Sacred Generosity
I have been reading recently Cynthia Bourgeault, priest and author, in a Buddhist reflection from Jack Kornfield. It struck me that one of the unstated values of Saint John’s might be congruent with the ‘giveaway’.
The Indigenous (Indian) “giveaway”ceremony is more than a cultural expression of generosity. It is a sacred theology in practice, a lived spirituality of abundance, relationality, and humility. Rooted in Indigenous worldviews that see all life as interconnected, the giveaway is an embodied resistance to the systems of scarcity, extraction, and domination that dominate much of Western life. It proclaims there is enough, if we live as kin.
As Steve Charleston writes “To grow a church preach from the heart, work for the poor, welcome the stranger, embrace the Spirit. Laugh more than cry. Fail more than wait. Give more than keep. Be unexpected love and trust the becoming to God.” This Indigenous practice of sacred generosity resonates with the self-emptying love of Jesus, who “did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited but emptied himself” (Philippians 2:6-7). The giveaway, like the cross, is a revelation of a different kind of power one that gives itself away so that others may live.
Cynthia Bourgeault writes, “The deep surrender of self through kenosis is the access path to abundance, not your will.” This practice of self-emptying becomes a sacred alignment with the divine economy of grace. She also notes that “kenosis … means very clearly non-clinging … it doesn’t mean any kind of great making of oneself… It’s just simple, what the Buddhists would call non-clinging.”
At the heart of the giveaway is a radical trust in abundance. In Indigenous traditions, true honor is not in how much one accumulates, but in how much one gives away. Wealth is measured by generosity, not possession. This theology directly counters the myth of scarcity that pervades dominant economic and social systems. It echoes the words of Jesus: “Sell your possessions, and give alms… For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Luke 12:33-34), and it embodies the spirit of Acts 20:35: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”
In our consumer society built on fear of not having enough, the giveaway invites us to reimagine giving not as loss, but as sacred participation in the divine economy of grace. In many Indian cosmologies, all life is kin: human and non-human, seen and unseen. The giveaway functions as a ritual of rebalancing, restoring harmony within the web of relationships.
This vision aligns with the early Christian community we have read about in Acts 2:44–47, where “believers held all things in common and shared with any as had need.” Mutual care for each other was not optional it was foundational. The Eucharist was both spiritual and material.
In the giveaway, giving is not transactional. It is a behavior of covenant. It is a proclamation: your flourishing is bound up in mine. It is a ceremony of belonging. Giveaways often accompany significant life transitions: births, deaths, naming or re-naming ceremonies, reconciliation, blessing of relationships, acts of healing or thanksgiving. In these sacred moments, to give is to pray, to bless, to recognize the holy in both joy and sorrow. This is the biblical practice as described of offering first fruits (Deuteronomy 26) or the widow’s sacrificial offering. (Mark 12:41–44) Giving becomes a way of sanctifying time, honoring both the Creator and the community. In the giveaway, time itself becomes sacramental. Each gesture of generosity marks a passage not just of life, but of spirit.
Perhaps most radical is this: in a giveaway, it is often the one being honored who gives the most away. The one being celebrated becomes the source of blessing for others. This turns the norms of status and entitlement upside down. It is a theology of humility, where dignity is revealed in self-offering. It mirrors the kenosis of Christ: “Though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself… taking the form of a servant” (Philippians 2:6-7). Jesus does not rise through domination but through surrender. The giveaway likewise honors those who pour themselves out in love.
As Bourgeault writes, “To practice kenosis is to become a conduit for divine love, to risk everything on the trust that giving away is the path to becoming whole.” In Indigenous contexts, giveaways are also used ‘to repair the breach’, to heal wounds, to make restitution after harm, to express remorse, to restore what has been broken. Giving becomes a ritual of justice-making. Restorative justice is not about punishment, but about relational repair. In the giveaway, justice and mercy meet. The act of giving restores both the individual and the community.
Imagine the ‘giving away’ of our claimed citizenship as settlers to undocumented immigrants? The giveaway challenges the beloved community to remember that discipleship, walking in the way of Jesus, is not about possession but about participation in the divine economy of self-giving love. It calls us to embody Eucharist not just in ritual, but in daily life, to pour ourselves out, as Christ did, for the healing of the world.
Indigenous wisdom invites us to rediscover:
- Offertory is more than a liturgical formality, but a spiritual act of communal trust.
- Foot-washing as a sign of power inverted through service.
- Almsgiving or redistribution of wealth as a practice of relational justice, not pity.
In our time of ecological collapse, political division, and social fragmentation, the Church would do well to learn from the sacred practice of the giveaway. It reminds us that to follow Jesus is to give ourselves away—not once, but again and again—so that others may live, and the world may be made whole. Again, quoting from Steve Charleston: “We are here for a reason. Our lives are entrusted to us for a purpose … It is the vital work of restoration, reconciliation, and renewal that must be done…”
May we walk in the Way of Jesus, who emptied himself in love, and invites us to do the same.
May we rise up, not in dominance but in generosity.
Not in fear, but in faith.
Not in possession, but in sacred release.
Shalom, Rex
