‘When we take it back to basics and consider what it means to be human - our right relationships with God, with each other, and with the earth – we can see through the mirage,’ says Ailsa McKinlay.
There were mixed reactions in the congregation when our pastor announced that for Lent this year, we would be undertaking a digital fasting course. “It’s not just about social media” he assured us, “it could be laptops, TV, or phone use; whatever way you want to engage, we’re going to do this together!”. We looked nervously at each other and slipped our phones surreptitiously back into our pockets (and then got them straight back out again to put the dates in our digital calendars).
I like to be a Positive Peter, so I enthusiastically strolled into the church hall for the introductory evening, safe in the knowledge that I don’t have an addiction to technology, but it’s good to show up and support church events. Hooray for me.
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Ninety-minutes later I was floored. Through the talk and discussion, I had a huge and scary revelation. I was not in control. Despite my reasonably modest daily screen time, I had bought into the lie that technology provides us with solutions, order and productivity. I thought it was making us mega-efficient, super-connected, multi-tasking human-machines. I thought wrong.
I had come under a spell, caught up in the idea that my phone gave me control over every part of my life
When we take it back to basics and consider what it means to be human - our right relationships with God, with each other, and with the earth – we can see through the mirage created digital devices. I had come under a spell, caught up in the idea that my phone gave me control over every part of my life, when in fact it was taking control of my attention, priorities, relationships and worship. This wasn’t so much about addiction, this was about trust and dependence.
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I decided that my act of fasting would be to strip my phone down to ‘utility’. Goodbye Instagram, farewell Facebook. Messages, maps, money and music stayed, but I chose to let go of pretty much everything else. I got rid of all the apps that stole my attention, or fed into that illusion of control, and turned off notifications on most of the rest.
Within days, I lost count of the number of times I picked up my phone to open an app that wasn’t there anymore
Within days, I lost count of the number of times I picked up my phone to open an app that wasn’t there anymore. At first, it felt super uncomfortable. I found myself sorting through my contacts, just to satisfy the urge to scroll! Over time, however, my habits changed. Instead of checking my emails first thing, I prayed. Instead of browsing online shopping apps in the evening, I read a book. When I needed to wind down after work or a busy day, I stopped scrolling and started finding a healthier way to respond to how I was feeling.
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These changes have permeated every part of my life. My chats with friends are deeper when I’m not distracted by messages. My attention span is longer when I reduce the number of stimuli flooding my brain. I’ve got more time to do things that bring me true pleasure. I feel less on-edge.
Most importantly, this digital fast has given me a golden opportunity to connect with God. I’ve become so much more aware of the spaces in the day where I can talk to Jesus, reflect on an encounter, or be aware of what is going on around me. I bought a small hardback book of morning and evening prayers to start and end my day. I turned to God rather than Google for little decisions. I enjoyed silence.
Like so many of us, huge parts of my life require a screen, and every day I use technology for work, utility, convenience and pleasure. But now, it’s on my terms. I choose when to pick up my phone, rather than just finding it in my hand. I choose when I’m happy to be interrupted, and when I want distraction free time.
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