We've Got to Do Better

It's early, sitting out here on my newly screened deck, sipping coffee on what promises to be a warm, summer day.  I'm 50 now, and in a matter of weeks both my sons will be off to college, leaving us with our first taste of the empty nest.  It is an exciting time, and certainly promises to be a new experience.  And of course, being who I am, I find myself assessing the job we've done as parents, hoping and praying that we have done enough to shape and mold our children in a manner that prepares them for this crazy, mixed up world.  I think we've done okay, but there are many unknowns out there.  I will probably worry, but I know I will definitely pray for them daily.

Recently, I was forwarded an article on Vox about the "phenomenon" of what the writer calls "influencer burnout".  I'll quote only part of it (but do read the whole thing):

What’s happening to influencers is a microcosm of what’s happening to everyone.  … [K]ids who write increasingly about their anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation, kids who appear in his office “sad in a way they cannot explain, desperate for something they don’t know how to have."

Several of them … dropped out to move to LA to chase the influencer dream for themselves, hoping to become famous in the same way all the other kids got famous: By getting their face to appear on millions of other people’s screens. Left unsaid is what happens when they do win the TikTok lottery, and how the unexplainable sadness doesn’t really go away. 

The article goes on to talk about the need to establish mechanisms that will provide such "influencers" counseling, care, and community.  Let me say this so that I am perfectly clear:  I do not, nor will I ever, condemn these lost souls.  Because if nothing else, they are indeed lost.  As Solomon wrote:  "I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after the wind." (Ecclesiastes 1:14).  It's Pinocchio on Pleasure Island; it's Percy Jackson in the casino; it's District 1 in PamEm.  An "influencer's" pursuit of vanity, of perceived relevance, can only empty the soul in the long run.  Young people should not arrive at such a place of burnout or despair so soon in their young lives, so dependent on the perceived acceptance and adulation of others.  They need more than help, they need rescue. 

Is this what a "lost generation" looks like?  At the great risk of sounding judgmental, I must seriously ask, what could their home life have been like - home being whatever environment these kids grow up in - that such emptiness results in this rabid pursuit of the white rabbit of "online relevance"?  Yes, we all have at some level gone through an identity crisis of sorts during our adolescence - some more than others willing to do almost anything to fit in.  But this "influencer" phenomenon just takes it to a whole other level of neurosis.  And the depravity of a whole industry designed around exploiting insecurity.

And powerlessly, helplessly, I sit here and drink my coffee, wondering what can possibly be done to redeem this moment in time, this season so seemingly devoid of wisdom.  I pray, because it burdens me.  Again, I will not condemn these lost souls.  But as a dad, for my generation, a measure of conviction is in order - by looking in the mirror, by looking around with clear eyes - and recognizing that some way, some how, we've got to do better.

A Quiet Plea

For some time now, I have labored to find my voice. No, that's not quite right. Labor implies a level of effort resulting in a visible outcome - a product if you will. It may be more accurate to say that I've been living in a stunned silence over the past many years, observing the increasing vitriol and Pharisee-ism on ready display in our ever-increasing modes of social interaction. To publicly offer an observation, even in the interest of true inquiry, is to unleash a flood of presupposition that quickly renders the attempt at dialogue unfruitful and unpalatable. This, even among "friends."

 

I remember many a spirited discussion, in a once blue-couched room in a building near a campus I love, where issues of politics and war, religion and theology, love and sin, scandal and football were hotly contested. And yet, in the aftermath, almost without fail we would walk out en masse for chicken fingers or a slice or two at a local pizza buffet, our fellowship and camaraderie never truly threatened. Perhaps that's too rosy a picture, but nevertheless it generally rings true to my recollection.

 

As a believer, as one who believes that Jesus Christ died for my sins and rose again to sit at the right hand of the Almighty, I find myself wrestling with the question of how to speak into this age - or if I even should. How does one go about being a "peacemaker" where even the most mundane of issues turns into a rhetorical battlefield and everyone nearby a self-styled knights-polemic? How does the Church speak into this age where few lend any credence to its once-perceived authority, especially given that its members wield the same weapons against one another daily, in full public display?

 

Here's what I know, and what I believe. You and I are not going to agree on every facet of policy or politics, nor on intricate matters of theology and denominational order, nor on a host of other issues. We're just not. Does that make us adversaries? Does that make us enemies? I submit that if we succumb to such an outcome, we thus succumb to the decadent spirit of the age, rather than the Spirit of the Living God.

 

There is a hymn from my childhood that begins, "Blest be the tie that binds / our hearts in Christian love; the fellowship of kindred minds / is like to that above." Would that we be less passive and more active in this. Can we not commit to being the agents of this blessing, caretakers of this holy bond without regard to whether our paths diverge for a time, or whether we find ourselves with opposite views of one or more issues of the day, the circumstances of which are bound to change tomorrow?

 

I harbor few illusions, but I still choose to hope. I know I am deeply flawed, but perhaps even a flawed messenger is capable of speaking truth. To borrow from a somewhat more contemporary verse, "Let it begin with me." Amen.