Resist the temptation to focus on the mega-rich. Instead, think hard about what you have to give.
A few weeks ago, I got to catch up with a dear friend of mine. This friend is more than twice my age and has been involved in philanthropy far longer than I’ve been alive. As we chatted, the conversation turned to his current endeavor: a hospital in Africa.
The local African CEO was spending a few weeks in the United States meeting with current and prospective major donors. One donor in particular was from Texas, lived in a gated neighborhood, and was itching to show off his brand new Cybertruck. This man’s existence was larger than life, in true Texas fashion.
As fundraisers, when we see a larger-than-life Texan, we get excited. In fact, a part of me wonders if there is a Cybertruck owners’ group I could use for prospecting. I see outrageous amounts of wealth as a challenge, an invitation. I am a fundraising super spy, and the owner is my target.
To international eyes, though, signing the check for a Cybertruck is extravagant, incomprehensible consumerism. My friend told me the African CEO cried as they left the donor’s house. Yes, the donor made a six-figure gift, but witnessing over-the-top American consumption broke the man’s heart.
In a way, I am both the donor and the CEO. I think fundraisers inevitably develop a degree of callousness when it comes to the major rich donors. I declare myself both judge and jury (I stop short of executioner) when it comes to the way donors spend their money; I count myself virtuous that I give more than the Biblically mandated 10% of my income away.
How many of us spend our prospect researching days getting more and more judgmental about others without ever taking the time to introspect? It’s easy for me to judge the way the mega-rich spend their dollars but if I cannot be generous with the comparatively little I have, what makes me believe I’d be any more magnanimous should I someday join their ranks?
A Cybertruck feels like the most glaringly excessive part of the donor’s life to me. The 2024 Cybertruck models start at a little over $81,000 dollars. If you add anything beyond the base model, that quickly shoots into the six figures.
And what could that African hospital do with $100,000?
- They could purchase 3,100 cannisters of infant formula for orphaned newborns.
- Or they could perform 285 prolapse surgeries.
- Or purchase 28 hip or knee orthopedic prosthesis.
- Or procure 10 medical incinerators.
- Or create two playgrounds for missionary children.
- They could finally finish the third dorm building for on-site doctors.
When we consider those pie-in-the-sky, Cybertruck-level numbers, the change is easy to see. We want to grab donors by the shoulders, shake them, and say, “Why are you buying a car when you could save lives?”
But when I look in the mirror do I give myself the same exhortation?
I went to a Christian conference over the summer. The ticket was $165. For both flights, I paid $350. I split an Airbnb with others, which was about $100. Then were the miscellaneous charges of Ubers, food, and the tons of books I bought, most of which were gifts. The trip expenses added up to just under $700. I love this conference and adore the women I attended with. I plan to go again in a few years.
Unfortunately, going for something Gospel-centered doesn’t erase how much money I spent on myself and my own little village.
- I could have bought 21 cannisters of formula for the orphan newborns.
- I could have paid for two prolapse surgeries.
- I could have made a dent in the need category of a number of campaigns.
Yet I didn’t.
So, where is the line between enjoyment of what we have and (selfish) excess?
I’d love to give you a magic percentage of what makes a difference in the world but keeps you comfortable. I don’t have the answer there. With only 26 years of life to my name, I don’t want to presume I know how life really works or what charity truly looks like.
I do know a few things about charity though. It goes far beyond just money.
Share your money.
Share your time.
Share your food.
Share your knowledge.
Share your experiential wisdom.
Even when you are living on one income with a house bursting at the seams with children, you have something to give, even if it is just a kind word.
Philanthropy is for everyone.
