My last post - Repentance and Protest
Dear Citizens of The Wired World,
Last Sunday evening I preached on the value of prophetic acts of protest that witness to the reality of the Kingdom of God. Allowing myself to be searched on the issue over the last few days has lead me to make a decision that I am now in haste to carry out.
I pointed out then, and I stress again, that prophetic acts do not have to be moral statements. In other words when I chose to abstain from something it is not because that something is wrong in itself but because by such an abstinence I am convinced that I may make my protest against the way the world is and somehow point to the greater reality of an unseen Kingdom. So, my decision to abandon my tiny web empire, an online identity and a cluster of blogs, along with my regular email access is not an indictment of these things in themselves but a protest against what they have become in my life.
It may be that I lack the maturity to use these things purely as servants to greater ends. It may be that I am too cowardly to fight the battle that must be fought with the addictive aspects of information and knowledge in a technological age. If this is true then I pray my weakness may be an opportunity for God's strength while, nevertheless, protesting that it has taken courage to make this move.
Some will scratch their heads in bewilderment at the decision I have made and others will understand and recognise that the same suspicion has been haunting them. I offer this explanation for those who can accept it.
As I look back over the last five to seven years I have struggled with the horror of trying to remember them clearly, or to name a time when I last felt truly alive. There have been moments but nothing as lasting as what I know I have experienced before. I have been asking why; why did everything about my life seem sleepy and dream-like.
I tried to remember the moments when I felt like I had surfaced and I thought back to times when the sky had been incredibly blue for me. At the same time I noticed that some of the things that had brought me the greatest pleasure had been relegated to bit parts or even struck off the script - music, dancing, writing letters, reading, walking, talking, and working in precious metals. The best moments in my life had everything to do with the smell of paper and the scratch of a pen, the plucked string, a worn old Bible, and the bite of fresh air and sunshine; and nothing to do with a square glowing screen that offered the world in a box.
What had happened? I noticed I was increasingly less sociable and that relationships seemed to much effort to be worth the trouble. I developed a hatred of the telephone because of it's spontaneous and unpredictable ability to intrude into my life demanding that I communicate with others. I would never phone when an email or text could be sent instead - these methods of communication seemed more safe to me.
Then there was the internet. I would go online, any time of the day or night, usually to find the answer to a question that had popped into my head; tap into the information superhighway, confident that I could find the answer to anything. I would break off in the middle of cooking to find a recipe, I would break off Bible reading to consult an online commentary or throw a book aside to check a reference - only to emerge two hours later with more irrelevant and pointless rubbish in my head. Sometimes I would just surf, looking for something. Just a couple of months ago I recognised that what I was looking for online was something, just something, anything that would make me feel alive again. Surely there was a website out there that would kickstart my mental metabolism or hand me a life-changing insight. Without realising it my life was increasingly being lived out and through this umbilical medium of technology. Information is addictive. I began to worry about my concentration span because it seemed to have slumped and my capacity to get absorbed in anything for any length of time had left me.
This morning I logged on to my email, as I do every morning while the kettle boils me my first coffee of the day. What did I expect to see in my inbox? Messages from long lost friends, there have been three in the last three years ... the rest of it was pretty mundane and 70% of it is from mailing lists I have not bothered to unsubscribe from. With my hopes of something life changing being in the email dashed, I went online to keep up with a string of ongoing comments on the blogs of friends and associates around the world. I looked at the clock and it was nearly lunch time already.
My anger has arisen against myself in allowing myself to become addicted to computers. It has also arisen against the extent to which technology demands me to continue my relationship with it. I have thought about chucking it in before but then thought, "What about my blogs and my faithful readers?" And "I could never do without email, I'd lose touch." Neither of these stands up to a little analysis. My "faithful readers" got on for years before I came on the scene and my friends know my number and where I live if they want to contact me. Away with this plaguing superficiality!
I recently got in touch or was contacted by some old friends from before my "addiction". We were communicating through email and suddenly I felt intensely dissatisfied with it. Here were people with whom I had had a living and loving connection and here I was dashing off hasty emails in the name of staying in touch wishing I had the time to take paper and ink and write them a letter from my heart.
I am convinced that the only way I can account for the apparent loss of the last few years is that it has been sucked away and down the information plug-hole. I have thrown myself wholly into the pursuit of many aspects of my life augmented as much as possible by technology and the web in particular and found that it has utterly failed to deliver on my hope for a better life. It has not all been bad, but the benefits have not outweighed the down-sides. I know an elderly man who has none of these things but the Joy of the Lord shines out of him permanently.
The lightest moments of the last few weeks have been spent listening to old LPs on my record player, bashing away on my electric typewriter, pondering the content of a few choice books, and enjoying the companionship of my wife and friends. I need to get back to that.
So this is my protest by which I declare that my life is not better off with the computer; that access to unlimited knowledge is a false messiah. Hope and salvation is found in Christ alone; without knowledge of God all knowledge is futile and that knowledge comes only by union with Him in spirit. "More" and "Faster" is not better. My attention cannot be bought with macromedia flash. A handwritten letter to one soul is worth more than a hastily typed blog entry to the whole world. Addiction to the latest and up-to-datest is real and destructive. In my life, everything that exalts against the knowledge of God stands condemned. I am repenting.
May God bless you all,
Seymour.
P.S. Old pals, my email will work. I shall check it at the public library every now and then; But why not give me a call or come and visit instead?
Last Sunday evening I preached on the value of prophetic acts of protest that witness to the reality of the Kingdom of God. Allowing myself to be searched on the issue over the last few days has lead me to make a decision that I am now in haste to carry out.
I pointed out then, and I stress again, that prophetic acts do not have to be moral statements. In other words when I chose to abstain from something it is not because that something is wrong in itself but because by such an abstinence I am convinced that I may make my protest against the way the world is and somehow point to the greater reality of an unseen Kingdom. So, my decision to abandon my tiny web empire, an online identity and a cluster of blogs, along with my regular email access is not an indictment of these things in themselves but a protest against what they have become in my life.
It may be that I lack the maturity to use these things purely as servants to greater ends. It may be that I am too cowardly to fight the battle that must be fought with the addictive aspects of information and knowledge in a technological age. If this is true then I pray my weakness may be an opportunity for God's strength while, nevertheless, protesting that it has taken courage to make this move.
Some will scratch their heads in bewilderment at the decision I have made and others will understand and recognise that the same suspicion has been haunting them. I offer this explanation for those who can accept it.
As I look back over the last five to seven years I have struggled with the horror of trying to remember them clearly, or to name a time when I last felt truly alive. There have been moments but nothing as lasting as what I know I have experienced before. I have been asking why; why did everything about my life seem sleepy and dream-like.
I tried to remember the moments when I felt like I had surfaced and I thought back to times when the sky had been incredibly blue for me. At the same time I noticed that some of the things that had brought me the greatest pleasure had been relegated to bit parts or even struck off the script - music, dancing, writing letters, reading, walking, talking, and working in precious metals. The best moments in my life had everything to do with the smell of paper and the scratch of a pen, the plucked string, a worn old Bible, and the bite of fresh air and sunshine; and nothing to do with a square glowing screen that offered the world in a box.
What had happened? I noticed I was increasingly less sociable and that relationships seemed to much effort to be worth the trouble. I developed a hatred of the telephone because of it's spontaneous and unpredictable ability to intrude into my life demanding that I communicate with others. I would never phone when an email or text could be sent instead - these methods of communication seemed more safe to me.
Then there was the internet. I would go online, any time of the day or night, usually to find the answer to a question that had popped into my head; tap into the information superhighway, confident that I could find the answer to anything. I would break off in the middle of cooking to find a recipe, I would break off Bible reading to consult an online commentary or throw a book aside to check a reference - only to emerge two hours later with more irrelevant and pointless rubbish in my head. Sometimes I would just surf, looking for something. Just a couple of months ago I recognised that what I was looking for online was something, just something, anything that would make me feel alive again. Surely there was a website out there that would kickstart my mental metabolism or hand me a life-changing insight. Without realising it my life was increasingly being lived out and through this umbilical medium of technology. Information is addictive. I began to worry about my concentration span because it seemed to have slumped and my capacity to get absorbed in anything for any length of time had left me.
This morning I logged on to my email, as I do every morning while the kettle boils me my first coffee of the day. What did I expect to see in my inbox? Messages from long lost friends, there have been three in the last three years ... the rest of it was pretty mundane and 70% of it is from mailing lists I have not bothered to unsubscribe from. With my hopes of something life changing being in the email dashed, I went online to keep up with a string of ongoing comments on the blogs of friends and associates around the world. I looked at the clock and it was nearly lunch time already.
My anger has arisen against myself in allowing myself to become addicted to computers. It has also arisen against the extent to which technology demands me to continue my relationship with it. I have thought about chucking it in before but then thought, "What about my blogs and my faithful readers?" And "I could never do without email, I'd lose touch." Neither of these stands up to a little analysis. My "faithful readers" got on for years before I came on the scene and my friends know my number and where I live if they want to contact me. Away with this plaguing superficiality!
I recently got in touch or was contacted by some old friends from before my "addiction". We were communicating through email and suddenly I felt intensely dissatisfied with it. Here were people with whom I had had a living and loving connection and here I was dashing off hasty emails in the name of staying in touch wishing I had the time to take paper and ink and write them a letter from my heart.
I am convinced that the only way I can account for the apparent loss of the last few years is that it has been sucked away and down the information plug-hole. I have thrown myself wholly into the pursuit of many aspects of my life augmented as much as possible by technology and the web in particular and found that it has utterly failed to deliver on my hope for a better life. It has not all been bad, but the benefits have not outweighed the down-sides. I know an elderly man who has none of these things but the Joy of the Lord shines out of him permanently.
The lightest moments of the last few weeks have been spent listening to old LPs on my record player, bashing away on my electric typewriter, pondering the content of a few choice books, and enjoying the companionship of my wife and friends. I need to get back to that.
So this is my protest by which I declare that my life is not better off with the computer; that access to unlimited knowledge is a false messiah. Hope and salvation is found in Christ alone; without knowledge of God all knowledge is futile and that knowledge comes only by union with Him in spirit. "More" and "Faster" is not better. My attention cannot be bought with macromedia flash. A handwritten letter to one soul is worth more than a hastily typed blog entry to the whole world. Addiction to the latest and up-to-datest is real and destructive. In my life, everything that exalts against the knowledge of God stands condemned. I am repenting.
May God bless you all,
Seymour.
P.S. Old pals, my email will work. I shall check it at the public library every now and then; But why not give me a call or come and visit instead?
posted by Seymour at 2:16 pm
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