One of the aftershocks of my time with LVC is a rather more serious consideration of how I treat the people I run into when I'm walking around a city.
Normally it's quite simple--you try not to run into anyone, and if by chance you make eye contact, you may smile or nod or say hello. However, it's a lot more challenging when someone is trying to get your attention--and here I'm thinking of those hoping for your literal change and those hoping for greater change--canvassers for various advocacy and relief organizations.
I confess that I don't always know what to do with street canvassers. The easiest tactic is to just walk by, keep my eyes down, and shake my head vaguely. But that doesn't feel quite right to me--no matter how passionate you are about something, it's got to be hard to have hundreds, thousands of people giving you the brush. So lately I've been making eye contact, smiling, and then saying I'm not interested, so that I don't waste their time.
Today I did that, and then, since I was waiting for the bus anyway, ended up talking to one of them. And in the course of this conversation, I had two new insights for dealing with street canvassers in a way that is respectful and potentially beneficial to both sides.
1) I feel like this should have been obvious to me ages ago, but ask about alternative ways to help the cause that doesn't involve making a donation. The gentleman I talked to today was speaking on the behalf of an animal rights organization. Aha, I said. I don't have money to join your organization (plus, I'm not sure I agree with it). But what can I do in my daily life that will make a difference? He suggested free-range chicken products. I could easily have followed up with more questions along that line, which could have been a very helpful conversation informing my practices as a consumer.
2) Provide yourself with an easy out, aka, these particular canvassers were fortunately located in front of a bus stop. At the beginning of the conversation, I said that I would have to scoot when my bus came and sure enough, just as I was being presented with a form to fill out, my bus arrived and I scampered away. As someone who dislikes saying no, it made it much easier to engage, knowing that I would have a viable excuse to leave the conversation.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Saturday, May 21, 2011
exploits in the garden
Before today, my only experience of plant pruning was watching my parents wrestle with both our productive peach tree and overly-enthusiastic bougainvillea. Today, it was my turn. I suited up in a Vancouver drizzle to do battle with a wannabe-stately forsythia bush that was due for a severe haircut. At first, nearly every cut I made seemed counter-intuitive: I was lopping off all the big, high-growing green stuff--that couldn't possibly be right! To keep on track, I kept reminding myself of the goal: a more contained bush, with green shoots on lower branches.
It was impossible to do this task without calling to mind Jesus' parables about pruning, vines and branches. As I nervously hacked away, I wondered how much of my life is like the branches I was pruning--beautiful, green, but ultimately not heading in the right direction.
However, I think my forsythia bush had something else to say to me. I was comforted in my work that this particular forsythia bush, as established as it is, was pretty much indestructible. As long as I left it in the ground, with some green branches, it was going to survive. And in fact, my final result looks surprisingly robust, considering that I eliminated at least 60% of its foliage.
And that's hopeful. In the midst of painful pruning, it's good to remember that we're rooted and are ultimately going to survive, and not only survive but maybe even look better than we thought.
It was impossible to do this task without calling to mind Jesus' parables about pruning, vines and branches. As I nervously hacked away, I wondered how much of my life is like the branches I was pruning--beautiful, green, but ultimately not heading in the right direction.
However, I think my forsythia bush had something else to say to me. I was comforted in my work that this particular forsythia bush, as established as it is, was pretty much indestructible. As long as I left it in the ground, with some green branches, it was going to survive. And in fact, my final result looks surprisingly robust, considering that I eliminated at least 60% of its foliage.
And that's hopeful. In the midst of painful pruning, it's good to remember that we're rooted and are ultimately going to survive, and not only survive but maybe even look better than we thought.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
not-so-brief thoughts on social justice
Last week and this week I've been taking Vocation, Work and Ministry at Regent as part of spring school. It's been a valuable class for many reasons, but one insight from class today was particularly helpful for me in my ongoing consideration of the elusive "social justice."
Our topic of the day was social transformation or social justice--how does responsibility for our neighbors factor into our own vocations and life work. As part of that discussion, our professor invited a guest speaker who has spent more than the past twenty years following a road of so-called "downward mobility," seeking to follow Jesus and stand in solidarity with the poor.
One of my classmates asked the following question: if we're supposed to pursue this "downward" path, what do we say to those at the bottom? If the poor are seeking upward mobility, at what point do they become the rich who need to give up their wealth to be re-connected with the poor?
There are a lot of assumptions and values playing into that question and the answer could be complex and varied. However, our guest gave an answer that I think is a helpful way to re-frame the whole issue of service/social justice/solidarity with the "poor."
His main idea was that it's not so much a question of "upward" or "downward" mobility but a movement from individual self-sufficiency towards a communal economy. What does that mean? Here's how I interpreted it.
In my living situation last year through LVC, I had $100/month for groceries. You could come sailing in with a lot of questions here--is $100/month enough to eat on? would I be eating well enough?--and if the answer was that it wasn't enough, the logical solution would seem to be that I needed more money.
OR, (as it happened), I could pool my money with my housemates and suddenly $500/month for five people WAS enough because of economies of scale. It's not a perfect example (I know some of my housemates swallowed the cost of buying some of their own food), but the fact remains that while I might have possibly survived on my grocery stipend on my own, I ate WELL (to include the occasional luxury of ice cream!) by throwing my lot in with my housemates, not to mention being connected to church and work communities that provided our house community with free meals and gifts of groceries.
From this angle, solidarity with the poor takes on a new dimension. Suddenly it's not about me "coming down" to be with the poor, but rather giving up my right to be self-sufficient and instead integrating myself into a communal web, where I depend on others and others depend on me in order to live. And the goal for the poor is not necessarily more (although clearly, there are certain minimum needs that need to be defined and met), but being brought into relationships that are mutually beneficial and sustaining.
This seems a much more expansive idea of solidarity and social justice. It includes more classic ideals of living on less, mutual service and advocating for change, but also the simple practice of being neighborly: establishing the communal ethic that chips in for a neighbor's house repair, cooks meals for a family with a child in the hospital, and babysits for free.
It also has something to say to the "wealthy." One side effect of thinking this way is that "poverty" is shifted away from pure socio-economic need to those who are isolated from resources, especially the resources of community. By this understanding, those with money who live lives isolated from a community of dependence are almost more poor than their neighbors who can't pay rent. Is there a need for "social justice" for these people as well? I think there is. Obviously the main thrust of social justice needs to be on behalf of those who are marginalized socially and economically. But unless this ethic of mutual dependence takes root in ALL social classes, from top to bottom, I don't think society will ever be fully just.
Of course, this is easier said than done. I left class with the conviction that I need to work a lot harder at establishing an interdependent life, especially in my current house community. It's a reflection of my privilege that I get to make that choice and have to make the effort--for many in my city and the world, it's the only option they have.
Our topic of the day was social transformation or social justice--how does responsibility for our neighbors factor into our own vocations and life work. As part of that discussion, our professor invited a guest speaker who has spent more than the past twenty years following a road of so-called "downward mobility," seeking to follow Jesus and stand in solidarity with the poor.
One of my classmates asked the following question: if we're supposed to pursue this "downward" path, what do we say to those at the bottom? If the poor are seeking upward mobility, at what point do they become the rich who need to give up their wealth to be re-connected with the poor?
There are a lot of assumptions and values playing into that question and the answer could be complex and varied. However, our guest gave an answer that I think is a helpful way to re-frame the whole issue of service/social justice/solidarity with the "poor."
His main idea was that it's not so much a question of "upward" or "downward" mobility but a movement from individual self-sufficiency towards a communal economy. What does that mean? Here's how I interpreted it.
In my living situation last year through LVC, I had $100/month for groceries. You could come sailing in with a lot of questions here--is $100/month enough to eat on? would I be eating well enough?--and if the answer was that it wasn't enough, the logical solution would seem to be that I needed more money.
OR, (as it happened), I could pool my money with my housemates and suddenly $500/month for five people WAS enough because of economies of scale. It's not a perfect example (I know some of my housemates swallowed the cost of buying some of their own food), but the fact remains that while I might have possibly survived on my grocery stipend on my own, I ate WELL (to include the occasional luxury of ice cream!) by throwing my lot in with my housemates, not to mention being connected to church and work communities that provided our house community with free meals and gifts of groceries.
From this angle, solidarity with the poor takes on a new dimension. Suddenly it's not about me "coming down" to be with the poor, but rather giving up my right to be self-sufficient and instead integrating myself into a communal web, where I depend on others and others depend on me in order to live. And the goal for the poor is not necessarily more (although clearly, there are certain minimum needs that need to be defined and met), but being brought into relationships that are mutually beneficial and sustaining.
This seems a much more expansive idea of solidarity and social justice. It includes more classic ideals of living on less, mutual service and advocating for change, but also the simple practice of being neighborly: establishing the communal ethic that chips in for a neighbor's house repair, cooks meals for a family with a child in the hospital, and babysits for free.
It also has something to say to the "wealthy." One side effect of thinking this way is that "poverty" is shifted away from pure socio-economic need to those who are isolated from resources, especially the resources of community. By this understanding, those with money who live lives isolated from a community of dependence are almost more poor than their neighbors who can't pay rent. Is there a need for "social justice" for these people as well? I think there is. Obviously the main thrust of social justice needs to be on behalf of those who are marginalized socially and economically. But unless this ethic of mutual dependence takes root in ALL social classes, from top to bottom, I don't think society will ever be fully just.
Of course, this is easier said than done. I left class with the conviction that I need to work a lot harder at establishing an interdependent life, especially in my current house community. It's a reflection of my privilege that I get to make that choice and have to make the effort--for many in my city and the world, it's the only option they have.
a momentous occasion
It has been a long time. But an amazing thing has returned to Vancouver that is worthy of a post, after many weeks of silence.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present...Vancouver sunshine.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present...Vancouver sunshine.
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