Rev. Thea A. McKee
I hate my computer. Why, you ask? One simple reason: I cannot live without it! I know, I am making little if any sense, but bear with me. When I was in college in 1982, computers still printed on green and white striped paper with holes down each side. A professor remarked, “One day, I envision computers being small enough to be in people’s homes and students’ reports being completed on computers.” We all thought he was nuts.
And then, just a number of years later, I got my first desktop computer and I knew I had arrived! I didn’t do much online at that point, because there wasn’t much going on. But then, almost out of nowhere, “Google” became a household word. Now, some colleges are only found online and entire “communities” exist only in cyberspace. I have to admit that I am addicted to Facebook and keeping up with all of “my friends,” who reside therein. I keep track of folks from around the world via Skype and instant messages (IM—for those who “know” the lingo) more often than I call on the phone. My computer slowly became a very important tool for my daily existence. I even use the internet for my Bible studies and prayer time. Ours is now an age of instant everything — research, education, communication, music, friendship, passion and even for some, religion.
Cyberspace and virtuality has replaced reality. Yet, what becomes of us when the virtuality crashes around us — or literally “crashes” on us? This question became paramount for me earlier this month when my computer, while in the midst of writing my Doctoral thesis, did exactly that — it crashed! The motherboard, just plain “fried,” to use a technical term. And the chaos into which my life was thrown reverberated throughout my reality — not to mention my virtuality. That was the day I learned to hate my computer, as well as the techno geeks who promised to fix and return my computer in 8-10 business days (it was 45 days, thank you very much!).
During the “Dark Days,” (the 45 days my beloved laptop languished, away from my sight, lost in a pile of other “fried and died” computers) a strange new virtuality crept into the darkness. I began talking to people more often than I was in the habit of doing. My phone, once again, proved itself to be a valuable tool. And I cracked open my real Bible (not the Bible software version I usually employ) and found a passage in Isaiah that I had never really paid much attention to before. Isaiah 50:4-9a, the third of the four “Servant songs,” found in what some Biblical scholars call Second Isaiah. This passage is often read on Palm Sunday, because the church identifies Jesus as the Servant of God. A Servant who was not bound by the need for instant gratification, but bound to the eternal realities as destined by the Father. Christ’s attentiveness to God’s heart and ultimate plan for humanity led Him not to seek that superficial and immediate want of the here and now. Rather, the Servant sought the reality of enduring the horrific death needed to attain the freedom for all the friends of the One who had sent Him.
In this Servant song, we hear the three key verses of a true servant, and none deal with instant gratification or immediate results. The first key, is that the Servant listened to God. IM’ing doesn’t really afford one the opportunity to truly listen to the pain and sorrow of another. Nor does a cyber community truly afford the simple, yet profound gift of touch or presence. Second, nothing made the Servant turn back from the call of God — even unto death. There is nothing quick and easy about enduring persecution. Commenting or reading a tirade on a blog is not the same as feeling the passion of debate or the sting of a friend’s tears. And finally, the Servant showed unequivocal unity and confidence with and for God’s plan for justice. Jesus set his face like flint to enter Jerusalem on the back of a humble beast of burden, an animal of servitude. There is nothing virtual about this scene: a false arrest, flogging, humiliation, torture, insult and shame. There was no click of a mouse to leave an unwanted page or website. No, the Servant’s site at Golgotha could not be hacked or destroyed by any human made virus. The virus of sin had forced the Servant of God to this site and no amount of “hits” would cause it to crash.
Some say that they have found passion in cyberspace on dating sites. But during my 45 days of darkness a light burst forth. I, once more, found true Passion at the site of the Cross, linked to the site of the Empty Tomb. Seen in this Light, the Song of the Servant joyfully proclaims the viruses of shame and guilt are removed and the defragmenting of the Body of Christ is swept clean by the Holy Spirit. The Servant’s absolute obedience to the reality of God’s vindication through real grace is not a virtuality. Rather, it is a tangible reality of the Passion God has for each of us. Oh, and you don’t need to wait for God to confirm you as His friend before you can see God’s profile. God’s profile went viral over 2000 years ago. That is God’s reality and ours as well. May you hit upon the reality of God’s love for you during these final days of Lent. And may we each strive to embrace the Song of the Servant. It is always ready to download into your heart.
Journey to Easter
The Journey to Easter series is at noon each Wednesday at different churches. The public is welcome to attend.
• Wednesday — First United Methodist Church, 600 E. Okmulgee Ave., Thea McKee of Bethany Presbyterian Church, preaching.
• March 31 — St. Paul United Methodist Church, 2130 W. Okmulgee Ave., Ben Nobles of Antioch Missionary Baptist Church, preaching.
