gift economy
Listen: “Kind & Generous” by Natalie Merchant
I was born in Wichita, Kansas, but moved to the Kansas City area in 1966. I was five years old living in Prairie Village, Kansas. My dad was hired by TWA when the airport was located downtown. While I was attending Prairie Elementary School, the YMCA put on a program called Indian Guides at the church across the street from my school. Indian Guides was an effort to teach white kids indigenous culture.
I was seven or eight years old when my dad enrolled me in Indian Guides. It was my first introduction to North American indigenous culture. By the way, the program was eventually critiqued, and the name was changed to Adventure Guides. But for me, as a seven-year-old, I didn't understand all the different perspectives which were contained in that critique. As I kid, I ended up loving indigenous culture. I started reading books about indigenous culture and started studying the history of all that happened with indigenous peoples: the broken treaties, the stealing of the land, and the indoctrination of European perspectives on land rights. I didn't know any of that when I started Indian Guides, but I developed a love for indigenous peoples because of the program.
And it was a love that continued throughout my whole life. I actually like the indigenous vision of seeing all of nature as living beings. It’s a healthy vision. There are passages in the Hebrew and Christian scriptures which reference mountains singing and trees clapping their hands (Isaiah 55:12). If you read Psalm 19, notice that the first Bible for all living beings is nature itself. The first Bible is nature. Psalm 19 observes how all creation speaks—the voice of nature speaks—and it sees all of nature as living beings from which we can learn. I have always loved nature, and I love that indigenous vision of nature.
I recently read a new favorite book on indigenous culture. As many of you know, I love bicycles, and I love books. If you hang out around me long enough, I'll encourage you to ride a bike, and I’ll recommend a book or two. The book is by Robin Wall Kimmerer entitled Braiding Sweetgrass. She published this book with a small press back in 2013, but it's one of those books that every artist dreams of. It basically became popular by word of mouth. Over the last 10 years, it's sold 1.6 million copies. Robin studied as a botanist, but her family background was of mixed descent with a strong indigenous heritage from the Algonquin tribes, particularly the Potawatomi tribe from the Great Lakes region. The subtitle of her book is Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants.
As we explore the topic of generosity, I think Robin Wall Kemmerer’s book, which integrates indigenous wisdom with scientific knowledge, has some beautiful insights which need to be integrated with our Judeo-Christian tradition.
The first insight comes from the indigenous origin story of humanity. Robin opens her book with the origin story of how humans landed on this planet according to her Potawatomi tradition. It’s the story of “Skywoman Falling.” Skywoman existed in the sky before she fell to earth. Skywoman steps through a hole in the sky, falls through the sky, and plunges towards dark waters. As she's falling, geese see her and flock to her aid and catch her to soften her fall. As she falls, she hits the dark waters and begins to plunge into the depths of the dark water. Other animals see this and move to her rescue. A muskrat swims down, pulls her up, and gives his life for Skywoman. As the muskrat takes his last breath, he's got some mud in his hand.
A turtle offers her support for Skywoman and says: “Put the mud on my back.” Skywoman is rescued by the animals and the turtle. As Skywoman expresses her gratitude, she begins to spread the mud on the turtle's back and dance in gratitude on top of the mud, which then begins to expand. The whole earth expands out of this mud on the turtle's back. According to Potawatomi tradition, North Americans live on Turtle Island. That's the name of our homeland, Turtle Island, according to indigenous peoples.
What's beautiful about this story is that humanity is in harmony with nature, not at odds with nature. That's a big point—an origin story where humanity is in harmony with nature, not at odds with nature.
Now, if you think about the Christian origin story, and by the way, there are many origin stories from ancient cultures. The Judeo-Christian story starts in Genesis 1 &2. What you see is humanity made in the image of God, men and women, both fully made in the image of God. And they're placed in the garden, a beautiful garden sanctuary. The whole garden is like a garden temple. In Genesis 2:15 humanity is given responsibility to “tend and watch” the garden and all of creation. Humanity's task is to tend and watch, to care, to steward, to nurture, and to live in harmony with all creation. It's a vision of harmony with nature. It's a beautiful vision.
Unfortunately, what happens for many Christians in various Christian traditions, is that they start the Christian origin story in Genesis 3. Genesis 3 is a story of shame, cursedness, and banishment from the Garden of Eden. For some people in Christianity, Original Sin becomes the origin story. I think if you start with Genesis 3, you end up distorting the origin story. Shame is certainly a condition which humans experience. I experienced deep, dark shame in 2019, but shame is not our true identity. We need to be healed from shame. Genesis 1 & 2 describes our true nature and true calling—one of Original Blessing and Goodness. Genesis 1 & 2 calls us to live in harmony with nature—in sustainability, mutuality, and reciprocity with nature. Shame banishes us from the garden, and we live in enmity with ourselves, each other, and the planet. We need to learn from indigenous wisdom and restore a vision of Original Blessing from Genesis 1 & 2.
The second insight Robin gives us regards how indigenous culture values a gift economy versus a commodity economy. Kimmerer reminds us of how Europeans arrived on Turtle Island with a different view of the world. Europeans didn’t see nature as living beings with which to live in harmony and reciprocity. Rather, they viewed nature as a commodity—a commodity which could be conquered, owned, bought, and sold. Commodities can cease to be gifts. Gifts create harmonious relationships with the gift, the giver, the receiver, and the co-creator.
Think about it, we human beings can't live on our own when we're first born. The fact that you exist means that you have received gifts of nurture and support just to be living and breathing right now. You've received thousands of gifts which have been bestowed on your life in order for you to exist. Gifts of food, water, clothing, shelter, and love, all of which derive from nature, family, friends, and acquaintances.
We have to draw upon nature for living water and bread of life. We live in community, hopefully in loving community, and in harmony with nature. But if we view everything as a commodity, we begin to lose the relationship with nature and with each other. So, for example, how many of you have ever received a gift from somebody that was just a commodity, that was purchased at a store, maybe a big box store? They gave it to you as a gift, but it really didn't mean a whole lot. Anybody have some items laying around their house or in your closets or in your garage that were just simply a commodity? And the origin of that particular gift is almost meaningless, right?
On the other hand, how many of you have received a gift given with love which produces a loving relationship with the giver? Every Christmas my mother would decorate a Christmas tree, and on that Christmas tree she would hang the ugliest Christmas ornament that you could imagine—front and center. It was a Christmas angel I made for her when I was in the first grade. It was made out of something like flour and water. It was like a Play-Doh angel. Remember the Pillsbury Doughboy? It was a female version of that, a chubby little angel with wings, with little chubby, short legs, and with a big chubby belly. I shaped it with my hands and painted beautiful golden hair and blue wings. I think it’s one of the ugliest angels I’ve ever seen. Over the course of time, its wings fell off and then its legs fell off.
After a few decades, it was just a head and a body, but it still made its way onto the Christmas tree. And my mom cherishes that gift. You understand why it's not a commodity, right? There's a relationship with me, the gift, and my mom. But honestly, if we could learn to live like that with all of creation, with all of nature, if we could begin to restore the relationship with gift, giver, creator, and receiver, with what we eat, with how we live, and with how we love, then we would be living in the loving, uncontrolling, ever giving, ever creating heart of God.
There's a beautiful vision that Robin Wall Kimmerer is trying to reclaim by writing Braiding Sweetgrass. She's trying to restore this vision of generosity, of receiving and giving gifts, and of seeing all of life as a gift. We have a relationship with all living beings and nature and people who give into our lives. And then we give back with love and beauty and grace and generativity.
Proverbs 11:24-25 reads: “Give freely and become more wealthy; be stingy and lose everything. The generous will prosper; those who refresh others will themselves be refreshed” (NLT). I don't prefer the word “wealthy” because we all of a sudden think of bank accounts, but what we're talking about is a vision of generosity and reciprocity. If you want to reap what you sow, don't just sow one seed and check on it every day and pull it out of the ground just to see if it's working. That's sowing with stinginess. Sow everything generously. And then don't worry about how it comes back, but trust that it will come back. This is reciprocity, a karma of sorts—sowing and reaping. It's a gift type economy where we give and sow freely, generously out of a heart of love and gratitude because we've received so much. We keep those gifts in motion, and there's a flow and a relationship between the gift, the giver, and the receiver.
Indigenous peoples cherished a gift economy where everything's in motion. You give and you receive; and you receive and you give. But all of a sudden, European settlers didn’t see it that way. Indigenous peoples were stigmatized as “Indian Givers” because they wanted something back. But no, that wasn't the vision. It wasn't like giving a single seed and then expecting something back in return, but it was a vision of gifts in motion. One of scattering seed all over, and then it comes back. And there's a reciprocity of love with nature, with living beings, and with humans. That's the flow of generosity—the heart of God—a gift economy.
Think about Gollum in Lord of the Rings. When he got the ring, what did he say? “Precious” and “Mine.” “It's mine.” So that's the stingy version. But the generous will prosper, and those who refresh others will themselves be refreshed. Think about the difference between homegrown, homemade versus store-bought commodities where there's no relationship. Our calling is to move into a gift economy.
Robin Wall Kimmerer also brings out is the difference between gift economy and private property. As you know, indigenous people didn't believe that someone could own the land. The land is the land. The land owns the land. Mother nature owns the land. The Great Spirit infuses the land. People don’t own the land. We simply live in reciprocity with the land and with nature. We receive gifts from it, and we give back to it. We live in sustainable ways with nature, with living beings, and with one another. But Europeans were more like Gollum when it came to the land: “It’s mine.”
I hope you’ve figured out by now that you don't take anything with you when you leave this planet, right? We can try. I mean, if you visit the Egyptian pyramids and some of the wealthy pharaohs, they buried a bunch of stuff with them for comforts in the afterlife. But really, we don't take it with us, right? You leave it all behind. You know, the old funny statement: “There's no U-Haul’s following a hearse.” I've done hundreds of funerals, and you don't take it with you. You leave it all behind. Who owns it? Who owns your stuff? Who owns your house? Who owns your car? Who owns your things? Robin Wall Kimmerer shows that in a gift economy, nobody really owns it. It's all just a gift in motion.
The land owns it. We can't own it. We can share; we can receive; and we can give. We can live in harmony. But if we try to own it and possess it, then we are moving off course. According to Psalm 24:1, who owns the earth? Psalm 24:1 says: “The earth is the Lord's and everything in it, the world and all its people belong to him for he laid the earth's foundation on the seas and built it on the ocean depths” (NLT). So God owns it. It's not ours. It's on loan, right? Everything that we have is on loan. And Robin Wall Kimmerer beautifully illustrates through her tradition how we desperately need to return to a vision of a gift economy—for our own well-being and the well-being of all living beings and the planet itself.
We keep everything in motion. Everything is in motion. God is always self-giving and co-creating with all of creation. And we live in that reciprocity with all living beings. And we recognize that it's not ours. It's a gift that we've received, and it's a gift to be shared. There's a responsibility that comes with the gifts that we receive, and there's a responsibility to share the gifts that we receive. There’s an interesting verse that most people have never read or noticed in the Torah. The first five books of the Old Testament (The Hebrew Bible) is called the Torah. One of the Torah passages, Leviticus 25:23 says: “The land must never be sold on a permanent basis, for the land belongs to me [God]. You are only foreigners and tenant farmers working for me” (NLT).
So Israel doesn't own the land. We actually don’t own anything. It’s on loan. I think that's really what the Torah's pointing towards. The Torah is more in sync with the indigenous wisdom of a gift economy. There's a celebration every fifty years called Jubilee in the Torah. People who have lost land and fallen into debt are forgiven. Debts are forgiven and land is redistributed. Jubilee resets everything. And the land goes back to original ownership. You don't ever lose your land forever. There's a beautiful vision that everything we have is just on loan, and we don't really own it. We can steward resources with a new vision of gift economy.
With this vision of a gift economy, Robin Wall Kimmerer calls us to live in harmony and gratitude with nature, other living beings, one another, and the plant itself. Through ceremonies we can live with a new sense of gratitude and awareness. This is what mindfulness meditation does for me. And according to Robin, we can create our own ceremonies or rituals for gratitude, thanksgiving, and awareness. One of the things that her dad did, even though her dad had been separated from the Potawatomi tradition due to some of the European practices that separated indigenous peoples from their lands and from their native ways, was teach Robin the ways of indigenous wisdom.
Robin recalls how they would go on family camping and canoe trips in the Great Lakes area, and every morning they would get up her dad would make coffee. When he made coffee every morning, he would boil it and pour off the coffee grounds that rose to the top, similar to the ancient coffee ceremonies in Ethiopia. He would pour the coffee grounds into the land, and they would become one with the humus. He would give thanks to Tahawus, which was the indigenous name for Mount Marcy meaning cloud splitter, and the Great Spirit.
Robin often asked her dad how far back in history the coffee ceremony originated. She wanted to know the richness of that history because as a trained scientific botanist she had lost some of the magic of the indigenous teachings of plants and nature. She was thinking that there was some special, magical tradition that extended back in ancient indigenous practices.
However, Robin records her father’s response and her own:
“I’ve been thinking about the coffee and how we started giving it to the ground. You know, it was boiled coffee. There’s no filter and if it boils too hard the grounds foam up and get stuck in the spout. So the first cup you pour would get that plug of grounds and be spoiled. I think we first did it to clear the spout.” It was as if he’d told me that the water didn’t change into wine—the whole web of gratitude, the whole story of remembrance, was nothing more than the dumping of the grounds?
“But, you know,” he said, “there weren’t always grounds to clear. It started out that way, but it became something else. A thought. It was a kind of respect, a kind of thanks. On a beautiful summer morning, I suppose you could call it joy.”
That, I think, is the power of ceremony: it marries the mundane to the sacred. The water turns to wine, the coffee to a prayer. The material and the spiritual mingle like grounds mingled with humus, transformed like steam rising from a mug into the morning mist.
What else can you offer the earth, which has everything? What else can you give but something of yourself? A homemade ceremony, a ceremony that makes a home.
The first Bible is nature itself. Psalms 19 declares: “The heavens proclaim the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship. Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make him known” (Ps 19:1-2; NLT). It's a beautiful way to immerse ourselves in the loving, self-giving heart of God who co-creates a gift economy with all of creation.
Shalom
©realfredherron, 2023
