7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess

by Jen Hatmaker

  Day 30

  What a finale to Month Seven! Thanksgiving was epic: we ate our weight in honey ham and fried turkey, jalapeno cranberry relish and my Grandma’s carrots, which are legendary and will go down in King family history. We cooked and laughed and napped and ate again. My mom made pumpkin cheesecake and homemade whipped cream. Clearly nothing can top that, so I’ll end this food paragraph on that high note.

  I’m thankful for the contemplatives who’ve stirred me: Henri Nouwen, Brother Lawrence, Macrina Wiederkehr, Mother Teresa, Richard Rohr; David, Isaiah, Jesus. Their noble embrace of prayer and stillness has inspired me into deeper communion with God. This mindfulness has been terribly stretching.

  I’ve discovered I can fast from clothes and waste and spending easier than I can fast from busyness. Wear the same outfit six days straight? Sure. Garden and recycle? No problem. Pause seven times a day in the middle of my life? Now that’s asking a lot. I found this month very challenging and equally beautiful. Evidently, I don’t respond well to interruptions, Spirit-led or otherwise.

  But these pauses, plus the Sabbath, plus the sabbatical taught me something: My heart craves a slower life. I want people to stop prefacing their phone calls with this: “I know you’re so busy, but if I could just have a second . . .” I want to figure out what this means for our family. We can’t live in the barn forever, nor we can pull out of work, ministry, school, community, mission, family, and all the activities that accompany them. But what can we do to cultivate a quiet ranch heart in a noisy urban world?

  I know we’ll be keeping the Sabbath. Um, hold your applause since we’ve been instructed to do this from Exodus to Hebrews. As God explained at the inauguration of the Sabbath:

  Remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is a sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, neither you, nor your son or daughter, nor your male or female servant, nor your animals, nor any foreigner residing in your towns. For in six days the LORD made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but he rested on the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. (Exod. 20:8–11)

  Is it coincidental that God named every person included in the rest? Sons and daughters, servants and animals, guests and visitors; we all need this. My neglect of the Sabbath doesn’t just affect me but my entire household, my extended community. The pace we keep has jeopardized our health and happiness, our worship and rhythms. We belong to a culture that can’t catch its breath; rather, we refuse to catch our breath.

  God doesn’t pull any punches here: The Sabbath is holy. Not lazy, not selfish, not unproductive; not helpful, not optional, not just a good idea. Holy. Like God demonstrated in Exodus 16, He’ll provide for daily needs, but on the sixth day He’ll rain down a double portion to store up for the Sabbath, covering our needs while we rest. The only day a double collection wouldn’t spoil by dawn’s light was the Sabbath; God made a way.

  He still does. Originally, the Sabbath had to be planned for, food gathered a day in advance. It wasn’t handed to the Hebrews on a silver platter. This principle remains. I still have to plan for the Sabbath, tying up loose ends and gathering what we’ll need. I still have to prepare the family for rest, enforcing healthy boundaries and protecting our calendar. I still have to set work aside and trust in the wisdom of God’s design. “Bear in mind that the LORD has given you the Sabbath” (Exod. 16:29).

  My heart feels renewed at the completion of the month. Perhaps the greatest gift is clarity. My mission is concentrated: this matters, this doesn’t, this counts, this doesn’t. It’s actually not that complicated. The Bible is true; no matter how contrary to reality it appears. I’ve discovered you can press extremely hard on the Word, and it will hold.

  It is healing to forgive.

  You do gain your life by losing it.

  Love does truly conquer evil.

  A simple life really is liberating.

  As I wrap up Month Seven, I’ll quote a prayer written by Henri Nouwen, which resonates so deeply, it’s as if he stole my thoughts:

  Dear Lord, you have sent me in to this world to preach your word. So often the problems of the world seem so complex and intricate that your word strikes me as embarrassingly simple. Many times I fell tongue-tied in the company of people who are dealing with the world’s social and economic problems.

  But you, O Lord, said, “Be clever as serpents and innocent as doves.” Let me retain innocence and simplicity in the midst of this complex world. I realize that I have to be informed, that I have to study the many aspects of the problems facing the world, and that I have to try to understand as well as possible the dynamics of our contemporary society. But what really counts is that all this information, knowledge, and insight allow me to speak more clearly and unambiguously your truthful word. Do not allow evil powers to seduce me with the complexities of the world’s problems, but give me the strength to think clearly, speak freely, and act boldly in your service. Give me the courage to show the dove in a world so full of serpents.”10

  Conclusion

  How do I summarize 7, an experiment that has forever altered our lives? My takeaways are so vast, I can’t keep an idea still long enough to write about it. New thoughts have so usurped old thoughts, I can’t remember what I used to think about. Then there are these ideas Brandon and I are dreaming about: community development, mixed-income housing, the three Rs (relocation, reconciliation, redistribution), downsizing. Of course, there is the poetic irony of our impending adoption, rounding out our family to seven. I’m regretting manuscript omissions already: my book collection eradication, the half-marathon I ran for adoption, James 5, the Global Voices Summit. There was just too much to tell.

  Also swimming in my brain is the huge list of reforms with new habits and practices. Not to mention the crash course I’ve received on the economy and capitalism and alternative fuels and sustainable farming and neurological processes and industrialized food and local economics and consumer trends and ancient liturgy. I’ve read precision analogy by global economists and rhythmic prayer poetry by a monastic nun. I’ve digested articles by farmers, food lobbyists, social activists, missionaries, financial advisors, marketing analysts, pastors, insurgents, doctors, ecologists, waste managers, priests, advocates, nonprofit leaders, documentary makers, politicians, revolutionaries, troublemakers, and dreamers. I’ve ingested information through a fire hose and find myself sputtering and gasping. However, after curbing my appetites for so long, I’ve discovered my appetites have changed.

  I realize some of you are hoping for a romantic ending here, something with aplomb, a juicy Twitter sound bite (@jenhatmaker moved from the suburbs to a van down by the river with her five kids. Astonishing. #7 #readit). You’re waiting for some surprise radical ending I’ve been saving to drop on my readers, like becoming missionaries or farmers or the quirky stars of a new “Simple Life” segment on The Today Show (“Welcome back, Hatmakers!” “Thanks, Matt! Good to be here again!” “Wow! Great dress, Jen!” “Thank you. I sewed it out of discarded plastic bags dredged up from the bottom of polluted lakes.” “You are truly amazing.” “It’s all for Jesus, Matt.”)

  But that’s not where we are. Honestly, we’re not sure what’s next for the Hatmakers. We know something new is coming; we recognize the winds of change that seem to blow on our little life with regularity. Brandon has that wild, itchy look in his eyes. 7 allowed us to slowly break up with some of our ideas, our luxuries. It was something of a long good-bye. It’s not you, it’s us. Well, it is you.

  This was the beginning of a process, not a complete story by itself. We didn’t live out 7 and cross the finish line. This adventure was something like being morbidly obese and unable to schedule a life saving surgery until losing weight first. We had to shed and cull and purge before God can even remotely begin to deal with the seri
ous issues. This was presurgery business, the required fast before the real procedure.

  However, even if I had a clear directive, I’m not sure I’d share it here. Whatever God has done or is doing in our family is certainly not a template, and I don’t want it to be. We live in a certain city with a certain task, we have specific gifts, and we’re horribly deficient in others. Our life looks like it does because we are the Hatmakers, and God is dealing with us the way He’s dealing with us. We have history and sin issues and circumstances and geography that God takes into account as He stakes our place in His kingdom.

  You have an entirely different set of factors. I have no idea what this might look like in your life, nor do I want that job. Your story is God’s to write, not mine. Some of us are going to live in the suburbs, others downtown. I’m going to garden; you’re going to take the subway. We’re adopting, you’re redistributing, they’re downsizing. I use words, you use a hammer. There isn’t a list here. There is no stencil we can all trace into our lives in perfect unison. Here is our baseline as a faith community:

  Love God most. Love your neighbor as yourself. This is everything.

  If we say we love God, then we will care about the poor.

  This earth is God’s and everything in it. We should live like we believe this.

  What we treasure reveals what we love.

  Money and stuff have the power to ruin us.

  Act justly, love mercy, walk humbly with God. This is what is required.

  Interestingly, as I write this a few weeks after the completion of 7, I’ve discovered something surprising. I engaged a fast with my adoption community last week, and it wasn’t even hard. I couldn’t believe it. I kept waiting to feel desperate, but instead the fast was simple and beautiful and focused on prayer rather than the mechanics. Gone were the screaming voices in my head; gone was the simmering anxiety. It was like putting on a familiar sweatshirt. After saying “no” to things I wanted for nearly a year, I guess I gained some control over my emotions and impulses. God used fasting as a tool to curb my appetites and regulate my reactions. It was a concise realization: “Something in me has deeply changed.”

  Perhaps this is why Scripture calls us to the practice of fasting—from food, from greed, from selfishness, from luxuries. It isn’t just the experience; it’s the discipline. It changes us. Fasting helps us develop mastery over the competing voices in our heads that urge us toward more, toward indulgence, toward emotional volatility. Like consistent discipline eventually shapes our children’s behavior, so it is with us. Believe it or not, God can still change us. Not just our habits but our hearts. Say “no” for a year and see for yourself.

  Steven, our KP partner, asked me this morning while harvesting carrots and potatoes (!!) and lettuce: “Who is your reader?” and that got me thinking about you. I’m going to guess you are probably a middle- to upper-middle class parent (but love to my nonbreeders!), and mostly your life is terribly blessed. Your world is pretty controlled: kids are in good schools, neighborhood is safe, jobs are fairly secure, wardrobe is impressive enough. These advantages cause you some tension, but you’re not sure why or what to do with it.

  You’re likely a believer, but whether you’re a lifer or a recent devotee, I’m not sure. A few of you are teetering on the edge of faith, drawn in by Jesus but repelled by his followers. As for church, you probably go to one, but a bunch of you don’t; the elitism and waste and bureaucracy became too much and you left, or you want to leave. Some of you are solid attenders, but you feel like crawling out of your skin sometimes, valuing faith community but worried yours is missing the point. A few of you have found the church of your dreams. Half of you read Radical, or Crazy Love, or The Irresistible Revolution, and since you’re reading this, you might’ve read Interrupted. You loved and hated it.

  I’m guessing you’ve cried over orphans or refugees or starvation or child prostitutes, heartbroken by the depravity of this world. It’s not okay that your kids get school and birthday parties while Third World children get abandoned and trafficked, but you don’t know how to fix that. You’re wondering if your lifestyle is connected to these discrepancies, and you have a nagging suspicion that less is more but it’s a muddy concept. Everyone has ideas. It’s confusing and overwhelming. This creates a sort of war within, and it leaves you raw. Sometimes you’re a full-blown mess over it.

  Hear this: I don’t think God wants you at war with yourself.

  He sent the Prince of peace to soothe those tumultuous waters already. Self-deprecation is a cruel response to Jesus, who died and made us righteous. Guilt is not Jesus’ medium. He is battling for global redemption right now; His objective hardly includes huddling in the corner with us, rehashing our shame again. He finished that discussion on the cross. Plus, there’s no time for that.

  We’re so conditioned to being a problem that we’ve forgotten we’re actually the answer. God is not angry at you; how could He possibly be? You are His daughter, His son; you’re on the team. Don’t imagine He is sitting us all down for a lecture. Rather, He’s staging a rally, gathering the troops. The church is rising like a phoenix right now, collecting speed and strength and power.

  I saw heaven standing open and there before me was a white horse, whose rider is called Faithful and True. With justice he judges and wages war. His eyes are like blazing fire, and on his head are many crowns. He has a name written on him that no one knows but he himself. He is dressed in a robe dipped in blood, and his name is the Word of God. (Rev. 19:11–13)

  Something marvelous and powerful is happening in the church. The Bride is awakening and the Spirit is rushing. It is everywhere. This movement is not contained within a denomination or demographic, not limited to a region or country. It’s sweeping up mothers and pastors and teenagers and whole congregations. A stream became a current, and it is turning into a raging flood. It is daily gathering conspirators and defectors from the American Dream. It is cresting with the language of the gospel: the weak made strong, the poor made rich, the proud made humble.

  The body of Christ is mobilizing in unprecedented numbers. Jesus is staging a massive movement to bind up the brokenhearted and proclaim freedom for captives. The trumpet is blowing. We are on the cusp, on the side of the Hero. So while we’re mistakenly warring with ourselves, Jesus is waging war on injustice and calling us to join Him.

  This is way more fun than self-condemnation, no?

  So imagine me linking arms with you, giving you an affectionate Texas squeeze. Guilt might be the first chapter, but it makes for a terrible story. Jesus gave us lots of superior material to work with. If your stuff and spending and waste and stress are causing you tension like mine is, just do the next right thing. Ask some new questions; conversation partners are everywhere (their name is Legion, for they are many). Take a little baby step. Tomorrow, you can take another. Offer yourself the same grace Jesus has given you. We’re no good to Him stuck in paralysis.

  For most American Christians, this will begin with deconstruction, but the real thrill is in the reconstruction. I don’t want to base my life on what I’m against. How boring. That’s not inspiring enough motivation. I imagine the sooner we untether from the trap of “more,” the clearer this will all become. We’re building the scaffolding; the real construction comes next.

  I value you desperately, my sisters and brothers in this adventure. I marvel at your gifts; you’re so essential to this conversation. I am stunned by the collective goodness of the Bride. As I hear stories of intervention and reduction and courage, I applaud Jesus in selecting you for your tasks. We serve an unruly Savior on a recklessly wild ride; I’m glad you’re on it with me. May we embrace unity over infighting, bravery over comfort, us over me, people over principles, and God’s glory over our own. Together, let’s become repairers of broken walls and restorers of streets with dwellings.

  The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD m
ake his face shine on you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace. (Num. 6: 24–26)

  A Few Companies with a Conscience

  http://livefashionable.com

  http://www.cometogethertrading.com

  http://www.redearthtradingco.com

  http://www.furnacehillscoffee.com/index

  http://preemptivelove.org

  www.noondaycollection.com

  www.bethejoy.com

  http://goodnewsgoods.com

  www.theopenarmshop.com

  www.meadscorner.com

  www.commonthreadz.org

  www.Groobs.com

  www.globalgirlfriend.com

  www.cometogethertrading.com

  www.3seams.com

  http://www.ravenandlily.com

  http://www.numanainc.com

  http://www.pyxispath.com

  www.tradeasone.com

  www.thehungersite.org

  www.funkyfishdesigns.com

  Notes

  Introduction

  1. See http://www.billbright.com/howtofast.

  Month One: Food

  1. I went to www.nutritiondata.com, but given how the Internet changes, a different site might be preferred depending on when you’re reading this.

  2. See http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/05/090501162805.htm.

  3. See http://www.ngonewsafrica.org/2010/01/ethiopia-rejects-warning-of-hunger.html.

  4. See http://www.wfp.org/countries/ethiopia.

  5. See http://derevth.blogspot.com/2008/10/types-of-theology.html.

  6. See http://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2004/01/0111_040112_consumerism.html.

  7. Michael Pollan, In Defense of Food: An Eater’s Manifesto (New York: Penguin Books, 2008), 13–14.

  8. Ibid., 6–7.