Recent events have shown me a surprising truth: that which I hunger for, more than anything now, is to contribute. The objects of the verb are vague; contribute to my community, my world; contribute something, anything that makes a difference for good. II don’t think it even matters whether my contribution is acknowledged - just that I know that it is strong.
Another surprise to me is the conviction that this is what everyone wants. It’s so opposite to what we’re sometimes told - that we want to receive, to have; that giving is an obligation, something you do in order to get. Yet the desire for fame points to the urge to contribute - traditionally people receive fame because they are good at something, appreciated for something they have been able to give.
You might think that communities would welcome with joy the contributions offered by each of its members. Indeed, that is how I’ve always hoped to be received. But I found that there is another factor at work, which I recently realized is an effect of the Snapping Jaws (see my posts on Sept 9th and 16th, 2010).
Before I found the co-op preschool for my kids that I loved, the one which made me feel like I and my kids all had unique gifts, which were appreciated by the community, I joined another co-op preschool. In that preschool I got the feeling, after a while, that the teacher disliked me. It was a sense of slow-dawning coldness, a sense of impatience with anything I might have to say during the parent education sessions that she ran. Much later, I considered that it might have been because of how I filled out the registration form. There was a box for my interests, or what I might have to contribute, and I had jammed it full of different things, using tiny handwriting to fit it all in. I was eager to contribute. She probably felt I was showing off. My conclusion then was that I had been naive to assume people wanted to know what I had to offer - that what they really wanted was for me to know what they had to offer. But now I think the culprit was the snapping jaws.
Here’s the anatomy of it: We all want to contribute. We all want our contributions to be met with joy and appreciation. So far so good. But the snapping jaws say “your contribution isn’t good enough. Look, it’s not nearly as good as other people’s.” If I buy that, then it is suddenly in my interest that other people’s contribution not be as good as mine. So the snapping jaws, now speaking as my voice, say to me: “Their contribution is not as good as yours.” Which, if I buy it, makes me look at the contributions of others not with love, but with criticism. And I may be surprised also to find that my efforts to contribute are not met with the appreciation I had hoped for, because of the same snapping jaws. All these people - loving people, good people - people like myself, who would like to think good of everyone, are suddenly transmitters of unkindness.
Snapping jaws try to wind me up in an argument about who is being unkind or unfair in expectations and perceptions. But my rule is, don’t be drawn into the fight. Tag the snapping jaws, step back, and see what God knows about the situation. Which is the economy of Spirit.
The economy of Spirit is simple and clear: We are designed to contribute what each other need. We are designed to feel deep gratitude for what others give, and deep gratitude for the fact that our contribution meets their needs and evokes gratitude in them. There’s no place in the economy of Spirit for doubt about our gifts or criticism of others’. There’s no place in the economy of Spirit for bad economic times, or despair of not having a venue for our contribution, or not being provided with what we need. This truth is ours to prove, through prayer and through refusing to transmit the lies of the snapping jaws.
