Consumerism on the Cross

Recently, I've noticed how our fast-paced world is shadowed by consumerism—a relentless human occupation with the next best thing.

Driving Toward Contentment

When I moved back state-side from Australia in February 2025, I noticed my own tendency toward wanting "better", rather than sitting in gratitude for what I already had. This realisation came after receiving a free 2002 Mercedes M-Class ML 320 from my dad's best friend. The car is vintage, clean inside, and runs beautifully, despite a large ding on the right rear bumper. Aesthetically, the missing piece lowkey kills me—but realistically it's a great car and a pleasant drive. Naturally, though, as I drove alongside countless 2025 models, I began yearning for something new. I tossed around the idea of buying a car for weeks, visiting multiple dealerships (some more than once) — until I realised I wasn't truly grateful for the gift God had already given me.

If I were to stand in gratitude, I decided, I would accept and appreciate my Mercedes for this season of life—until the next car comes in its time. Why not run it into the ground, right?

The Idol of More

Walking down Greenwich Avenue today with my family, I felt an unexpected inner rage begin to rise. Was it because the people around me seemed to be drowning in consumerism—without even realising it?

Every season, us humans buy new sweaters, tanks, bathing suits and jackets. The initial thrill fades, and soon enough, those once-beloved pieces are replaced with something fresh, mass produced in China, spun from acrylic, polyester, rayon or if we're lucky, linen or cotton.

Does this scene feel familiar to you?

Or perhaps my frustration was more personal... rooted in my own sense of exclusion from their thrilling and addictive escapades. Was I depriving myself of a human desire for novelty and belonging? Or would I simply be another sheep in the herd, entranced by the seasons latest fashion trends?

Maybe the truth is simpler — maybe I'm just jealous that some people can spend money like water... without thinking of where their fabrics come from and the process of its creation. I'm not sure. But I do know this: consuming is addictive.

And if I let myself go, I'd be a junkie.

What's why I lean toward caution: questioning purchases not just with frugality, but with consciousness. I'm the one who turns the tag over to read the fabric before checking the price, tracing the thread back to its maker. Because at the end of the day, what we consume—and how we consume it—reflects what we worship.

The Cross Against Consumerism

When I think about consumerism in light of the cross, I see how easily the heart drifts toward false altars — the glowing storefronts, the sleek cars, the endless pursuit of "more". Yet, Jesus calls us to a different kind of abundance: one not measured in possessions, but in peace, gratitiude, and surrender. When we chase after the next thing, we risk worshipping the creation rather than the Creator. But when we lay our desires down—even the innocent ones— we make space for God to fill us with what truly satisfies.

As Scripture reminds us:

"For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

— Matthew 6:21

The cross exposes our attachments and invites us to trade striving for stillness—consumption for communion. And maybe that's what holiness looks like in a consumerist age: not rejecting beauty or blessing, but remembering Who they come from.

I Question You Today

Are you worshipping your image over the image of your Creator?

Do you allow your clothes, your car, your home, to define your identity and worth?

Better yet, do you find yourself judging another based on their possessions?

Can you pause long enough to see how this endless cycle of wanting is just the world's game—a distraction designed to keep us from looking up?

Because on the cross, Jesus already declared our worth.

No label, luxury, or latest release could ever add to that.