Sermon for Church of the Sojourners, October 14, 2007
My teaching today is prompted by the fourth chapter of Richard Foster’s book Freedom of Simplicity, which attempts to describe what the saints have said over the centuries about simplicity. Tim Otto has instructed those of us who are teaching not to limit ourselves to an explication of the chapter, though; and, in the end, I won’t have much to say about what the saints have taught about simplicity, except that I hope to talk about John Woolman, the early American Quaker, in a bit.
Let me start by telling you that I am on the advisory board for the Center for Complex Systems Studies at Kalamazoo College. And this afternoon I want to play the devil’s advocate a bit. That is, I want to challenge the notion that simplicity is a goal for the church or for its individual members, or that simplicity leads to freedom. And I want to put in a plug for complexity. So, if you want me to stop talking right now, do it quickly!
(The views expressed in this teaching do not necessarily represent the official positions of The Church of the Sojourners, the leadership of the Church of the Sojourners, or The Shalom Mission Communities.)
As some of you know, we recently moved into home that is new to us, and one of the joys of this is that we now live down the street from Andrew and Joann Lehman, who have been friends of ours for a long time now. They were members of Reba Place Fellowship before they moved to Kalamazoo in the ‘80s, and we got to know them then. In the complexity of our lives, though, we haven’t really had much time to interact since our own move to Evanston and Reba Place in 1990. But the Lehmas came over for apple crisp and hot drinks recently, and we’ve begun to renew our friendship.
The Lehmans get The Mennonite, the “official publication of the Mennonite Church, USA,” and Joanne thoughtfully left off a stack of copies for us to read. I haven’t had a lot of time to review these yet, but there are three articles in particular that are relevant to the topic of simplicity.
One is by Thomas Metzger from the July 3rd, 2007 issue, and it is called “Mennonite and Luddite.”
Metzger rails against the complex technological society we live in:
There is such a thing as too much. Too much electronic distraction, too much trivial information, too much consumption of consumer products, too much smug supersizing of the high-tech environment we live in.
Do you know about the Luddites? In the early 1800’s, the Industrial Revolution threatened the jobs of highly skilled textile workers, and many of the workers reacted by smashing the new machines; it reminds me of the anti-globalization protests of our days.
By the way, you can read Metzger’s essay on the Web; just google “Mennonite and Luddite.” Unless, of course, you think this would be an electronic distraction, or too much trivial information, or engaging in over-consumption of consumer products. But now I’m being smug, I know.
But seriously: let’s consider the technology behind the delivery of Metzger’s essay. I told a nice story about a neighbor dropping off the magazine at our house. But the story of how it got to the Lehmanns’ house is a complex, technological one. Metzger’s essay was assembled, no doubt, into the magazine using some high-end content management system and publishing software. Perhaps he even emailed it, and perhaps he and the editor discussed it via email over the internets or the phone system; both seriously complex systems. Otherwise, he sent it via the public mail system, or one of the private mail carriers; again, a very complex system (for example, there were some 700 thousand postal workers in 2006, who belong to twelve different unions). Isn’t it astounding that you can send a letter to pretty much anywhere in the US for 41 cents? Or you can send an email for what is essentially a flat rate? Or make a phone call? These are all seriously complex systems.
But before the magazine went out, it had to be printed. Printing technology is really sophisticated technology too, of course. It’s likely the editor was able to send the magazine directly to the printer electronically, and the publisher was able to use this file as direct commands to the printing machine. “Printers” are machines now; the original Luddites, I’m sure, would be appalled; I know the human printers’ unions have been.
Do I have time to discuss the whole technology of fonts? Or the complex social system that teaches our kids to read? Or the technology of color printing? Or the complex ways a magazine like The Mennonite is financially supported? Or the complex transportation system used to actually deliver The Mennonite to 1315 Grand Avenue? Or the history and development of postal addresses? Or how email gets delivered to a particular place? Or the technology of paper and binding?
Thanks be to God, I don’t.
But most of this technology has faded into the background. That doesn’t mean it isn’t complex, just that it works without our noticing it; it is (generally) simple to use; which is, in some sense, as marvelous fact as any.
I said I would talk about John Woolman. Here’s what Woolman had to say in his journal about the newfangled logistics technology of his day, the stagecoach:
Stage-coaches frequently go upwards of one hundred miles in twenty-four hours; and I have heard Friends say in several places that it is common for horses to be killed with hard driving, and that many others are driven till they grow blind. Post-boys pursue their business, each one to his stage, all night through the winter. Some boys who ride long stages suffer greatly in winter nights, and at several places I have heard of their being frozen to death. So great is the hurry in the spirit of this world, that in aiming to do business quickly and to gain wealth the creation at this day doth loudly groan.
Isn’t that delightful? “So great is the hurry in the spirit of this world, that in aiming to do business quickly and to gain wealth the creation at this day doth loudly groan.” There is probably no way for you to get a message to me from California to Michigan that would be as technologically simple as sending a letter by stage-coach. What we pass over as practically invisible would be, perhaps, unimaginably complex to Woolman.
But in passing, I want you to notice Woolman’s concern for the horses and for the post-boys; this is a theme I want to return to later.
I entitled this sermon The freedom of complexity mostly as a parody of Foster’s book title. But I would like to point out that these complex systems do free us up, and in a good way for the most part. We can use the ‘sojo-all’ email list because of the infrastructure of the internet. We can call our family back in Wisconsin or wherever because of the infrastructures of the wired and wireless phone systems. We don’t need to worry about horses dying on the stagecoach run because we’re in a hurry because of the infrastructure of the transportation system. (Global warming on the other hand, we do need to worry about).
But I’m not really serious about ‘the freedom of complexity.’ Sometimes, these systems are convenient or good or useful, sometimes they are not. Each system, each use of the world-systems, has its particular benefits and costs; its particular risks and threats and opportunities. I take a plane every month between California and Michigan; it doesn’t take that long and it’s relatively affordable (even if you factor in the cost of my plane tickets as “housing,” my housing costs are pretty low). It means I can be with you some of the time; but it means I’m away from my family some of the time (and some of the time that’s good, and some of the time that’s bad). It means we can live near my father who is ill, and Bess’s extended family. It means I contribute to global warming, and face the particular temptations of the business traveler. It means my life is pretty complicated. It means I get to do work that I really love to do, but it means that Bess has had extra burdens of care when I’m gone. It means we can afford a place that seems like it will work for a house fellowship, but it also means that I’m not very available for building up that little fellowship when I’m here, er, preaching to you.
A second article from The Mennonite, by Everett J. Thomas is called “Do worry, be happy,” and it is a meditation on a parallel passage that Dale Gish discussed two weeks ago, Jesus’s interaction with the rich young man, from Mark 10:17-31.
And as he was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt before him and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: ‘Do not murder, Do not commit adultery, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Do not defraud, Honor your father and mother.’” And he said to him, “Teacher, all these I have kept from my youth.” And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.
And Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” And the disciples were amazed at his words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how difficult it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” And they were exceedingly astonished, and said to him, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God.” Peter began to say to him, “See, we have left everything and followed you.” Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and in the age to come eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”
If the question is what does Jesus want us to do with our possessions and close relationships, Thomas’s answer is two-fold. First, we need to recognize that Jesus calls us to leave our possessions and close relationships behind. Second, we need to remember that Jesus promises even more possessions and close relationships in reward for given them up in the first place. In other words, “Do worry” for Jesus is very serious about the right use of possessions and relationships; but “Be happy,” for Jesus promises even more. Thomas writes:
Jesus’ answers in Mark 10 are confounding. Wealth is both an impediment to entering the kingdom of heaven and a reward for following Jesus—at least for his first disciples. If we make it into the kingdom of God, it will be because God made that possible—not because of our self-sufficiency.
An old song says, “Don’t worry. Be happy.” However, those of us with wealth should be worried. At the same time, we can be happy that all things are possible with God, who can thread a camel through the eye of a needle and save us wealthy people, if he wishes.
And it seems to me that if we are to take the first verses literally, we must that the later verse literally as well; and vice versa. One way to think about this our relationship with possessions and with relationships is complex. And, of course, this was just the point I was trying to make by elaborating on the complex systems supporting the Luddite Mennonite: we here are all rich; we all benefit and are embedded in a world-system that enriches us (and, of course, ensnares us). We can no more truly leave our possessions behind than we can thread a camel through a needle. We can be poorer, but not poor. If salvation truly depends on giving everything up, then we are all lost. Maybe we are. But, “with God all things are possible,” and perhaps God will even save Americans.
The third article was a response to Thomas’s article. And, delightfully enough, it’s by someone we all have in common. David Janzen of Reba Place Church wrote a follow-up editorial to Thomas, entitled “What is Jesus saying about wealth?” Janzen’s point is a simple one, what we might call an “existence proof” for the truth of Jesus’s statements:
This discovery led our family into Christian intentional community. Letting go of personal ownership, we found an extended family of Jesus followers who in common held houses, lands and other possessions for love and for the gospel. Since then we have found the same welcome and practice of koinonia in scores of other communities and among the poor around the world who survive by sharing what they have.
I remember Virgil Vogt of Reba Place preaching on this, or a similar passage and saying something like, “Jesus said that if we left everything to follow him we’d have a hundred fold in this life, and I’m hear to tell you—it works!”
David also says:
Every generation has its movements of spiritual and social renewal that rediscover the radical teachings of Jesus. The Benedictines of the sixth century, St. Francis and his 13th-century companions, the 16th-century Anabaptists and the 20th-century civil rights movement for a time have demonstrated that the teachings of Jesus can give birth to the Beloved Community within history.
Today our dominant culture has little truth or hope to offer in the face of a dead-end war, arrogance of empire and ecology-wrecking consumption. However, many young people are looking with hope at Jesus’ call to a community-based non-violent revolution in solidarity with the poor. Every week intentional communities like Reba Place and Plow Creek Fellowship are learning of new groups of young people eager to form such prophetic bands. Networks are forming. Some call this movement “a new monasticism” (see www.newmonasticism.org).
(Heh, here’s another ‘invisible’ reference to the use of that complex technology, the World Wide Web).
Most of you are eager. Some of you are even young. And Sojourners is, of course, one of David’s “prophetic bands.” It’s not clear to me that Sojourners or Reba Place has enough truth and hope to offer “in the face of a dead-end war, arrogance of empire and ecology-wrecking consumption,” or, perhaps, that is to say, more than other, non-communal people who are trying to be faithful followers of Jesus.
Simplicity is a means, not a goal. Like complexity, it has its own costs and benefits, its own risks and threats and opportunities. “The simple life ain’t simple” is one of the lessons we learned at Reba; it leads to its own complexities. Let’s say, for example, that you choose to be a vegetarian, maybe because you don’t want to be involved in the eating of sentient creatures, or health reasons, or maybe because you want to live at a lower level on the food chain; to “live simply so that others may simply live.” You who have made this choice will have to agree that, in our culture (both the culture at large as well as the culture at Sojourners), this does not make your life simpler. You have to decide if you’re fruitarian or vegan or ovo-vegetarian, or lacto-vegetarian, or ovo-lacto-vegetarian. You need to make your desires known, and you have placed others in the position of having to know what your dietary choices are. You might be tempted to judge others who are not as strict as you, or who are not as lax of you; others might feel so judged.
But here’s a cool thing about communal life, about “the new monasticism.” It provides a place for you to have these conversations; and, with good will and charity and a sense of humor, it’s even a joyful thing. You can use your good minds and intentions and a common listening to the Spirit to navigate the complexities of life together, towards a “long obedience in the same direction,” as Eugene Peterson puts it.
Again, simplicity is a means, not a goal. It’s not always the right choice, and it brings its own kind of complexity. Let’s consider John Woolman again. Woolman was a good businessman, apparently, but two inconvenient things got into his way. One, he had a call from God to visit Friends in other places, including the other North American colonies, the Caribbean, and even England. So, he had decided to cut back on his business life, to “simplify” so that he could do these visitations. But, of course, this decision to simplify one thing led to complicating other things. It led directly to his death on his trip to England.
The second inconvenient thing was the light given him to speak out against and take action on some of the social issues of his day; he is especially known today for his witness against slavery. Early in his career he was convinced to refuse involvement in transactions involving slavery (which was perfectly legal in the colony of New Jersey at the time), and this concern remained with him throughout his life. Rather than remaining a simple businessman, he was led by the Spirit of Christ to speak out and act against slavery, though he did not live to see the abolition of slavery in the English colonies.
One thing I find interesting is the complications caused by this call to preach and this call to work against slavery. He devotes several pages of his journal to what he did when visiting slave-holding Friends. Basically, he felt it important to receive the Christian hospitality of the slave-holding Friend, but also to provide payment to the slaves for any benefit he might have received from the slaves, so he would carry money with him to pay them directly, or though some trusted agent. It’s clear that this is something Woolman wrestled with for a long time, and it’s not clear to me (after the remove of so many years) that it was particularly effective. As Christians, we are called (as Dale reminded us) to follow two great commands: to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and to love our neighbors as ourselves. That’s the goal; simplicity is sometimes a way to achieve those goals. Living a life of love is not simple.
Even Metzger, the Mennonite Luddite, would agree, I think. He writes:
The term “simple living” now feels a bit archaic. And perhaps it was never accurate. It’s actually easier to rely on McDonald’s, Microsoft and Toyota than to make do creatively with less. Buying a life is always simpler than creating one.
As you read and consider the remaining chapters of Freedom of Simplicity, I ask you to remember that simplicity is at best a means, not a goal. Ask yourself how Foster’s recommendations help or distract you from achieving love for God and for others. I think you’ll find good food for thought in the book.
If we are to be guided by the saints before us, we find they (like us) lived complicated, messy lives. The disciples, leaving family behind and following Jesus around, dependent on God and the relatively wealthy for their well-being; living through the betrayal of one of their own; the death of their leader, his glorious and surprising resurrection; their complex road to martyrdom. People like Woolman, who decided to try to balance, to integrate his business life and life of discipleship.
Simplicity is a means, not a goal. Choose to live the complex life of love.