While sitting in my favorite coffee shop, I recently had a conversation with a 24-year-old graphic artist and spiritual seeker about technology in worship. On Easter, he’d attended a service at a local church, complete with a state-of-the-art sound system and a projection system that would put most theaters to shame. He seemed to be a savvy tech connoisseur, so I was pretty curious about what his reaction would be. I was totally caught off guard by his response. “Man, it was weird. I felt like all my toys had been used to bash me over the head with Christianity. It was like someone had broken into my apartment and trashed my stuff.” (Insert long pause here, while worship designer Sally Morgenthaler tries to recover from a head-on collision with his reality.) My stumbling response was nonetheless characteristically Boomer-therapeutic. “So. . . if I’m hearing you right, you feel like they’d entered your world, used your tools-thinking that’s what they were supposed to do to get your attention-and then did a soapbox thing with it. Am I close?” “Yeah, kind of like that.” “Well, would it have been better not to use the technology?” (Translated, forget the screens, the film clips, the PowerPoint presentation that looks as though someone used every single animation function on the list.)
One thing he was not, and that was glib. He sipped his double espresso, musing. “I don’t know. It’s just that it was, like, the focus. Like they were so proud they had this cool stuff and could strut it out. I don’t know what people are supposed to do in church. (He was definitely a Christmas-and-Easter-only person.) But I don’t think what they did is it. At least, for me.” Still somewhat in stutter mode, I ventured a virtual scenario. “Well, what if the screen and the lights and the PowerPoint weren’t the focus? What if somehow the focus was on the people and on things such as prayer and doing stuff together? Would it be okay to have the toys on the side?” “Yeah. On the side. Like, underneath things, woven in.” He paused. “You know, kind of like ambient music-sort of a wash of sound that you don’t really notice. But it’s there. Kind of helps you focus on what’s inside, helps you feel things.” Wow. It was as if a 500-watt halogen bulb had switched on in my brain. But, wouldn’t you know, I had an appointment to get to. Lucky for him, or else I would have subjected him to more Boomer analyses. (Hey, I have to deal with my professional insecurity somehow. Might as well talk the issue to death and maybe it will go away…) Not.
This article appears courtesy of REV. Magazine Sept/Oct 2001 www.rev_magazine.com
Staff writer for ExperiencingWorship.com.