Lift Up Your Eyes
Dazed in Disconnection
It’s sad. Try it the next time you’re on the train: When sitting on the MBTA Orange Line in Boston, I often put my phone away just to observe the environment around me. Sometimes, you might see two friends interacting with one another about last night’s ballgame. If it’s over the weekend, you might see a family headed into town to enjoy some time together. More than likely, however, you will see an abundance of people with their eyes glazed, looking down at the glowing screen in front of them. I was on a train car recently where I observed every single head on the train was down, scrolling away. Is anyone even aware of the people around them? What would happen if someone stepped onto here to harm someone? Would anyone see? Would anyone care? Do they even know I’m here? Better yet—do I know that they’re here?
It’s evident that MIT professor Sherry Turkle may have been correct when she said that we’re “alone together.” We want to be reachable, but the device in our hands actually keeps us worlds apart. Surrounded by people, and yet totally disconnected. Everywhere by means of the rectangular box in your hands, and yet absolutely nowhere meaningful at the same time. Consider too the airplane: Even when you’re confined together with hundreds of other people, and a few sit no less than a few inches away from you, we still fail to strike up a meaningful conversation. Alone, and yet together. Perhaps again to some extent this may be what Charles Taylor meant by the “buffered self”—you want to speak to the person next to you because you crave meaningful interaction, but both individuals are afraid of the social capital it may require.
It’s in a moment such as our own that I question what a man as observant as C.S. Lewis would have written about our situation. Perhaps there would have been a whole chapter in The Screwtape Letters dedicated to our information age. “Keep them looking down,” the elder Screwtape might say, “for then they will never lift up their eyes.” We’ve all seen the videos of those who stand by at a murder unphased and unalarmed. We’ve disillusioned ourselves into thinking the screen—or even just the act of physical closeness—gives us deep presence, and yet as Turkle has alluded, we no longer know how to empathize at all. Alone, and yet together.
Lift Up Your Eyes
More than Lewis, what would Jesus have said to a generation dazed, anxious, and downcast such as this? The answer may be found in a short phrase in the gospel of John: Lift up your eyes (4:35, 6:5, 17:1). In John 4, when the disciples were in a place of concern over the physical provision of food, Jesus responded with a call out of the mere physical and into sight for the spiritual. He tells them, “My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to accomplish his work… Look, I tell you, lift up your eyes, and see that the fields are white for harvest.” What he was communicating to them is that there is something spiritual right in front of them that they’re failing to see: living souls. The disciples were so concerned with keeping their heads down that they missed the spiritual needs right in front of them.
In like manner, perhaps in our generation Jesus may have told us to lift up our eyes out of our screen time spiritual slumber. “Man cannot live by likes/information/social media/scrolling alone, but from every word that comes from the mouth of God,” (cf. Matt. 4:4, Deut. 8:3). No, instead, lift up your eyes. See the spiritual needs around you. I’m reminded of Piper’s stunning remark: “One of the great uses of Twitter and Facebook [and Instagram, TikTok, etc.] will be to prove at the Last Day that prayerlessness was not from a lack of time.” We have the time for spiritual vision, we just fail to exercise it due to perceived greater loves. We keep our heads down. Why? It’s easier, and costs us little social capital, hurt, or rejection. Alone, and yet together.
But what Jesus may have called us to is to put the phone down, and lift up our eyes. And in doing so, you may notice something about humanity you haven’t yet. You may actually see living souls. You may see the countless number of people around you aching for a place—a people—to call home. You may see the next person you could invite to church, or even into your own home. You may see a person in need of encouragement or simply a smile. In a generation so anxious and lonely, I’m convinced that the church should be full to the brim with new invites. But, oh, how chained we are to the screen! Alone, and yet together.
Lifted Up to Lift Up
All throughout the Old Testament, the concept of a Messiah “lifted up” as a “signpost to the nations” is developed. Isaiah remarks that “[God] will raise (lift up) a signal (signpost) for the nations and will assemble the banished of Israel, and gather the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth,” (Is. 11:12). At the cross of Christ, we are exposed to the fulfillment of prophecy and the substitute we need for our downtrodden heads: Jesus is lifted up so that we might finally lift up our eyes. If you’ve lifted up your eyes to Him, and you see Him in all His splendor, then let that be the power by which you escape the bondage of the doomscroll. He has come to be with us that we might no longer be alone. We might be seen and together. This is the paradox of the gospel: Lift up your eyes to see Him, acknowledge your wandering eyes, and He will give you the power to lift up your eyes to see others around you.
Practically, as we consider a new season of our church upon us, lift up your eyes to see those who step into our gatherings on Sundays. See those on the T who are searching for hope. See—with new eyes—the eyes longing to be lifted up. Put the phone down, and approach people. Step into conversation with full courage, knowing that Jesus has accomplished everything necessary to be free… and together.
