Life Abundant
Rev. Dr. Leisa Huyck
UU Congregation of Grand Traverse
August 26, 2012
At my home in California, I have a peach tree. It is my great joy to stand under its
shade in the dewy early morning as mockingbirds fill the neighborhood with their joyful
song. I reach out to tug at a ripe peach, and it drops into my waiting hand.
This is my body, grown here for you. These are the words I hear any time I hold a fresh
fruit or a vegetable. If there was ever a sign of a covenant between humans and the
divine, it is this: we reach out our hand, and ripe fruit drops into them. The act of eating
is a communion: we take into our bodies nutrients and water from the dust of long ago
stars, distilled by the power of the sun, and the intentions of life itself, into delectable
juicy flesh. We partake of the Body of God.
But wait a minute, who is this “we?” Does everyone get to join in this communion?
Does everyone get to sit together at our table?
Of course the answer is no. Over 1.6 billion people are hungry in our world today, many
of them starving. 1.6 billion. That’s such a big number that it’s hard to make sense of.
So let’s take it to a more understandable scale. Let’s imagine shrinking the entire
human population of the world to the size of one village of a hundred people. Who are
the people and what are the conditions of their lives?
According to Worldwatch Institute, there would be 57 Asians and 21 Europeans.
Fourteen people would be from the Americas, and 8 would be Africans. 52 would be
female, and 48 would be male. 70 would be nonwhite, and 30 would be white. 70
would be non-Christian and 30 would be Christian. 89 would be heterosexual and 11
would be homosexual. 80 would live in substandard housing. 70 would be unable to
read. 50 would suffer from malnutrition. One would be near death; one near birth. Six
people would possess 59 percent of all the world’s wealth and all six would be
Americans. One would have a college education. One would own a computer.
Do you own a computer? That makes you one of the richest people in the world. Even
if you are not one of the Americans who own most of the world’s wealth, you’re still rich.
Do you feel rich?
Now, this analysis was done a few years ago, and since then the gap between the rich
and poor has increased. In 2007 in the United States, twenty percent of the people
owned over 85 percent of the wealth. The richest 1 percent owned 35 percent of it.
One of the worst things about the accumulation of wealth in the hands of a few is that
the “wealth” is “produced” from the exploitation of ecosystems and people to the point
where they break down completely. I’m thinking of a place in Haiti where a dam was
built to provide hydropower for a little enclave of wealthy landowners and a sugar
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refinery. The dam flooded some farmland, and the people who had depended on that
land had to move to the hillsides, where they cut down trees to grow food crops. But
hillsides without trees in tropical rains soon lose all their soil, and nothing can grow at
all. So the people moved to the city. But there was nothing for them there either. Many
women and girls resorted to prostitution to try to provide for their families. Then came
the earthquake, in early 2010, and over two years later, these people who started with
nothing are still living in camps, still with nothing.
And none of this was necessary. Human beings know how to live sustainably in the
tropics. In fact, we know how to live sustainably everywhere. We did it for millennia in
most parts of the world, living in mutually beneficial relationships with all manner of our
fellow creatures. But poor people who have been kicked out of their traditional places
often find themselves in the quandary of having to choose between short-term and longterm survival. We often hear this dilemma spoken of as the choice between economics
and environment. We hear it a lot in the U.S., where we seem to think it is necessary to
destroy mountains to get coal, and contaminate water supplies to get natural gas, and
cut down ancient forests for wood. We hear that we have to choose between jobs and
the environment, one or the other. The economy or the environment. One or the other.
Why should this be?
Consider the word the Greek word “oikos.” It means “household” or “home.” From it we
get the English prefix, “eco.” So ecology means the study or story of our household or
home. Economy means the custom or rules of our home.
Now consider the word “environment.” “Environ” means “to surround,” so the word
literally means “that which surrounds us.” Isn’t it interesting that the word that white
Americans decided to use to refer to the interdependent web of life is a word that places
it outside of—separate from--ourselves? The fact that we use this word to refer to the
system of life upon which we are utterly dependent is a legacy of white Western culture.
I’ve spoken before about how the dominant culture has historically understood the world
in a binary, dualistic way, in which humans are atomistic individuals, separate from and
in conflict with each other and nature.
And this view is the foundation of neoclassical economic theory, which is the basis of
the American economy. Neoclassical economists define economics as “the allocation
of scarce resources among competing ends.” In other words, scarcity is assumed to be
the basic condition of an economy, so that individuals must compete with each other for
what they need. Economic growth is valued above all because, the theory goes, as
long as more wealth can be generated, more will be available to all. In this way of
thinking, nature is seen as a repository of resources for humans to use. When one
resource is used up, others can be substituted. There are therefore no limits to growth.
Now, there are a few good ways to understand what is wrong with these traditional
Western ideas.
One is to think about the shape and size of our planet. It is a sphere. It is finite. Right?
Okay. So infinite economic growth just is not possible. To behave as if it is, is suicidal.
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Another is to imagine what would happen if you stopped breathing and eating and
drinking. Would that be possible for you to do and remain alive? Of course not! Every
cell in our bodies is being continually remade from the food we eat and the water we
drink and the air we breathe. Think of all the ecological processes that go into bringing
just one peach into being: the hydrologic cycle, photosynthesis, pollination, billions of
soil microorganisms making nutrients available, the list goes on and on and on.
We are in no way separate from nature, we ARE nature. And in nature, there is no
substitute for water! There is no substitute for oxygen! There are no substitutes for
the basic nutrients our bodies need! If we want to survive we have to preserve the
complex ecological processes that make them available to us!
And what about going beyond mere survival, what about flourishing? Human beings
evolved in a beautiful and diverse and rich world. We need that beauty and diversity
and richness in order to feel whole and well and happy. We will feel ill as long as the
earth, that larger body of which we are part, is ill. This is the reality of our interbeing.
It is no coincidence that global economic and ecological and social catastrophe are all
arriving at the same time: we are living in one single interdependent oikos, one
household, with one set of rules, which we cannot transcend.
How, then, do we live here?
Well, there is a different model of economics. It’s called ecological economics, and its
goal is not growth, but rather sustainability and justice. An ecological economy
operates not by growing but by remaining at a steady-state. In this model, communities
find ways to meet people’s basic needs—for food, shelter, water, health care,
education, meaningful work, safety, and beauty—at the local level, in ways that sustain
the supporting ecosystem. Only when there is a surplus does one community trade with
another. Larger national and international economies develop then as communities of
communities, partnerships of partnerships.
Ecological economists—the only economists who accurately predicted the crash of
2008—have written volumes on specific policies that would convert our failing,
inequitable, growth-based economy to a healthy, just, steady-state one.
Well, the question then becomes, if there is a different model available, and we know
how to implement it, then what on EARTH is this nation doing, trying to revive a growth
economy that kills the planet? What keeps us in thrall to the neoclassical model? Why
do those of us who are not super-rich keep working so hard, and making wars, to
protect the interests of the very few people who are?
In my opinion, it is fear. The neoclassical model says scarcity is the basic condition of
life. Scarcity. How does that word feel inside your body? Is there a tightening of your
chest, a drop in your stomach, an acceleration of your heart? If I say resources are
scarce, do you think people will share with you? Or do you want to run right out and
grab all you can for yourself and your family?
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This is a model founded on fear. It is a fear that we are all alone, no one will share with
us, and so we have to get as much as we can for ourselves in order to survive.
But what about the word abundance? What if I say, there is plenty for all? How does
that feel inside your body? Is there some loosening, some relaxing?
Because there really is plenty for all, if we will just share. When we are willing to live
within limits, and not take more than what we need, there is plenty for everyone. So the
next question is, how do we learn to live in faith that there is enough? How do we calm
our fears? How do those of us with wealth release our attachments to all the stuff we
think we need in order to feel comfortable? And how do those of us who live in poverty
stand up for what we need?
These are some of the central questions addressed by every religion of the world. And
every religion of the world says similar things. One of these is that, for those people
who have a lot of things, a really good way to release our attachments to them, is to
release our things. Give them away. The less surplus stuff we have, the more simply
we live, the freer we are from attachment and fear. I have a friend from Grenada who
tells me that her brother is a wealthy man who owns many things. He worries
constantly that someone will break into his house and steal everything. But my friend
owns very little. She leaves her house unlocked. She is free from worry. She lives full
of joy.
A second piece of wisdom from every world religion is that releasing our attachments to
things does not mean we should become ascetics who revile the material world. No, in
fact, the opposite is true; we should celebrate, revel in, lose ourselves in its beauty,
because simple beauty can fill us so full we need very little in the way of material things.
In the book Man’s Search For Meaning, Viktor Frankl describes a group of Jewish men
in a Nazi concentration camp. One of the men could sing beautiful arias. The other
men saved their meager rations of food to give him in return for his singing. This is
how deep is the human need for beauty. And every religion teaches us that the beauty
in the world—all the beauty we perceive through smell and sound and sight and touch
and taste—is a gift we are obligated to appreciate and participate in and share. Think of
all the bread and wine Jesus and his friends ate together; think of Rumi wandering,
intoxicated by the moon; think of the erotic poetry of the Song of Solomon. Think of a
Zen garden, and the bright colors of a Hindu festival, and the dancing and drumming of
a Salish potlatch.
Many Americans seem to think we need to personally own a lot of beautiful things in
order to be surrounded by beauty. But this is not the case. Just look at this morning’s
altar. Is it not beautiful? And how was this beauty created? By people bringing the
colorful foods they gathered from their gardens with their own hands to share with one
another. Which brings up another teaching from all the world’s religions, a teaching
about community.
But before I talk about that, let’s return to the question of fear—that fear of scarcity we
need to calm if we are to learn to live sustainably and joyfully on earth. And also the
fear of what might happen to us if we claim our power and stand up for what we need.
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In a course on UU theologies, Rebecca Parker, president of Starr King School for the
Ministry, asked a group of students where fear is located. “In the body,” was our
collective reply.
So here’s where the idea of community comes back in. Parker reminded us that
religious community offers us experiences of beauty that train our bodies out of fear and
into love. When we come together in community to experience beauty through ritual
and ceremony, through song and dance, through shared food and drink, we are training
our bodies to share with each other, to trust one another, to trust in a larger love that
holds us all. If we do this well, our fallback behavior during adversity becomes
courageous, creative love rather than fear. If we are threatened with violence, we meet
it with love. If we are threatened with scarcity, we find ways to create abundance.
And so here we are together, today, creating abundance by sharing. Here we are,
sharing with one another the beauty of the earth, the beauty of our singing, the beauty
of all these loving faces. In this way can we restore the covenant between ourselves
and the source of all life. In this way can we make the communion of ripe fruit available
to all. In this way can we make everyone welcome at our table.
May it be so. Blessed be.
Note: References are not cited in this sermon due to time constraints. Reading
suggestions are available from Rev. Dr. Huyck. Ecological economists include David
Korten, Herman Daly, and Robert Costanza.
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