The Luxury of the Gospel (or, What Would Jesus Drive?)

A couple of years ago I read a book called Shopping for God by James B. Twitchell. It was, essentially, an analysis of American church culture by a self-professed outsider (Twitchell is a professor of English Lit., and a self-described "apa-theist," which is to say: he's relatively apathetic about the question of god). It wasn't what I was expecting-- less a critique of the rampant consumerism that plagues modern evangelicalism and more of a "market analysis" of religion in general. But there was one section of the book that stuck with me. Twitchell was comparing religions in America that were growing to those that were in decline, and he pointed out that generally speaking, the movements that expected a high degree of buy-in and sacrifice from participants were the ones that were growing. I don't have the book in front of me, so I can't cite any of his stats or sources for this, but let's take his suggestion at face value.

How to explain this? Twitchell wondered. Denominations, churches, and movements that place the bar high tend to grow, whereas those that place few or no demands on their adherents don't. Twitchell, you have to remember, is not a believer. He was just looking at what he took to be "market data." To make sense of it, he suggested the analogy of a luxury car. The high cost of a Jaguar, he argued, is actually, ironically, one of the reasons people who drive Jags are willing to pay the cost for one in the first place. A Honda Civic may get you to work just as easily and reliably, but it's hardly a luxury item, and there's nothing about it that sets you apart for driving one. To be sure, the Jag has all-leather interior and precision engineering and what not, to make it, arguably, worth the $100,000 (plus) you gotta shell out for one, but the real selling point, for the aficionado, is that only those who can shell out for it, do. There's something about luxury items--the way they only belong to those who really recognize their value and are actually able to make the sacrifice to acquire them-- that triggers something deep in human nature. Perhaps, Twitchell mused, the same psychology is at work when people, counter-intuitively, sign up for churches that require so much commitment of them. Could "high-cost churches" (in the spiritual sense) be the "luxury item of the faith"? he wondered.

Again, Twitchell was not writing from a perspective of faith. He was actually a bit sardonic about the whole thing. He didn't tell any stories about pearls of great price or treasures buried in fields. He didn't quote any first century Jewish holy men about entering in by the narrow gate, or counting costs before building a tower. He didn't reference Mark 8:34 or Matthew 10:38. But still, I couldn't help thinking that Jesus had beaten him to the punch: following him is, in fact, the most luxurious thing of all, an extravagance that costs nothing and yet demands everything.