Created to Consume?

In the disconnected worlds of suburban living, we often assume different identities based on which end of our commute we happen to be on. At work, we are employee or boss. At home, we are mom or dad. We interact as friend or activist in public places, and at church, we become the congregrate. But one identity we suburbanites cannot escape, no matter where we find ourselves, is "consumer." In our materialistic culture, there's always something to buy that will "make us better" in every area of our lives.

According to Al Hsu, in chapter four of The Suburban Christian, the very structure of suburbia itself means those who live between the city and the farm are especially susceptible to the temptations of consumerism. The reasons? For one, our lives are not conducive to producing anything, so we have to consume.

"The very housing structures of suburbia itself contribute to consumer culture because of the primacy of the single-family home. Rather than the homestead being a place of production, the single-family home is a place of consumption, necessarily fueled by wages to support a consumption-centered lifestyle" (TSC, pg 75).

Another cultural force leading us toward consumerism is specialization, which goes much deeper than suburbia. Al describes it like this, "Most of us have jobs that segment out one particular task or area of production or service. Since we cannot easily barter our work as dry cleaners or accountants to obtain oil changes or spaghetti sauce, we now have money as the common unit of commerce and trade . . . . Thus it is nearly impossible for any one of us to create rather than consume or purchase any of the items we use and rely on in daily life."

Wendell Berry, in his essay "Living in the Future: The 'Modern' Agricultural Ideal," would agree, seeing this segmentation of society damaging in our areas of our country.

"I have already spoken of the highly simplified role of the modern household with respect to the production and preparation of food: it has set itself increasingly aside from the production and preparation and become more and more a place for the consumption of food produced and prepared elsewhere. But this setting aside of the nest or residence from the sources of life is more general and even more serious than that would indicate. The modern home, even more than the government and universities, has institutionalized the divisions and fragmentations of modern life" (The Unsettling of America, pg. 51).

I remember my growing up places as being centers of production, allowing for both creativity and creation. We always had a large garden, and even when I was very young, my parents set aside a small space for me to grow some vegetables. (It wasn't until later in life that I appreciated the work involved with gardening, however!) The food we couldn't eat during the growing season was canned or frozen for winter, and must of the things we ate every day were prepared from their most basic ingredients. But more than that, must of my clothing was homemade; even some of our furniture was built by my dad or handed down from previous relatives who had constructed things with care. And I was given great latitude to create from paper and wood and string all the wonderful things children are wont to make.

This kind of lifestyle was one suggestion that Al shared in The Suburban Christian for countering the cultural influence of consumerism. Rather than being chiefly identified as consumers, we should try to become creators or producers in as many ways as we can. This not only takes us out of the consumer cycle, which always has a newer or better product for us to buy. It also helps us bear God's image to each other and the culture at large.

Of course we aren't all going to be able to raise chickens or spin wool, but we can exercise our creativity by creating and building things, even things we need. I have a small garden which will provide for some of my own food over the summer; I also try to make my own bread when possible. My mom makes all of her own greeting cards (like Al's wife, as he mentions in the book). And my dad has made several pieces of furniture for his own home and mine. I have friends who knit and crochet, making practical items for themselves and others. Another friend made all the window coverings in her home.

As Al says, "All of us have different ways that we express our creativity; all of us can be makes of one thing or another" (TSC, pg. 88).

Photo of Verray's working hands by me

SUBURBAN CHRISTIAN LINKS:

LL's "That Creativity Thing"

Al's "Consumer Culture vs. Christian Creativity"

In the game

About eight years ago, A Musing Mom tagged me to share eight facts about myself. Llama Mamma also got tagged by Craver, only she decided to stir things up a little, and she broke all the rules. Then, when LL over on Seedlings in Stone got tagged, she changed the game altogether, making it a poem/book review, of sorts. Now it's my turn, and I decided to list eight things I am selling in my garage sale this weekend, including pictures! (This is not a new form of eBay, though. So there will be no on-line bidding.)

And just so the game is not lost altogether, believe me, you'll learn some things about me just by seeing what I'm getting rid of. So, here goes . . .

1. A water bottle that was left after a Sunday School picnic two years ago. Yes, I still have it. No, I don't know why.

2. A basket. Yes, you're right, I did just buy a new basket at someone else's garage sale two weekends ago. But it was different than this basket. Really.

3. Speaking of that garage sale two weeks ago, here is an overhead light I thought I just couldn't live without. It only took me the trip home to realize I could live without it. Now it's going back into the food chain!

4. A fancy tea set. I have collected tea pots and tea cups for years, but suddenly, I feel overwhelmed with them all. I'm keeping a few, but some, like this little set, came from a garage sale, have no sentimental value, and will soon end up in someone else's tea pot collection.

5. Cider House Rules by John Irving. Ok, I read the book, I liked it, but I can't imagine EVER reading it again. So even though there are still hundreds of other books on my shelf that I could NEVER part with, I'm letting this one go. Be safe, little book!

6. Two skirts. I am no fashionista, that's for sure. I've had these skirts for at least seven years, but I haven't worn either of them for the past 2-3 years. According to the What Not to Wear people, that's more than enough reason to liquidate them. (Did I mention that they also so not really fit anymore, either?)

7. A toaster oven. I just realized that the reason I don't have much counter space in my kitchen is because I have three major gadgets taking up all the space. I do use my microwave oven and coffee pot from time to time, but this toaster oven gets used VERY rarely. In other words, this guy drew the short straw, and he's out.

8. The kitchen sink. I've always wanted to say, "This yard sale has everything, including the kitchen sink." Well, now I can. Besides, I'm so happy with my new one, I'll never have a need for this one again.

I won't put pressure on eight people to have a garage sale of their own. But just for fun, if YOU could get rid of one item in your house today, what would it be? And, of course, why?

Photos of my junk by me

Car Talk

A couple of days ago, a coworker came back from lunch in an uproar.

"Do you know how much gas is now?" she asked, referring to the skyrocketing prices.

"$3.45?" I said, highballing it for effect.

"Oh, I guess you've seen."

"No, really," I protested. "I just guessed. How much is it really?"

"$3.38," she said. And then she added, "You're lucky you live so close."

"It was intentional," I said back, feeling a little defensive.

This is not the first time people at work or church have commented about how lucky I am that I live close to both. Or that people have mentioned how great it is that I "found" a church so close to where I work, as if it were all coincidence.

Having my home, church, work, shops, library, and coffee shop all within a five-mile radius is no accident, and most of my daily activity happens within an even smaller two-mile radius. Many of my closest friends also live within the larger radius, and most within a 15-minute drive. As Al Hsu, in The Suburban Christian, would say, I am living with a parish mind-set.

In chapter three of The Suburban Christian, Al discusses the role of the automobile in shaping the suburbs. As cars became more and more predominant, people could live further and further away from their jobs and churches. The suburbs just kept expanding. As the suburbs expanded, however, the people living in them spent more and more time in their car and less and less time with other people, especially their families.

My decision to keep myself and my daily activities all close together is much simpler for me as a single person who lives alone. The discussion I mentioned above with my coworker went on to include a discussion of schools and affordable housing and childcare and automobiles. Some people feel trapped by unforgiving economic situations; others want to be near family but that means a long commute to the nearest metropolitan area.

Long commutes between work, church, shopping and home don't just keep people away from their families. All this driving time means that people are exercising less and are generally less involved in civic and church activities. Al cites a stastistic that for every 10 minutes of daily commute, outside involvements are cut 10 percent.

Closely connected with these automotive issues are the ever-looming environmental concerns. All that time spent in traffic means more emissions, more wear and tear on roads and the vehicles themselves, more need to build new highways. Even in my little parish life in which most of my time is spent in a relatively small area, I still drive more than I would like. The part of the city I live in was not designed to encourage walking or bike riding.

But all the statistics and anecdotal evidence aside, I continue to appreciate Al's commitment to seeing these suburban issues from a Christian perspective. How does my relationship with Jesus come to bear on these issues of transportation? Several friends and I have been trying to carpool to social and church events. It saves on all of us driving, and it also gives us more time together in the car. Instead of driving to the park in the evenings, which takes 15 minutes because it's rush hour, I've started walking my dog in the neighborhood behind me.

And more than anything, I'm realizing that driving and all its implications is an idol in my life -- or at the very least, an addiction. When Al challenged readers to fast from driving for a week, at first I panicked. NO CAR???? Then, I began to realize that there's more than transportation wrapped up in that vehicle. It's a sign of independence, a method of efficiency, and a safety net of sorts when things get hard. At least I can always get myself home on my own terms.

I'm considering taking up the week of car fasting, though it's going to involve some planning. But more than anything, I am rethinking how God is glorified (or not) by how I get around.

Photos of commuters in front of my house taken by me

Other links about The Suburban Christian:

LL Barkat's "Commute This"

The Suburban Christian promotional video

Dandelion Whine

Dandelions have become a great source of consternation for me over the past few weeks. As I am adapting to my first Spring as a home owner, dandelions in my yard mean more frequent mowing, more rigorous hoeing in the flower beds as the dandelions sneak through the mulch, and more serious deliberation as I consider what to do with these pesky plants.

I've been trying to appreciate them for their inherent value. Their perky little yellow blooms can be cute. LL Barkat is teaching me that the greens can be served in salad, the stems chopped up as a garnish for soup, or the roots brewed into coffee. And dandelions can provide hours of entertainment for children (or am I the only one who, as a child, played "Charity had a baby and it's head popped off" with dandelions in their white puffball stage?).

But when I drive by lush green lawns without a dandelion in sight or when I think about how the dandelions in my lawn actually are taking advantage of weak grass structure, I cringe. I know the anti-dandelion campaign is the result of group-think ("everybody" hates dandelions), but I can't help wishing my yard were free of them.

So then my dilemma really begins. If I have my heart set on not having dandelions in my lawn, there are really only two options: spraying the lawn with chemicals or digging up each and every dandelion from the roots.

So for 15-30 minutes a day for three days this past week, I have taken a little gardening shovel, gotten down on my hands and knees, and begun the hard work. Friends have already teased me about this decision, and I have felt a little foolish imagining what the neighbors must think (that's my suburban sensibility taking root!). But as I root around out in my yard, I am learning a lot about the life structure out there. I am finding areas of my lawn that need a lot of help, and I also am thankful for the areas where the grass already is thriving. And the great thing is, the 45 minutes or so I spent so far on this dandelion project have really made a difference.


My dandelion dilemma has actually become a metaphor for most of the things in my life I really want to do. In each case, there are usually a couple of options: taking the quick, easy way that irritates my conscience and has long-term hidden costs, or doing it the hard way, which seems right, but is going to take a lot of time and will require a lot of patience.

Also, like dandelions, the things in my life which need to be eliminated -- everything from bad habits, to character flaws, to sin--are usually thriving in the places of weakness in my life. Just as any good dandelion strategy involves aggressive fertilization and seeding of the grass, so too these other areas of my life. As I put off sin, I need to sow seeds of obedience, creating new habits to replace the bad ones I am ending.

And when I'm out there digging, I can't help but think about how this very process of slowly working my lawn into a healthy little ecosystem is having the same affect on my own life. In fact, just this evening, my dad was helping me think through a hard decision I had made that has been painfully slow in coming to a resolution. In all my whining, it sounded as if I regretted the decision. So he reminded me, "If it's the right thing to do, then it's right no matter how long it takes."

You can bet that advice was dancing through my head as I dug those stems up from the root.

Me Casa, Me Casa

In chapter two of The Suburban Christian, Al Hsu discusses home ownership as both a surburban ideal and the perpetuater of individualism. In other words, people who move to the suburbs are looking for a place of their own where they can do their own thing. It's the American Dream, really.

"In this notion of the American dream, the ideal is that every individual family has their own plot of land, yard and picket fence to separate them from their neighbors, definiting mine as mine and yours as yours. Inherent to American suburbia is an emphasis on the pursuit of individual homeownership rather than a communal or corporate vision of civic identity."

- pg. 39

As a recent first time home owner in the suburbs, I resonated with much of this chapter. When he discussed the history of suburbia, my 48-year-old house suddenly had a context. After reading about suburbia as a mixed bag of all that is good and bad about urban and rural living, I instantly thought of my garage AND my short commute. I felt smug when I read about people buying suburban homes with mortgages outside their budget; I was careful about how much house I bought. I also felt a bit of self-righteousness in the section on suburban diversity; my area of town is wildly diverse -- racially, ethnically, AND socioeconomically.

This chapter gave me a sting toward the end, however. How does my Christian faith and a concern for God's kingdom intersect with my otherwise responsible pursuit of the American dream? Even though my house is very modest at 1,200 square feet, since I live alone, I have almost double the average 718 square-feet-per-person of most Americans. And I have 10 times more square feet for myself than the average person in Japan who lives in just 170 square feet. Is all this space dedicated just to me actually a sign of greed and wastefulness in my life?

Also, as a single person, am I running the risk of cutting myself off from community by isolating myself in a home of my own? Even though I can afford to live alone, I am now responsible for all the tasks and chores involved in maintaining a home, potentially leaving me with less time and energy that I could be spending developing my gifts or serving people.

Even as I felt some personal conviction over this chapter, I did not feel indicted by the book itself. In fact, this chapter offers a lot of hope that my choice to participate so fully in this American ideal of suburban homeownership is fully redeemable by Jesus. The virtues of hospitality, stewardship, and generosity all came to mind as ways for me to incarnate Christ in the suburbs.

Once again, as in most areas of my life, intentionality is the key. Will I seek to glorify Christ as a resident of Suburbia? Or will I passively submit to the social and cultural forces that have dropped me into the land of plenty?

"Whatever kind of suburb we might live in and however we might construe our notion of the ideal suburban life, a more thoroughly Christian approach to suburbia will consider how the civic good can be advanced in light of the coming of the kingdom of God." - pg. 53

LINKS FOR FURTHER THOUGHT:

LL Barkat's post on Chapter Two, "Charmed Big"

My post on Chapter One, "Suburbanruralite"

LL's post on Chapter One, "Subfused"

Excerpt of The Suburban Christian

Al Hsu's comments on Chapter One, "Discussing Suburbia"

Al's comments on Chapter Two, "Housing Size"

Photo of my actual suburban house by some unidentified real estate agent