Isn’t it amazing how quickly the world around us transforms during spring? Those first crocuses pushing through the soil, birds returning with their morning songs, and that unmistakable feeling of renewal in the air. As I watch nature’s comeback story unfold each year, I can’t help but see parallels to our faith journey—especially that central story of resurrection that gives us all hope.
Finding Our Way in a Digital World
Let’s be real—we’re all trying to figure out this whole technology thing, right? My smartphone buzzes with notifications while I’m trying to pray. My inbox fills faster than I can empty it. And yet, these same digital tools help us stay connected when life keeps us physically apart.
I’ve been wrestling with this question lately: How do we use all these amazing tech tools without losing the soul-deep connections that make our faith community so special?
I learned this lesson about technology the hard way a few years ago. It wasn’t exactly a choice, but sometimes God’s clearest messages come when we’re forced to slow down.
After having cataract surgery on my good eye and a procedure to repair a detached retina, my doctor gave me very specific instructions: I needed to lay face down for an entire week to allow the oil bubble they placed in my eye to heal properly.
Face down. For a week. No reading. No writing. Limited screen time. As someone who’s usually connected, trying to respond to messages, checking in on our congregation’s social media—this was more than inconvenient. It felt impossible.
The first day, I tried to cheat a little, holding my phone at awkward angles to check messages and scroll through social media. But my eyes tired quickly, and the discomfort wasn’t worth it. By day two, I surrendered to the stillness.
With nothing to do but listen—to the TV playing in the background, to the sounds of my home, to my own thoughts—I found myself in an unexpected spiritual retreat. I tried to quiet my mind and listen for God’s voice. Sometimes it worked beautifully, and I felt that rare peace that comes with true presence. Other times, my thoughts raced just as they do for all of us, listing undone tasks and worrying about church matters I couldn’t address.
But here’s what surprised me: I didn’t miss social media as much as I thought I would. The constant updates, the pressure to respond, the subtle comparisons that happen when we see others’ highlight reels—all of that faded away. In the quiet, face-down hours, I rediscovered something I’d been missing: the value of undistracted thought.
Since that forced digital detox, I’ve maintained a different relationship with technology. Yes, I still use social media to connect with our church community—you’ve probably seen my post about the May the Fourth Be With You video! But I’ve also built in regular technology breaks, setting aside my devices to create space where God’s voice doesn’t have to compete with notification chimes and endless scrolling.
I share this not to suggest we all need retinal surgery to hear God better (please, no!), but to gently remind us that sometimes our most meaningful connections—both divine and human—happen when we step away from our screens.
Let’s Try Something New Together
Both/And Community Building
This spring, we’re trying something I’m pretty excited about—a digital prayer gathering called Pray Without Ceasing. For our upcoming “Pray Without Ceasing” event, you can join our prayer circle from wherever you want!
Finding That Sweet Spot
I’ll be honest—I don’t have all the answers about how faith and technology best mix. Some days I love the ways my phone helps me connect with you all; other days I want to throw it in Lake Michigan! But I’m committed to exploring this new terrain alongside you.
This spring, I invite you to experiment with me. Share a #ResurrectedJoy moment on whatever social platform you use (or ask a friend to post it for you!). Join our hybrid events in whatever way works for your life right now.
But also, don’t forget to put the phone down sometimes. Feel the spring soil between your fingers. Look strangers in the eye and smile. Sit in sacred silence long enough to hear the still, small voice that technology can’t quite capture.
After all, the message we’re sharing isn’t new, even if our methods are: Love wins. Hope persists. Community matters. And new beginnings are always, always possible.