This week on NPR’s Fresh Air there was an insightful commentary by music critic Sarah Hepola. In the piece (“When You Become the Person You Hate On the Internet”), she addressed social media, which gives us all a chance to expose the worst of ourselves to the rest of the world. One day, she heard the hit 90s song, “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” which she then described in a Facebook post “as the worst song of all time.” The song is about an estranged couple who reconcile after watching the Audrey Hepburn film by that same name. Her post incited some of her friends to pile on, asserting that they also hated the song. She wrote that she got great satisfaction for having created such “a delightful little bonfire of disdain.” She, however, forgot that among her Facebook “friends” was one who just happened to be in the band that had recorded the hit song.  

She thought of removing the post, but figured that would draw more attention. She just hoped this guy never checked Facebook. But he did. She didn’t quote his response to her post. She only described it as implying that she wasn’t “a very nice person.” This sent her into existential anguish. As a writer, she’d been on the receiving end of people cruelly critiquing her work. Now she knew what that was like. She’d become the type of person she herself hated. But she insisted: “I am a nice person, although I sometimes do not-nice things.” We all engage in such self-assessments that attempt to pronounce cheap self-absolution. How do we differentiate between being a nice person who sometimes does not-nice things and being a not-nice person who sometimes does nice things? Does a nice person do nice things 51% of the time? 75% of the time? 99% of the time? Where’s the cut off line for appraising yourself as a nice person? You see the problem here.

Ms. Hepola isn’t the first person to struggle with such things. St. Paul wrestled with the same internal opponent. In Romans 7, he declares: “I don’t understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Ms. Hepola, I think, would agree with Blessed Paul. Later, St. Augustine, Bishop of Hippo, wrote in his Confessions about a time in his youth when he nihilistically destroyed fruit from a pear tree. That made him ask himself why he also did the very thing he hated. St. Paul wrote that the Jewish Law, while being good, served to expose our sinfulness before God. In our post-Christian culture such an insight into God’s Law may not be possible for many people anymore. They’re simply unaware of it just as they’re unaware of how Jesus dealt mercifully and graciously with our sin on the cross.

Social Media now serves a similar purpose for us as the Jewish Law did for St. Paul: it exposes the less than flattering truth about ourselves. Many people, however, are left to a lonely, internal struggle all the while hoping others we’ll see them as “nice people who sometimes do not-nice things.” For what else can they hope in a culture that was once based on honor and is now based on shame? They’re trapped in the endless loop of self-shaming and then cheap, attempted self-absolution (“Well, I’m not as bad as others”). This is where our personal, relational evangelism matters. We all know someone stuck in this endless loop. We’ve been in it ourselves. But we must be truthful: The Gospel isn’t about us becoming nice people. It’s about Jesus loving and redeeming us anyway.
+Scott

 

In 2006, I was Rector of St Philip’s Church in Durham, North Carolina. Not far from our family home and near the East Campus of Duke University, was the Duke Lacrosse house, a house rented by members of the team and infamously known in our neighborhood for loud parties, loutish behavior, and inane vandalism. When some team members were accused of raping an exotic dancer hired to perform at the house, many were ready to believe the accusation. I stayed away from jumping on that bandwagon, limiting my public comments to the known, unseemly behavior of some of the team members in our neighborhood.

Social Media was in its infancy then, but it lit up, as did the gossip around town. Some people in Durham jumped to conclusions and made prejudgments, and then defended such behavior by saying “I’m just expressing my feelings” or “I have a right to state my opinions,” thereby washing their hands of the consequences to real people by jumping to easy conclusions, rendering rash judgments, or making quick condemnations. Social Media has expanded greatly since then, but we who use it have not had an equal expansion in our ethical behavior or our moral compasses.

We’re called as Jesus’ disciples to have moral courage even as we confess our sin. As we sin, our sin should be one of missing the mark like an arrow falling short of a target (the Greek word for sin in the Bible actually means just that). So, in our discipleship we’re at least attempting to shoot the arrow, even if it misses wildly or falls short of the target. Yes, even our best efforts can be an occasion for sin. But they’re to be our best efforts shaped by mercy, humility, and compassion, even as we are sinners.

And that brings us to the recent unpleasantness at General Seminary, which you may know about. It became fueled in social media by quick condemnations of the Board of Trustees and prejudgments about the Dean. While decrying not having contact with the Board, 8 faculty members had their demands posted on social media and on their own website accusingly named “safe seminary.” The Board’s lack of official public communication was proof in some people’s minds of their unwarranted behavior. Many accepted the Dean’s guilt without waiting for an investigation. But those weighing in on social media didn’t have all the information, nor did they have the perspectives of all sides in the conflict. Some offered prayers for everyone involved, but many leapt to conclusions calling for the dean to resign and the Board of Trustees to repent.

I don’t know the whole story and very few of us do. I’m waiting, listening, and learning before reaching any measured judgment. Some of my colleagues in the House of Bishops have rightly requested all involved to seek repentance and reconciliation. Amen. I have no doubt there’s enough sin to go around on all sides. The bloggers, and the blog sites that were their enablers, weren’t included in that request. Those blog sites were just giving people a wide forum to express themselves. And those bloggers were just stating their opinions. Social media is a wonderful way to stay in touch with one another, but it’s a double-edged sword. We should all be careful how we wield it. It cuts deeply.

+Scott

 

When I’m preaching in a church, I try to imagine what the individuals gathered there are going through in their lives. As a parish priest, I knew most of the individual narratives quite well. There was the mother who was concerned about her teen-aged son’s addiction, the adult son whose father just got a diagnosis of cancer, or the acolyte sleeping over in the corner of the chancel. Each and everyone represented an individual narrative, gathered together at the mass, and listening to my sermon hoping to connect their personal stories to The Greatest Story Ever Told.

Now as a bishop, I don’t get to connect that way because I’m in a different congregation each week. I miss not knowing the people as well, sharing their joys and hardships, and the rhythm of living with them season after season. Thankfully, I still find some experiences in every congregation that connect me and make me feel at home. For example, there’s still the occasional acolyte during my sermon sleeping in the corner of the chancel (I’m sure he/she does so to help me feel right at home).

And even though I don’t know the individual stories of most of the people now, I’m fairly certain that when they look to me as I’m preaching they’re waiting to hear that there’s Good News for them and for the world; that the grace and forgiveness that only God provides is true; and, because of that, their life has meaning, a purpose, and a destiny.

But I’m not so sure that will always be the case in the future. I just read about Google Glass. It’s a wearable computer with a head-mounted display masquerading as a conventional set of eyeglasses. This wearable computer will have voice-activated capability as well as digital manipulation on the glass’s stem. It’s a computer, smart-phone, and a pair of prescription glasses all rolled into one. In the near future someone could seemingly be listening to my sermon while also playing a video game, checking the previous night’s baseball scores, and googling the term “realized eschatology” that they just heard coming out of my mouth. This technology may even keep the acolytes awake in the corner of the chancel. Oh my!

This development, apart from its challenge to the preacher’s ability to keep the attention of the congregation, also raises privacy concerns for some people. They fear that the video recording capability in Google Glass will allow the wearer to record people without their permission. But that cat is already out of the bag. Anyone with a smart-phone can do that now.

I’m more concerned, however, about safety on the highway. It’s scary enough already when I see someone swerving on the road while looking down (presumably reading a text or sending one). That will be nothing compared to someone driving while multi-tasking on her/his “wearable computer.” And I imagine casinos are all in a tizzy about how this may advantage card players visiting their establishments. But those pale in comparison to the lack of sleep acolytes will soon endure during the sermon because they will feel the need to update their Facebook pages.

+Scott

 

“Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility regard others as better than yourselves.” – Philippians 2:3

One of the highlights of my young adulthood was seeing the late James Brown in concert. If you never witnessed it, you missed something special. As the penultimate part of his act, Brown fell to his knees clutching the microphone in total exhaustion (after all, he was the “hardest working man in show business”). While on his knees, the show’s MC came over to him, gently placed Mr. Brown’s elaborate cape over his shoulders, and slowly helped him off stage. But before he exited, he threw off the cape, and returned to center stage for rousing finale. It was a magnificent display of conceit. One never knew if the conceit were real or just part of his act. I learned later that the professional “wrestler” Gorgeous George was the inspiration for this whole routine.

I retell this experience from my past knowing full well that as a bishop I now regularly wear similar elaborate capes (copes), just with different symbols on them (and minus the sequins). In the liturgy, those assisting me often will help me by placing the cope on my shoulders. They even hold the edges of my cope as I cense the altar. So I won’t engage in any criticism of the Godfather of Soul. He knew good liturgy when he saw it.

What has prompted this recollection is the new book by Nicco Mele, entitled, The End of Big: How the Internet Makes David the New Goliath. Mr. Mele is a lecturer in public policy at the Harvard Kennedy School. He contends that the Internet and social media have leveled the playing field, so to speak, and given power to the “Davids” of the world and reduced that of the “Goliaths.” He rightly points out that this is not always a good thing. The Internet and social media are amoral. They can be used for both moral and immoral purposes. They have certainly allowed certain “Davids” of the world to behave no better than the “Goliaths” they have criticized.

For example, this week a hacker hijacked the AP Twitter feed putting out false information about a bombing at the White House. This caused a steep drop in the stock market representing over $100 Billion in losses, temporarily. Bloggers regularly engage in ad hominem attacks on others seemingly to elevate themselves over the people they attack. Social media allows any of us to wear the cape (cope) of conceit, counting ourselves better than others. Social media does not encourage humility. It tempts us to say: “Here I am! Look at me! I am great! (and isn’t this video of the kitten funny?)” It’s an outlet many “Davids” of the world have not had heretofore, so they are making up for lost time.

As T.S. Eliot wrote: “Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?” No one can know where all of this will take our culture. Wisdom, we must know, is found first in humility, a humility that reminds us that we aren’t better than others in God’s eyes, a humility that directs us to our knees before we are tempted to cast the first stone cloaked in the cape (cope) of conceit.

+Scott