The Gift of Less

The Gift of Less 

 Less is more, more is often less. 

I’ve been thinking lately about the gift of abundance. It is so fun to be at Immanuel UMC because we are all experiencing a season of abundance. It’s happening, now, in real-time. However, it’s easy to fall into a rut of thinking we always need more — more stuff, more people, more, more, and more. The church can get stuck here too.  Ask any pastor their initial discussions with a new church about it’s congregational goals, and all too often every sentence starts with numbers — more seats, more dollars, more programs. Don’t get me wrong — there is something fun and beautiful about the drive for “more.”   

As we experience abundance, we might ask ourselves where does the divine (God) meet us in this gift of abundance? 

In my pastoral ministry, I’ve noticed people in their later years downsizing — clearing out closets and shelves stacked with trinkets long forgotten, hoping to leave less for family to “deal with” when they pass. Marie Kondo built a philosophy on this instinct: she says if it doesn’t “spark joy,” let it go, and live a life with less stuff but no less abundance. 

We live in a culture that sells abundance at every corner, every aisle end, every halftime show. It can bring joy, but also torment. When the pursuit of “more” becomes a dog chasing its own tail, it leads to debt, too much stuff, and a house full of junk we don’t remember buying. 

Our church is gifted with an abundance too; but not one you can put on a chart. It is an abundance of Spirit. People stream through the doors, not as numbers to be counted, but as faces to be known. 

When is abundance a problem? When its acquisition becomes the main goal. Abundance is a gift, given and hopefully cherished. Once it is owned, it becomes something different. It is not meant to be owned — only cherished. 

We spend our early years collecting things, and the rest of our lives letting them go. Those early years are marked by wanting, maybe by anxiety and fear: Will I have enough to survive? Do I need more? Will others have more than me? Am I enough? 

Every one of those questions is really asking about “enough”; assuming the answer is no. But wisdom points the other way. Less is more; more is often less. Lao Tzu said as much long before anyone had a storage unit to fill: “He who knows he has enough is rich.” Not the one who has the most, but the one who knows they have enough. 

But “enough” doesn’t mean we stop wanting altogether. There is still a “more” worth chasing. It just isn’t the kind you could set on a shelf. Diving deeper into our faith was never about acquiring something.  It’s about a deeper connection with the divine. One that refocuses us toward gratitude for what we already have, acceptance of life’s ups and downs, and a quiet ability to find hope in the middle of any situation. Paul called this learning to be content whatever the circumstance … in plenty or in want. 

Part of our faith tradition is holding in tension new life, the cycle of life, and its eventual ending. The grave has its own wisdom. It reminds us, plainly, that we are dust, and to dust we shall return. We take none of our stuff with us. But not everything turns to dust. Love doesn't. The people we held, and who held us, are carried forward in every life we touched. 

Our Bishop Kennetha Bigham-Tsai reminds us often that "No church can extend its reach farther without extending its reach spiritually deeper." Spiritual development and time spent in discipleship remind us of all we've been given, and all we're called to give in return. As we grow spiritually deeper, we find enough. 

This is the real inheritance — not the china cabinet or the tool shed, but the people who gathered around our table. George Bailey learns this in It’s a Wonderful Life: his life was rich in the people who loved him, not the money he owned. The film closes on a simple line: “No man is a failure who has friends.” A full sanctuary isn’t a number — it’s a room full of people who need each other more than they need more. 

We start to get rid of the junk. What little do we truly need? When time is limited, we realize we cannot buy it or own it — time is priceless. Today is a gift unlike any other. What fleeting awe will tomorrow bring? 

Less is more. More is often less. 

May we have the grace to know when we have enough, the hope to see light in any circumstance, and the wisdom to call it abundance.