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The other day a close friend of mine mentioned that she can only afford to have hot water in her flat for two days a week, as a result of rocketing energy prices. She is a professional musician with an international reputation as a music educator and composer, who has more than 60 publications to her name.
This might appear to be just another illustration of the devastating impact that the cost of living crisis is having upon the lives of people across the social and economic spectrum. However, there is more to this particular story. Remarkably, and despite her own severe financial hardship, this same friend is offering free music lessons to those children in her teaching practice whose parents can no longer afford to pay for their instrumental tuition.
There is a truth here that I have often encountered over the years. If you want to discover the real meaning of generosity, don’t look to the wealthy but to those for whom life is a struggle. Because, properly understood, generosity is always a costly business.
I sometimes wonder whether, as a culture, we are in danger of losing sight of why generosity matters. Indeed, some of the things that can masquerade as generosity are, in fact, nothing of the sort.
Some years ago, a church where I ministered requested donations of tinned goods and dried food for the local food bank as part of our annual Harvest Thanksgiving — a symbol of our gratitude for the abundance that we were fortunate to enjoy, as well as a practical response to the needs of those around us who were experiencing hardship.
Sadly, more than a third of the produce we received had to be discarded because it was out of date and unusable. Far from responding to our appeal in the spirit that was intended, many people regarded it as nothing more than an excuse to clear their cupboards of unwanted junk. That is not generosity.
Recycling is crucial in combating wastefulness, and the passing on of good quality items that we no longer need is wholly commendable. Yet can that really be described as generosity either? And is it generosity when our financial donation to a good cause leaves no discernible trace on our bank balance? Giving away what we don’t need and won’t miss hardly strikes me as generous.
I sometimes wonder whether some of the forces at work in modern society draw us further away from the true spirit of generosity, inducing us instead to cling to what we have or desire more. Others, such as disreputable cold callers selling needless insurance or other services, feed on our fears for the future. In the current economic climate, these fears can appear all too real.
Trickle-down economics hasn’t helped. The suggestion that the wealthy need only become wealthier to contribute to the prosperity of everyone else, including those in need, potentially leaves little scope for generosity of spirit, or the spirit of generosity.
How interesting that when speaking of generosity, the language of “spirit” is seldom far away. Because there is something about true generosity that seems to arise from deep within the human soul and is often generated by compassion; the recognition of very real need in the life of another that causes us to raise our eyes from our own immediate material needs, and fears about the future. It comes from the heart.
It is sometimes said that only a human being is capable of being inhuman. Perhaps it is the spirit of generosity that enables us to re-humanise ourselves; to remind us that the human race can never truly flourish unless we learn to open our hearts to one another.
Christmas is the season of the Christian year that has generosity at its heart. It is a time when we buy gifts to gladden the hearts of those whom we love (or out of a sense of duty to those we find difficult!) But our gift-giving has its origins in the recognition that we ourselves have been richly blessed: for Christians, through the generous love of God, and through the hope that comes with the birth of his Son.
Given the challenges we all face, we may need the Christmas spirit of generosity even more than usual this year to help see us through.
The writer is rector of St Bride’s Church in Fleet Street, London
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