This past while, there have been a few blatant challenges for me to think about what I have and what I can give. The truth is that I don’t have very much. I’m a working class man. I can afford what my wife and I need, and not much more than that. But I can afford more.

I’m a carpenter. Often I build higher-end custom homes for people on the higher end of society. Recently, my boss was considering a contract for an 11000 square foot home (for two people), which would keep our small crew busy and well taken care of for a good while. It was supposed to be exciting news, since there isn’t a ton of work out there lately. We had been working at a packing plant, where a few executive people make a “good” living off of Mexican workers who are happy to make minimum wage and bunk together in run-down houses on-site, far away from their families, since the conditions where they come from are apparently much worse.  There is no way that these men and their families can ever eke out a living here in Canada with what they make, and they don’t even make enough to be able to live well in Mexico when the season is over, so they keep coming back. Wealth is built on the backs of the poor. And it’s starting to make me a little angry.

The guy I was working with also thought that 11000 square feet is crazy, but said frankly that if he had the money, he would definitely do it too. I told him there is no way that I would. I said that I don’t think that just because you happen to make a lot of money, you should spend it all on yourself, especially when there are poor people who can’t seem to escape the cycle of poverty because the rich keep them down. “You say that now, but if you had millions of dollars to spend, you would do the same, too,” he replied. He was so sure. I responded with something about having something I actually believe in, but as ignorant as his comment was, it stayed with me.

“Would I?”

I believe in taking care of Earth, but sometimes when it’s easier, I make a lot of garbage. I believe in loving people and in being responsible with my time and in seeing beautiful women as fellow souls on a journey rather than as nice pieces of ass. I can’t follow up on even one of those, though. So, if I had, say, ten million dollars all of a sudden, or over a certain period of time, might I make some excuses and build a monster home? I could say that it’s because I want to have gatherings at my place, so my friends and family won’t have to rent halls or picnic grounds–they can just come on over. I could say it’s an investment, and when I get my return, I’ll give a whole bunch away. Maybe since I have so much money, I need to live somewhere I won’t get robbed, in a wealthy neighbourhood (and in a home that fits in there) where people won’t always be after my money.

None of these excuses are good enough. Unless I’m having the poor fill up my home, where I care for them, or I have my whole family living with me, with room for nieces and nephews galore, I will never need a house like that.

We tend to believe here that when we make a lot or a little bit of money here, this is what we deserve. This is what we have worked for. We don’t consider that the goat farmer in Bangladesh might be working much harder to make a living than the farmers down the road from where I live. Does he deserve less? If I work hard and make a “decent” living, do I deserve to have a nice, tropical vacation every once in a while? Do I deserve the best house I can afford? As soon as we think we deserve anything like that, we place ourselves above everybody around us who doesn’t get any of it, as if we inherited some monumental birthright–as if we were royalty. A person living in wealthy extravagance cannot actually believe that people are created equal (even if that person gives millions away to charitable causes). If I was a millionaire, and my brother Adam lost everything he had and was living on the street, what kind of man would I be if I refused to help him when he asked? Even if I had worked up the construction industry over years of hard work, and my brother had lost it all through recklessness, I should at least do what I can to get him on his feet. Right? 

What if the same thing happened to my next-door neighbour? or a friend? What if was someone I never met? Do I still have any responsibility to people I’m not personally connected with? Because if not, I should be able to litter when I’m out of town, I should be able to steal from corner-stores, and I shouldn’t have to do anything if I see a lady about to get creamed by a bus–if I don’t know her, of course. We are all connected. We are all equal. What we do either brings people up or crushes them. As much as we would like to believe it, there is no middle ground. You can’t just do your own thing. Life is movement, and we can move in life-giving directions, or the other way. Sadly, we seem to be bent in the wrong direction. I want to serve myself. I want to take the easy route. …I want to make myself happy.

John the Baptist, in his sort of deranged fashion, announced to people about the coming Messiah, or Christ, and what that would mean for us. Of course, he mentioned that this Christ would be great, but one thing he also said, which I haven’t really heard a lot about, is this:

“Whoever has two coats should share with the person who has none. And whoever has food should do likewise.”

When you get down to it, this is what it means when we hear that we should do to others as we’d have them do to us. When I think of how the world works, and how it should work, this makes sense to me. I don’t want it to. I just want to keep my coat, or maybe I’ll give away my third-stringer with the hole in the elbow, the one that’s hopelessly out of style.

And so I think about that humongous house, about people who drive Maserati’s or Lexus luxury cars, those who shop and shop and shop, whether it’s for shoes or saws or diamonds. Obviously, these people have something they can easily give away. And they should. But–and here’s where I want to stop–what about us? What am I doing, wanting an “average” 2500 square-foot house? I could use the space, but I sure don’t need it. Why am I buying another pair of jeans when I already have a few? It makes me feel good when I give another pair away to a charity thrift store, but I’ve just spent fifty bucks so I can look great and I gave my crap so that people can give five to someone who actually needs pants.  

I can probably go on and on about materialism and consumerism, but I don’t need to, I don’t think. The fact is that we all have something we don’t need more of, something we can share. I can share my time with other lonely people instead of with my television. I can make dinner for a student who’s been living on K.D. for the past week. I can give five bucks to a homeless man (even if he buys something stupid with it–do you spend all your money only on good things?).

If I understand that how I live, and how I spend my money can keep Mexican migrant workers down, or that the tons of money that I spend on stuff for me could help my brothers and sisters around the world, then it is robbery if I do nothing different from following my selfish path. I can’t go on stealing. Now that I know, I can’t take the easy way. I can’t crown myself king above my fellow man.