Moreover it is required in stewards, that a man be found faithful. (1 Corinthians 4:2, KJV)

ABSTRACT

This article examines the spiritual and practical dimensions of managing church funds, warning against locking resources in long-term, speculative financial products that hinder mission readiness and entangle with worldly systems, while advocating for liquidity, ethical integrity, and alignment with biblical teachings and prophetic guidance to ensure funds serve the gospel’s closing work.

THE LEDGER AND THE LAMP

In the quiet, suspended moments after the deacon has passed the woven plate, when the rustle of envelopes settles and the congregation bows its head in a collective exhale of reverence, a transaction occurs that is unlike any other in the secular financial world. We see money as a medium of exchange, a cold store of value measured in decimal points, currency symbols, and the click of a counting machine, but within the community, and indeed within the broader, sweeping narrative of biblical history, the funds collected in the sanctuary possess a spiritual density that defies standard accounting principles. Money functions as capital, yet it represents the crystallized sweat of the saints. The widow’s mite, given not out of the overflow of abundance, but carved out of want, becomes the tangible, paper-and-coin expression of our desperate, fervent hope in the Second Advent. Scripture reinforces that faithful stewardship honors God, as “He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much” (Luke 16:10, KJV), while “A faithful man shall abound with blessings: but he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be innocent” (Proverbs 28:20, KJV). In Counsels on Stewardship we read, “Constant, self-denying benevolence is God’s remedy for the cankering sins of selfishness and covetousness” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 15, 1940), and a prophetic voice once wrote, “The very means that is now so sparingly invested in the cause of God, and that is selfishly retained, will in a little while be cast with all idol gods to the moles and to the bats” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 59, 1940). Faithful handling of resources prepares us for eternal rewards. But what principles guide the community’s decisions on these sacred funds?

When a church board sits down around a scarred wooden table to decide the fate of $16,000—a sum that represents the collective sacrifice of its members, the skipped meals, the postponed comforts, the worn shoes—they are not functioning merely as a hedge fund manager or a corporate Chief Financial Officer might. They stand on holy ground, their shoes removed, the ledger open before the Lamp. The decision of where to place these funds prioritizes functional theology over maximizing yield, chasing the S&P 500, or securing the highest alpha. Every dollar placed in a financial instrument votes for a specific vision of the future, aligns with a specific set of values, and tethers the sacred treasury to the profane machinery of the world. Christ calls us to wise management, as “If therefore ye have not been faithful in the unrighteous mammon, who will commit to your trust the true riches?” (Luke 16:11, KJV), and “Provide yourselves bags which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not, where no thief approacheth, neither moth corrupteth” (Luke 12:33, KJV). Through inspired counsel we are told, “Money has great value, because it can do great good. In the hands of God’s children it is food for the hungry, drink for the thirsty, and clothing for the naked” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 351, 1940), while in Patriarchs and Prophets we read, “The love of money was the ruling passion in the Jewish age. Worldliness usurped the place of God and religion in the soul” (Patriarchs and Prophets, p. 496, 1890). Responsible choices reflect our commitment to divine priorities. Yet how does one discern if a seemingly safe investment aligns with these values?

The query at hand is deceptive in its banality: Should the church invest money in a fixed index annuity? On the surface, the brochure, likely printed on heavy, glossy stock with comforting stock photography of silver-haired couples walking on beaches or gazing at sunsets, promises safety. It speaks of bonuses that seem too good to ignore, of principal protection that shields the timid from the ravenous wolf of market volatility. It uses the comforting, anesthetic language of guarantee. But as we peel back the glossy veneer of the marketing materials, as we trace the lineage of this financial product from the flat cornfields of West Des Moines, Iowa, to the soaring glass towers of Lower Manhattan, and finally to the disputed dams of the Colombian highlands, a different picture emerges. It is a picture of staggering complexity, of moral entanglement, and of a fundamental misalignment with the mission of a people preparing for the closing work of the gospel. God warns against deceptive schemes, as “Bread of deceit is sweet to a man; but afterwards his mouth shall be filled with gravel” (Proverbs 20:17, KJV), and “Wealth gotten by vanity shall be diminished: but he that gathereth by labour shall increase” (Proverbs 13:11, KJV). A passage from Testimonies for the Church reminds us, “The Lord would have His people in a position where they can consecrate their property to Him, instead of devouring it selfishly” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 5, p. 150, 1889), and the inspired pen notes, “Let no one suppose that he can lay up a large amount of wealth without entrusting it to others, and that this ability is conferred upon him because he has superior wisdom” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 344, 1940). Discerning investments requires spiritual insight beyond surface appeal. How can we evaluate such products through a lens of faith?

To understand why this specific financial instrument is perilous for the Lord’s treasury, we must do more than read the fine print of the contract or nod along with the agent’s assurances. We must adopt the investigative rigor of a forensic accountant and the spiritual discernment of a pioneer. We must look at the man who built the company, the global leviathan that now owns it, and the prophetic warnings that echo down from the days of James White and Joseph Bates. We must ask not only “Is it safe?” but “Is it right?” We must weigh the product against the Shield of Faith. The community prioritizes imminence in stewardship, as “But the end of all things is at hand: be ye therefore sober, and watch unto prayer” (1 Peter 4:7, KJV), and “Redeeming the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:16, KJV). Sr. White wrote, “The money that God has intrusted to us is to be carefully husbanded” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 248, 1940), and a prophetic voice once wrote, “We have no time now to spend in seeking our ease. Every moment is of consequence” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 5, p. 276, 1889). Vigilance ensures resources serve eternal purposes. What does stewardship demand in light of the end times?

THE STEWARDSHIP OF READINESS

The concept of stewardship in the community is inextricably linked to the concept of imminence. We are not a people building cathedrals for the next millennium; we are a people of the End Time, pitching tents and printing tracts. Our theology is built on the premise that the “closing work” is upon us, that the final movements will be rapid ones, and that the history of this world is hurtling toward its climax. This eschatological urgency dictates a specific financial philosophy, one that prioritizes liquidity above almost all else. Christ urges preparedness, as “Be ye therefore ready also: for the Son of man cometh at an hour when ye think not” (Luke 12:40, KJV), and “Watch therefore: for ye know not what hour your Lord doth come” (Matthew 24:42, KJV). In The Ministry of Healing we read, “We are to be ready and waiting for the orders to move as the Lord shall give them” (The Ministry of Healing, p. 498, 1905), and through inspired counsel we are told, “The Lord would have His followers planning wisely for the future” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 323, 1940). Prioritizing liquidity aligns with divine urgency. But what constitutes true readiness in financial terms?

Liquidity is often discussed in dry economic terms as the ease with which an asset can be converted into cash without affecting its market price. But in the context of the Great Commission, liquidity is readiness. It is the ability to respond instantly to the opening of a new mission field, the sudden need for a house of worship in a developing nation, or a crisis that demands benevolence. It is the financial equivalent of the loins girded and the lamp trimmed. The annuity is, by its very design and actuarial DNA, an instrument of illiquidity. It is a contract that demands a ten-year vow of silence from the money entrusted to it. For a decade, the church’s funds are effectively locked away in the insurer’s general account, accessible only through significant penalty or trickle-down “free” withdrawals. This creates a profound theological tension. Can a church that preaches the imminent return of Christ conscientiously lock its resources into a decade-long bind with a worldly corporation? Can we preach that “the time is short” (1 Corinthians 7:29) while signing a contract that assumes the world—and our financial needs—will remain static for ten years? Scripture emphasizes vigilance, as “Therefore let us not sleep, as do others; but let us watch and be sober” (1 Thessalonians 5:6, KJV), and “But the day of the Lord will come as a thief in the night” (2 Peter 3:10, KJV). Sr. White wrote, “Money is of value only as it is used to advance the cause of Christ” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 289, 1940), and a passage from Evangelism reminds us, “We must arouse and co-operate with divine agencies” (Evangelism, p. 65, 1946). Illiquidity contradicts readiness for divine calls. How does prophetic counsel address hoarding and speculation?

The Spirit of Prophecy warns us repeatedly against “hoarding” and against tying up means that should be flowing like a river into the work of saving souls. When we analyze this annuity, we find that it is not merely a savings account; it is a complex derivative product that thrives on the very speculation we are counseled to avoid. It is a product that transforms the church from a mission station into a passive rent-seeker, waiting for the crumbs of the stock market to fall from the master’s table, hoping that the “participation rate” will be favorable this year. God condemns hasty wealth, as “He that hasteth to be rich hath an evil eye, and considereth not that poverty shall come upon him” (Proverbs 28:22, KJV), and “Labour not to be rich: cease from thine own wisdom” (Proverbs 23:4, KJV). In Counsels on Stewardship we read, “The spirit of speculation is a snare of Satan to catch souls” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 241, 1940), and the inspired pen notes, “God’s people should not engage in speculative enterprises” (Counsels on Stewardship, p. 234, 1940). Speculation diverts from soul-winning. What history reveals about the company’s origins?

In this report, we will journey through the mechanics of the annuity, the history of its founders, and the sprawling empire of its parent company. We will juxtapose the insurance of the founder with the “Self-Denial” of Joseph Bates. We will weigh the 14% premium bonus against the counsel of James White. And in the end, we will see that the true cost of this investment is far higher than the surrender charges listed in the prospectus. The cost is the freedom of the church to act when the Spirit moves. Pioneers modeled sacrifice, as “Sell that ye have, and give alms; provide yourselves bags which wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that faileth not” (Luke 12:33, KJV), and “Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt” (Matthew 6:20, KJV). A prophetic voice once wrote, “The followers of Christ should not wait for thrilling missionary appeals to arouse them to action” (Testimonies for the Church, vol. 5, p. 370, 1889), and Sr. White wrote, “The very means needed for God’s work is being diverted into other channels” (Evangelism, p. 249, 1946). True cost lies in lost opportunities. But who founded this type of product?

THE SALESMAN

The myth of insurance begins with the architect. The company was not born in a boardroom in Zurich or London, nor was it conceived by algorithms in Silicon Valley. It was born in West Des Moines, Iowa, the brainchild of a man. The founding myth of the company is repeated in almost every piece of literature they produce, a corporate genesis story that has taken on the quality of folklore: In 1995, the founder retired. He stayed retired for exactly three days. The founder was a man of the insurance industry, a “born capitalist” raised on a cattle farm, who had spent decades climbing the ladder of a group. He was a man who understood the visceral fears of the retiree. He knew that after a lifetime of labor, of waking up early and saving scraps, the average person did not want to conquer Wall Street. They did not want to watch CNBC with a pit in their stomach as the ticker tape turned red. They wanted to sleep at night. He founded the company on two pillars: “Great Service and Sleep Insurance”. This narrative is seductive. It paints the company as a benevolent