The Building Fund Was Never Just About the Building

By LaDawn Sullivan

Long before philanthropy had giving circles, donor collaboratives, participatory grantmaking, or fancy language for “collective impact,” the Black church had a building fund.

And everybody knew about it.

You could be six years old with two quarters in your pocket, and somehow one of them might find its way into that envelope. You could be a church mother on a fixed income, a business owner who had done well that month, or somebody who hadn’t been to service since Easter — when the roof needed fixing, the fellowship hall needed new chairs, or the church was trying to buy the lot next door, people gave.

Because the building fund was never just about the building. It was about us.

The Black church has long been one of the cornerstones of Black philanthropy because it understood something the broader philanthropic sector is still trying to put into a PowerPoint presentation: we survive, build, and move forward when everybody brings something.

And everybody did bring something.

Someone gave money. Someone cooked enough food to feed the choir and half the neighborhood. Someone knew how to fix the plumbing. Someone had a truck. Someone could tutor the children, sing at the fundraiser, organize the program, make the calls, or introduce the pastor to the person who could help get something done. And somebody always had a testimony about why the work mattered.

That was Black philanthropy in action — our time, talent, treasure, testimony, and ties working together long before we gave them names.

The offering plate may be the image we remember, but Black giving was never limited to what went into it.

The Black church helped educate our children, bury our loved ones, feed families, organize civil rights movements, support Black businesses, develop leaders, provide scholarships, register voters, respond to crises, and create spaces where Black people could gather safely and imagine something better.

It was often our meeting room, community center, organizing headquarters, emergency fund, leadership incubator — and occasionally the place where somebody’s mama found out what they had been doing before they even made it home (ouch).

That network was strong. And it was ours.

There is a lesson in that for where we are today.

Too often, we talk about philanthropy as though giving begins after wealth has been accumulated. Our history says something different. Giving is part of how we built wealth, institutions, opportunity, and power in the first place.

Everybody didn’t have a lot. Everybody didn’t give the same amount. But everybody could have a role. That is the spirit we need to carry forward. Because there is still a building fund.

Today, the “building” may be a Black-led nonprofit keeping young people connected and safe. It may be a community organization protecting families from displacement. It may be a Black entrepreneur creating jobs. It may be a scholarship, an arts organization, a food program, a leadership pipeline, or an organization fighting for justice.

The envelope looks different. The responsibility does not.

At the Black Resilience in Colorado (BRIC) Fund, that history feels especially familiar. Our work is grounded in the same idea that has sustained Black communities for generations: take what we have, bring it together, and use it to care for what is needed now while building toward what comes next.

Sometimes that means giving money. Sometimes it means opening a door, sharing expertise, telling the story, making an introduction, volunteering a few hours, or calling somebody and saying, “You need to know about this organization.” It all counts.

Although, beloved, please still write the check.

Because our communities need both — the resources to meet this moment and the investment to prepare for the next one.

Our ancestors understood that. They built churches, schools, businesses, movements, and institutions sometimes dollar by dollar, meal by meal, relationship by relationship. They were meeting immediate needs while creating something they intended to outlive them.

That is the deeper meaning of the building fund. It was never simply about repairing a roof or adding another room. It was faith with a budget. It was collective giving with a purpose. It was Black people saying: we believe there should be something here for those coming behind us, and we are willing to invest in building it.

That may be one of the greatest lessons the Black church has given philanthropy: Everybody has something to give. Everybody has a role in what gets built next.

And the building fund? It’s still open.

Let’s keep building — BRIC by BRIC.