I don’t always remember the books that I’ve read, but there are a handful that stick with me—those whose plotlines so disrupted my thinking, whose worlds stretched my imagination of what’s possible, whose characters felt like beloved friends. These are the books that became a part of me, that forever influence how I think and interact with the world. If I’m honest, most of the books in this category are young adult novels. Madeleine L’Engle’s beloved A Wrinkle in Time certainly falls in this category, and it was she who once wrote: “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.” It’s one of those difficult books, given to children to read, that continues to bubble up for me as an adult. A book written in 2002, when I was in high school and still had dial-up internet, no laptop, and no cell phone. Smart phones hadn’t been invented yet. Text messaging, for those who did have phones, was incredibly basic. We did not yet use social media, we did not have 24/7 internet access, but these technologies are central to the plot of this book—a short, satirical novel by M. T. Anderson, simply titled Feed.
When I check my daily screen time averages, when I allow my watch to collect health data about my workouts or sleeping habits, when I mindlessly scroll Instagram, when I allow an algorithm to influence my parenting, my politics, my fashion choices, my faith—I think about M. T. Anderson’s Feed. In his futuristic society, children receive a feed at birth. It’s basically the internet as we know it implanted into their brains. You can chat with your friends via your thoughts, in simultaneous group or private messages. You can make purchases and review the news. And of course, what you choose to give your attention to is what gets delivered. Imagine with me what it would be like to have Instagram in your brain all the time. That’s the feed. (I wonder, is it merely coincidence that we have used this word, feed, to name our own social media homepages?) Central to the plot of the novel is a girl named Violet, whose father is a professor of dead languages (also known as binary code), who does not want to be controlled by the feed in her brain. And so she resists the algorithm. I won’t spoil the story for you, but I will say that it is uncanny how much our own lives look like this twenty-two-year-old dystopian society.
I’ve been struggling to write this newsletter, putting it off because the ache in my heart feels so heavy that I didn’t know where to begin. The thoughts in my head have been zipping around day after day for weeks, wanting to be let out. But how? Should I work them in as I sum up the year with a nice New Year’s Eve post? Should I release something on New Year’s Day about fresh beginnings? But those choices felt gimmicky, and honestly, I didn’t have the energy. I still don’t, but I do have a husband who was finally home on a Saturday that was not a holiday weekend, and this gave me some time and space to write so I can clear my head. Without further ado, let’s hear some words from Jesus, words that should be familiar to you if you are a Christian.
Just before Jesus’ death, the disciples gather for a meal that will come to be known as the Last Supper. Jesus has just washed their feet in a model of humility and service. He sends Judas out to complete the betrayal that He knows will lead to his death. He warns them he will not be with them much longer. And then he gives them this new command:
Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.
John 13: 34-35
That phrase “love one another” is repeated three times. Anytime something is repeated in Scripture, it is intentional. That it’s repeated three times, a number which symbolizes completeness, only adds to the divine importance of this command. Jesus is triple underlining what we are called to do. We are called to love one another.
The command is clear. While Jesus is speaking directly to his disciples in the text, I think He is also speaking to the future Church as a collective whole. He is speaking to us, despite our different culture and modern opinions. He is saying that we can know who His true disciples are by the way they love one another. And, if I may be so bold, I would add, based on many scriptures, that this loving of one another also includes how well we love our neighbor, our enemy, and our world.
There are so many things I want to say, and I hope that I can make a longer series of this, but I know that time is running out. It’s running out for you, as you skim this newsletter before moving on to the things you need to do. It’s running out for me, as the time I have to write is limited. Most importantly, it is running out in a little seaside city half a world away.
I want you to know that in this week alone, I saw a little girl, no more than two, arms pinned down by doctors, screaming, as they tried to disinfect and dress a head wound, right over her eye, where the skin had been sliced to the bone by shrapnel. She was lying on towels on the floor because there were no beds and no anesthetic. I saw a father holding his little boy, maybe three years old, who was wrapped carefully in a blanket. The boy seemed to be sleeping, but when I held my finger over the image, pausing the video on my screen, I could see his internal organs spilling out from under his shirt. I saw a father press chocolate biscuits into his son’s dead fingers. He had left his house to purchase them, to brighten his son’s day, to bring a little joy in the midst of incredible suffering, but when he returned with the biscuits, he found his son already dead, killed by an airstrike. I saw an entire family laid across the floor, bloodied and still. A family who left their home to come to a safe space, only to be killed in their tents in the night. I saw a little boy, maybe a year old, who froze to death in a refugee tent after miraculously surviving ninety days of bombing. I saw a man holding his son, his body curled against him as he slept, just like I do with mine. When his wife asked what he was doing, he replied: He’s all I have. If we die, at least we die together.
These are just a handful of stories out of thousands being posted on social media right now, and what we can see is a small percentage of the scale of suffering.
The images coming out of Palestine haunt me all day, every day. As I take my child to the bathroom with an upset stomach, I think of what it would be like to have a stomach bug and have to wait in a line two hundred people long for my turn in the stall. (Is there even a stall?) When a fellow writer on Substack posts about her experience living through cancer, I think about the people who are unable to receive the treatment they need because the hospitals have been reduced to rubble. When I escape into a book, because my social media is filled with death and mindless scrolling is no longer an option, I weep for the privilege to live in a warm house, with healthy children, in a safe country where I have the luxury of reading a novel to ease my mind.
This is a privilege I have done nothing to deserve.
Everyday for the last few weeks, I have shared something on social media about Palestine. I feel completely helpless, and I know it isn’t enough. But speaking up for injustice is a vital part of loving one another. To acknowledge someone’s suffering is to acknowledge their dignity and humanity. So I choose to see and I choose to share. And because I have this platform, this Substack where one hundred people read my words whenever I publish them, I cannot stand idly by and say nothing.
At church yesterday, I learned a new word. Splagchnizomai. It’s Greek. It literally means “to be moved in the inward parts;” in English, it means “to feel compassion.” This word is used often to describe how Jesus felt: when he saw the multitudes (Matt. 9:36; Matt. 14:14) and healed their sick; when he stretched out his hand and touched the blind (Matt. 20:34), the leprous (Mark 1:41), and even the dead (Luke 7:13). His heart went out to them, he was moved in his inward being, and he made the people well.
This word gave me hope, and it explains how I feel when I see the videos of the genocide in the Gaza Strip. I am moved with compassion, and I take heart that this is the Spirit in me. The Great Lover of Humanity moves in us, urging us to be moved by a world in need.
Much like M. T. Anderson’s society, we are fed what we want to see. If we choose to scroll through our feeds for beautiful home interiors or DIY hacks, for parenting advice or baby gear, for tattoo inspiration or adorable kitten videos: that is what we will see. This is an important moment in history. This conflict is one of the most documented of all time, and we are watching it unfold before our eyes. We have the choice to open our eyes or stay blind. And one day, we have to answer to that: to God and our children and ourselves.
Maybe you can’t call your representatives everyday: call them once. Maybe you can’t attend a protest: share the information so someone else can. Maybe you can’t do anything online for fear of losing your job or clientele: watch the footage coming out of Gaza for yourself, and pray fervently for peace. And if you are a Christian, please think critically about how Jesus would respond. Just because God always keeps covenant with Israel does not mean he always supports the actions of their government. We only need to read the prophets to find evidence of that.
Resist the feed this week, friends. And let yourself splagchnizomai.
Jenica
Every Day Joy
Words of Jubilee
An opinion piece on what Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. might have said about the war on Gaza, and a reminder from JesseMechanic that while the arc of the universe may indeed bend toward justice (a favorite phrase of MLK), it doesn’t bend on its own. People have to bend it there.
A Few Good Things
Right now, I am reading Philip Pullman’s Book of Dust. It’s a prequel to his Dark Materials trilogy, which I read and loved in high school. It’s an interesting world to escape into.
I am excited about this new offering from The Bible Project, which is a weekly playlist that includes a passage from the Sermon on the Mount, a reflection, and some additional insights. It’s a deep dive of Jesus’ most famous words.
I am also looking forward to jumping into The BEMA Podcast for the first time with my church community.
If you would like to contribute to this project, you can click the “Buy Me a Coffee” button below to add to my writing fund. (It’s not just used for coffee.) You can also simply share this publication with others. It is free to subscribe and share!