My good Mennonite parents (especially my father) were anti-materialists and anti-consumerists to an extreme. They firmly believed that God only asked for them to be obedient and humble in doing His will. He would take care of the rest. And they lived their lives accordingly.

“We don’t need curtains. Just hang sheets up over the windows,” my father said to Mom when she suggested that the Sears catalogue had some curtains for sale at a deeply discounted price.

They bought their clothes at a used-clothing store called Etcetera, where the proceeds went toward Mennonite missionary work around the world. They consumed food from the expired-items carts in grocery stores, believing that not doing so was a sinful waste.

My father was obsessed with being frugal.

This in stark contrast to most of the world, which has a love affair with acquiring material things, with shopping, with conspicuous consumerism, with self-indulgence.  And it’s not just Americans anymore. It seems to be a global obsession.

Mine too, I’m afraid.

I ‘ve acquired a lot of stuff. My husband and I own two homes. OK, they’re townhouses, both of them, but still.  We love good food and spend crazy amounts of money on travel. Spending money does contribute by keeping people employed, right?

There’s an old Proverb that says, “Money is a good servant, but a horrible master.”

But here’s the sticky question: What does it really mean for money and the stuff money buys to become the “master?”

Do money and stuff become the “master” when we’re obsessed about not spending as much as they do when we’re obsessed about spending?