c. 2008 Religion News Service

NEW YORK _ Locally grown strawberries appeared at our farmers market on West 97th Street two weeks ago. No more woody berries picked green and trucked cross-country.

They are joined now by local asparagus _ sold in large bunches signaling sudden abundance _ and piles of greens and sweet peas. Coming soon: field-ripened tomatoes, vegetables and, ah yes, sweet corn.

It’s a scene familiar across the nation, where roadside stands, tables in empty lots, and trucks lining city sidewalks keep us in touch with the actual cycles of nature. Like Sicilians who only serve food that is in season, we can prepare food grown by neighbors.

Local berries not only cost less and taste better, but also “feel better,” in the sense of our being connected with the land and not using money to override nature.

Humankind’s determination to conquer nature is an ancient contest. Sometimes we win, sometimes nature reminds us that we are guests, with naming rights but not control. Rain falls where it will, floods barely pause at our levees, natural resources prove to have limits that we cannot surmount, and disrespect for nature eventually exacts stiff consequences.

Our historic desire to live, do, eat and own whatever we want eventually collides with nature’s reality. Then we go to war over scarce resources like oil and water. The cost of doing it our way leaves us with houses we cannot sell and paychecks that don’t stretch far enough.

Soon, everything is about scarcity. Who gets the oil: American drivers or Chinese industries? Who gets the water: Californians or everyone else? Who gets access to Atlantic beaches: Wealthy retirees or day-trippers carrying coolers?

Scarcity turns us against each other and introduces a fundamental insecurity, as if everything from space to oil to strawberries to time were in danger of being stolen from us. As we manipulate scarcity to gain power and wealth, the overflowing cornucopia of thanksgiving is replaced by the zero-sum budget of anxiety, in which your earning a dollar means I won’t earn a dollar.

The answer isn’t more efficient wars over scarcity. The answer is abundance _ specifically, a better attitude toward sharing and less obsession with controlling.

For example, in times of crisis, people instinctively share food with each other, and somehow there is plenty to go around. Habitat for Humanity has proven that, if everyone gives a little, houses blossom in the desert. When people overcome their fear of strangers and their bigotry, the nation and its economy expand to absorb millions of immigrants.

This isn’t magic. Shared effort literally solves problems like crime, hunger and homelessness. A free-flowing economy is more rational than a manipulated marketplace. Mutual “back-scratching” works, whereas hoarding never does. My owning less won’t doom me to not having enough; it will enable me to live at peace with my neighbors.

Nor is this soft-minded dreaminess. Love truly is expansive, and, whether or not we admit it, love is our deepest desire. Side trips into the barren land of scarcity don’t satisfy that desire. Money is a pale substitute for being treasured by another person.

God is expansive. Although some paint God as controlling and a defender of scarcity’s jealous borders, the truth is that God’s love, mercy and justice make room for all. It’s we who close borders, not God.

(Tom Ehrich is a writer, church consultant and Episcopal priest based in New York. He is the author of “Just Wondering, Jesus,” and the founder of the Church Wellness Project, http://www.churchwellness.com. His Web site is http://www.morningwalkmedia.com.)

KRE/CM END EHRICH

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