• On not giving up social media

    Like Mother Ruth, I was pondering yesterday a number of people who have decided to give up social media for Lent. It strikes me as a very odd thing to do.

    On the one hand, I suppose I can see that sometimes religious people feel the need to withdraw from the world for a time and simply be in a different place with less distraction. That is the essence of going on retreat. However, I can only conclude that those who are giving up social media for Lent use it for different reasons than I do. For me, Facebook and Twitter and blogging (and email, come to that, for email is social media) are ways of connecting and communicating with others. On Facebook I hear about things I want to hear about – other people’s passions, other people’s loves, other people’s lives. But they are not simply the Other, out there. Those people are part of my life too. Social media adds layers to life that I think are good, not bad and that makes me puzzled by people wanting to give that up.

    I could understand someone saying that they are going to give up being bad-tempered on twitter or give up posting photographs of other people’s kittens on Facebook. Both of those seem commendable. Giving up social media entirely seems like giving up speech for 40 days in order to conquer bad temper – a strategy that one suspects might well backfire.

    Here’s a few things that were part of my day on social media yesterday:

    • Being fascinated by the reports of people in the USA that I know going out into the streets with their ash yesterday to offer “Ashes To Go” to anyone.
    • Learning with delight, on the sly, that the choir had been talking about the subject of my Ash Wednesday sermonette (“How would you live today if tomorrow was your last?”) whilst in the pub after the Ash Wednesday service, where presumably they had gone for a sip of water.
    • Making a connection with the Dean of another cathedral that I’ve not been in touch with for four or five years.
    • Sharing a joke with a couple of people scattered in parts of the Scottish Episcopal Church that I think are remote (and which they probably think are Pisky Central).
    • Sharing a few pictures of beautiful things I’ve spotted over the last couple of days.
    • Making contact with a member of St Mary’s of a few years ago who was saying she missed Lent here and asking her what it was she missed – her answer, “Beauty from Chaos”.

    Why would I want to deprive myself of any of those things? What spiritual discipline says that to miss out on any of that that is good?

    My life is richer for social media. It is also diminished by those who step away from it, (yes, from me) for Lent.

    I’m puzzled by this devotion and believe it, not social media, to be a temptation.

4 responses to “Sunday's Lament”

  1. chris Avatar

    As I read that lament on Sunday, I was singing inside my head the wonderful Tomkins’ setting of the lament. As an alto, I could be accused of bias – the suspensions between the two alto parts are hair-raising in their beauty – but to me nothing can match it. You can hear it here

  2. RosemaryHannah Avatar
    RosemaryHannah

    Oh dear me, yes. Let’s all wear pink and have a celebration.

    Your video camera however does not let one get anything like the quality of the voice in space experience of last Sunday. And I write as one not musical.

  3. RosemaryHannah Avatar
    RosemaryHannah

    I think, too, it always would work best for a single male voice, because it is so heavily tied to a single male figure. It is superb writing, superbly put to music.

    I don’t want to ‘dis’ your only-too-correct comments on the space between our understanding and that of the Iron age. But I think that two things may offer a little light on how and why we read the succession narrative.

    The first is that it is an outstanding piece of writing by any standards at all. The terrible attempt by the lectionary to cut it on Sunday just pointed that up (not the first time I’ve wondered what the editors of it thought they were doing). Good story has its own power.

    Secondly, one has to ask who commissioned this account and why. I think the answer has to be Solomon’s court, as ’twere – thus not only does one have to explain why Solomon succeeded one also has to paint a very flawed but still in some ways great David. A man one might be glad to have as a father, and a man who it would be possible to offer a better alternative to. The last King, if a relative, should neither be too good or too bad. QED.

  4. revruth Avatar

    Oh my word! Why have I never heard this before? It is glorious and I am in love with it. There is absolutely nothing like a good lament. Dido’s Lament had better look out.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Previous Posts

  • Diocesan Synod

    Last Saturday was the diocesan synod here in Glasgow and Galloway. I came back from it pretty depressed and with powerpoint fatigue. Why depressed? Well, I’m starting to feel uncomfortable about hearing conversations about mission being held as though it is inevitable that congregations will shrink, clergy will die off and become rarer and there…

  • The view from across the pond

    We had a pilgrimage group from the states with us last week at Evensong, in addition to the pilgrims who came from around the diocese. They were off to Iona and Lindisfarne. (Only visitors from across the pond would try to do both in a week). It was led by Padre Rob, who reports here,…

  • Buildings vs Clergy

    I suddenly realised in the middle of a complicated meeting yesterday that it seemed as though people in many situations would actually prefer to have a church building than a priest. Is that so? Is that true and is that one of the key things which gives life to those who long for freshnewlocalcollaborativetotalministryofthebaptised?

  • College of Bishops Says Sorry

    In a letter to lesbian and gay people in the church, the College of Bishops has said: …it has not been possible to hear adequately your voices, and we apologize for any sense of rejection that has occurred because of this reality. This letter is a sign of our commitment to listen to you and…