Reading that Transforms

Every Sunday afternoon I try to disengage from work and electronic technology to engage in nap-taking, kitchen-puttering, and/or spiritual reading. By spiritual reading I mean reading that helps me think more deeply and theologically about a topic. For the past few months I’ve been meandering my way through two books during this time—John Dyer’s From the Garden to the City and Ann Voskamp’s One Thousand Gifts.

Voskamp’s book focuses on making gratitude a way of life. The author often has astounding insights, but to be honest I have to limit myself to one chapter per week because she has a nasty habit of writing purple prose (i.e., writing passages with such flowery language that the words draw attention to themselves, thereby distracting the reader from thinking of the concepts they illustrate). But it’s worth the work to discover how she sees glory in the ordinary. In the past forty-eight hours, for example, I have relished the taste of hot, homemade crock pot applesauce; marveled at the beauty of my daughter’s smile; appreciated the design in a pair of Tom’s shoes; noticed whimsy in cloud formations; and marveled at the fur of my cat. Voskamp takes the reader one step beyond such discoveries, though, to the point of gratitude for them. It’s tough to stay angry about something when we’re giving thanks.

Dyer’s book, which I finished this past Sunday, is of a different sort from Voskamp’s. It’s subtitled, “The Redeeming and Corrupting Power of Technology,” and it provides insight regarding how to think rightly about technology.

In this week's chapter (my favorite) Dyer likened our constant checking of webtracking stats to King David’s numbering his troops (2 Sam. 24; 1 Chron. 21). “What was once available only to kings,” Dyer argues, “is now available to all of us. At any moment we can get up-to-date statistics on our fans, friends, and followers. Again, the statistics themselves are not sinful. The problem is that the more we use it, the more tempted we are to value what the technology values—numbers—over what the Scriptures would have us value.” (Or, I imagine, the flip side of devaluing ourselves when these numbers stink.) 

Dyer also made application from how the elder John viewed the technology of his day—letter writing. In 2 John 12 we read, “Though I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink. Instead I hope to come to you and talk face to face, so that our joy may be made complete.” A letter, Dyer notes, typically goes from one isolated individual to another. And the elder John’s joy was never “complete” with such isolation. Joy came only when he had face-time with the community. Clearly he viewed technology-mediated relationships as inferior to embodied relationships.

I immediately thought of a parallel. I love keeping up with my niece Heather through Words with Friends, Facebook, and blog comments, but none of that came close to the joy I experienced last month sitting in her kitchen in Portland and later sharing a meal with her and her husband. And it bugs me when I call on someone in their living room and they constantly check out of the conversation to check email on the smartphone. Or students check email during class discussion time. 

Both bodied and disembodied forms of communication are real, Dyer argues, but only the face-to-face contact offers real joy. The danger for us, then, is to allow virtual communication to replace “the kind of life-giving, table-oriented life that Jesus cultivated among his disciples.” We should use technology, then, in service to the embodied life and not the embodied life in service to technology. 

Interestingly the two books have one application or "take away" in common for me: to live fully right where I am. To embrace face time with people instead of checking emails when they're present. And to notice the beauty and give thanks for it in the "today" rather than always looking toward tomorrow.