Day Three: Is Praying More Like a Text or a Phone Call?

Yesterday I heard the news that a plane had crashed into a building in Austin, Texas. I have a friend in Austin and instantly wanted to know if she and her family were alright, and what news she'd heard from ground zero. She and I met about 2 years ago through a mutual friend on Facebook, and since then we have logged hours of instant messages, but have only spoken on the phone twice. But due to my Lenten fast, I was forced to call her on the phone. What followed was a 45 minute conversation in which we not only discussed the crash, but branched off into psychology, theology, plans for a family trip together, and sharing about our frustrations and joys with our small children. We shared in less than an hour what would have taken probably 6 months to cover over Facebook, between instant messages and wall posts.

Why have we mostly forsaken actual talking, on the phone or in person, in favor of text messaging and internet blips? How is it that we can think of email and wall post interactions as a cultural advance, when through them we cannot hear voice inflection or see facial expressions? Why do we choose a mode of communication that slows us down and limits what we can say?

If I'm honest with myself, I prefer the text or the IM because I can engage in it on my own time. If I'm feeling overwhelmed by all I have to do in a day, it's easier to fire off a quick text to someone than it is to speak with them, exchange the polite greetings, inquire after their family and health, and sign off respectfully. Have you noticed that many emails dispense with the "Dear So-and-so" and "Best Regards, So-and-so"?

On the third day of my Facebook fast I am thinking about prayer, and wondering if our technological advances have not only affected the way we communicate with each other, but also the way we communicate with God. I was at a family retreat recently where we learned about a deck of cards resource for parents: prayers for the "family on the go." It was the prayer equivalent of text messaging to God: short-order phrases of gratitude or petition to say while driving to the store, waiting in the drive-thru line, or watching a soccer game. With this type of prayer a person could pray all day long without interrupting his or her schedule. The parents of young children who were present at the retreat, including myself, lined up to get our own deck.

All kinds of prayer are valid, and there is certainly a place for these types of prayers. But if all we do is text-message God, sending canned messages smashed in between events in our harried lives, then I think we miss something important.

Like a phone conversation or a face to face meeting, prayer with God could instead be a real conversation. When we meet people and actually talk with them, we get to share our stories in detail. When we spend time with others our relationships become stronger based on shared experience. Couldn't the same be said for our relationship with God? We might stop every now and then, and instead of sending the text message, go to meet God in the world. Invite God into our home or our workplace, and strike up a real conversation. There is a risk here, because it means we need to make ourselves available for a call at all the inconvenient hours of our busy lives. But our lives could be richer for it.

Day Two: Now What?

So, here it is, Day Two of my Facebook fast, and I'm in the shower imagining all the great status updates I can put up already: "I've already chosen the winner of American Idol." or "After a long imprisonment the Sun is out! Call the police and lock it away before it does any damage!" or "New toilet today...finally!" Then I realize, I won't be posting any of my oh-so-clever updates. I become aware in that instant how much time I actually spend crafting status updates in my head during the day. Something will happen and I'll think, "ooh, that's a good one. How can I get all that in one line?" It's like having a little news reporter in my head deciding which story ideas would be the most interesting. It's also a little Narcissistic. I wonder, is the constant stepping out of myself to view what's going on so that I can comment on it keeping me from being present in the moment; from feeling actual joy, sadness, fear, whatever? I'll have to pay more attention to that.

I've also spent some time reflecting on the reaction I've gotten from folks when I've told them I'm giving up Facebook for Lent. To my surprise, the majority have been negative. "Why would you want to give that up?" someone asked, "It's a form of communication, not a luxury!" One friend warned me that folks would feel abandoned by me because Facebook is a community, and to give it up is like giving up on a relationship. I hadn't thought about it that way.

At last night's Ash Wednesday service we had ashes placed on our foreheads, with the line "You are dust, and to dust you shall return." A reminder of our mortality, and the sense that we're just a blip on God's Holy "to-do" list. A reminder of our humanity, and the contrast between who we are and who God is. It makes the running news reporter commentary in my head seem downright silly. What would God's status update be for the day? "God...was most displeased to hear Pat Robertson's comments about Haiti." or "God...saved a few lives today, but left others to die. C'est la vie." Or is God's status update always the same, something like: "God....loves everybody. Wish they'd pay attention once in awhile."