Thursday, October 9, 2025
What if scarcity is just a cultural construct, a fiction that fences us off from a better way of life?
—Robin Wall Kimmerer, The Serviceberry
Potawatomi botanist and author Robin Wall Kimmerer critiques our obsession with economic growth:
The threat of real scarcity on the horizon is brought to us by unbridled capitalism. Extraction and consumption outstrip the capacity of the Earth to replenish what we have taken. An economy based on the impossibility of ever expanding growth leads us into nightmare scenarios. I cringe when I hear economic reports celebrating the accelerating pace of economic growth, as if that were a good thing. It might be good for [some in power], for the short term, but it is a dead end for others—it is an engine of extinction.
Kimmerer learns about the benefits of a “gift economy” from a local farmer and businesswoman who occasionally offers surplus Serviceberries to her neighbors for free.
Paulie has a reputation to uphold for being no-nonsense in her approach to life …: “It’s not really altruism,” she insists. “An investment in community always comes back to you in some way. Maybe people who come for Serviceberries will come back for Sunflowers and then for the Blueberries. Sure, it’s a gift, but it’s also good marketing. The gift builds relationships, and that’s always a good thing….” The currency of relationship can manifest itself as money down the road, because Paulie and Ed do have to pay the bills….
Even when something is paid for as a commodity, the gift of relationship is still attached to it. The ongoing reciprocity in gifting stretches beyond the next customer, though, into a whole web of relations that are not transactional. Paulie and Ed are banking goodwill, so-called social capital….
I cherish the notion of the gift economy, that we might back away from the grinding system, which reduces everything to a commodity and leaves most of us bereft of what we really want: a sense of belonging and relationship and purpose and beauty, which can never be commoditized. I want to be part of a system in which wealth means having enough to share, and where the gratification of meeting your family needs is not poisoned by destroying that possibility for someone else. I want to live in a society where the currency of exchange is gratitude and the infinitely renewable resource of kindness, which multiplies every time it is shared rather than depreciating with use….
I don’t think market capitalism is going to vanish; the faceless institutions that benefit from it are too entrenched. The thieves are very powerful. But I don’t think it’s pie in the sky to imagine that we can create incentives to nurture a gift economy that runs right alongside the market economy. After all, what we crave is not trickle-down, faceless profits, but reciprocal, face-to-face relationships, which are naturally abundant but made scarce by the anonymity of large-scale economics. We have the power to change that, to develop the local, reciprocal economies that serve community rather than undermine it.
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How to respond…when I disagree and find relationship…. JD Vaughn. (Me and my AI.)
In a world marked by division, polarization, and loud voices, it is tempting to treat disagreement as an enemy. When someone holds a view, I consider wrong — or even harmful — my instinct is often to fight, to silence, or to withdraw. Yet Scripture invites us into a different posture: one of listening, humility, and care, even (especially) toward those we vehemently disagree with.
James 1:19 gives us three simple but radical instructions: be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger. Listening first means we seek to understand before we respond. It means resisting the urge to leap in with our counterargument or correction. When I choose to listen, I send a message: You matter. Your voice matters. It disarms defensiveness and opens a doorway for meaningful exchange.
But listening alone is not enough. We must also care. Caring means that in the midst of difference, we hold the other person’s dignity and well-being in our heart. It means we pray for them, we pause before judging, and we welcome the possibility that God might teach us something. Sometimes care looks like speaking softly, asking questions, or even acknowledging where we too may be blind or wrong.
It’s important to note that listening and caring don’t demand agreement. We can hear and love without capitulating our convictions. In fact, sometimes the most powerful witness is not winning an argument but being present, humble, and grace-filled in the tension.
Jesus himself modeled this. He engaged with people whose beliefs and lives were radically different from his own. He asked questions, listened to their stories, and walked with them through brokenness (e.g. the woman at the well, Nicodemus, Zacchaeus). He never compromised truth, but he never discarded relational love either.
So when I’m tempted to dismiss, dehumanize, or retreat, I want to ask:
- Am I more eager to speak than to listen?
- Do I truly value the person across the divide, or am I seeing them as an opponent?
- How can I demonstrate care (through compassion, patience, prayer) even if I continue to hold a different conviction?
May God give us courage to lean in rather than back away; wisdom to listen more than lecture; and hearts to see people (not problems). In this way, we reflect the reconciling love of Christ into a fractured world.
Prayer
Holy Spirit, soften my heart where it is hard. Give me ears to hear—not just your voice, but the voice of those I disagree with. Help me to care more about people than winning an argument. May I reflect Jesus’ grace and gentleness even in tension. Teach me humility, give me courage, and guide every word I speak. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
