Ownership
“Everything
we invite into our lives requires a certain measure of time and attention—usually
more than we think when we acquire it. So our days, especially our time ‘off,’
our evenings and weekends, end up being dedicated to keeping all our possessions
in working order. The invitation to poverty is not an invitation to suffer deprivation,
but rather to consider whether the things we have acquired are really serving
us—or are we serving them?”
Wayne
Muller (Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest, p.205)
I have
friends who own all the technological bells and whistles—phone, tablet, speaker,
watch, smart tv—and on and on. I understand that all those things are cool when
you get them and they are fun to direct and have respond to your voice, but
they also have a downside. They track everything you do. I don’t know about
you, but that creeps me out. It’s almost like having a stalker. Just this week,
I was in a Target store, looking at long-sleeved shirts for winter, and minding
my own business. By that evening, I was receiving ads for casual clothing on my
computer. Creepy, right?
What I
have also noticed is that all that technology owned by friends is always in
need of repair or recalibrating. Geek Squads are kept on speed dial. Also, the
newest model comes out yearly, and to stay current with apps and updates, you
need the new one. I understand that this is how capitalism works, but I do not
like it. The last dishwasher I owned lasted fourteen years. The newer one, with
all the computerized bells and whistles, is three years old and has already
cost me almost $400.00 in repairs—and now it’s broken again. This is the sort
of thing that causes us “old geezers” to yearn for the good old days.
Part of
my desire to simplify life includes not being slave to my technology. A year
ago, I took a $2,000.00 sewing machine back to the place I bought it and traded
it in for a $300.00 dollar one that just sews a basic stitch and a few zigzag
ones. The fancy one was simply too complicated. I had to spend an inordinate amount
of time just figuring out how to operate the machine instead of working on the
project at hand. Any artist will tell you they do not like to be interrupted in
the middle of a creative streak just because something malfunctions. It puts us
in a monstrous mood to say the least. Perhaps you have experienced that
yourself.
We can
look at doing without in two ways; we can see it as deprivation, and will
therefore suffer, or we can view it as freedom from the constraints of ownership.
Perception is everything. Mother Teresa and her Little Sister of Mercy made
poverty part of their vows. They chose to have little material comfort so they
could focus on giving everything to the sick and dying. Our possessions
distract us. Believe me, I am no Mother Teresa, and my choosing to live a simple life is
purely self-serving—I simply do not want to spend my time taking care of things
that don’t interest me. Whatever you choose in the way of ownership is up to
you. Here is a question posed by Wayne Muller at the end of his chapter on the
subject: “How much can we hold, how much can we take in, and still have room
to bestow our full-hearted blessing.” It is a good question, don’t you
think?
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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