5 minute read
In Praise of Low-Tech Worship
by David Haberstock
After the unpleasantness of 2020-2022, we are starting to feel almost back to normal. But what hasn’t left me is the banality of screens. Prior to the pandemic, I was already grappling with too much screen time and its impacts. But the pandemic put my screen time on steroids. With the disruption of regular human interaction, screens had the effect of flattening out everything to two dimensions, robbing it of soul, of substance, of interaction with flesh and blood and spirit, making it a grey, synthetic imitation of real life—only more boring. I’m worn out by it.
Most of us were forced to try “online church” at one point or another, either producing or attending it. For whatever blessings it provided in that moment, after a while many discovered that without a serious act of the will to make “online church” sacred in our own actions, it can be just like everything else online—common, banal, boring. It is tempting to bring your worst viewing habits from streaming platforms to church—sitting in your pajamas, scrolling on your phone, not really paying attention, or dividing your attention between five other things.
For some (especially us introverts), being able to “consume” church whenever you wanted—at home in your PJs on the couch, coffee in hand, only watching the bits you like—felt great. But those habits which are so common elsewhere are not appropriate for the worship of a holy God in Spirit and truth and the serious study of His Word.
Now back to regular, “in-person” church, there are times where I grapple with the same feelings of boredom. This is especially so when there is a screen in the sanctuary. While I know there are benefits for some, there are also drawbacks. The screen increases my itch to get on my phone, to split my attention, and to scroll, scroll, scroll. And I suspect I am not alone.
I feel similarly when the service does not follow our tried-and-true liturgies. A whole generation clearly loved “creative worship” for it to be so common today; but the constantly changing text of the service places me in an ever-present “now” of not knowing what comes next. As a result, I’m not able to engage intellectually or emotionally with the words of the service. By contrast, I know the liturgies from our hymnals by heart and can participate with the full-engagement of my heart and head, even when I’m distracted by children, have dropped my hymnal, or the projector fails.
Some of you have heard me say that I have not read a physical book in years (at least not for my own personal pleasure—I’ve read the children’s fantasy canon with my daughter at bedtime). I’ve hardly read a book that wasn’t on Audible or an article that wasn’t on a screen. For me, this has been almost entirely due to an overdose of screens and digital media—during the pandemic, but even before. Screens are everywhere in modern life—in my hand, on my desk, in the living room, in the sanctuary.
As I intentionally detox from that overdose I have begun to enjoy reading actual books again for fun. I have also sat down for daily Bible reading, reading the whole thing from beginning to end—something I haven’t done for years. I am enjoying it immeasurably! But for me it requires an intentional decision not to choose a screen. Otherwise, I just can’t focus and am constantly kinetically bored. I say “kinetically,” because when I am on screens, I am usually on more than one at a time, one hand scrolling, watching a show on another screen, or fiddling with some game on another screen. Which brings me back to lowtech liturgy, traditions, and habits. I need them in the form of sitting down everyday at the same time to read my Bible (or it won’t happen). I need it in the form of going to church to pray in the sanctuary of my local church at the start of my pastoral workday (or it doesn’t really happen).
I need it in the form of the sacredness, the set-apartness, the specialness ingrained into my soul through years of repetition on Sunday mornings, so that when this flesh and blood fail and my mental faculties falter, the Spirit can still pray the Lord’s Prayer through my flesh when the pastor prays it at my deathbed. This stuff is the stuff of life. And I know I’m not the only one who needs this routine and tradition for godly, life-giving discipline.
What blessings are ours in this digital age, to be called out of the cyberworld to gather around real Word and Sacraments. It anchors me not just in the now but connects me with the saints who have gone before. They handed this low-tech worship on to us, as Jesus handed it to them. It is the meat and potatoes that feed my soul. It brings heaven to earth and places it in my ears, on my tongue, and in my heart. It cuts through the itch for screens and grounds me not just in the physical world but also the spiritual world, whose realities we receive in the Divine Service.
