Welcome to the revolution.

Those simple, familiar words are a radical, counter-cultural, system-smashing cry. The stuff of

resistance.

Last week I talked about the idea of “Sabbath Economics” that I’ve learned mostly from an

American theologian named Ched Myers. (Some of you know his wife, Elaine Enns, who grew

up in Saskatoon.) Sabbath economics is the biblical tradition of economics grounded in the

Exodus story and Torah law.

The foundation comes from the Exodus, that God provided what her people could not provide

for themselves, release from slavery in Egypt. And then into the wilderness, where God

provided manna, bread to eat every day. And God provided shoes and clothes that did not wear

out over 40 years. And God provided protection and direction. Everything came from God,

and God was trustworthy and good.

That foundation of Grace allowed for three principles to guide their economy.

#1 - The principle of enough. Each person had enough for their needs, and attempts to hoard

and take more than they needed were discouraged.

#2 - The principle of Circulation. Surplus was not to serve the individual by storing it up and

turning it into profit, but surplus was meant to serve the community and care for those whose

needs were greater.

And #3 - The Principle of Limitation - The community organized itself around a calendar of

Sabbath rest, because there is more to life than the cycle of production and

consumption. Because worth and value came not from individual effort but from the Greater

Goods of the community and of God.

Now that feels like a radical challenge to the norms of our economic culture, no? Challenging

enough that some people are tempted to write that off as ancient history, a stream that fell by the

wayside of time.

But wait, look again at the Lord’s Prayer.

“Our Father, who are in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy Kingdom come, thy will be done,

on earth as it is in heaven.” In other words, let my will be limited, replace the kingdom I’m

building with God’s Kingdom, let me understand myself in light of the divine source of all

things.

“Give us this day our daily bread.” Manna, the stuff that is distributed according to the needs of

the people, the stuff that can’t be hoarded or monetized, the daily gift that requires a daily trust.

“And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” The Greek word is opheilo - to owe. It

was first an economic term, literally debt. And it also came to mean the wider sense of

obligation that comes with debt, the moral obligation to pay back. Forgiveness, whether moral

or financial, is about circulation, letting things go so that goodness might flow in the

community.

“Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Yeah, all of this is hard stuff. It doesn’t

come naturally. Thus the Torah laws to institutionalize generosity and fairness, and thus the

prayer for help to overcome the evil around us and in us.

“For thine is the Kingdom and the power and the glory, forever and ever.” Grace. It’s all

God’s kingdom, the power and the glory do not belong to us. Amen.

Sabbath Economics. This isn’t a fringe idea from an ancient culture. This is the heart of the

Way of Jesus.

And at the center is this line: “Give us this day our daily bread.” As I said, this is a reference to

the Manna story, the bread baked from seeds that appeared on the ground every morning, that

everyone collected exactly enough for what they needed for one day, no more and no less.

Enough. Give us what we need, and nothing more.

I have a problem with this concept of enough. I have a problem knowing how much is enough.

Or more honestly, even when I know that I have enough, I want more. I fantasize about having

more. I work hard to get more. I shop for more. And when I have more, I often find that I still

want more.

This is a problem.

This is my compost bucket. We keep it under the sink in the kitchen for our green food

scraps. The label is still on it because it’s new, we just got it two weeks ago. I ordered it from

Amazon on a Thursday, and it arrived at our house on the following Wednesday. And in the six

days in between, I checked three times to track the delivery. A compost bucket. I watched it

travel the country from Mississauga to Winnipeg to Saskatoon to my house, with growing

anticipation. For a compost bucket. Which I took out of the box, put under the sink, and

promptly forgot about.

I often have that experience with ordering stuff on Amazon. I think about it way more when

I’m purchasing it and waiting for it to arrive than after it gets here. It’s a mini-rush, to see the

Canada Post truck pull up outside my house around 4:30, with a parcel that has my name on it.

It’s not just Amazon. It’s also Home Depot. Home ownership is stressful--it seems like there’s

always something that needs to be fixed or inspected or adjusted. But with each new problem

comes opportunity, a chance to learn something, or more accurately, a reason to buy something,

usually some kind of new tool that I just have to have in order to fix the problem right. I’ve

been at Home Depot at least once a week for the past two months. And part of my Home Depot

shopping ritual is to stand in the middle of the store and think, now what else was it that I

needed? And I can almost always find something.

It’s amazing how many problems I try to solve first by purchasing something.

I have a ton of books upstairs in my office; most of them I buy because I’m anxious about a

specific problem. Church budgets, or racism in the media, or children’s literature--there must

be a book about that. And of course there is, and so I research and order it and eagerly

anticipate its arrival...and then put it on the shelf to await reading at a later date that may never

actually come. But I feel better about the problem, because buying something felt like a step

towards solving it.

Likewise with fitness. When (every six months or so) I decide to get in better shape, the first

step is always to go buy a new pair of shoes. Or headphones. Or a basketball.

When I hurt my back in December, the answer was to pay for expert treatment, then make a list

of ergonomic stuff that might help.

When I was alarmed by the results of the US election, I ordered several magazine subscriptions

to help me cope with the news.

When I decided to grow this beard, I went out right away to buy a new electric beard

trimmer. And I’ll admit that I was at least vaguely disappointed that I didn’t get any beard-

grooming accessories for Christmas. :)

On their own, each purchase I make, each trip to the mall, each hour of browsing online, is

justifiable. But the overall pattern is alarming. Solving problems primarily with new

products. Making decisions because of purchasing opportunities. Shopping to make myself

feel better. Obsessing over the arrival of a new compost bucket.

I have a problem with “enough.”

The thing is, I know that my habits of consumption are unhealthy. I recognize the

consequences this has for me: increasing demands on my time and space, diminished creativity,

anxiety over paying bills, money lost to maintenance and insurance costs.

I see the effects this has on my relationships: friendships that stay on the surface because we

mostly talk about stuff instead of ideas, technology that separates instead of bringing together, a

general wariness and towards the population in general because I feel the need to protect my

stuff, constant comparisons and judgments about how my stuff rates.

And I know the role that my consumption plays for others and society: sustaining inequality and

poverty, over-use of natural resources and endangering nature by waste, and the devaluing of

human life in the name of profits and pleasures.

I recognize all of this, and yet I am largely unable to make the change.

There’s a word for this kind of behavior: Addiction. My participation in consumerism is

destructive, and yet it’s compulsive.

This is what Jesus was warning against in Matthew 6. “No one can serve two masters; for a

slave will either hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to the one and despise the

other. You cannot serve God and wealth.” I like the southern preacher who said it this way

(imagine a deep southern accent…): Jesus didn’t say you shouldn’t serve God and wealth, he

said you can’t!

At its root, my consumerism as a spiritual problem. Jesus described it in three ways:

First, it’s a heart issue: “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust

consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven,

where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where

your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”

The things that we treasure, what we pursue and invest our time in, those things shape our inner

life.

Second, it’s an issue of sight: “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your

whole body will be full of light; but if your eye is unhealthy, your whole body will be full of

darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!”

Jesus is describing a filter over a light--if your filter is clogged, dirty, then your view of the

world will be dark and fearful. Wealth skews our perspective, shifts our values.

Third, it’s a spirit issue: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or

what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the

body more than clothing? … Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What will we eat?’ or ‘What will

we drink?’ or ‘What will we wear?’ For it is the Gentiles who strive for all these things; and

indeed your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. But strive first for the

kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. So do

not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will bring worries of its own. Today’s trouble is

enough for today.”

Does our wealth ease our anxiety or create more?

All of these are different ways of describing the same problem.

At our core, many of us see ourselves and our world through a lens of deficiency:

1) I don’t have enough, so I must work and earn and save and purchase and store so that my

needs will be covered.

And 2) I am not enough, so I must work and save and become more to prove my worth. And

failing that, I must deny and control and hide and distract so that nobody will see my

inadequacy. So that I won’t see my inadequacy.

Those are the twin, deep needs at the core of our addiction. That’s what I’m looking for in my

compost bucket. It’s partly a distraction, a way to release some dopamine in my brain so I’ll

feel okay for a little while. And it’s partly self-delusion—behold, I am a person who composts!

And not with any old ice-cream pail, but with ease of use and reduced odour. And the approval

of 147 5-star reviews from like-minded folks who also appreciate quality and efficiency in their

compost experience!

It would be silly if I didn’t repeat it over and over in almost every area of my life.

So what do I do about my compulsive consumerism? The addiction treatment tradition offers

three helpful principles.

The first is honesty. Jesus told a story about a religious leader who went to his synagogue and

prayed loudly, “God, I’m so thankful that you have not made me like other people, those

criminals and sinners and, well, that guy over that, the tax collectors.” But the tax collector

kept his head down, and prayed, “Lord have mercy on me, a sinner.” The tax collector was the

one who had his prayer answered, Jesus said.

Honesty is humility, without all of the constant comparison to others. Part of overcoming

addiction is accepting that it’s true: I am not enough and I won’t always have enough. That’s

just part of being human. To experience hunger, and failure, and ultimately death.

Contentment comes not in overcoming all of our limitations, but in accepting them.

Honesty isn’t about guilt, though. It’s about seeing things the way they really are, and

responding accordingly.

A big part of this is gratitude. “Look at the birds of the air…” Jesus said. “Consider the lilies…

if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the

oven, will he not much more clothe you—you of little faith?”

Implied in that is that yes, we are clothed already. Most of us have food, and shelter, and

security. That’s why its so silly to be chasing more all the time, because we really do have

enough already. Gratitude recognizes and appreciates the gifts that we have already been given.

If we practice gratitude well, over time that eases our anxieties and the holes we’re trying to fill.

A second principle is action. The “Serenity Prayer” is widely used in addiction recovery:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And wisdom to know the difference.

The things I can change. I can reduce my consumption. This is not anything new; people have

been doing this in creative ways for a long time. Some people practice abstinence, like a friend

of mine that has been in the news for wearing the same dress every day for a month and buying

no new clothes for a year. Others have joined together with friends in a pact to purchase

nothing new at all for a year. Others reduce consumption by learning to fix things, or shopping

at thrift stores, and finding used items from kijiji or freecycle.ca.

Whatever the method, the story often seems to be the same: “I thought this was going to be a

big challenge, really inconvenient or difficult, but when I got into it I realized that I didn’t even

miss the stuff I thought I would miss and I really liked the opportunities I gained.” Or

something like that. It seems that the biggest hurdle isn’t the task, but actually making the

commitment and following through on starting the change.

The other side of action is to also be more intentional in my consumption. This isn’t a rant

against business and retail; industry produces the things we need to live and to enjoy life and

gets them to where they are needed, and there is great value in that. What I’m calling for is a

shift in priorities, to just that we can change the way we produce and transport and sell things to

reflect our values of justice and dignity and life over profit.

So when we do spend money, we can align our purchases by shopping locally, buying fair trade

products, paying the cost of ethical business instead of just getting the best deal we can. That

might sound like heresy in a Mennonite church…

And yes, that means I need to rethink my online shopping habits. You have my permission to

check up on me later. And that brings me to the third piece in overcoming addiction,

community.

We need each other, for accountability, for perspective, to remind us to be humble and grateful.

Community makes it safe for me to be vulnerable. It’s okay in this space to admit that I’m not

enough. Partly because I’ve learned to trust that I will find grace and assurance here. And

mostly because together, we can better meet each other’s needs.

Practically, this looks like sharing. From clothing swaps to neighbourhood book exchanges,

there are creative ways to shift the stuff that I have but don’t want to the people who need but

don’t have. I’m told that Wildwood used to have a version of this through a “Barter Board”

way back in the day? People listed things they were willing to share or trade, like skills or

manual labor or canning jars or whatever. I’d love to see that be revived in some way--let me

know if you’d like to trade some babysitting for a personalized sermon or two. :)

Seriously, a church community where we trust each other can be a great place to share stuff

instead of buying it. I’d love to see us figure out how to share tools, or garden equipment, or

kitchen knowledge, or kids’ toys, or vehicles. Or whatever.

If you have your own ideas, I’d love to pursue those together.

Those practical ideas are where the rubber meets the road, and committing to small steps in the

right direction is how we’ll grow in the right direction.

All of this brings us back to grace and trust: Your Creator knows the things that you need. But

seek first for the kingdom of God, God’s way of ordering things, and all these needs will be met

as well.

And that brings us back to where we started, asking God for daily bread. Trusting in the grace

of God’s provision, and the unmerited value we have as children of God.