Posted on January 13, 2011 by Adam J. Copeland
I’m a pretty big advocate of social media. At least, I often advocate people of faith use social media in positive ways because it’s a very powerful tool for community and connections. But, when I speak or write on social media, I always do so with a caveat: social media will not save us. Social media is fine and dandy, but it’s used by sinful folk who make mistakes. And, perhaps the most compelling aspects of social media are also its downfall. I’ll soon get to an example, but first, let me tell you about my breakfast — no, for real, not what I had for breakfast, but how.
Every Wednesday I’m in Hallock, I have breakfast at the local diner. (Only one choice in town, by the way, but it’s delicious.) Each week, I walk in and take my seat at the center table with the crew. The crew, or some conglomeration of it, is there every day save Sunday when the diner is closed. A busy day will bring 15 guys or so, but it gets down to 5 or 6 when the weather is -25 below or more and the snowbirds are gone. They’re all men, many retired farmers (some still farming), and I’d guess the average age minus me is probably 80 or so.
I look forward to these Wednesday mornings because the guys just talk. I mostly try to stay out of the way and let them at it. We cover — without really meaning to — sports, politics, local happenings, old hunting stories, family updates, condolences, how things used to be, and there’s always somebody lambasting the DNR. What I love about these breakfasts is the way the banter happens. Sometimes voices get raised, many times controversies get stirred, but it happens at a table where you can talk things through. There’s no hurry. They’ll all be there tomorrow, God willing. So they talk at things knowing they don’t have to figure it all out that morning. What’s the hurry anyway.

Now contrast this with my experience Saturday watching social media in the immediate wake of the tragic Tucson shooting. Friends I love and respect put up, on their Facebook walls, reactionary rhetoric accusing the Tea Party and Sarah Palin of guilt-by-association in the shooting before the Loughner’s name was even released. News outlets I respect incorrectly reported Giffords had died (though I have to say NPR’s apology was first-rate). Acrimonious accusatory quotes were being slung around Twitter faster than snot freezes on a Minnesota ski trail. On the whole, this was not social media at its best, but sad angry people lashing out against those with whom they deeply disagree.
Please hear me: I’m not saying Twitter and Facebook are bad. I love them both and use them extensively as fantastic tools. But I am saying, on Saturday at least, they were used as instruments to voice our lesser side.
Tim McGuire writes glowingly of the Arizona Republic’s coverage of the Tucson shooting. The Sunday edition came out less than 24 hours after the event, but even that short time allowed for more careful reflection and fact-checking.
The Caribou Grill breakfast crew is far from perfect. But the manner in which they meet — slowly, carefully, repeatedly, knowing each other well, with coffee — does imbue the gatherings with a sense of perspective I cherish, one that I sometimes miss on the lighting-fast platforms of social media. So when I go to breakfast Wednesday mornings I do something very rare for me: I leave my smartphone in the car.
image by Thomas Bush
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