Leave a legacy: be your own "Person of the Year"

It was no surprise that Time magazine selected Donald Trump as 2016 person of the year.

The magazine’s annual pick recognizes someone who has most influenced events, for better or for worse, and like it or not, Trump’s influence was extraordinary.  

With the exception of a select few, we won’t see ourselves gracing the cover of Time.  We won’t be garnering person of the year honours.  We do, however, leave a legacy.  We touch the lives of others.  We exert influence on someone, somewhere at sometime.

“All the world’s a stage,” wrote Shakespeare. “And all the men and women merely players/ They have their exits and entrances/ And one man in his time plays many parts.” While Shakespeare was reflecting on the stages of life from infancy to old age, the manner in which we play our parts over time will determine our legacy.  

For better or for worse

Time editor Nancy Gibbs has said that occasionally Time chooses someone who is “unassailably worthy.  Normally that is not the case.”  Since the inception of person of the year in 1927, the selections are a mixed bag of the illustrious and the infamous. The recipients represent the broad spectrum of human traits from the laudable to the deplorable. For better or for worse, all have left their mark on human society, as you can see from my arbitrary list.

Some more recent recipients include: Amazon.com founder Jeff Bezos (1999), Bill and Melinda Gates and Bono (2005), Putin (2007), and Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg (2010).  Looking back further in history the following caught my attention: Charles Lindbergh (1927), Walter Chrysler (1928), Mahatma Gandhi (1930), Wallis Simpson (1936), Adolf Hitler (1938), Josef Stalin (1939, 1942), Queen Elizabeth (1952) and Richard Nixon (1971).  (Every sitting United States president has been named person of the year.)  Three Roman Catholic popes got the nod: Pope John XXIII (1962), Pope John Paul II (1994), and Pope Francis (2013). 

The reader can decide if any of my arbitrary examples deserve to be called unassailably worthy. Even Popes John XXIII and John Paul II, whom Pope Francis elevated to sainthood in 2014, were flawed individuals, and had their detractors.

We might reasonably conclude that saints led impeccable lives during their time on earth.  We would be mistaken for saints, as Francis said, were “not born perfect”.   They just tried harder than the rest of us to live holy lives, to be unassailably worthy in the sight of God.

You leave a legacy

In 2006, “You” were the person of the year. That year the cover featured a blank computer screen made of reflective material.  Readers could look at their reflection in the screen and envision themselves as person of the year.

The 2006 choice linked the shaping of human destiny to the actions of ordinary people engaging with the World Wide Web. You and me, the choice proclaimed, were changing the world through online collaboration and community building.  

Social media has exploded since 2006. It has a profound influence on attitudes and behaviour.  It can magnify the best and the worst of our shared human traits, and influence our actions in a heartbeat.  Social media provides us with a platform for influencing others, for better or for worse, within our immediate circle and beyond. We can blog, tweet, post, comment, criticize, laud, organize and spew “alternative facts” (aka lies) to our hearts’ content in an environment that frequently lacks accountability.

The 2006 choice for person of the year was both controversial and gimmicky. It was a clever marketing ploy that reverberated in people’s imaginations for years. As recently as a few years ago, people were still listing themselves as 2006 person of the year on their twitter bios.

Yet, there is a distinctly serious and personal aspect to “You” person of the year.  All of us are called to unassailable worthiness.  We are called to be saints, to live our life as blessing to others and for the world. 

I am reminded of the Carole King song, “Legacy”, which challenges us to be a driving force for the good.   The song asks of us, “Don’t you want to leave a better world than you find?” 

We may not get the nod from Time magazine. But, each of us leaves a legacy.   Regardless the size of the stage – international or intimate – we play a part in the unfolding of human society – for better or for worse.   

“It’s your legacy.  Baby whatcha gonna do about it?”  How will we answer King's question?

My conversation with "The Walking Monk"

One day in June, my daughter and I were out for a run when we passed, not once, but three times, two strangers walking along our route. The third time, one stopped us to ask for directions. He told us he was walking across Canada, and handed us a business card. My daughter suggested I email him, which I did. Sometime later Bhaktimarga Swami, ,  and I connected via phone.  His blog is  "The Walking Monk"

The light bulb idea 
I caught up with Bhaktimarga Swami, commonly known as "The Walking Monk",  by phone shortly after he completed his fourth “Can Walk” across Canada. Our conversation transcended religious doctrine, dogma and belief systems.

Swami, born in Ontario as John Peter Vis, adopted the Eastern monastic lifestyle of the Hare Krishna movement some forty years ago.  In 1996, he  completed his first pilgrimage across Canada, journeying from west to east. Since that time, he has completed three more cross country treks, each time travelling in the opposite direction, and along different routes.

He conceived the idea to walk across Canada one day while walking in a ravine in Toronto, an activity he undertook initially to rehabilitate low back problems.  “It was almost like a light bulb lit up,” he told me of the moment that led him to walk across the country, “as a monk might do it; (to) travel kind of lightly, and meet people along the way, spend enough time in a place, as long as it takes to milk a cow, as we say in our tradition”,  before continuing the journey.

More than a metaphor

In many religious traditions, the journey is a metaphor for the growth of the soul as it enters more profoundly into an encounter with the Divine. Since Swami has crossed the country on foot multiple times, I asked him if walking is more than a metaphor for him.

Not surprisingly, it is. “It’s a natural position of the spirit or soul to wander in this world and to walk it in wonder and in appreciation. So (wandering) puts you in that spot where you need to be, that place of humility which is the basis of success in life.”

Swami explained that walking along busy highways with vehicles barreling past or trekking through remote and beautiful landscapes is a lesson in detachment. “You learn to take it all in, the heat, the wind, the rain, the cold, the black flies, the mosquitoes, attention by the public, no attention, traffic – with all of that, you learn detachment.”  These external factors, along with the physical discomfort that comes from walking thirty to forty-five kilometers per day, and the spiritual challenges of facing your own deficiencies, help a person learn disentanglement from this world.

We discussed the idea of detachment in light of today’s culture, with its emphasis on self and acquisition. At the core of the self “there is this passion to move about and pick up on all the little nuances the world has to offer”. We shared the belief that our passions may become misdirected, and we may find ourselves walking in a direction that leads us away from our deepest yearnings.

The role of the mantra 

Chanting the mantra is an essential part of Swami’s journey, helping him to keep the spiritual in his midst.  “God is present in sound,” said Swami. “Hallowed be thy name. So, the name, the sound is sacred. We,” by which Swami meant the Krishna and Christian religious traditions, “have the same understanding…The Absolute or the Divine is there with you in their sound.”

The word “mantra” comes from two Sanskrit words, “mana” which means the mind, and “tara” which means to free.  Chanting the mantra frees the mind “so that your mind is not on the acquisitions you’re trying to achieve.” The mantra “pulls you out of that mode“, illuminating the beauty all around, and providing spiritual strength; “it keeps you a bit on your toes, otherwise the forces of temptation could get to you.”

Humility from standing under

Our hour-long conversation ended with Swami providing an exegesis of the verb “to understand” that he picked up from a Catholic priest. In order to understand, it is important to go under, to stand humbly and look up, then “you understand your real position.”

Walking “brings about a lot of revelation and epiphany about our smallness, our insignificance and about how much bigger the universal machinery is than our self. Getting to the point of taking the humble stance is the end product” of the long and arduous spiritual journey, which, I am sure Swami would agree, is always a walk in progress.

I found heaven in a cap gun: an Easter memory

"That Easter morning, the mysteries of heaven and the realities of human existence came together for me..."

Better than Christmas

As a child, I liked Easter morning as much as Christmas morning.  In some ways, it was even better than Christmas morning. Easter lacked the element of doubt that was embedded in Christmas. Unlike Santa Claus, who was intimidating with his long memory of naughty and nice children, the Easter bunny was a happy-go-lucky character that dropped its chocolate eggs indiscriminately. 

Our Easter bunny was always generous. Typically, along with our basket of treats, the Easter bunny left my sisters and I a small gift - something like a slinky, yo-yo, or matchbox cars. Perhaps there was something more "girlie", like barrettes or hair bands, but those things were never very interesting to me. 

Had I died and gone to heaven?

One year, the Easter bunny outdid itself, and the memory of that Easter stands out vividly in my memory. That year, as was the custom in our home, four beautiful baskets were lined up on the kitchen counter. I took a quick look at my basket, and my heart leaped for joy; I thought I had died and gone to heaven.  There in my basket was a cap gun and a cowboy hat with a red whistle. I was incredulous because despite incessantly begging for a cap gun for weeks, my parents had steadfastly refused to purchase one. 

I was chomping at the bit to try out my cap gun, but before I could don my cowboy hat and strap on my holster and gun, we had to go to Mass, which, in my little mind, was certain to be long, tedious, crowded and stuffy.  Fortunately, I had a new Easter outfit; my pride in wearing it lessened the agony of waiting until after Mass before I would be free to run around the neighborhood, blowing my whistle and shooting off my cap gun.

Once home from Mass, I shucked my pretty, feminine Easter bonnet for the cowboy hat, strapped the holster and gun around the waist of my dress, and bolted out the door, my little sister in pursuit, to test the whistle and gun. Before long, as was typical for the two of us, my sister and I were fighting, arguing over whose turn it was to shoot off the caps. While my mother put an end to our bickering by insisting that I put my fabulous cap gun away, I stubbornly wore my cowboy hat in protest until we sat down for brunch.

A love far beyond naughty or nice

It may seem odd that my fondest memory of the Easters of my childhood revolves around a cap gun. There were, after all, a host of meaningful, annual traditions (the Good Friday fast, coloring hard-boiled eggs on Easter Saturday, baking hot cross buns for Easter morning, Easter hunts, and family dinners) that characterized my family’s celebration of Easter, and while they are firmly fixed in my memory, none of them evoke that blissful moment when I first laid eyes on my cap gun.  It was then that I became consciously aware of the sensation of joy.

My parents’ Easter gift to me was perfect, and that day my joy was complete.  Although I was too young at the time to articulate my sensibilities, that Easter morning, the mysteries of heaven and the realities of human existence came together for me in the gift of a shiny steel cap gun and a straw cowboy hat with a red whistle. Those two simple toys were symbols of a love that had nothing to do with being naughty or nice. The joy that I felt that Easter morning because of the unexpected gift was a moment of grace; I was in the presence of a  divine love that delighted in me more than I could ever delight in a cap gun, and not even a spat with my little sister could diminish my happiness nor tarnish its memory. 

What do cookies have to do with funerals?

"The lowly cookie, tantalizing the taste buds of successive generations, re-presents a life well lived in love, vanished from our eyes, yet still present in the memory of the heart."

I do not enjoy attending funerals. And yet, I frequently come away from a funeral feeling peaceful and uplifted, in a subdued sort of way.  A well-celebrated funeral puts me in touch with humanity, and reminds me that each life has a transcendent meaning. 

As a funeral I recently attended illustrates, the transcendent meaning of a person’s life might be uncovered in something seemingly trivial, like cookies.

Cookies re-present a life well lived in love

On the back page of the memorial card for this funeral, there was a recipe for ginger snaps. During the eulogy, we learned that this was not the standard recipe for the cookie. The daughter of the deceased told us that one time her mother added too much flour resulting in a snappier cookie. Since she liked the cookies that way, she continued to make them with extra flour, and the cookies became a family favorite. As her daughter spoke about her mother’s love for her family, which, in typical Italian fashion, often manifested itself in platters of food at family gatherings, I could picture multiple generations of her family enjoying the crunchy cookie.

Usually memorial cards end up in my blue box, but the one from this funeral found its way into my black binder of recipes.  I have already made these cookies, and I must say, they are the best ginger snaps ever. Who knows, maybe this recipe will one day be inducted into my family’s cookie hall of fame, joining another cookie recipe – my mother-in-law’s famous oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. 

For two generations, before she passed away a number of years ago, my mother-in-law made copious batches of her signature cookie.  When her six sons were growing up, she would make 12 dozen cookies at a time, and on one occasion, two of her sons polished off almost the entire 12 dozen as the cookies cooled on the counter while their mother was out. While her grandchildren were slightly more restrained, they, too, relished her chocolate chip cookies, as I am certain her great grandchildren will in the years to come.

Ginger Snaps and Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies

Of course, cookies can never sum up the complexity of a person’s life, but they may point to a person who lived and loved well. The legacy of the unique crunch of a ginger snap, and the aroma of chocolate chip cookies cooling on a counter trigger memory, and make the person, whose love continues to surround us beyond the grave, present to us once again. The lowly cookie, tantalizing the taste buds of successive generations, re-presents a life well lived in love, vanished from our eyes, yet still present in the memory of the heart.

We do not go to enough funerals

Cookies and funerals remind us that our lives are greater than our physical presence in the here and now. We are relational beings, and our life impacts others long after we are gone. The impact we make on our family, friends and community is very much evident at a funeral in the eulogy, in the readings and prayers, and in the tears that freely flow.  It is there, too, in the reception that follows, where the sharing of cookies and other foods symbolically recalls the loving hospitality and generosity of the deceased.

We do not go to enough funerals. Indeed, funerals seem to have fallen out of fashion, with many people opting out of traditional funeral services, or any kind of communal service at all.  In my view, this is unfortunate because apart from helping us through the process of loss, funerals give us a glimpse of the totality of human life from birth to death and beyond.  In the life of the deceased, we recognize the basic ingredients of all human life, although we each have our own unique recipe for living. 

The recipes:

Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies:
(I reduce the sugar, and often omit the nuts)
1/2 cup shortening
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
1 egg
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup quick cooking rolled oats
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips
1/2 cup chopped walnuts (optional)

Cream shortening, sugars and vanilla. Beat in egg and 1 tablespoon water. Sift together flour, soda and salt; add to creamed mixture, blending well. Stir in the oats, chips and nuts. Drop by rounded teaspoons onto a greased cookie sheet about 2 inches apart. Bake at 375 for 10 to 12 minutes. Cool slightly before removing from pan. Makes 3 1/2 dozen to 4 dozen. (I never get four dozen - guess I make them too big).

Ginger Snap Cookies
(Again, I reduced the sugar)
1 cup butter
1 1/2 cup brown sugar
1/2 cup molasses
2 eggs
approximately 4 cups flour
1 tsp baking soda
2 tsp ginger
1 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp allspice
1/2 tsp salt

Cream butter and sugar; add molasses. Beat in eggs. Mix flour, baking soda and spices in a separate bowl, and add to creamed mixture. Cool in refrigerator for at least one hour. Roll into 1" balls then flatten with a small glass dipped in sugar. Bake at 350 for 15-20 minutes.

Finding spirituality in the Olympic Games

"In sport and journey, men are known." George Herbert -17th century poet

The modern Olympic Games are a secular pursuit. However, we might find in them some connection with spirituality, with the inner life that motivates all individuals. 

The Olympic Charter (page 11) talks about something called “Olympism”, which it defines as “a philosophy of life, exalting and combining in a balanced whole the qualities of body, will and mind.”  Olympism sounds a bit like a religion, only without a divinity or any mention of the spiritual side of the human person.

Some ancient history

The ancient Olympic Games were part of a religious festival. From at least as early as 776 BCE, male Greek citizens gathered on the plains of the sacred precinct of Olympia every four years to compete in athletic events in honor of the god Zeus. Although less well known, the ancient Greeks also held competitive games at Olympia for unmarried women in honor of the goddess Hera.

In the 5^th century BCE, there were other athletic games in honor of Zeus. King Archelaus held nine days of games in Dion, a small Macedonian village on the slopes of Mount Olympus. Mount Olympus, in Greek mythology, was the home of the gods. While Archelaus’s games were not the famed Olympics, they are an example of the value that the ancient Greeks placed on the connections between body, mind and spirit.

Spirituality: the inner fire of our restlessness

In ancient Greek philosophy, there was a notion that the gods fired people into existence. Contemporary theologian Ron Rolheiser builds on this idea, and on the Christian idea of human restlessness that harkens back to Saint Augustine, in his discussion of spirituality.  Deep within every person, there is a fiery energy.  Our spirituality is what we do with the interior fire of our restlessness. In Christian thought, spirituality begins within the individual, moves outward to the community, and ultimately, culminates in a sense of mission.

During the Olympics, we witness a high level of fiery energy in the dedication, determination and competitive spirit that pushes athletes onward in hopes of owning the podium.  And while the athletes command center stage, there is a bevy of people behind the scenes who assist the athlete in realizing their dream. No athlete becomes an Olympian without a community; the community plays a pivotal role in helping the athlete channel their inner fire.

While some might consider restlessness something to avoid, I think that human restlessness, when appropriately directed, is beneficial for us as individuals, and for human society. On the personal level, the fire within us can prod us towards higher levels of achievement than we might ordinarily expect to attain. And, when a group of individuals harness their collective energy in support of a shared goal they can make a difference in the world.

Olympism: Sport at the service of human dignity

Although I have no wish to idealize the Olympic movement, because like any human institution with lofty goals (including religion) it contains the potential for hypocrisy, I detect something akin to spirituality in the goal of Olympism defined in the Olympic Charter: “to place sport at the service of the harmonious development of humankind, with a view to promoting a peaceful society concerned with the preservation of human dignity.” There may be a spiritual aspect to Olympism in the passion of the athlete, in the guidance and commitment of the community that surrounds the athlete, and in Olympism’s goal of service to the common good.

Within the last few days, there have been some inspiring stories that demonstrate the harnessing of the fiery energy of athletic competition and a willingness to serve the common good.   The sportsmanship of Canadian cross-country ski coach Justin Wadsworth who rushed to help a Russian skier, and the selflessness of speed skater Gilmore Junio who gave up his spot to teammate Denny Morrison may have nothing to do with faith or religion, per se, but there is a spirituality to these actions that reveals the inner life of the individual. 

As the 17^th century poet George Herbert observed “in sport and journey men are known.”  

Lessons from Cato, my cat

Opening a can of tuna will never be the same for me again.

The distinctive sound of the can opener puncturing the tin always brought our cat, Cato, running to my feet. She would sit, looking up at me with anticipation, before getting dangerously underfoot as I moved to pour the water from the can into her bowl.  

Tuna water was her favorite treat, and on one occasion I was able to coax her down from the top of a high tree simply by saying “tuna” and opening a tin.  Cato lived with us for 18 years, and during that time she became a member of the family.

The amount of money that North Americans spend on pets suggests that we have gone gaga over them. In 2011, Canadians spent $8.9 billion on their pets, and Americans spent a whopping $50 billion.  While it was not my practice to spend exorbitant amounts on Cato, I coughed up several hundred dollars without hesitation when she required emergency surgery after raccoons attacked her.

Pets win our affection

We lavish attention on our pets because they win us over. My relationship with Cato was a good example of the affects that a pet can have on an individual’s heart.

When Cato first came to us, the kids were more excited than I was about having a cat. As one of my children described it, Cato and I had a business relationship. She kept the mice out of the house, and I made sure she was fed.  

Cato, in the early days
Louise McEwan photo

While it is unclear if I trained her or she trained me, we came to understand one another almost perfectly. While I am not exactly a lover of animals in the mode of Saint Francis, who famously preached to the birds, I found myself talking to Cato on more than one occasion. 

Cato, the preacher

It was Cato, however, who did the real preaching. Even though she possessed an instinctual ruthlessness as a hunter by nature, her feline traits spoke to me of contentment, and her presence was soothing.   From her vibrating purr to her ability to lounge on any surface, no matter how hard and uncomfortable, she conveyed a spirit of softness.

In the hubris of my humanity, I never expected to learn anything from a cat. This was an ignorant, perhaps even a sinful, attitude, for as Saint Francis knew animals have the potential to deepen our awareness of the presence of the divine in creation and in the human heart. They have the ability to call forth deep levels of kindness and compassion; as the saint taught, “men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity will deal likewise with their fellow men”.

There is a deep connection between people and their pets

Dizzy reads along, ready to turn the page
T. McEwan photo

Saint Francis perceived an affinity between people and animals: people and animals originated in the same Creator, whose providential care sustained them both.  While not everyone shares Saint Francis’s worldview, most will agree that there is a deep connection between people and their pets.  

I was sad and upset as my cat’s life ebbed away and the inevitable visit to the vet loomed. I was unprepared for the lingering sense of loss I felt after she died; I did not expect to be looking for her in the old familiar places in the weeks that followed. Cato had brought a mellowness into our lives and the house felt quiet and empty without her.

The deep connection we have with our pets makes that final farewell difficult. The exceptional kindness of my vet and his assistant on that last visit made the parting easier.  Each of us understood the bond between person and pet.  It was there in Cato’s dying. 

I knew she was gone before my vet whispered the words. The light had faded from her eyes.  She had returned to her maker who was reflected in the intangible softness she had brought to our home.

The blue box of New Year's Resolutions

It’s three weeks into January, and it’s time to check our progress on those New Year’s resolutions that we embraced with enthusiasm.

I have a standard resolution: stop eating sweets after the Christmas holidays. Because we had an excess of chocolates and baking this year, it was necessary for me to approach this resolution strategically. While the chocolates were in the pantry, and the baking was in the freezer (frozen cookies are the most tempting), there was no point tackling this resolution. The best course of action, and I undertook it with aplomb, was to finish up the treats first. With that dutifully accomplished, I have conquered my first resolution of 2013. 

My policy for resolutions: "reuse and recycle"

Photo: public domain

I am prone to repeating resolutions from year to year. My New Year’s resolution policy might best be described as “reuse and recycle”. The plethora of advice on how to keep New Year’s resolutions suggests that many people share my policy.

Our good intentions to remake our selves are usually short lived. Before the end of January, the majority of our resolutions are languishing in the blue box, waiting to be picked up, dusted off, and reshaped. 

Breaking free from our excesses

Many New Year’s resolutions focus on physical wellness. Year after year, weight loss, fitness, smoking cessation, and reducing alcohol consumption top the lists of the most popular resolutions. With resolutions of this type, we seek to break free from our excesses, and to transform some aspect of our self.

While our resolutions are not outwardly spiritual, there is an underlying spiritual context to our annual obsession with self-improvement. Our resolutions express our desires for a new beginning. We seek to heal the past, and to improve the future. Our resolutions are signs of hope. This hopeful longing for transformation is an expression of spirituality.

Based on the lists of popular resolutions, the majority of us rarely consider our need for spiritual wellness. Spiritual practices do not appear on our lists. This seems to me to be an unfortunate omission. Spiritual practices, when incorporated into our regular routines, will gradually accomplish the substantive transformation for which we long.

While not a quick fix, spiritual practices are life giving

Praying hands - public domain

In my experience, spiritual practices are much like resolutions. As our initial enthusiasm wanes, they become hard to keep. Resolving to pray, to read spiritual texts, to attend church, to comfort the afflicted, or to serve the poor, for example, does not mean that we will consistently do so. Like other resolutions, spiritual practices are not a quick fix. We do not suddenly become saints because we try to pray more, just as we do not become super models because we try to lose a few pounds. 

There is a difference between our efforts to incorporate spiritual practices into our lives, and our attempts to remake our selves through New Year’s resolutions. That difference lies in the ability of a spiritual practice to deepen our friendship with God, our knowledge of our selves, and our willingness to reach out to others.  And so, I have always found that spiritual practices are life giving, regardless of the number of times I fish them out of the blue box.

"Are you ready for Christmas?"

It’s that time of year when everyone is asking the question that makes even the most organized woman feel frazzled. “Are you ready for Christmas?” I am definitely not ready for Christmas, either materially or spiritually. 

When my children were young, I had deadlines for my Christmas preparations so that I would be ready.  I rushed around as if the coming of Christmas depended solely on my ability to get things done.

Over the years, I have scaled back. I bake less and I buy less. While many people I know have also scaled back on the purchasing of gifts, Christmas shopping remains a national obsession.

Black Friday is like a military operation

The madness begins on Black Friday. This year Black Friday dominated the media. It was as newsworthy as the possibility of war between Israel and Palestine, civil strife in Syria, and the fiscal cliff in the United States. It could be that Black Friday is worthy of all this media attention. After all, shopping on Black Friday has its war like elements as consumers fight to get the best deals and, as they repeatedly swipe their credit cards, consumers create their personal version of a financial crisis.

According to market researchers, the annual Black Friday shopping ritual is comparable to a military mission. One researcher noted that people plan their shopping mission weeks in advance, devising strategies to increase their chances of successfully obtaining the best deals.

Not everyone is impressed with Black Friday. Twenty-two years ago in Vancouver, Kalle Lasn of Ad Busters came up with the idea of “Buy Nothing Day”.  Lasn thought it was time to counter the blatant consumerism of Black Friday. He wanted to encourage discussion on the dark side of consumerism. The dark side of consumerism is the stress it places on the planet and the psychological consequences of the message that consumption equals happiness.

The Christmas season has become a time of excessive consumption. The excesses of the season, whether it’s credit card debt from overspending, an expanded waistline from overeating, or multiple hangovers from over imbibing, leave many people feeling less than satisfied when the New Year arrives.

Christmas creates a widespread feeling of goodwill

Celebrating, and the giving and receiving of gifts play an important role in Christmas.  They help to define the festive season, demarcating Christmas from the rest of the year. Christmas is the only holiday I can think of that creates such a widespread feeling of goodwill.  The spirit of Christmas inspires gladness, generosity, and greater civility among people.

When I think about the consumerism of Christmas, the words of the prophet Isaiah come to mind.  Isaiah uses the metaphor of a banquet to describe God’s invitation to live a fuller, more satisfying life. Why, God asks, do you waste your money on things that cannot feed your soul? Why do you work for things that give you no satisfaction?

The Christmas shopping season coincides with the liturgical season of Advent.  Advent is a time of spiritual preparation when Christians prepare to welcome ‘God-with-us’ in the birth of the Christ child. Advent is an appropriate time to counter bargain hunting with some soul searching.

  

Photo: Louise McEwan

I have learned to buy less and do less so that I can give more

Years ago, when the number of tasks I wanted to complete before Christmas began to overwhelm me, I had an insight. It was so obvious, yet it was something I had consistently overlooked. Christmas day would come and go, regardless of the state of my preparations. Christmas day did not depend on specialty baking, or a pile of gifts under a beautifully decorated tree. The beauty of our Christmas depended on the love in our hearts and in our home.  The thing that mattered most was my ability to be present to my family, my friends, and my God. Although I still search for the perfect gifts, I have learned to buy less and do less so that I can give more.

In a curious twist, Christmas leads us towards another Friday: one that is a counterpoint to Black Friday. While Black Friday’s all consuming focus is about filling up our lives with stuff, this Friday has a different focus. In the birth of the Christ child, Christmas points to Good Friday. Good Friday encourages us to become empty, so that we may live in the lightness of heart that characterizes the Christmas spirit. Christmas is the beginning of God’s strategic operation for us.

Costumes of pretense

As a child, I really loved Halloween. I would look forward to it for weeks. Once I had decided on a costume, my mother began working away in her little sewing room.  She was inventive; she could refashion clothing we had outgrown, scraps of extra fabric, and previous costumes into something that satisfied my childhood imagination. As my costume took shape, my anticipation grew. When the big night finally arrived, I bubbled over with excitement. 

"Twisted Halloween Candy":
Courtesy of Stuart Miles

Trick or treating was great fun. We would we traipse around the neighborhood, often trudging through the first snowfall of the season, using pillowcases for candy sacks. For weeks afterwards, we consumed the haul of goodies that simultaneously satisfied and intensified our craving for treats.


The goodies, delicious as they were, were secondary to my love of Halloween. The thing I most enjoyed was masquerading.  When I put on that costume, I assumed a new persona: childhood angst melted away.  When I put on that costume, my dreams became reality: the sky was the limit.  It was a grand feeling!

The next morning I always felt a little sad. While I would have liked to continue to pretend, my loving but organized mother laundered, folded, and stowed my costume away at the back of a closet.  By the afternoon of November 1st, my costume was a sweet memory. It was time to “get real”.  It was time to be me.

Halloween fired my imagination

Halloween served a useful purpose in my childhood, other than the obvious benefit of free candy. It fired my imagination.  The act of pretending helped me discover my self, reshape my dreams, and accept the realities of life. Paradoxically, pretending helped me be real.

It is easy to become distracted from being real. As we outgrow the Halloween of childhood, we may develop increasingly elaborate pretenses as adults. We may succumb to cultural influences that tempt us away from self-discovery and self-acceptance.

Courting falsehoods about ourselves

Consumerism and the beauty industry are two cultural influences that entice us into participating in a masquerade, and encourage us to court falsehoods about ourselves. Consumerism convinces us that our wants are needs, and pressures us to purchase items we can ill afford. When we should be reaching out to others or facing up to our financial realities, the culture of consumerism goads us into spending on ourselves. Meanwhile, the culture of beauty sings its anti-aging siren song, deluding us into a superficial denial of our own mortality. 

"Beauty":  Courtesy of Salvatore Vuono

While there is nothing innately wrong with possessions and looking our best, focusing on these externals can make us superficial and self-centered.  Our preoccupation with ourselves begins to sap our resources and our energy. We have little left to give others because we are consumed with our cravings. The externals are like sugar laden Halloween treats: just when we think we have eaten our fill, we find ourselves craving more.

Eventually, this focus on externals makes us unhappy. Since there will always be new stuff available for purchase, and since the signs of aging are inevitable, we may feel perpetually dissatisfied. Since there will always be someone with better stuff, and someone better looking, we may feel that we do not measure up. We may feel unworthy unless we are costumed to participate in society’s elaborate masquerade.

Confusing the content of our personhood 

When this happens, we are no longer real; we are pretending. We have replaced the splendid homespun Halloween costumes of our childhood with consumer goods and a fraudulent idea of beauty.   We confuse the content of our personhood with the quality of our possessions and our physical attractiveness. We need a loving mother to make us take off our costume, and to nudge us towards confidently showing the world our resplendent selves.

We long for loving mother figures in our lives to reassure us that we are loved and loveable even without the grandiose masquerade. Love gives us the courage to strip away the externals. Love empowers us to discover the beauty within. Love gently leads us to accept our realities, and encourages us to dream in life giving ways.

We “get real” when we shed our costumes, stop masquerading, and focus on the content of our personhood. We become real when we allow others to love us despite our imperfections and inadequacies. It is truly a grand feeling!


                                                  Happy Halloween

Photo courtesy of M & J Lawson

Photo Credits: Free Digital Photos http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/

• "Twisted Halloween Candy" Image courtesy of Stuart Miles: http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/Candy_Sweets_and_Cho_g180-Twisted_Halloween_Candy_p55117.html
• "Beauty" Image courtesy of Salvatore Vuono: http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/Beauty_and_Cosmetics_g283-Beauty_p42208.html

Bringing hope to the poor

Christmas shopping and stress

Once upon a time, the commercial pitch for Christmas shopping began on Black Friday. This year, it had begun by November 10. We had yet to commemorate Remembrance Day. American Thanksgiving and Black Friday were still two weeks away. The commercial hype around Christmas seems to begin earlier every year.

Coincidental with all of the holiday hype are tips to avoid holiday stress. One important tip from experts is to determine your spending limit, and stick to it. Despite warnings that consumer debt is out of control, and predictions of a slowing global economy that will negatively impact the Canadian economy, recent surveys show that Canadians will overspend their holiday budget. One television reporter, after interviewing shoppers in a big city mall, cheerfully concluded that Christmas spending is “priceless if it puts a smile on young faces.”

The reporter’s upbeat message was certainly in keeping with the Christmas spirit of good cheer. The message is a feel-good one if a family can afford “priceless.” The reality, though, is that many Canadians cannot afford their Christmas spending splurge. If Christmas can be stressful for those who have some purchasing power, imagine how stressful the holiday season must be for those who live in poverty.

The season accentuates need

Statistics Canada puts the poverty rate at 1 in 10 Canadians. The rate is even higher for children. The before tax poverty line for a family of 4 living in an urban area is $41, 307. Many poor families earn only$27, 107 before taxes. That’s a whopping $14, 200 below the base line.

During the Christmas season, those who live in poverty must feel the desperation of their situation more keenly that at other times of the year. The poor are shut out of the ubiquitous feel-good commercial message that bombards consumers before Christmas.

The over-commercialization of the Christmas holiday distracts from the more meaningful aspects of the celebration of Christmas. The relentless advertising campaigns send some messages about Christmas that do not ring true for many Canadians, especially for those living in poverty.

The commercialization of Christmas presents an image of a universally happy time. Everyone has money to spend, good food and drink to enjoy, and the fellowship of people who love them. In Christmas commercials, the holiday season meets everyone’s expectations. And, all these things – gifts, food, drink, and love – in the world of Christmas advertising depend on spending freely.

Traditions express a spiritual reality

Gift giving, feasting and celebrating are integral parts of Christmas. They can express a spiritual reality about human existence. The spiritual underpinnings of Christmas give the season its meaning and joy.

In the New Testament tradition, the weeks before Christmas are all about hope for the future. The birth of a baby, born in lowly circumstances, reveals God’s generous love for humanity that will restore justice to the world.

In the Christmas story, poor shepherds come from the surrounding hillsides, and wealthy magi come from afar to adore the baby Jesus, who is born in a stable. The message from the stable, where both shepherds and kings gather, is that God’s love is inclusive. No one is shut out from the generous gift of God’s wondrous love.

Charity is important but we can do more

Thousands of Canadians, irrespective of religious belief, imitate this divine generosity during the holiday season. The season heightens our awareness of those who are less fortunate. We respond to the needs of others in a much more comprehensive way than at any other time of the year. We give freely to food banks, and toy drives. We contribute dollars to organizations that serve the poor. Our charity gives hope, brings priceless smiles to the faces of young and old alike, and sends the message that someone cares.

Our material generosity at Christmas is really only a band-aid solution to need. The social problem of poverty remains long after we have swept up the needles from the tree, and stowed the Christmas decorations away for another year. The poor remain poor. We can live the Christmas message of generosity year round. Not only can we continue to be charitable, we can add advocacy to our charity, and work to reduce poverty.

Once upon a time, there was a land where everyone had enough food, a warm home, and hope for the future dwelt in their hearts. The Christmas story invites us to create the feel-good ending of ‘happily ever after’.

Images Credits and links:

Credit card image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net
http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/Money_g61-Credit_Cards_p154.html

Shopping Santa courtesy of Kittisak at http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/images/view_photog.php?photogid=3248