The difference between poverty and simplicity.

I think it's important to be clear about this difference between poverty and simplicity. Monks and Nuns of different faiths around the world take vows that are called 'poverty' but I prefer the Franciscan notion of 'simplicity' because it helps me to distinguish between the enforced poverty that millions of people experience, and the chosen life of simplicity that some undertake.

What I am doing this Lent is clearly a choice. I am not in that dark place of watching things being taken away from me and of feeling powerless to stop the steady and inevitable deprivation. I am able to make this distinction because some time ago (1991 to be precise) I was unemployed for a year. One minute I had a high-flying, exciting job that brought status, pay and security - the next I was in a state of shock, on the dole and afraid of losing everything that made me feel secure. I eeked out my meagre dole payments to get me through the weeks. At the beginning, I had a buffer; a payment from my employers that I carefully managed so that it kept my car on the road, covered the shortfall on utility bills and paid something towards my mortgage arrears. When that buffer fund had gone I found myself in a state of fear at the prospect of losing the roof over my head and staring into an abyss. I suppose it's my personal experience, however modest, that makes me feel so passionate about the state we find ourselves in as a nation, a continent and a world. It's not statistics when we talk about poverty; it's people.

There's something else that I've found myself re-living this last couple of days, though. A sense that being on the edge brings a certain sort of freedom. When I was unemployed, I found I was invisible. Most of the things happening in society around me were irrelevant because I wasn't part of society; I was part of a sub-class of people called 'The Unemployed'. The road to a sense of disenfranchisement was swift and it fairly quickly evoked a slight sense of anarchy in me. Slight because it wasn't much more than realising there were no rules apart from getting to the dole office to sign on on the right day and to scour the papers for potential employment. What time I went to bed or got up in the morning was of little consequence, as was when I ate. What I did with my day was completely insignificant because I was, apparently, contributing nothing to society.

I quickly found people in similar situations and discovered I had a band of comrades, for want of a better word. There was solidarity among The Unemployed, The Underclass. One day, while I queued to sign on in Todmorden Job Centre, I saw an act of generous humanity that moved me so much, it has stayed in my memory all these years. A man in his fifties at the head of the queue was signing on for the first time. There was no privacy for the poor, so he had to conduct his conversation in the hearing of us all. He was clearly in shock, having lost the job he'd held all his life. Something specialist in manufacturing to do with piston heads that I didn't understand. The woman behind the counter was telling him that he had to write down the jobs he would be able to take; the man repeated the nature of his work - it was clear that he didn't know any other trade - the woman didn't help, just said he had to write in the box. As he walked away from the counter, a man stepped out of the queue and spoke to him; 'Mate, what you have to do is write something like; 'I'll take any job I'm offered' cos if you don't write something in that box, you won't get your dole money. That's what she's not telling you.'  It was a long time ago but I can still see the look of relief on that man's face at that simple act of solidarity, the help he needed to get through this day, the face of a man devastated by his inability to provide for his family.

So no, I'm not having things taken away this time and I'm not living in fear. While clergy aren't on huge salaries, I have the privilege of security and a roof over my head. I am, like the Franciscans, making a choice towards simplicity and that is surprisingly liberating. Somehow, when I choose to take something from a cupboard and put it into the food bank, I am making a journey towards freedom; freedom from being owned by what is in my cupboards. Freedom from identifying myself with what I have. And it's a short step to discovering another sense of freedom; the freedom of being judged by the standards of society and any sense of obligation to live up to those standards.

Today, when the usual flood of emails poured in from companies desperate for my money, there was a difference in the way I felt as I deleted them without opening them first. 'This is nothing to do with me' ran through my head. I don't have to live by these rules. Who I am is not governed by what I have and living my life has nothing to do with society's perception of success and failure. Poverty and simplicity may both lead to a state of invisibility, a reality of disenfranchisement; but society beware because it also leads to a very clear perception of emancipation.

Eva