply beauty, to steward relationships, opportunities, work, resources—everything He entrusts—toward flourishing under His rule.

The weight is real (Matthew 25:14-30)
And then Jesus tells a story that makes you sit up straighter.
In Matthew 25:14–30, a master entrusts his property to his servants. Two of them take what they’re given and invest it. They don’t treat the gift as optional. They don’t bury it. They put it to work, and when the master returns, he says, “Well done… Enter into the joy of your master” (Matthew 25:21, 23).
The third servant is the one that sobers us. He’s driven by fear. He hides what was entrusted to him. And what stands out is this: he doesn’t do something publicly scandalous—he simply does nothing with what he’s been given. And Jesus says that kind of fear-shaped, buried-life response carries eternal weight.
Here’s the point I don’t want us to miss: stewardship is never just about behavior. It reveals what we believe about the Master. The issue beneath the issue is trust. When we don’t trust God’s heart, we will hide. We will hoard. We will freeze.
Also—quick clarity—this is not prosperity teaching. Faithful stewardship is not a scheme for cash outcomes. But God really does reward those who seek Him, and His rewards are often deeper than money: joy, peace, fruit that lasts, a legacy of love that outlives us.
In Matthew 25:14–30, a master entrusts his property to his servants. Two of them take what they’re given and invest it. They don’t treat the gift as optional. They don’t bury it. They put it to work, and when the master returns, he says, “Well done… Enter into the joy of your master” (Matthew 25:21, 23).
The third servant is the one that sobers us. He’s driven by fear. He hides what was entrusted to him. And what stands out is this: he doesn’t do something publicly scandalous—he simply does nothing with what he’s been given. And Jesus says that kind of fear-shaped, buried-life response carries eternal weight.
Here’s the point I don’t want us to miss: stewardship is never just about behavior. It reveals what we believe about the Master. The issue beneath the issue is trust. When we don’t trust God’s heart, we will hide. We will hoard. We will freeze.
Also—quick clarity—this is not prosperity teaching. Faithful stewardship is not a scheme for cash outcomes. But God really does reward those who seek Him, and His rewards are often deeper than money: joy, peace, fruit that lasts, a legacy of love that outlives us.
Jesus turns weight into rest (1 Peter 4:10–11)
This is where the gospel gets practical.
Peter says, “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace” (1 Peter 4:10–11). Notice “varied.” Different gifts, different capacities, different seasons—yet all of it grace.
And then Peter says something that changes everything: we serve “by the strength that God supplies” (1 Peter 4:11). Stewardship isn’t self-generated. It isn’t sustained by willpower. God supplies what He requires.
That’s why Jesus can say, “Come to me… and I will give you rest… my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28–30). The work may not be easy—but you’re not doing it alone. You’re yoked to Jesus. He is gentle. He is patient. And He is strong enough to carry what you cannot.
Peter says, “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace” (1 Peter 4:10–11). Notice “varied.” Different gifts, different capacities, different seasons—yet all of it grace.
And then Peter says something that changes everything: we serve “by the strength that God supplies” (1 Peter 4:11). Stewardship isn’t self-generated. It isn’t sustained by willpower. God supplies what He requires.
That’s why Jesus can say, “Come to me… and I will give you rest… my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28–30). The work may not be easy—but you’re not doing it alone. You’re yoked to Jesus. He is gentle. He is patient. And He is strong enough to carry what you cannot.
Applications
This series is going to stay very practical on purpose. This week we kept it simple:
If you do nothing else this week, do that third one: name the gifts—big and small—and turn it into prayer: “Lord, what would You have me do with what You’ve given me?” That question—asked with a grateful heart—is often the first step into faithful stewardship.
- Join the email list (so you can stay connected to the series and its follow-ups).
- Sign up for Discover Mercy Village (next Sunday at 9:30 a.m.).
- Take an inventory (a half-sheet designed to help you name what God has entrusted to you).
If you do nothing else this week, do that third one: name the gifts—big and small—and turn it into prayer: “Lord, what would You have me do with what You’ve given me?” That question—asked with a grateful heart—is often the first step into faithful stewardship.
If stewardship feels heavy to you, I understand. But I want you to hear this clearly: the invitation is not to shame, but to Jesus. Before we can steward anything, we have to receive everything—and that only happens by grace through faith in Christ.
And for the saints: keep coming back to this. God owns everything. He invites us to steward His varied grace for the sake of His kingdom. It’s wondrous. It’s weighty. And in Christ, it becomes a road marked by rest, joy, and freedom—not because we’re strong, but because He is.
And for the saints: keep coming back to this. God owns everything. He invites us to steward His varied grace for the sake of His kingdom. It’s wondrous. It’s weighty. And in Christ, it becomes a road marked by rest, joy, and freedom—not because we’re strong, but because He is.
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