Three years ago, I published this post on "The Liturgy of Black Friday," arguing how the practices (and underpinning ideology) of Black Friday essentially stand in opposition to the spirit of Thanksgiving, how the practice of giving thanks makes us more human, while Black Friday dehumanizes us.
Now, certain retail stores have opted to move the opening of Black Friday up to Thursday night, and frankly, I don't know what's worse--the fact that these stores encroach upon Thanksgiving Day in the name of higher profits, or the fact that we, the American consumers, will no doubt reward them with those same profits by hitting the stores even before Thanksgiving Day draws to a close.
This tragic situation is a microcosm of the deepening trend in our society of forsaking the appropriate exercise of our God-given relationality--with an acknowledgement of our need for others, our inter-dependence, and the humanizing practice of love--in favor of an ever more individualistic, autonomous existence that feeds on the immediate fulfillment of desires, often at the expense of others. To say it again, this latter way of life is actually the way of death--it makes us less human. Once it creeps into our minds and hearts, it steals away life and undermines genuinely life-giving practices. Just as Black Friday has now truncated our day for giving thanks, so our unchecked consumerism will eventually consume us, both as individuals, body and soul, and as a society.
The good news is, we have a choice. We can opt out of the mad rush of acquisition and humbly count our blessings. We can refuse self-serving, atomistic individualism and adopt postures of humility, mercy, thankfulness, and love. We can avoid rampant consumerism and seek to perform charitable acts that respect the dignity of others.
Please, at the very least, remember Thanksgiving and keep it "holy"--set apart--by taking the time to acknowledge how very much we've been given, how dependent we are on the generosity of God, our loved ones, and even those unknown to us. Then, give thanks. Shopping can wait 'til Friday.
For what does it profit a man, to gain the whole world and forfeit his life? - Mark 8:36
Showing posts with label Black Friday. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Black Friday. Show all posts
20 November 2012
25 November 2009
The Liturgy of Black Friday
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. It is traditionally a time of being together, feasting, watching football and parades on television, napping, and, in Wisconsin, where my wife and I celebrate the holiday, deer hunting. Traditionally, too, it is a time to reflect on the blessings of life and to give thanks. It is this last element—giving thanks—that is perhaps the most humanizing part of this late-November holiday.
Gratitude, by which I mean a conscious, active rendering of thanks, moves us outside ourselves as it acknowledges our absolute dependence on others. It humbly celebrates being a recipient as it deconstructs our notions of autonomy and self-sufficiency. And, when our thanks are rightly directed to the author of life and giver of all good gifts, gratitude actualizes us as human beings—as finite, limited creatures who are relentlessly drawn by our loving God into a life greater than our own. Truly, the traditional liturgy of gathering around a table piled high with food and pausing to recount those things for which we are thankful, and to offer our thanks up to God, humanizes us.
The day after tomorrow has been dubbed “Black Friday.” Black Friday, as one local newspaper claimed, is itself “tradition,” and “the American way.” It is a day when many Americans, still sluggish from the previous day’s feasting, rise before the sun to patronize malls, discount stores, specialty shops, and the like in the spirit of holiday shopping. Stores have taken to opening in the wee hours of the morning and rewarding “early birds” with extra savings. Shoppers have responded by lining up outside said stores, feverishly awaiting admittance, and clamoring over one another in a frenzied pursuit of particular items—items which do not deserve the moniker “goods.” This frenzy, as we have tragically seen, has even resulted in human death.
The liturgy of Black Friday is, rightly considered, a dehumanizing liturgy. Albeit, many shoppers who flood the stores that day lay claim to a selfless motivation: they are out buying Christmas gifts for family and loved ones. However, the stated goal of buying gifts loses all its credibility if one’s attitude and actions on Black Friday are decidedly ungiving. The goal of Black Friday shopping, at its core, is still one of acquisition (in contrast to reception). This acquisition is accomplished by utilizing one’s own resources (money, time, strategy) and unabashedly competing with others, even to the point of violence—even fatal violence!—in order to obtain that which one desires. The liturgy of Black Friday moves us ever deeper into our own selves, stirring up our self-centered desires and appetites not merely without the consideration of others, but often in active opposition to others. An unfortunate few Black Friday shoppers tragically find themselves no better off than a 12-point buck caught in an open Wisconsin field. The vast majority, even if immediate ramifications are not as poignant, still suffer definitive, destructive effects.
Of course, it is deeply ironic that we can spend one day supposedly immersed in the practice of gratitude, acknowledging our own dependence and limitations, and spend the very next day immersed in the practice of consumption, relying on our independence and our ability to surpass our limitations. The humanizing rituals of Thanksgiving are sadly often lost in the dehumanizing practices of Black Friday. What is needed is for us to take a page from the liturgy of Thanksgiving: to pause before consumption, offer thanks, and let the spirit of gratitude inform, guide, and even restrict our consuming—all with a humble appreciation for, and deference to, others a la Philippians 2:3-4.
Gratitude, by which I mean a conscious, active rendering of thanks, moves us outside ourselves as it acknowledges our absolute dependence on others. It humbly celebrates being a recipient as it deconstructs our notions of autonomy and self-sufficiency. And, when our thanks are rightly directed to the author of life and giver of all good gifts, gratitude actualizes us as human beings—as finite, limited creatures who are relentlessly drawn by our loving God into a life greater than our own. Truly, the traditional liturgy of gathering around a table piled high with food and pausing to recount those things for which we are thankful, and to offer our thanks up to God, humanizes us.
The day after tomorrow has been dubbed “Black Friday.” Black Friday, as one local newspaper claimed, is itself “tradition,” and “the American way.” It is a day when many Americans, still sluggish from the previous day’s feasting, rise before the sun to patronize malls, discount stores, specialty shops, and the like in the spirit of holiday shopping. Stores have taken to opening in the wee hours of the morning and rewarding “early birds” with extra savings. Shoppers have responded by lining up outside said stores, feverishly awaiting admittance, and clamoring over one another in a frenzied pursuit of particular items—items which do not deserve the moniker “goods.” This frenzy, as we have tragically seen, has even resulted in human death.
The liturgy of Black Friday is, rightly considered, a dehumanizing liturgy. Albeit, many shoppers who flood the stores that day lay claim to a selfless motivation: they are out buying Christmas gifts for family and loved ones. However, the stated goal of buying gifts loses all its credibility if one’s attitude and actions on Black Friday are decidedly ungiving. The goal of Black Friday shopping, at its core, is still one of acquisition (in contrast to reception). This acquisition is accomplished by utilizing one’s own resources (money, time, strategy) and unabashedly competing with others, even to the point of violence—even fatal violence!—in order to obtain that which one desires. The liturgy of Black Friday moves us ever deeper into our own selves, stirring up our self-centered desires and appetites not merely without the consideration of others, but often in active opposition to others. An unfortunate few Black Friday shoppers tragically find themselves no better off than a 12-point buck caught in an open Wisconsin field. The vast majority, even if immediate ramifications are not as poignant, still suffer definitive, destructive effects.
Of course, it is deeply ironic that we can spend one day supposedly immersed in the practice of gratitude, acknowledging our own dependence and limitations, and spend the very next day immersed in the practice of consumption, relying on our independence and our ability to surpass our limitations. The humanizing rituals of Thanksgiving are sadly often lost in the dehumanizing practices of Black Friday. What is needed is for us to take a page from the liturgy of Thanksgiving: to pause before consumption, offer thanks, and let the spirit of gratitude inform, guide, and even restrict our consuming—all with a humble appreciation for, and deference to, others a la Philippians 2:3-4.
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