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What is it about seeing objects in quantity that makes us want one? More times than I can count, I have walked past a bookstore and seen a best seller displayed in an artfully arranged pyramid. Almost always I am tempted to rush inside and buy one before dozens of other shoppers beat me to it.
Then there was the stylish purple blouse in the department store. If I’d seen only one, I might have walked past it. But there were six or seven hanging on a stand, facing me in a graceful, sloping line, and my niece who works in retail had told me that purple was the fashion-savvy color that year. I bought the blouse.
Show me a lot of stuff and right away I want some. I’m pondering that because like everyone else, I’m wondering what Pope Francis is going to say to us during his visit next week. I expect that he is going to ask us to live more simply, and I’m thinking about what that means for me and for my fellow Catholics and other citizens.
First there’s the issue of consumption, or how much we use of the Earth’s resources. Obviously it’s important for us to use our resources wisely, limit our use to what we need, and reduce pollution as far as possible. That is necessary and beneficial for our own environment and others’ as well, but how far the effects will reach is open to question. The lack of resources in other parts of the world often is rooted partly in underdevelopment and political mismanagement. Those are complex issues that we need to address, but they require strategies far beyond individual and local efforts at conservation.
Living more simply, however, carries spiritual and practical benefits that can transform us. There’s nothing new in that; philosophers have been saying the same thing for centuries. One of them is the American author Henry David Tho-
reau, who, in his book “Walden,” observed, “Our life is frittered away by detail.” His solution: “Simplify, simplify.” And he’s right.
For more than a year, I’ve been working at reducing my possessions. I had to; I was moving out of the house I’d lived in almost all my life. Now I’m settled into an apartment, and although I got rid of truckloads, I did not realize how much I still had. There are dozens of cartons to go through. Some of them hold the books and papers that feel as much a part of me as my flesh and bones. I’m anxious about how much I ought to keep, and whether I’ll be able to let go of the rest.
But it’s not all chaos. I put one room into perfect order, with only the furniture and items I need—plus a few for beauty’s sake. It took no time at all to see what a difference it made to my heart and soul. It’s my sanctuary, a place of peace and calm. It shows me how order around me begets order within me, and it makes me believe that I’ll reach the goal: I’ll reduce my possessions and simplify my life.
I need to divide material things into three categories: What I have, what I want, and what I need. Some of what I have I don’t need anymore. Some of what I want, I don’t need. And some of what I need, I might already have. At the very least, I know that I need a lot less than I thought I did.
When it comes to living simply, Pope Francis is immeasurably far ahead of me. I know that he’s had a lot of practice; as a religious, a Jesuit, he has a vow of poverty. Even so, I’m impressed by his example of simple living and concern for the poor. I have a long way to go and a lot to learn about detachment. Maybe there are others who feel the same way. I expect that when Pope Francis speaks to us, we’ll be listening.
