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Telepreachers and Websites: A Reflection by The Rev. Hartshorn Murphy Ned Ludd destroyed two large stocking frames in the village of Anstey in Leicestershire in 1779 and although a mere simpleton, he became a hero to the working class. In 1811, "King Ludd" (not his real name) signed a workers manifesto and thus birthed a social movement in Britain which resurrected Ned's name: the Luddites. These Luddites were textile workers who protested changes brought about by the Industrial Revolution by destroying mechanized looms which threatened their livelihoods. This early form of industrial sabotage was subsequently made a capital crime and these actions were violently repressed by British troops: not a few people were killed. Neo-Luddism is a modern movement of those who, while not necessarily seeing all technology as inherently evil, nevertheless believe that many technologies impact human nature in ways that degrades the overall quality of human life. Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia, says it this way: "Neo-Luddite thinkers usually reject the popular claim that technology is essentially "value free" or "amoral," that it is merely a set of tools which can be used for either good or evil. Instead, they argue that certain technologies have an inherent tendency to reinforce or undermine particular values. In particular, they argue that some technologies foster social/class alienation, environmental degradation, and spiritual dissipation…dehumanize and alienate people, destroy traditional cultures, societies, and family structures, pollute language, reduce the need for person-to-person contact, alter the very definition of what it means to be human, or damage the evolved life-support systems of the Earth's entire biosphere so gravely as to cause human extinction." (emphasis mine). I confess: I have been known to be a bit of a Luddite. In part, that's because as a non-intuitive person, I am easily intimidated by technology. As my generation goes not so gently into that dark night and men of the boomer generation flirt more and more with the mixed joys of curmudgeondom, there is a resentment to arbitrarily shifting technologies aimed at enriching some at the expense of the many. We shifted from vinyl to 8 tracks to cassettes to compact discs and from Betamax to VHS to DVD'S − but ipods and Blu-ray is more than I can get excited about or financially seduced by. Unlike the Luddities of old, I have no desire to run down the aisles of Best Buy with an axe, or torch the Circuit City on the corner of Arizona and 4th; these technological wonders do not threaten my livelihood directly. But I don't think I'm the only one who feels occasionally overwhelmed − or at least a bit grumpy − by change for change sake and planned obsolescence. These are but petty and persistent irritations. But I do wonder about the impact of technology on religion and spirituality. My earliest indelible memory of a telepreacher was not those earnest, conservative Catholic priests who held forth on Sunday morning about atheistic communism. Even in the 50's, they seemed tired and boring. For me, it was the late night train wreck known as Kathryn Kulhman. Her soft spoken sincerity and seductive gowns − even in 18" black and white − was irresistible. As a member of the generation that grew up on Romper Room School and Miss Nancy with her magic hand mirror who could see you seeing her and called out to kids at home by name (although she never quite saw "Hartshorn."); kids who grew up on Miss Nancy were prepared for a faith healer who supernaturally knew about the man in Omaha with the bum knee or the suffering grandma in Memphis with "sugar diabetes." Kids who trusted Cap't Kangaroo and the kindness of Buffalo Bob just knew that when Kathryn invited folk to reach out and touch the T.V. screen while she prayed, would in fact be cured. It was mesmerizing late night theater and my local parish church, with its Anglican chant and sedate homilies, just couldn't compete. Kathryn died in 1976 and I still miss her. But I do wonder to this day what the point of it all was. She was loosely connected to a church in, I believe, Pittsburg but in her T.V. ministry, I don't think she ever mentioned that very much. The television ministry was, I suspect, an end in itself and as such, felt like an alternative rather than as an adjunct to congregational life. Such is the power and seduction of electronic religion which seemed more immediate and personal than our parish priests who visited the family during hospital stays and toiled faithfully in God's house Sunday by Sunday. After all, the telepreachers were in our very bedrooms and our living rooms every week. The presumption about religion is that it is profoundly "high touch." Christianity is an "incarnation" religion: it's about God enfleshed. Our sacramental life is about God being available to us through quite ordinary and mundane means. Someone once said it this way: "Matter matters." We baptize the human body with water, share communion of bread and wine made by human hands, marry one another by joining hands, pray for wholeness and health through anointing with oil and the laying on of hands and in the end, we bury the remains of our human bodies. Religion is profoundly high touch while technology is more often than not "low touch." A mundane example: twice a year, I lead a conference for approximately 32 clergypersons. Prior to the conference, I send each participant a handwritten note of welcome. And although it's time consuming, I have found that folk are genuinely appreciative of having received them and go out of their way to express their gratitude. More than once, I've received thank you notes for my note of greeting! I have suggested to other conference leaders that they consider doing the same and more than one person has said that they just don't have the time; one sends out an email to "save time." Now, a note is hardly personal in the same way as sitting down over a meal or a phone conversation: but people are, I believe, so starved for human contact and connection that a brief note feels like courtship in this impersonal world of email and text messaging. Why? Because someone (namely me) gave the precious gift of their time; which communicated a measure of care. Emails are invaluable for communicating information but are lousy in communicating a relationship. Although a number of factors contribute to our sense of isolation and loneliness today: job insecurity and competition in the workplace, demands for increased productivity, a mobile/unsettled society, family disintegration and dysfunction, emotional and physical exhaustion to name but a few; technological alienation which substitutes "low touch" for "high" is, I think, a contributing factor. I know for a fact that there are people who prefer television religion to involvement in a local congregation, which by comparison is messy with human lives and human dramas. But consider: Jesus "instituted" the Holy Communion during a common fellowship meal which he knew would be oft repeated throughout his disciples' lives: it simply was given a new meaning (this bread is now my body; this wine, my blood − every time you do this, you will be re-membered to me.) But today, that foundational connection is weak. I recall well a conversation with one of our Vicars in a suburban community who, when teaching junior high kids about the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, discovered that they virtually never sat down and shared a meal as a family at home. She organized monthly dinner parties at the vicarage for these kids − a "sit down at the table, I cooked this for you" hot meal. To her surprise and delight, these young people said that they looked forward to these monthly leisurely meals with each other, to the fellowship and the conversation. They hungered for community in the midst of soccer, marching band, AP classes and the rest that our overly scheduled kids get locked into. Only then could the Eucharist begin to make sense. Some ten years ago, someone suggested that we ought to have a website. My inner Luddite was not convinced. Over this decade, we have continued to explore ways to use the WebPages more effectively to communicate both within the congregation and outside to the larger community. Our men's fellowship is exploring the feasibility of streaming the Sunday sermons on the web. In articulating a rational for this, some see it as a service to those who are sick or shut in for a time and unable to be here on a Sunday; others see it as an educational outreach and that there's value in trying to expose people to both a historical and progressive interpretation of the scriptures. Still others hope that it might be an effective tool for evangelism: that you might encourage others to "tune in" and having the opportunity to see what goes on here before they come, they might be more likely to visit. At least one person speculated that our members might be less likely to come if they can catch the sermon at home. This is early and we'll see where it goes. But I can say this: those who do visit tell us more and more that they come by way of the website's invitation. We are deeply grateful and indebted to our webmaster, Steve Koeppe. (Thank you, Steven!) Technology can never replace human touch/God touch. Had Kathryn Kuhlman been a "catholic" rather than a loosely affiliated Presbyterian, I can imagine her inviting her audience to lift their slice of wonder bread and Welch's grape juice to the T.V. screen and drink − now. Well, perhaps not. Somehow, it's always been easier to market a personal religion rather than a corporate faith; healing prayer handkerchiefs are an easier token to mail than is bread and wine it seems. So while we continue to explore new technologies, we always come back to the yearning for a shared meal, a shared conversation, shared lives. The Church is the last bastion for Luddites and techno geeks who need a little balance in their lives. May God grace us both with God's own gentle touch. Copyright © 2008 St. Augustine by-the-Sea
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