What we possess possesses us.
What we want, what we acquire, what we hold on to… all these things worm their way into our hearts and minds and become the little dictators of our lives.
That new TV.
Those new books.
That phone.
The game everyone is playing.
That one special car.
All these things we own, that we possess, end up possessing us.
Capitalism makes it worse because food, shelter, and clothing—basic essentials of life that everyone needs to actually survive and thrive—are commodified and turned into just more things that we own or rent. We pay for these things we need and want with our paychecks, and because we’re spending our money on necessities and luxuries—although in this economy luxuries are slowly dying off for everyone except the rich—and need to maintain our lifestyle and comfort level.
I’m not saying it’s wrong to own things—maybe it is, and that’s something we all have to wrestle with collectively—but I am saying that when we hold on to our possessions tightly, they own us, both practically and metaphorically.
I’ve thought a lot about this concept over the years.
Evangelical Christianity taught me not to love anything or anyone more than I loved God. To love something/someone more than God was to make an idol, some false god that the real God would destroy because God is a jealous God.
As my theology has become… different from my evangelical days, I see our attachment to things not as running the risk of making a car (or my spouse or children) into an idol but rather as symptoms of buying into a system of oppression that keeps us numb to the pain and suffering it causes. When we fill our homes with electronics, clothes, books (ouch, this one hurts), and other trinkets, we are doing so oftentimes at the expense of other people.
Sweatshops make clothes and electronics cheaper for us in the West. Our food comes from migrant workers who are paid hardly anything, and who run the risk of getting picked up by an immigration patrol just because they were trying to make a living somehow.
But we buy into the lie that we need all these things, that our lives require them, that they are things we simply must own. With every purchase, every expense, every subscription, we are locking ourselves further and further into the grips of capitalism and all the evils that it brings.
I’m not exempt by any means. If anything, I’m preaching to myself here. I got in a car accident last week, and as I sat in the car waiting for the ambulance, one of my thoughts was, “well now what are we going to do? Getting to the store, getting to work, going anywhere is going to be a hassle!” I was thinking about the hardship of having to take the bus instead of my—turns out minor—injuries and the interruption of life and wellbeing for the other driver.
I was possessed by the capitalistic lie that I needed a car.
These are the subtle ways our possessions possess us. We get used to a standard of living—never mind whose back it’s built on—and then we can’t ever imagine anything but upward mobility.
We need an exorcism.
We are in desperate of something or someone to expel capitalism from our psyche. We need release from the grip our things, lifestyles, leisure, luxuries, needs, and necessities have on us. We need a vision of a different way to live with each other.
St. Basil (at 4th century Bishop) said, “The bread in your cupboard belongs to the hungry; the cloak in your wardrobe belongs to the naked; the shoes rotting in your closet belong to the barefoot; the money you keep hidden belongs to the destitute. You do wrong to everyone you could help but fail to help.” Can you imagine if we actually lived like this? What radical and transformative people we could be.
But instead, we have pastors with shoes that cost half my paycheck. We have messages from pulpits that God’s blessing is coming for you in the way of money and business deals and wealth. We are being told that the Bible says, the richer you are, the more blessed you are.
We have been possessed by our possessions, and we desperately need an exorcism.
The one who can cast out the demon of capitalism hangs before us on a cross, asking us to follow him into the grave that we might finally find new life… but we have taken his words as spiritualized and symbolic, taking away their power to save us and instead turning them into something that sinks us deeper into the grips of the devils.
I was always taught that passages like Luke 14.25-33 were about our spiritual life. When Jesus said that we have to count the cost of following him, it was all about seeing if your commitment to the Christian worldview and lifestyle was strong enough. Would you be willing to lose friends who refused to believe the gospel? What about business deals you couldn’t do because of your Christian morality? Could you be ridiculed by culture for loving Jesus with your whole heart? These were the contexts that Jesus’ words about discipleship were put in. We glossed over the words about hating your family and giving up your possessions and went straight to the things that were spiritual and made us feel good about volunteering at church, going to Bible study, and never having to change one iota of our involvement with capitalism.
While the evangelical readings always felt like a milquetoast cop-out to me, they were the hermeneutic I was given to understand discipleship. Costly discipleship could cost you relationships, but not your house, your clothes, your car, your bank account.
After all, God loved his people (read the Church in the US) and if he loved us, he would bless us, and his blessing looked like upward mobility. How could God ask us to live differently if Jesus was just going to give up wealth and prosperity? Sure, be generous with what you are given, but never at the expense of your comfort or luxuries.
This is exactly why we think it’s great to volunteer at a soup kitchen, go work at a gospel mission, or to do outreach to people without houses, but we never think about how to end houselessness. Ending it would mean we would have different priorities and do anti-capitalistic things.
Capitalism is not of the kingdom of God, yet we’ve all bought into the demonic idea that it is the bank account of God.
God’s economy, though, is radically different. God’s economy is based in and expressed as radical hospitality.
God’s economy isn’t based on family values. We don’t protect our bloodline, passing down wealth and debt from generation to generation. God’s economy is open-armed, turning strangers into chosen family connected by the Holy Ghost and the agape love of God.
When Jesus says to hate our families, he is stating that our love for him must take precedence over the love we have for our kin. And the way this love for Jesus expressed itself isn’t in willful commitment and being on fire for God. It is about how we act, how we choose to live, how we do like he did. How hospitable are we to the stranger, the other? How open-handed and detached are we from the things we possess? How much are we willing to go without in order to be as free from capitalism’s demonic hold as we can be?
Living this way is going to cost us. Like actual money and resources cost us. Jesus says it’s like starting to build a tower and then realizing halfway through that you can’t finish it. Instead, the contractor is going to take into account the resources and cost before the first stone is laid. It’s also like going to war, being outnumbered, and making an educated decision on whether you can win or if you have to change tactics and compromise.
Both of these examples are about physical costs. And physical costs are what we are going to pay if we are serious about living into the liberation Jesus offers.
Going against the grain of the world means that we have a different set of priorities. We have different ideas of what it means to choose life, what it means to be free. When we seek to exorcise capitalism from our system, our thoughts, our habits, our hearts, it means our bank accounts are going to look different. We’re going to have different expenses.
And we are going to build bigger tables where everyone is welcome, and no one is left wanting.
What would it mean for a church to live this way as a community? What would the end-of-year line budget look like? What expense reports would be filed? How much smart spending and investing would be done? Would these words even mean the same thing anymore?
A community that didn’t hold on to its life, doing things the way it’s always been done or keeping up with the newest consumer trends, but rather choosing to give a real shit about the people in their surrounding communities would probably end up dying in this capitalistic economy. But dying is the prerequisite to resurrection.
Maybe the building will become a community center. Maybe it’s razed and public housing is built in its place. Maybe the congregation turns it into a different kind of soup kitchen, one for everyone to receive dignity along with mashed potatoes. Maybe it becomes a concert hall, where art and joy can be planted in the community.
The possibilities are almost endless if we will let ourselves be exorcized of the demon of capitalism and wealth and instead give following Jesus a real try.
When what we possess possesses us, giving up our hold on those possessions frees us from their grip.
So, let’s count the cost. Can we finish the tower, the place of strength and safety? Can we win the war when we are outnumbered? Can we pay the price to follow Jesus?
I am in the process of becoming a community chaplin with The Order of St. Hildegard. This program is designed to help form people into spiritual leaders that lead from the margins and serve the margins. It’s for the people who don’t quite fit with the traditional church because of trauma, disability, or identity. If you, as my community, would like to help me fulfill the financial obligation this chaplaincy program has, you can give at the link below. Thank you for the myriad ways you support me.