The
first desktop computer I ever used was an IBM 386, delivered by a cheerful IT
technician in 1984. I was mesmerized. Four years later, we bought our first
home computer, an Apple IIGS, a few months before Apple abandoned the Apple II.
As
impressive as those computers were at the time, the fact is that my iPhone
today has more capabilities than those computers did. My iPad is far more
portable than my laptop and can do just about as much. In fact, I have two
iPads, a work laptop, a home laptop, and a home desktop. And my Kindle.
I’m
wired.
And
I’m socialized, too. Twitter (a personal account, individual and corporate
accounts I manage for work, an an organizational account I manage). Facebook (a
personal page and two organizational pages I manage). Google+ (personal). And a bunch of other stuff I rarely have time
to get involved with. And this blog, too, which I’ve been doing longer than
social media.
At
work, I’m usually living and operating on internet time. Fast. Sometimes
frenzied. A crisis or two a day. One day we had six online crises happening simultaneously.
The organization I work for has only recently began to understand a glimmer of
what’s at stake when you operate in internet time. Many of the people I work
with are doing a lot of their work they way it was done pre-internet, and even
pre-email.
One
of the effects of all of this technological capability is the end of patience.
Our definition of fast has changed dramatically over the last 20 years. When I
first accessed the internet, about 1993, I was amazed at what I could access in
a few short minutes. Today, I am frustrated if anything takes a few short
minutes.
Even
the way we talk has changed. With the impact of television, politicians (and
then the rest of us) learned to talk in sound bites. Now we talk in sound bits,
preferably with a seven-second video.
This
is a kind of technological madness. Ask my wife how much time she spends
dealing with our sound system / cable access / television / internet. It’s
quick, all right, when it works.
Our
technology has made patience at best seem antiquated, at worst a sin.
In
Slow Church:
Cultivating Community in the Patient Way of Jesus, Christopher
Smith, John Pattison, and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove suggest something
different.
“Western culture,” they write, “and
increasingly global culture, is built on impatience. The inner restlessness of
humanity is nothing new, bur for at least the last two centuries, the
quickening march of technology and industrialization has formed us into a
culture on instant gratification – which is another way of saying instant
dissatisfaction.”
This impatience has permeated many of our
churches, and it is the church that should be offering the alternative to it. This
isn’t some ethereal theological discussion, but something that impacts us and
our churches every day.
And the discussion is important. Patience, the
authors of Slow Church point out, “is
how compassion is embodied in our lives.” The less room we have for patience
(or longsuffering, which is closer to the Biblical concept), the less room we
have for compassion.
Compassion comes from rootedness, staying with
the same local church body for the long haul, and not flitting from one church
to another where our needs “might be better met.” It’s the continuity of being
part of a local body where we Christians learn patience and compassion.
I’ve been devoting Mondays on this blog to a
discussion of Slow Church, which I
believe is one of the most important books I’ve read about the church. This
chapter is entitled “Patience.”
Photograph
by George Hodan via Public
Domain Pictures. Used with permission.
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