I first joined Twitter in 2008. For several years, it was my favorite online destination. Most of my followers became actual friends. We were a community of Christians who encouraged one another and shared a commitment to advance Christ’s kingdom through the platform.
Things were different back then.
I always believed flesh-and-blood relationships were more important than their digital counterparts, so when my local church needed my full attention, I deactivated my account. One year later, I returned to find a much different network.
I was greeted by a new “While You Were Away” timeline. This was an algorithmically curated feed of only those tweets with the most engagement. It seemed harmless on the surface, but I soon discovered the unintended consequences. Users, including many Christians, were no longer content to answer the question “What’s happening?” Instead, they were incentivized to post something more compelling that would elicit replies and retweets. How else could they be featured on the new timeline? If a tweet falls in a forest, and no one’s around to hear it, does it make a sound?
People instinctively knew that to be more compelling required sensationalism, if not controversy. Twitter quickly devolved—from what I could see, anyhow—into a proud, divisive, and graceless mess. The edifying brotherhood gave way to extreme tribalism over every issue imaginable. “Discernment ministries” gained popularity where Christians devoted themselves entirely to warning fellow Christians about other Christians.
In the early 2010s, I could count on one hand those who wanted to be Christian influencers, but by 2017, I struggled to find anyone who wasn’t moving in that direction. Once-respectable pastors were acting more like secular entertainers than shepherds of the flock.
I could cite many examples, but one, in particular, comes to mind. A pastor I met online years before had become a good friend. He was a serious fellow who wrote biblically rich material. His tweets were equally serious and always encouraging. Then, the COVID pandemic hit.
He stopped writing and began posting TikTok-style videos of himself dancing to pop music. My first reaction was one of confusion, followed shortly by embarrassment on his behalf. What is he thinking? I wondered. But as his follower count rose, I understood. He sold his dignity for virality.
Of all the problems I now see on Twitter (X) and beyond, the lack of seriousness may be what troubles me the most. Paul says, “Older men are to be sober-minded, dignified, self-controlled, sound in faith, in love, and in steadfastness” (Tit 2:2). While that may not be a warning against dancing for an online audience, what do you suppose the apostle would say about what we see daily on these Internet platforms from fellow believers? Are we “making the best use of the time”? (Eph 5:16). Have we remembered to “speak evil of no one, to avoid quarreling, to be gentle, and to show perfect courtesy toward all people”? (Tit 3:1–2).
Brothers, think about the Great Commission to “make disciples of all nations” (Mt 28:19). We have the tools to reach almost anyone in the world, but what does the watching world see from us? In some corners of the Web, they see us devouring one another (Gal 5:15). In others, they see flippancy and vanity. Where can they go to see our urgency? Where do they find us working out salvation “with fear and trembling”? (Php 2:12). What exactly are they learning from us?
I was always optimistic about the Internet’s potential. I hand-coded websites as a high school student in the late Nineties, amazed that a nobody like me could broadcast to the world from his parents’ basement. Early in my pastoral ministry, I closely watched other churches and ministries to see how they were utilizing the Web for God’s glory. John MacArthur published full sermon transcripts. Desiring God released new content daily. While I was never Mark Driscoll’s biggest fan, I admired how Mars Hill Church took presentation to another level with a beautiful website, graphics, and videos. I sincerely believed the Internet could be the means to the next Great Awakening.
I suppose the potential is still there, but I’m far less optimistic these days. Truth on the Web is drowning in a sea of irrelevance. To borrow from Neil Postman, we’re amusing ourselves to death. How can the Bible compete with hilarious memes and the YouTube algorithm that knows precisely what will keep us watching an hour longer than we intended? We’re practically trapped. Even if we had a mind to quit, the fear of missing out, combined with our unquenchable thirst for entertainment, pulls us right back.
As for me, I fell out of love with the Web several years ago. I still use it to research, shop, and read my favorite online writers, but my only social media account is on life support. I don’t hear the Siren’s Song, tempting me to invest one more minute of my time than necessary.
These days, the most frequently used apps on my iPad are the Bible and Kindle. My iPhone has more in common with a dumbphone than a modern smartphone. It no longer appeals to me as it once did.
As I write this, I’m sitting on the front porch where I can enjoy the warm weather and smell the nearby lilac bush. I’ve paused twice to wave and say hello to neighbors walking past the house. I’m literally writing with a pen on paper. My laptop is still in my work bag by the back door, out of sight and out of mind. The only things to distract me out here are my wandering thoughts and perhaps a noisy truck circling the block. As dull as this brief window into my life may seem to some people, I wouldn’t trade it for all the hits, clicks, and likes in the world.
You may have assumed I was building up to lecture you on the evils and hidden dangers of heavy Web use, but I’m not. I’ve implied as much already, and I’ve spoken on this topic before (see here, here, here, and here). This is more confession than sermon. You might call it a personal mission statement. I’m merely thinking out loud about the way forward for me.
I believe the Christian life must be marked by integrity—that is, doing the right thing in every circumstance, whether anyone sees it or not—and intentionality. Integrity hardly needs an explanation. We should be consistently faithful online and off. The Internet is not a special sphere of our existence where the rules no longer apply.
As for intentionality, going with the flow rarely produces godly results. A lack of purpose and self-discipline results in conformity to the world more often than not. Think about it. As we mindlessly scroll a social media newsfeed, for instance, we’re letting a soulless algorithm, designed to keep us mindlessly scrolling for as long as possible, determine what we do and do not see. Is that conducive to the Christian life? Will it help us “grow up into salvation”? (1Pe 2:2) Consider Paul’s analogy to running a race:
Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified. (1 Corinthians 9:24–27)
What do we need to win the race? Namely, intentionality and self-discipline. It’s neither safe nor wise to be passive consumers of everything the world throws at us. Therefore, we need self-control to divert our attention, put down our phones, and adopt healthier habits. “Do not be conformed to this world,” the Bible says, “but be transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Ro 12:2).
As for me, I’ve asked myself, “What will you do differently? How will you be intentional and disciplined in your use of the Web?”
“Well,” I’ve answered, “I’ll avoid the algorithms. I won’t let someone else dictate the content I read, hear, and watch. I have my favorite online writers and podcasters, and I’ll use an RSS feed reader or podcast app to subscribe to them. I’ll control what streams into my life and mind.”
“What about publishing? Will you still write for the Web?”
“Yes, but I’ll ignore every piece of marketing advice I’ve ever received. For example, I won’t post or contribute to social media platforms. The temptation is too great to seek praise and popularity. I want to serve the Lord and his church through my writing—God willing—but I have no desire to become the next celebrity pastor. I’ll remove all tracking and analytics from my website for the same reason. Only God will know how many people visit. In fact, I’ll no longer offer email subscriptions1, which is yet another metric the experts tell me is vital to so-called success on the Internet.”
“Isn’t this somewhat extreme?”
“‘If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away,’ Jesus said (Mt 5:29). I’m not suggesting any great sacrifice here. For it is better that I lose my Facebook account and vanity metrics than that I be tempted by pride or the prospect of fame. I’m content to write from my porch and publish to my humble space on the Web for the few people who know about it or find it.”
“Speaking of, how will people find your website? Once they have, assuming they do, how will they know when you’ve published something new?”
“I primarily write for the people I know—my church, friends, people I meet through the funeral home where I work. I don’t mind if my sphere of influence never reaches beyond them. If they believe something I’ve written is worthy of sharing with someone else, I suppose they will. And if they care enough to know whether I’ve published something new, they know where to find me. Every browser still has a bookmark feature.”
“Yes, but—”
I’ve engaged in some version of this internal debate for years. While my convictions may not align with yours, I aspire to live offline, and I don’t want my online activities to serve as an escape from the real world. If they’re not a helpful extension of my ministry to the people I know and interact with outside of the computer, I’m not interested. After all, can any of us fulfill our Christian calling apart from meeting together in the flesh? (Heb 10:24–25). As Douglas Groothuis argued, “Cyberspace tends to trivialize our sense of identity and reality. It permits a disembodied self—masked, fluid, disconnected from community.”
Disconnected from community— Setting aside all other problems and temptations, I want to remain fully immersed in my community, not divided between it and a lesser, digital version. When I feel inclined to jot my thoughts on paper, I’ll retreat to my front porch, occasionally publishing those words to my tiny corner of the Web. Otherwise, you’ll find me at home with my family, at work, visiting with neighbors, or together with my church.
1 Technically, email subscriptions are still possible using FeedMail, though I’ll no longer manage them myself or know how many people have subscribed.