Changes in perspective

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. (1 Corinthians 13.11 KJV)

A university tutor I knew said in a seminar that we should welcome disillusionment: because who in their right mind wants to live in the light of an illusion? I found that observation helpful.

There’s a certain no-going-back quality to growing up. I’m not convinced that older always means wiser. All of us know some bigoted, snobbish, obtuse old people — and we may even all unawares exactly fit that category ourselves. Wisdom? Perhaps. But there is a kind of familiarity with the ways of the world that does accrue. It sometimes takes the shine off things.

This has been true for me in the sphere of politics. As a young woman I was a passionate socialist, and swallowed whole the ideology held (in the main) by my fellow Methodists, that poverty is a random accident which can strike any person at any time — there but for the grace of God go I; it’s a lottery.

My mother (hers is a Conservative vote; mine remains socialist, with reservations) thought otherwise. She used to recall her childhood growing up on a large farm. The horsemen were hired annually at a labour fair, and made their lodgings in the outbuildings, but there were cottages housing some of the men who worked the farm, with little gardens. These men came out to the fields each day with a packed lunch made by their wives. They all had the same pay, but my mother observed that some of the men had meat with their bread while others had only “pepper-and-salt-sandwiches”. It wasn’t just a matter of wages, then, but of the skills to make the money go round. Rudyard Kipling was his household’s principal source of income, but he used to call his wife “the Committee of Ways and Means.” Absolutely.

“Thrift” is a wonderful noun, of Norse origins; the same rootstock produced the verb “thrive”. So a “spendthrift” is a person who scatters and disperses the stores meant for our necessity, that would have ensured the household could thrive.

I have known quite a number of people who fit into the category of people in poverty, and they managed it very differently.

I especially remember one dear Christian soul who was poor from the day she was born to the day she died. She spent her childhood in the workhouse. She married a young man who went to war as a soldier, came home broken in body and spirit, and was hers to nurse and comfort until he died. He occupied her attention, so she did not work outside the home. They lived on his military pension; it was not much. After his death, in her old age she had a state pension; that also is not large. She never had much, and she populated her wardrobe from judicious buys in charity shops. But she took a taxi to chapel once old age made the distance too far to walk — not only to worship but also to arrange the sanctuary flowers. She had her hair set and colour-rinsed regularly (her special luxury). And she set enough money aside to give me, every now and then, ten pounds to send a man in prison, so he could buy himself some cigarettes. He was inside for burglary, and she never smoked in her life: if that’s not selfless charity, I don’t know what is.

That same young man in the prison was a bit of a rascal (that's why he was there). He prided himself on never paying a utility bill of any kind. He lived in accommodation found him by kind people. He went straight to the pub with his social security payments and drank the lot in one evening. He shop-lifted what essentials he needed. When his gas or electricity bill came in he ignored it. When the debts accumulated and he was fined, he’d opt for a prison term instead, and “go and lie down for a month”, as he put it. He was proud of it, it amused him — he saw it as himself outwitting the big, faceless system. That reminds me of Malvina Reynolds song about the mouse. I used to think it was so funny, when I was a younger woman — us against the system. But I see it more as sawing off the branch you're sitting on, now. The farmer in the song would be as badly hit by the failure of his bank as the failure of his crops, at least in the short term. It's still a good song, for sure, but . . .

Anyway, they both were poor, that old lady and that young man I knew. Each of them did as they thought best according to their view of life. Who am I to judge? But I knew them both, and they coloured my attitudes. I won’t keep you here all day with tales of people in poverty I’ve known, but I’m sure you get the drift. The opportunity to observe how people live has rubbed a lot of the varnish off the ideology I held as a young woman.

Then there’s preaching. When I was young, I embraced what I heard wholeheartedly; now, not so much.

Here’s an example. In the 1980s we had a Mission (I think it deserves a capital M) here in Hastings. A young evangelist with a strong sense of himself as a Church Leader (capital C L for sure) was spearheading the event as main speaker. Possibly even Main Speaker (do you detect how cynical I have grown with the passing years?)

We had a Preparatory Meeting in readiness for the Mission. All of us from participating churches around the town came to be briefed and fired with enthusiasm by our Leader.

I have forgotten everything he said except one story. We sang the hymn All for Jesus, and he spoke to us about financial giving. He spoke about tithing. He parodied the hymn we’d just sung as “One tenth for Jesus”. He described his experience of giving and tithing. He said that when he offered God one tenth, God instead took ninety per cent and said, “Here, you can have the tenth.” Then (yes, you guessed right) he invited us to dig deep into our pockets to resource the Mission.

At the time, in my early twenties, I thought that was wonderful. So trusting, so visionary, so wholehearted and generous, so committed. It spoke to me of Charles de Foucauld’s “abandonment to divine providence”, giving all to Jesus and trusting him for the way ahead.

I came across a snippet of information about C.S.Lewis that said he started out giving ten per cent of all he had, and increased the percentage as his income rose until in the end he gave ninety per cent and kept back ten. I can’t remember where I read that and don’t know if it’s true.

I see things through a different lens now. I had no idea, back in the early 80s, what a vast amount of money it costs to maintain and repair the fabric of buildings. I never imagined the increase in property prices would so massively outstrip the rise in incomes that most of my children would not stand a chance of buying their own homes. I didn't expect to get divorced and remarried and add another two offspring to the quiver. I didn’t understand how much the world would change and how exponentially the slime mould of Mammon would grow. I hadn’t factored in that you have to apply a different rationale as you grow old — once you lose earning capacity you have what you’ve saved and nowt else. I hadn’t expected that the UK government would become so focused on shrinking and distancing old age pensions. I didn't grasp that a day would come when my income would have diminished but bills with three noughts on the end would come my way. There were so many things I didn’t know in my early twenties.

I count nothing as my own. I am Christ’s property and all I have is to be shared. I’ve tried to set the example of giving the most and choosing the least. I live simply. 

I also believe in paying our way and not looking to others to foot the bill. So when, recently, at a church council meeting we discussed how to meet the cost of property repairs, mine was the voice for giving and fund-raising, not the voice for seeking grants and assistance from other churches. The path I favour is the one where you take responsibility for meeting your own needs and generate a bit extra to give away — not the one where you look round to see whose resources you can beg or borrow. So I agree with the 1980s Leader that if we wanted a Mission we should have given a little thought to financing it.

But preaching that relies heavily on guilt-tripping people into parting with their money no longer strikes me as wonderful. Making people who came eagerly, to see how they could help, feel ashamed and inadequate because everything they have is already committed to housing, feeding and clothing their families, no longer looks like spiritual vision to me. Nowadays I like things done quietly, frugally and on a planned basis. No grand gestures.

I think I can pinpoint the time my illusions fell away. It was with the birth of my fifth child.

After our twins (Child 3 and Child 4) were born, and we had a houseful and four kids still in nappies at night, I felt I’d had enough babies. Then, through Christian circles to which we belonged, began to come a trickle of words and prophecies. I started to feel that, against all my inclinations, we were being called to make room for another child. I felt it very strongly. So I said “yes”, and our family increased. 

I remember the week before Child Five was born. We had houseguests — another family of parents and children. We had a lodger. All in our modestly-sized three-bedroomed Victorian semi. There was a day when I stood in the town centre carrying so many bags of groceries my arms ached, and thought, “I think I’m too tired to do this.” But there is no going back from nine months pregnant!

Five children is a lot more than four, if you think of packet size, sofa sizes, sets of chairs/glasses/plates, bunk beds etc. 

I and my children’s father slept, at various times, on the living room floor, on the boarded joists of the attic (got mighty nifty at shinning up and down a step ladder), in the box room, in a garden shed. Every penny he earned was turned straight over to me to budget, and it lasted three weeks of the month — which was a good thing, because it taught our children the power of prayer.

After that, though, I had a chat with the Lord, in which I humbly offered him the opinion that if he wanted me to have any more children, the way he might let me know it would be by sending along the big house and increased income first.

Not all my illusions and disillusionment have been to do with money, but it serves to illustrate what I mean. The view from where I stand today looks different from the vista forty years ago. Scepticism has replaced hope and eagerness. Wariness has ousted trust. Sometimes it seems sad, in a way; life is flatter, less joyous, somewhat grittier. But then, as my tutor said all those years ago (and he, then, so much older than me) who in their right mind wants to live in the light of an illusion?

God still provides. He always provides. There are still the sweet miracles and happy surprises of his unexpected rescues. But I accept that much of the time our self-discipline, self-denial, careful thrift, willingness to live simply and advance planning make up the channel of his provision.