Our consumer mentality has trained us to satisfy immediate desires and this has crossed over into our politics. We pass our economic woes down the line - then the other party points it out and we vote for them because we want to feel good about ourselves for caring about future generations - of course, then we expect the new party to also pass the buck... and they do.
It's a vicious cycle.
We are constantly seeking gratification. Like any addiction, we must constantly be upping the ante. Why were the three stooges so funny? (No, seriously, why are they funny? I was never much into slapstick.) People laughed at getting hit in the head with a hammer precisely because it wasn't real. Fast forward a couple generations: we only laugh if the problems are real. The outcomes of wrestling matches might be fake, but the chairs are real.
We are morbidly fascinated by The Real Housewives and The Jersey Shore because these are people living completely for the moment, completely without responsibility. It is our most intimate human drive: total self-indulgence.
Why do most people avoid such frivolity? We have a conscience. We have lives, families, responsibilities. If I get blackout drunk on a Tuesday, I get fired the next morning. If I take off for Vegas after lunch, my kid get stranded at school (and maybe spend the same weekend in foster care).
Of course we'd never actually do the things we laugh at on TV.
Right?
We might not, but our kids certainly will. Our culture is not reflected in our entertainment choices, our culture is formed by our entertainment choices. Check out this video for some insight on how MTV is actively shaping culture. It's a little dated these days, but the principles are the same.
One book I read earlier this year spoke eloquently about how our decision to become a consumer economy forces us to act like teenagers. If we weren't constantly making impulse purchases, we'd not be as well off as a society as we are, financially anyway... for those who don't actually buy into the impulse purchase game.
That's sort of the point. What's best for the top end is usually not what's best for the bottom. The election focuses on this economically, but it plays out across the spectrum of life. The partying culture works out well for those who can hold their liquor, manage their relationships, and avoid addiction - it works out terribly for people who don't have that kind of money to spend, don't know when to stop, and end up alcoholics.
It plays out in our sexual culture, our religious culture, our social culture - there is an elite who "succeed" by building, inheriting, or possessing better natural defenses. They can enjoy the pleasure without conscience because the bad stuff happens to other people.
Conscience is what turns our attention from ourselves, our wants, desires, and limits, and focuses it on others. Conscience makes pleasure less pleasurable when not everyone is in on the fun. Our society works hard to keep conscience out of the picture. It encourages anonymity and discourages intimacy. We have lots of friends, but few relationships. We can post a sympathy comment on Facebook when someone is hurting and never have to enter that hurt and suffer with another.
Is there a way for our society to make money without some ending up homeless? Is there a way for our society to enjoy alcohol without some ending up in AA? Is there a way for us to serve a God of love without some feeling rejected?
Gandhi seemed to think so; I believe Jesus would agree.
Following the Lance Armstrong post, I received this question:
Wondering if there is a recent Evangelical Church/Church Growth comparison to be made with stubborn superstars and cheating (doping) the Gospel. Sort of like when Willow Creek admitted they were doing "it" wrong - people weren't growing. Did other churches renounce the church growth shortcuts? Or should we have all admitted we were "doping." Or should we idolize the old days in the church of faithful prayer, solid orthodox theology, rigorous biblical study in preaching, faithful pastoral care? Can the church now continue without looking for the next superstar pastor any more than the Tour can accept someone lesser than Armstrong as its superstar?
To me this speaks directly to how we define success. In sports, I know there are different opinions on the matter. Some see doping and the like no different than diet and weightlifting - things you can do to your body to develop a competitive edge. Others see a line where potential hazards outweigh potential benefits. Still others feel as though winning through better medicine removed their own physical contributions from the process.
It all comes down to success.
I got in some heat on Facebook recently for criticizing how some of he GOP Convention speakers were equating success with making money or running profitable businesses. I'm sure that those things do equal success for some people; I hope that's not true for everyone.
As a Christian, I define success by whether or not my actions make the Kingdom of God more evident in the world. What exactly does that mean? Well, it's tough to condense. There's four gospels that try to exemplify it, a whole bunch of letters that try to advise the practice of it, and a couple centuries of experimentation (not to mention the several thousand years of human-divine interaction that the gospels re-conceptualize in the first place). But let me give it a go:
The Kingdom of God is the world as God intends it, a redeemed creation. Our faith provides us with some useful maxims to try and work out in everyday living. They're mostly parables and thus defy explanation as an exact science, but the crux of it is simply unconditional love. I believe the goal of Christian life (and thus our measure for success) is to embody with our lives this Kingdom that is coming, but has not yet fully arrived.
Did I love my neighbor unconditionally today? Did I balance my time effectively, making room for service and celebration? Have I taken concrete actions to bridge injustice? Have I served as a means of peace and reconciliation? Things like that.
I try not to measure this in degrees - as in "could I have made the Kingdom even more evident than I did?" I hope to be and try my best, to put forth top effort (and perhaps even learn to improve in the future), but I don't worry about degrees. I am a frail and fault-filled human being whose only hope is to be open and available to the working of God in my life.
It's not tough to see the jump to worshiping congregations. A lot of Christian congregations and pastors have seen their profile rise considerably in recent years, through television and books and our general cultural love of all things big. Big money, big buildings, lots of people. There is a growing trend - soon congregations will either be huge (2,000+ attendees) or family sized (less than 30).
The first and most famous of these mega-churches is Willow Creek. They mastered the world of marketing and target audience and grew to be very large. They also did an internal survey that showed their people were not actually looking more like Christ through participation. They were bringing people in and getting them involved, but they weren't succeeding in ways they wanted to succeed - in gospel measures.
There's a lot of books about the Church and consumer culture. I've read a few. They talk about the different measure of success in different branches and forms of Christian expression. There's a lot of value there.
Ultimately, though, this is the minority. We are, as human beings, much more consumed by the culture around us than we are creators of culture. As the question pointed out, there's not a large stream of congregations shifting radically from their "church growth" strategies (which is insider language for increasing attendance and income). The methods of power and success dictated by our culture just don't jibe all that well with the gospel. The CEO model of leadership can create successful non-profit corporations, if success is defined the same way it is in corporate board rooms.
There's nothing wrong with that in many sense. There's a ton of great non-profit ministries out there working directly with people in need. I've got a lot of friends doing amazing things, efficiently and effectively - succeeding, no matter your definition.
I do think there is something different, though, when it comes to a worshiping community - and we are all part of a worshiping community, whether we know it or not. That community is one whose collective life is oriented around a specific set of principles.
For some it is freedom. For others it is business and financial success. Still others worship pleasure and personal happiness. For some it is patriotism. For Christians, it is (or should be) the Kingdom - we're living into an eternity that has already begun. It means we can't live with the same principles that guide everyone else.
I don't think that means other entities and institutions are useless. There's no reason that Christians should have to abandon the best of business, education, science, or politics. The problems arise when participation in such becomes defacto worship. When the means become the ends.
Too often Christians are loathe to reject alternative definitions of success because their much easier to achieve. Just like doping in sports (we got back around to it eventually - o ye of little faith) - it's a much faster, more predictable means to an end. In sports the end is secure, for the most part - winning is the measure of success. It's certainly the measure Lance Armstrong uses (he still introduces himself as someone who won the Tour de France seven times). Not every athlete puts winning as paramount - some just seek to get the most out of their performance, to give as much as they possibly can (see: about half the guys who run alongside Usain Bolt in the 100m finals).
Christian life and worship is not about winning - not about winning attendance battles or even winning souls. It's about being faithful. Success is about re-presenting the Kingdom with our lives and our relationships.
Some of my brothers and sisters still see politics as an avenue where that's possible; I admit I can't see it. Some of my brothers and sisters see the free-market as a place where the Kingdom can thrive; I admit I can't see it. I will support their faithful endeavors, though, as much as I can. I will also be vocal in reminding them that these are but means, not ends - that there is a different measure of success to which they are accountable.
Bradley Wiggins does seem less superhuman than Lance Armstrong, as I imagine my father does next to Rick Warren. I'm just not sure we can trust our instincts, when they've been so formed by a culture that defines success in ways so foreign to reality.
Thoughts?
The chapter I read this morning talked about brand loyalty. Beginning with a look at the history of corporations in the US and the way they gained personhood shortly after the Civil War, he traces the movement of our lives from relationships with people to experiences managed by corporations. We don't have tailors, doctors, grocers, etc anymore - we've got Old Navy, Blue Cross/Blue Shield, Costco, etc. We no longer interact with people in relationships, but with corporations who have personified themselves in logos and brands. Image has become essential to our understanding of interaction in all aspects of life.
I tend to be very brand loyal. I blame it on my OCD tendencies. We remained with T-mobile for the two years we lived in NJ even though we couldn't get a cell signal inside our house. I feel guilty when I tell people I abandoned Apple just when it was getting popular. We own two Hyundai Elantras.
I remember (maybe its still current) the big wars between Chevy and Ford truck owners in the 90's - arguing over what amounted to near identical vehicles. GAP, Inc has an ingenious plan - they open a new "discount" chain every few years, where people can get trendy clothes on the cheap. First it was GAP, then Banana Republic, then Old Navy. People get tied to the brand and remain loyal even as the prices go up and its no longer trendy or discount.
As Jethani says, "Starbucks doesn't want you to buy coffee, they want you to buy their coffee."
I got to thinking about this idea of depersonalization and corporate branding in light of some of the discussions happening in my own denomination. The Church of the Nazarene has seen rapid growth in the past thirty years mostly by bending over backwards to welcome people in. We've done a great job of branding ourselves as a warm, welcoming place to seek after God. Not a bad idea. The problem is, we've now got several dozen different regional, social, political, and theological understandings of exactly what that brand means.
We get into heated debates and petty arguments over doctrine, scriptural interpretation, social norms, charitable work, political engagement, and the like, each claiming a deep connection to being "real Nazarenes." Like that old parable - everyone is looking at a different part of the elephant - and we'd rather rip it limb from limb than give ground to somebody else.
I wonder if Jethani hit on a simple solution. If the branding problem really arose because we've replaced personal connection with impersonal logos, brands, and institutions - then isn't the solution to bring people together? If we're really dealing with people, with each other, rather than nameless, faceless ideas - brands, whose feelings can't be hurt and who are incapable of nuance, then perhaps we can begin to reclaim some of our essence.
I frequent the local hardware store, driving by both Lowe's and Home Depot to get there. We buy produce from a farm down the street. Why? Not because its cheaper or more convenient. It's because there's real people there - and so often we yearn for a deeper connection. In the simplicity and efficiency of modern life, we lack something intrinsic to ourselves as human beings. I want to know the name of my bank teller and my mail carrier. I want to get beyond labels and stereotypes. I don't want every shopping experience to be the same - any more than I want to be treated exactly the same as every other customer.
If our world becomes a series of brands to which we're loyal, upon which we base, at least in part, our own identity, then we can never really know each other as people - only as competition. We cannot be friends, but rivals - or at best, potential converts.
I'll be honest, it's difficult for me to define myself in some way that doesn't involve branding. It's easier to say, "I'm the kind of guy who watches skiing all winter and cycling all summer; I care more about the EPL than the NFL; I've been known to wear a fauxhawk, actually distress my clothes through wear, enjoy humor without laughing, and correct other people's grammar." All of those things represent some brand in society - and it might be easier for you to understand me through those images than through a real relationship.
It could be a challenge, for my generation of brand-slaves, to envision a different way of relating to each other and the world. Then again, it could be a challenge.
