The sin of the scarcity mindset, the prosperity gospel, and why God won’t buy you a Mercedes.

Some thoughts on the parable of the talents.

For to all those who have, more shall be given, and they will have in abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away.

Matthew 25:29

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

Janis Joplin

Photo by Jingming Pan on Unsplash

We live in a time of abundance. We live in a time of scarcity. We are both wealthy and impoverished, and there’s a thin line between truth and perspective.

If we live in what’s called the West, we’re lucky. I know this because I’m told it all the time, by the people I’ve worked with for 25 years: refugees and migrants held in immigration detention.

They tell me that I’m lucky to have a British passport, to have the freedom to go home at night. That I’m lucky to have a measure of justice, however - at times - poorly administered.

‘If someone commits a crime against you, even if you’re poor, you can go to the police and they will investigate it,’ I was told once. ‘In my country, they’ll only help you if you bribe them.’

We’re lucky that an ambulance will take us to hospital if we break our leg. We’re lucky that the apparatus of the State will catch us - more or less - if we fall.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight for the things that are being taken away. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t campaign for a better and fairer healthcare, benefits and prison system, more efficient and cheaper public transport, safer roads, or anything else.

But all the same, we’re lucky. We have laws to protect us and fresh food in the shops. Our rights were hard-fought-for, but no more or less than they’re being fought for in other countries, where those who do are thrown in jail or worse.

We live in a time of material abundance, unprecedented by our close ancestors, and by many around the world. My father grew up in poverty in 1940s and 50s Mauritius and ate one meal of rice every day. My mother’s parents - my grandparents - were born in the Sheffield slums and shared one toilet between four houses.

Photo by The New York Public Library on Unsplash

---

The parable of the talents

Jesus was asked how to get into Heaven. Maybe you interpret Heaven as sublimeness, oneness, nirvana, complete presence within love, or any other way you choose. You might see it as the top-tier table at a restaurant (I don’t, personally, but whatever works for you). In any case, I’m not sure it’s meant as after you die, but right here, right now, within this material lifetime.

One of his answers on Heaven was to use the metaphor of three servants who are given money by their boss and told to maximise the profit. In the story, the servants are given different amounts of a lot of money. The one who’s given £5 million¹* comes back with £10 million. The second, who gets £2 million also doubles his profit. The third gets a million quid and, scared of it being taken away, buries it in the back garden.

On his return, the boss rewards equally the two who have doubled their investment, regardless of the amount of profit. But the third, who hid the money, is punished and sent to Hell.

This story challenged me the first time I heard it. I guess that’s the point of the parables, to take what you’ve understood to be true and dash it aside. Surely, I thought, it’s better to hide the money than risk losing it on the open market? How does he deserve to be sent to Hell?

Only now, like a baby learning to crawl, am I beginning to understand this metaphor, and how it strikes through my own perception of what it means to be good.

The sin of the scarcity mindset

Photo by Andrey Svistunov on Unsplash

I can’t be the only one who lives in abundance with a scarcity mindset. I am scared of loss, and so I keep hidden and safe the good things I have, for fear they’ll be taken away.

We live in material comfort, and yet we forget to appreciate the abundance we have. It’s late spring here in the UK, and the trees are shedding the last of their blossom and being overtaken by the greenery. The roses are starting to bloom. I have food in the fridge and a bed to sleep in.

I have got good at giving gratitude for the wonders of life. A gratitude journal is beyond cheesy, but it really works: a list of three good things every day changes your mindset beyond belief.

I recognise the scarcity mindset in others; the complaining about small things, the lack of appreciation. But I often fail to recognise it in myself, and how they have the same root: fear.

My instinct is small mammal-like: to hoard what I’ve got in case it gets taken away. In my case, coming from generations of poverty, there’s a hangover of keeping possessions ‘just in case’ they’re needed. But it doesn’t have to be material possessions. Many people hoard love: keeping what they’ve received and forgetting to live in abundant, demonstrative love.

Demonstrative affection and love are hard. They’re especially hard for the Brits. My half-Yorkshire upbringing means that I’ve heard ‘I love you’, but only via translation (usually ‘You’ll do.’)

But living in abundance; not hoarding your possessions, your time, your love, your affection, your anything - this is what is meant by the parable. A scarcity mindset is what we’re brought up to have - it has a bastardised Christian root, devolved from Puritan Protestantism. So it’s not our fault, but it is our work.

Wherever we’re tempted to hoard through fear, that’s where we have to be abundant.

A time of abundance and a time of scarcity.

It’s a question of perspective. We have more than enough attention, time, and love. But we often don’t believe we do.

What’s forgotten about the parable is that the money is not money. It’s an investment. And because it’s an investment, it’s what’s done with it that’s important.

The investment that Jesus’s followers received was of a belief in him, in faith, in loving oneself and others equally, in centring Truth. He told his followers that he was leaving, and asked them to care for the world while he was gone. Whatever I gave you, he tells them, double it. I have given you faith, however small it is, make it grow. Do not hoard it or keep it for yourself.

The prosperity gospel

Photo by Aaron Huber on Unsplash

Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?
My friends all drive Porsches, I must make amends
Worked hard all my lifetime, no help from my friends
So, oh, Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz?

Janis Joplin’s voice scorches through her song Mercedes Benz, a critique of the meshing of American capitalism and Christianity².

Some Christians follow what’s often known as the Prosperity Gospel. It takes the parable above literally: if you have wealth, Jesus obliges you to make more wealth. Believe in God and Jesus as your saviour, and you’ll double your riches.

It’s a convenient pathway. It’s nice and easy, and it doesn’t require much of you beyond praying fervently and - possibly - investing your money with those good people who claim to have the word of the Lord. Remember the corrupt televangelists of the 1980s, all bouffant hair and mansions? That was them.

I won’t bother going into the morality of this. But I do understand its appeal. You can use it for more than material wealth, because it lies in the idea that all you need to do is believe, and you’ll get what you want.

Yes, sometimes God does deliver what you want - so ask away. But God isn’t a cosmic vending machine, and it isn’t - as Janis Joplin song shows - God’s plan for everyone to have a Mercedes Benz. Or if it is, it ain’t working.

It’s a particularly 20^th-century model of Christianity, the prosperity gospel. It’s individualistic, it connects with the semi-secular Power of Positive Thinking, and I can see why it’s popular in the USA. All you need to do is Think. Think Good Thoughts, eliminate Bad Thoughts, and you will be materially wealthy, and healthy, and everything in your life will go well. Things going badly? Pray harder, fool!

But the fact that it’s easy (and that it doesn’t work for everyone) tells you all you need to know.

That’s because the real job, the job of living in and doubling true abundance is hard. Recognising the reality of your life now, and maximising the profit on the faith you have, is difficult. But it’s the only way to live.

So let’s stop hiding and hoarding, and step into the light. Let’s double our profit on whatever we’re given, beaming ourselves into the world. Are you with me? Let’s go.

1. obv not really £5 million, I’m making it relevant, innit

2. There was an advert in the 90s or 00s for Mercedes that actually featured the song. There’s irony and there’s beyond irony. What a state we’re in.