The Paradox of Abundance
Photo by Anna Demianenko on Unsplash
A man clad in a tattered business suit crawls across the desert, dying of thirst and slowly losing his mind. Suddenly, in the distance appears a glorious sight, including dozens of palm trees, pools of fresh water, and maybe even a pile of hamburgers.
But when he gets there, he finds himself eating sand in a mirage of his delusional making.
Our culture is thirsty. Many souls make their way through the desert of life, struggling for happiness in a barren wasteland of disappointment.
In the distance appears the same mirage we've fallen for a thousand times.
The Mirage of Abundance.
Once again we pick up our pace, hoping that this time it'll be the real thing. The mirage of abundance promises that MORE will deliver the joy we need. More money. More alcohol. More social media. More vacations. More possessions. More sex. More leisure. Despite the fact they they taste a lot like sand, we hope that MORE will this time bring about the peace we crave.
We often believe that abundance is the key to happiness, and that scarcity is to be avoided like the plague. Our ability to say yes to our wants and desires is where true joy is found, making satiation akin to a human right.
But this worldview is deeply conflicted.
The idealization of abundance paradoxically causes us to resent those who have more resources that we do. Whether in politics or personal interactions, the wealthy are often demonized or chastised for accumulating the very thing that we believe brings about happiness. Something must be wrong with those people or the unfair system that allows them to have more than I do. This cannot stand!
How bizarre is this: When we lack the material privilege of another person, our greatest hope is to prevent them from having the very things we want for ourselves.
This "materialistic" worldview sees reality through the lens of scarcity. While it's ideal to have an abundance, it isn't possible for all, and therefore we must ensure equality of resources so that no one becomes more satisfied than others by hoarding that which could be shared.
While this Marxist/materialist worldview has tempted societies for more than a century, it has proven impossible to achieve and led to greater corruption and death than any other form of government. Understandably, the idealization of material wealth prompts nations to minimize the worth and dignity of the individual.
Thankfully, there exists an oasis in this desert of mirages, an alternative to the materialistic approach to life.
In the Jewish scriptures, God delivers the nation of Israel from slavery in Egypt through miraculous means, but after three thirsty days in the desert, the people are in desperate need of a Diet Coke. God leads them to Marah, which offers a solitary pool of water too bitter to drink. God intervenes by making the water drinkable, thus providing for the people's daily needs once again (See the whole passage in Exodus 15:22-16:36).
From there, they travel to Elim, where they find an abundances of twelve springs of water and seventy palm trees. They gleefully set up camp in this ancient version of a Sandals resort, with the ideal of abundance manifested before them.
But this abundance quickly cripples their thinking.
When they depart from Elim to traverse another stretch of desert, they begin to bitterly complain and long for a return to slavery in Egypt, where they recall a mirage of plenty.
God recognizes that the abundance of Elim only made the people more spoiled--addicted to material security--so he initiates a plan that looks more like Marah than Elim. God promises to rain bread from heaven every morning, commanding Israel to take only what they would need for that day (any extra bread taken would rot overnight). The only exception was that a double "deluge" of bread could be gathered the day before the Sabbath, so that Israel wouldn't need to work on their day of rest.
This is nothing short of heart surgery.
The human heart longs for abundance as the antidote to material insecurity. When others get what we want for ourselves, we become resentful; when we get it ourselves, we become spoiled and fearful. Only by training us to embrace God's daily provision can we avoid the conflicted reality of idealizing abundance while resenting those who have more than we do.
God forces Israel to rely upon His daily bread for forty years before bringing them into the "promised land." Unfortunately, the abundance of this land would again be too powerful for Israel to resist, and they the shallow patterns of materialism and scarcity resurface.
This makes me ask myself a series of diagnostic questions:
1. Do I see myself in the Exodus account of Israel's struggle with materialism? How?
2. How reliant am I upon the certainty that abundance provides, whether in my bank account, refrigerator, youth/age, or clothes closet?
3. How resentful am I when others accumulate more than I have, even though I may yearn for the same standard of living?
4. If abundance can actually hinder our ability to enjoy life, why would we resent and covet the livelihood of people we perceive to be wealthy?
5. Do I find the most meaning in possessions, security, and abundant resources, or have I found a higher form of being that relates to serving my purpose in the world?
6. If I'm honest, am I driven more by the materialism quest for more, or by the contentment-based desire to share and serve? If these two extremes are a 1 to 10 spectrum, where do I see myself along the continuum?