My trip to Ethiopia has changed me somewhat, but not in a way I expected. One does expect that an encounter with the poorest country in the world would have an effect, "maybe I’ll be more compassionate, perhaps I’ll be more grateful." And those are both true to some extent. But a conviction growing in me far stronger than the impulse to greater generosity and thankfulness, is the conviction that I simply must consume less: less energy, less food, fewer commodities; consume less pleasure, less beauty, less water, less time.
Consumption is the process by which we lay ahold of something in order to use it up, leaving only waste. Simone Weil suggests that much ill comes from "eating what we should only look at." Yet we in the West have become the high priests of an empirical religion defined by the twin commandments ‘commodify’ and ‘consume.’ And so we commodify all things: people, relationships, experiences, art, health, ministry, even protest. Recently I read that that as bio-genetics becomes the new growth industry of this century, there are already companies attempting to patent certain genes so that, for instance, if you want to genetically alter something (like a potentialy "faulty" fetus, for example) you just may have to purchase the rights from the owners. Walter Brueggeman calls this increasingly unassailable trend/religion ‘Theo-capitalism.’
Anyway… from the Bread for the World website I learned that if we took all the arable land in the world and divided it equally between each person on the planet, our individual allotment would be roughly nine acres. In Ethiopia, the average farm family survives on less than five acres - some much less. In Canada, about 30 acres of land is required to sustain the lifestyle of the average individual. And here’s the kicker… for everyone on the earth to live the lifestyle of the average Canadian would require the land resources of four or five more earths. It’s a stat that keeps playing in my head like an unwelcome song.
So I’ve begun the deliberate, albeit pitifully slow process of learning to live with less. One of the first things I have begun to let go of is the luxury of a fully lit home. Simply put, I turn off lights in rooms no-one is in. It seems like such a small gesture, but having begun to attend to this, I am a bit surprised by how wasteful we have been with our "right to light."
I have also decided to drink less coffee. Actually, this has taken on the form of a fast where I don’t drink coffee at all during the week. But happily, in true orthodox fasting tradition, Sunday is feast day! - and one musn’t fast on feast day. Yay! Other than insisting on fair trade coffee, I’m not sure if this helps anyone else very much , but it does help to teach me, as Dallas Willard once said, that there is nothing wrong with the world when I don’t get what I want.
I’ve also begun to make Wednesdays more of a deliberate fasting day. I don’t collect or even look at emails all day and only access the Internet at all if my work requires it. Brueggeman says that the purpose of fasting is to break the false assumptions, loyalties and linkages we’ve unwittingly allowed sovereignty over our lives. It’s amazing how hard it is to go a whole day without checking email. But it has really helped me face the reality that perhaps I’m not as important as I think.
I have also begun to eat only plain bread for breakfast and lunch (on Wednesdays). No big sacrifice here, but it does serve to focus one’s prayer on the reality of so many millions who don’t get enough food never mind the endless varieties, delightful combinations and opportunity to experience food mearly for pleasure or entertainment.
These are such puny starts. But already, in such a short time in the shallow waters of asceticism, I have begun to experience the world as less disappointing, less boring, less frightening. I’ve even had moments of near rapture, or joy. My priest says it is the fast that makes the feast!
Another change… I have started taking the bus and leaving the car at home. This has been a more demanding change. Out lives revolve around the assumption that process is evil (time wasting) and product is divine. There is so much good to do, how can one justify getting less work done because it takes longer to get there? Yet in our increasingly obsessive pursuit of productivity, so much is lost and so much damage done; environmentaly, communaly, bodily. Yet it already occurs to me that I don’t need the (second) car at all. Nanci’s work demands it, her job often requires her to travel out of town. But my work doesn’t. I can adjust to a slower pace and so I should. "We can’t do everything, but what we can do, we must do." So the current plan is to sell the second car and redirect the roughly $400 a month it takes to keep a car on the road in order to upgrade the insulation on our older home which often gets frost on the inside walls during winter.
Now that I’m learning to slow down, to walk, to take the bus, I’m feeling much more connected to neighborhood, my body, and to my surroundings. I’m starting to recognize people on the street and have even begun to wave to some who are beginning to seem almost like fond aquaintances even though we may not yet have spoken. It’s nice.
The other day, I was asked to come sing at the opening of a homeless shelter (Siloam Mission) in downtown Winnipeg. This wasn’t a media event, it was the actual first-night availability of 60 new beds for folks that don’t have access to one. When I got there, the doors were not yet open and there were several dozen people waiting in line to be let in. John Mohan, the executive director, assured everyone of their absolute welcome. Then he read a scripture, said a prayer and asked me to sing a song before the doors opened. As I was singing, I recognized a woman standing patiently in line. Afterward I made my way over to her to learn how it was I knew her when it suddenly dawned on me - "I’ve seen you on the bus!" She smiled warily at me and said, "My name is Kristine. Next time, say hi!"
I look forward to it.
