The cheerleader is on Facebook, the social networking site I joined recently at the urging of some friends and also of my boss, who perhaps did not foresee that I would become mildly addicted to Facebook and would never accomplish any actual work ever again. The cheerleader is someone I looked up to tremendously in high school. She was gorgeous and smart, and even sweet in a generic way that did not include getting to know me—a geeky bookworm who was sometimes respected but never terribly popular. I was the girl you voted for to plan your after-Prom party, but not the girl you hung out with at the actual Prom.
Last year, I joined LinkedIn, which is a social networking site primarily for business, and immediately set some firm rules: I would only “link” to those colleagues with whom I had shared real conversations, and preferably a meal. They needed to be people I would actually recognize if I saw them in person at a conference. Those rules precluded being professionally linked to anyone whose work I couldn’t or wouldn’t vouch for, or people I couldn’t pick out of a police lineup should that need ever arise.
They seemed like good rules. I imagined they would also work for Facebook, but I was wrong. On Facebook, free love reigns. Even using my prudish LinkedIn rules, I had more than a hundred “friends” in one week. I was astonished, since I had ignored so many invitations from people I either couldn’t remember or never met in the first place. And at first, I felt very principled about refusing the rampant promiscuity that seems to be de rigueur on Facebook: my online “friends” were going to be actual friends, thank you very much—people I wanted to hear from and about.
However, it wasn’t long before the guilt set in, catalyzed by a sweet but hurt-sounding message from the cheerleader whose invitation I had quietly rebuffed. I immediately set about making amends, and had an epiphany: ignore and ignorance stem from the same root. In my determination to make my life small and manageable, ignoring those around me, I was only perpetuating my own ignorance. This cheerleader that I have gotten to know a little bit online turns out to be far more interesting and thoughtful than I ever would have guessed in high school, and I have been a wee bit blessed because of it.
I’d love to tell you that this test run caused me to fling wide the gates of my friendship to all who would seek it. Alas, no. Joining Facebook has instead prompted a mini-crisis of faith, and a realization: Facebook is a better Christian than I am.
In many ways, Facebook is like a wild and wooly foretaste of the Kingdom. A good many of my friends are on there, mingling together, talking about life and art and parenting. My church friends hang out with my grad school buddies, my college-aged nieces (one naughty, one nice), my mom, my work colleagues, and a sister-in-law I love but rarely get to see. We bond over shared experiences, common tastes, and a good dose of humor. In my more domesticated moments I imagine that this is what heaven might be like—one vastly diverse social networking site, except with better music and more accurate spelling.
But there is that miserly part of me that wants to keep it all small and contained. The truth is that I don’t want to get “status updates” from people I don’t really know. I don’t care to know if relative strangers are feeling down today, or are waiting in line to see a movie, or are having a dispute with their child’s teacher, or any of the thousand quotidian banalities posted daily—hourly, even—on Facebook. What fascinates me about my friends seems utterly tedious about people I don’t know. But isn’t that how Jesus calls me to care?
My friend Don pointed out to me recently that the language of relationship on Facebook is that of invitation and grace. I get a message in my email in-box that so-and-so has “added me as a friend.” Do I want to confirm the friendship? Facebook’s default assumption seems to be that yes, I will proceed with this relationship, and that it will be a vehicle of grace for both parties. If I don’t accept the invitation, it simply waits patiently by unless I make an active choice to reject it. I am reminded that the Holy Spirit works in precisely this way. Too bad I am too selfish to open myself to it.
Very enjoyable article. I have been struggling with FB myself and this has given me some ne perspectives. Thanks
Posted by: Don P 7/14/2009 8:38:21 AM
This is a WONDERFUL article, and it would appear to sum up my Facebook experience as well. At absolute minimum it gives me something else to consider. Thank you. :-)
Posted by: Michelle T. Walker 1/15/2009 11:02:01 AM
This is quite lovely! I've only been on Fb for a couple of weeks--at the urging of my daughter and a couple of other friends--and I'm still a bit wary of getting too involved. (I am a fogey, also!) But it's been a delightful surprise to have invitations from many unlikely sources, like some of my daughter's friends, a young woman across the country who has the same last name as my very unusual maiden name and wants to know if we're related, old high school friends, etc. Your analogy of the Kingdom of Heaven is a wonderful one, I think. I am a hospital chaplain, and one of the things I like about it is working with all sorts of people, regardless of their ethnic backgrounds, faith traditions--or lack of same--age, sexual orientation, etc. It does, indeed, feel to me like a little slice of the Kingdom here on earth.
Posted by: Grace Cangialosi 1/14/2009 3:18:06 PM
My friend and I were just talking about and feeling the lack of the "love one another" and "community" that is sposta be the church. Even if it is superficial, Facebook seems to meet some of the needs for me to feel connected with others of many ages in a non-judgmental, friendly way.
Posted by: Ginni 1/14/2009 10:30:01 AM
Jana, this is delicious, and feels square-on with my experience too. What's interesting is that young people probably aren't getting the same jolt from Facebook that we fogies are (well, I'm a fogey, I'm not saying you are), because they haven't lost touch with the people who are now nudging them for friendship. In fact, they're unlikely to lose touch, they're more likely just to add to their already expansive friends lists as they age. Case in point: I have been on the earth at least 20 years longer than my son, and he has 416 friends, and I have 136. It's partly because my pool of peers-on-Facebook is way smaller than his, but it's partly because, as you say, friend is the default. I've also been pleasantly surprised at how Fb has odd cross-generational networking possibilities - teens I know through church friend me (I wouldn't presume to friend them, but I will be honored to be friended by them) as well as older folks, and my friends list very quickly began to look much less like a HS reunion.
Posted by: tona 1/12/2009 7:50:01 PM
Jana, Glad we're friends. Can you now loan me money'''' :)
Posted by: Michele Tennesen 1/12/2009 5:42:06 PM
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