Post Author: Bec Cranford
Hashtag my trauma
Publicize my drama
Go ahead, paparazzi me and my mama.
The supply and demand
For our vulnerable blogs
And sensational vlogs
Voyerism or loneliness?
My addiction to the blue screen
My thumb scrolling fast and mean,
A desire to know and be known
Yet the tandem desire to be left alone
Get one mention in Sunday’s sermon
And his/her/their pain goes viral
Tweeting for a few days
But what’s the homiletical plot?
Does the preaching change the lot?
Did we give an altar call,
Alleviate affliction, humble the proud, did we end with the cup and the bread, somehow praying for the sick and remembering our dead?
Did you have a moment of reflection for their rejection,
Did we have a what next, a call to action?
Is anyone on their feet, or is it social media reactions?
Am I the hands and feet? Or the typing fingers of the body,
Will we see each other face to face and meet?
Will we let ego keep us separated and haughty?
Or is the virtual perception, my new reality, our only connection.
Maybe I need the church to help me feel,
Your blog to help me heal,
But maybe and I think you know it, too,
We need to touch and pray like we used to do,
Then go out and serve
Instead of remain
Impotent outside of a web domain
Nothing wrong with the internet
But human contact Just might yet
Be the way we were meant to be
Somewhere inside of the beloved community
Bec Cranford is a Bapticostal Misfit floating in the Mainline. She works full-time in one of Atlanta’s largest homeless service agencies, is the volunteer coordinator for the Wildgoose Festival, and supervises a contextual education course for Candler School of Theology. Bec enjoys getting messy with acrylic, theology, Mac—her fella, Marlie—her four-month-old, and Basil, her four-legged child.
Image by: Sohel Patel
Used with permission