Sabbath 2.0
Originally posted at Gathering Voices: Faith Conversations from TheThoughtfulChristian.com
My family once rented a cottage on the isle of Skye off the west coast of Scotland. While I remember little about the cottage itself (other than the view of sheep out the front window), I do clearly recall instructions in the guestbook: “do not hang out to dry laundry on Sunday.” Apparently it’s a faux pax on Skye — or perhaps just illegal — to publicly launder on the Lord’s day.
Though Sunday is the day on which my blog receives the fewest visitors, for many of us, social media takes no sabbath. As I consider my own heavy social media use and possible addiction (see Jenna Johnson’s article) I’ve become increasingly aware of those who abstain for a time.
For instance, last Lent several friends gave up Facebook. A technology writer I follow travels internationally for a month each year and sets her email to automatically reply: “I’m taking a month of vacation and will not read this email. Period. If you would like to contact me next month, please send another note then.” Other friends have stopped accessing Twitter or Facebook on weekends.
I haven’t taken the full offline plunge as of yet, though perhaps I should. Even contemplating a day offline, however, makes me aware of how I use the Internet for so many daily tasks and not just social media: cooking and recipes, news, movie times, emails, directions, and keeping in touch with friends and family. I don’t have a television, so my major source of news and information is the Internet and National Public Radio. While I can envision many benefits of not signing-in to Facebook for a few days, I would miss awareness of local, national, and international news were I to opt-out even for a day. And this would all get even tougher if I ownded an iPad or e-reader.
But why consider a social media sabbath at all? Two theological reasons come to mind.
First is the obligation of Christians not to worship idols. Certainly, I don’t ever pray to my smartphone or worship my laptop (though I am, admittedly, quite an Apple devotee). But if my use of social media ever stands-in-for my connection to God, if my attraction to technology obscures my personal devotion to God, then it’s high time for some major recalibrating.
Second, I try to approach all of God’s gifts — gifts of friendships, of creation, of money, of resources, and time — with a view towards faithful stewardship. So, when using technology I ask myself questions like: is ___ minutes on Facebook a faithful use of my God-given time? Am I using Twitter to connect to God’s people or build up my own ego? Do I really need to read another article on half-marathon training plans? While the cultural notion of wasting time or diminished productivity can be helpful, I also try to think of my use of technology with a more Christian understanding of stewardship in mind as well.
There’s not much internet access on the isle of Skye — certainly the island boasts more sheep than computers — but I wonder if the old advice of that guest book might be updated: sabbath-keeping 2.0.
image by carol henderson
Additional Resources from www.TheThoughtfulChristian.com
- Fasting: Spiritual Freedom Beyond Our Appetites, By Lynne Baab
- Enough: Discovering Joy through Simplicity and Generosity, By Adam Hamilton
- “Tech Etiquette,” By Anna Kendig (Youth Study)
- “Step Away from the Computer: Using Technology Wisely,” By Megan Pillow Davis (Youth Study)
Shifting Culture: Laws against texting while driving
This week, the Grand Forks City Council passed a law that makes it illegal to send text messages while driving. I’m glad the ordinance passed — and it certainly took them a while. For some time now, in the state of Minnesota, it’s been illegal to text and drive. I hope such laws mark not just forward-thinking government but the beginning of a true cultural shift against the use of cell phones while driving.
Though in Grand Forks, a texting-while-driving citation will only cost you $15 (yes, North Dakota fines are ridiculously low!) a fine in Minnesota can range up to $131. In fact, this week, the Ramsey County Sheriff’s office launched a two-day crackdown on texting or emailing while driving. Lawbreakers (I won’t call them “illegals,” but think about it) received a warning on Thursday, but if caught Friday, will receive a ticket with a fine. In Minnesota, it’s also illegal for those under 18 to talk on a cell phone while driving.
I’m in favor of such laws, because I believe common sense — and scientific data — points to the fact that looking at a cell phone and using one’s hands to type a message with a tricky little keyboard is not in any way conducive to safe driving. Or to put it another way: when you text and drive you endanger yourself, other drivers, and any cyclists or school children nearby.
And if the data doesn’t convince you, surely these stories will. Backpacking Dad (a friend of a friend) tells in “Why I Won’t Text and Drive” how he often texts and drives, but for some serendipitous reason he abstained yesterday and consequently avoided a head-on collision with a swerving driver. So sadly, Chris wasn’t so lucky. His story is told in the post, “Honor Chris today – Pledge to never drive distracted again” Chris, a young father, died after a collision with a driver who was texting. The texter crossed several lanes of traffic, and police officers found an active text message on her iPhone at the scene.
Texting and driving kills. But we do it anyway, some folks justifying the dissonance to themselves as Backpacking Dad did, saying, “I’m a good driver.” Others of us know it’s dangerous, but that knowledge just isn’t enough to stop us.
A few years ago, I lived in Scotland for a year. Driving laws there are much stricter than the U.S. (and, ironically or not, people are way better at driving in the first place). In Scotland, it’s illegal to text and drive, because it’s illegal to touch a cell phone at all while driving (handless systems are allowed). It’s also illegal to eat while driving — which makes sense to me because it’s dangerous to try to eat a burger and fries and drive at the same time, no matter what fast food restaurant lobbyists might argue.
(As an aside, Grand Forks city council member Tyrone Grandstrand is noted in the Herald as saying, “he wouldn’t want to ban talking on the phone or combing your hair or eating a burger while driving, things that may be a bit distracting, but is not sufficiently dangerous to require a law.”)
As I understand U.S. history, drinking and driving has been illegal for a hundred years, but prior to the 1970s had a much higher blood alcohol level designation (.15) and was rarely enforced. Back in the day, even when DUI or DWI was enforced, it was seen as a minor offense. But in the 70s, thanks in large part to a campaign by Mothers Against Drunk Driving (MADD), laws were strengthened and a cultural shift occurred. DUI is now a significant offense with quite negative consequences in society. DUI carries large fines, and though laws vary by state, can lead to jail time, huge fines, and suspension and losing one’s license.
So I hope the laws against texting and driving in Minnesota and Grand Forks signal the beginning of a larger movement. Though I’m not aware of a large movement like MADD’s against DUI, perhaps that’s just around the corner and a cultural shift is coming. Either way, think twice, hold your thumbs; it’s a matter of life and death.
Update: Check out this great application OTTER that has some real potential and fancy-cool usability options. Thanks, Erik!
image by Michal Zacharzewski
Denying My Roots, it's Easier that way
I’m in the Twin Cities (or, for locals, just “the cities”) this weekend for a friend’s ordination. I’m still reflecting, though, on last week’s Celtic Christianity conference in Decatur. One curious thing struck me; I just can’t seem to shake.
My mother is Scottish. My Dad’s relatives, back a few generations, are Scotch-Irish. I’m a dual citizen (though the US doesn’t really recognize such things) in the US and UK. I’m a Christian, and my ancestry, most definitely, is Celtic. But I’ve never really claimed that heritage. Never thought about its implications. In fact, when I see a Celtic knot, or hear of Celtic spirituality, or see a pretty Celtic cross, my first reaction is generally to sluff it off as hokey, or ungrounded, or just too fro-froey. On the one hand, this cements my Scottishness — I’ll explain why in a second — but it also denies my celtic heritage.
John Bell is fond of saying that the previous Church of Scotland hymnal had something like 50 German tunes, 40 English tunes, 30 Welsh tunes, 20 Irish tunes, and 8 Scottish tunes. There’s something deep in the Scottish psyche that embraces self-deprecation, selling one’s self short, and denial of the good in one’s life — call it broken Calvinism if you like, but it’s true.
I hadn’t realized it, but maybe I’ve picked up on more of that sort of mindset than I thought. I mean, I was African-American or Korean-American or whatever, with one parent from another country, it’d be pretty strange for me to have a negative first reaction to the Christian heritage of my parent’s home. I know this is all even more confused with my white male privilege and the effects of not needing to claim another identity because mine is powerful enough on its face, but still, is it not strange that I identify more with John Calvin than the Celtic Christians who preceded him? That I know more about the tunes of Martin Luther’s day than the songs of my mother’s homeland? What, in that Celtic Christian heritage, am I denying because it’s easier, or more comfortable to claim my powerful white male Americaness, and what might feed my soul and help me live a more faithful life with all God’s creation?
image by Simaron
A Roundabout Way to Curb Climate Change
One of the frankly scary aspects of living in Scotland was driving on the “wrong” side of the road. Scots are actually pretty good drivers, but then again, they have to be because the roads are crazy-narrow and pretty rutty and there’s always cars parked on the side of the road. Always. And did I mention they drive on the wrong side?
Well, another large difference is the prominence of roundabouts (aka “traffic circles”). Though they can be fairly intimidating, especially when they’re at really large intersections, overall I really appreciated roundabouts for their efficiency in both time and energy.
Take, for example, the fact that on a normal Sunday morning I could drive the 2 miles to the church without stopping at all, and surely without stopping at any traffic lights. This made the journey go quickly, but also saved gas.
Since we know that by far the biggest gas consumption occurs when getting your car going from a dead stop–exactly what traffic lights are all about enforcing–roundabouts save energy. I had no idea how much, however, until a recent article in Time.
By reading “You Want a Revolution” an article by Tim Padgett in last weeks Time I learned that roundabout cut hydrocarbon emissions at intersections by as much as 42%. The article “By the numbers” teaser also says, “Ten roundabouts in Virginia save 200,000 gallons of gas a year” (by less idling).
And not only are roundabouts an energy saver, they ease traffic delays by as much as 65% and cause fewer and less severe accidents (because cars more more slowly than through traffic lights, and they don’t drive at right angles).
The article suggests we may be seeing more roundabouts in the US in the coming years. It’s around about time, I’d say.
“All the Best”
Today marks my last day as Assistant Minister of Ayr: St. Columba Church of Scotland. It’s been a really valuable year in terms of pastoral development, ecclessiastical enlightenment, and general significant ministry experience.
I may put up pictures of my celebration lunch today later, but here’s a few snaps of several generous and beautiful parting gifts.
A gorgeous “traveling rug” or in American, “blanket” or “throw” from the Women’s Guild.
Fun engraved mini curling stone from the church curling club–made from local granite.
Pretty darn awesome stole by Juliet Hemingray (check out her website–quality stuff.) It’s an Iona Cross with Ayrshire countryside scene (or at least we can think that).
And Matthew, our fantastic organist, played a gorgeous postlude at the last service tonight. ”Stay With Us” an old St. Olaf favorite and meaningful text by Norwegian Egil Hovland.
I titled this post “all the best” because that’s what 99% of folks said as they shook my hand at the door today. It must be the appropriate Scottish farewell, and it was much appreciated. I will always remember the good folk at Ayr St. Columba, thankful to God for their kindness, patience, and willingness to teach me a bit about what ministry is about.
Series: What I learned about America by living in Scotland, I
I’m pretty swamped right now, and have lots of fantastic post ideas but no time to write. But I wanted to at least begin a series both fun and ideal for quick posting. The series is: What I learned about America by living in Scotland.
Ok, so it’s a really bad name, but at least it’s descriptive. Over my final (*tear) last six weeks in Scotland I hope to reflect on a few of learnings from people to politics to religion to dirt.
First reflection: America is big. No, really, American is BIG!
Sure, I knew America was big before staying for a year in Scotland, but more of the implications have surfaced for me this year. We drive bigger cars because we’re in them longer, we drive longer distances, we have wider roads, and we’re bigger people (aka fatter.)
Scotland can fit into the United States 127 times. Scotland can fit into Georgia twice. The population of Scotland is very similar to the population of the Atlanta metro area.
Everything is smaller here: cartons of juice, refrigerators, cars, bags of chips, cans of soup, shoe sizes, yards, houses, fairways, even blades of grass (one exception is the new Church of Scotland hymnal, but we won’t go there).
The implications of these size differences are many. Scots have a clearer understanding that they are citizens of the world, not just their country (the United Kingdom questions help this). I’d say Americans are much more showy in their patriotism, much more arrogant in their citizenship than Scots. When Scots visit other countries, Americans visit other states. This makes Americans a little more nearsighted (in the real eye doctor sense, at least).
I also feel like Americans think a little bigger sometimes. Their horizons are so distant, their country so vast, perhaps their ingenuity is piqued by the sheer amount of possibilities in a country so large.
Big generalization here, but I also feel like Americans live more secluded lives, especially in terms of our class structure. While in Scotland it’s common to have a more shady neighborhood just a few blocks from an expensive one, American neighborhoods are often so spread out they don’t ever see the other. Many Americans get in the SUVs to drive to work behind tinted windows. Scots are much more likely to walk, ride the bus, or take the train. This increases Americans’ individualism.
America, obviously, has many more regions than Scotland; it’s much more diverse geographically in many ways because it’s so much bigger. Americans then have a bit more regional identity than Scots. It’s difficult to compare this assertion, since folks from Glasgow and Edinburgh (only an hour apart) have different accents and culture. But, I would say there are more possible differences at home, and more regional identity claiming. Not totally sure about these implications, but perhaps it makes Americans more likely to tell their own story about their own place to explain to others from other places. Maybe it makes us more narrative? Ok, I’m no sociologist so will stop here before I get myself into trouble.
Cheerio.
image by Billy Alexander
Grave truth
I lowered a coffin into a grave today. I’m told Scotland is one of the few places in the west in which coffins are still manually lowered into graves by mourners. Today, at a funeral of a church member with no living relatives, there weren’t many to hold the eight cords attached to the side of the coffin. So I took one. My supervisor took one. A few church members took one. And a home carer of the deceased took one.
“Now slowly let the cord slip through your hand” the funeral director said, “and let the coffin descend into the grave.” And we did. Eight of us standing on muddy boards perilously close to the edge of the grave.
“Drop your cords into the grave and slowly carefully step away” we were instructed.
My supervisor then proclaimed, “We commit this body to the earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust” during which the funeral director threw several handfuls of dirt into the coffin.
Usually, at this point in the service, family members will each take a rose, kiss it, and toss it in the grave. But today the small group who attended the service lifted prayers instead.
I’m sure such graveside practices vary in the states, but my few experiences at gravesides have lacked such clear encounters of death and burial. At home, I’ve encountered mourners sitting in white folding chairs arranged on fake grass in front of where the coffin that will later–when all the family is gone–be lowered into the grave. Folks drive away before the coffin is set in the earth, before the body has been fully committed to the grave.
I know of an American pastor who has made it a practice not to leave the cemetery until the coffin is in the grave. Often, when the family hear his plans, they are comforted by the knowledge that their loved one will descend under the caring eye of the pastor, still praying.
I bet there’s many a state and federal law that might prohibit Americans from lowering caskets into the grave themselves. But in my short experience here, standing in the open air and seeing the coffin lowered into the earth by loved ones enacts the reality that, while we belong body and soul in life and in death to God, at the same time we are dust, and to dust we shall return.
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