In the uber-hip North Loop of Minneapolis, Old Navy is not allowed. Materialism reigns. As a Christian pastor, I love it.
The North Loop, Northeast, and other similar subcultures are moving away from our throwaway consumer culture. Artisanal is in. Farm-to-table is standard fare. Craft beer has crowded out big breweries so completely that it can be hard to find a Budweiser — or to face the scorn of ordering one.
It's tempting to cynically diagnose these trends as mere urban fantasies, the misplaced longings of a creative class addicted to Instagram aesthetics and drunk on local spirits. But what if hip Minneapolis urbanism is tapping into deep, meaningful longings that further social good?
I teach Christian leadership and religious fundraising at a seminary in St. Paul. When my courses venture into topics related to money and culture, class discussion quickly moves to railing against American consumerism. And, of course, there's great truth in the critique.
We can't actually buy happiness. Credit-card debt imperils a life well-lived. My Bible is indeed missing the verse: Blessed are the consumers, for in retail therapy they will be comforted.
But in the soaring popularity of quality, local, often handmade goods from Minnesota companies, I take great hope. Duluth Pack bags are in. The Askov Finlayson store in Minneapolis is hopping. You can't walk a block downtown without seeing a local brewery logo flashed at you. And our local goods are catching on: products from Red Wing Shoes and Faribault Woolen Mill Co. are featured in J. Crew, GQ and Anthropologie.
Notice what most of these companies have in common. Employing high-quality craftsmanship and timeless design, they create products intended to last for years. They aren't cheap — alas, for many, they're unaffordable — but for those of us who can manage it, they're worth the investment.
The sociologist Juliet Shore argues we are too materialistic in the everyday sense of the word, but not materialistic enough in the true sense of the word. In fact, we should embrace the materiality of things, appreciating their utility rather than what marketers tell us we should feel about them.
Materialism becomes a problem if the aims are simple acquisition, when we mistake mere things as idols, or when we buy to salve the pain no product can satisfy. Preaching against the sins of consumerism is popular, but I think for many prosperous Minnesotans, at least, the problem isn't ultimately too much stuff.
Putting the blame on stuff, on things, possessions, is too easy. After all, believers often forget that God was all about creating stuff: trees and lakes, chirping birds that fill the sky, an ark, tablets — humans, too. The challenge isn't the stuff itself, but our relationship with it.
Consumerism promises happiness in stuff, but mere happiness is thin, a quick high and a crash. Joy is more lasting. Joy appreciates possessions. Joy gives thanks for the stuffness of stuff. Joy makes room for purpose, quality and lasting value.
That's why I'm bullish on materialism, Minnesota-style. Salvation in boots, bags and blankets for a lifetime.
Adam Copeland is director of stewardship leadership at Luther Seminary in St. Paul.
