Don't feed the trolls?

I expect you've come across the advice: don't feed the trolls.  With the growth of web forums, discussion boards, blogs, Facebook groups, there is always an argument going on somewhere online.  Reading the comment threads on some news articles or the wall posts of some Facebook groups is possibly the most depressing experiences on the internet.  I'm not going to post any links because I don't want to give them publicity, or to depress readers!

People argue over everything from government policy on immigration or war or religion to whether Dr Who is better than Twilight (what's to argue?)  And, sooner or later, no matter how seriously and mild tempered the discussion begins, it will very often descend into argument.  Often this will be accompanied by personal insults and unpleasant language (let alone spelling and grammar inconsistencies!).   Some people just argue for the sake of it.  They don't, in the view of more sensible respondents, deserve 'feeding.'  You can't win an argument against a troll.  You might as well not start.

Sometimes I feel that politics can be like this.  The parties (and even more media coverage) often base their arguments on little evidence, or on evidence that is skewed to their own point of view.  Of course, all the parties are now trying to get to grips with online media and to use it to spread their own messages.  If that leads to discussion board commenters becoming more aware of what they're actually talking about, good.

Often we complain that people don't bother to vote in elections, that they're apathetic, that they don't care about politics.  Fewer people are involved in campaigning these days, the unions aren't as big a political force as they were in the past, many people don't seem to be interested in- or know much about- political discussions.  So perhaps all those people who comment on newspaper and BBC articles aren't a bad thing after all.  Perhaps that's where this country's political discussion is happening in this new online world.

Wow, that's quite a scary thought.

Unfortunately, most comments seem to come from the extreme points of view on any issue.  Extremists are always more active than moderates, it seems, whatever method they're using.  Moderates are more likely to retreat, and not feed the trolls.  There is little point engaging in an argument when the other person isn't actually interested in hearing your views.  It's hard to be moderate in such circumstances.

Perhaps, though, it's not quite as scary as the idea that there is no political discussion going on at all, outside the parliamentary elite.  People do care about things- things which, if they thought about it, are political issues- they just don't seem to connect this with voting.

How can we connect these people to the political process- and how can the political process change to connect with these people?   I don't know- but I suspect the internet has something to do with it.

Work and the church

"Work is not a necessary chore but a divine calling."

I came across that today in a WordLive reading.  For people like me who have jobs that aren't particularly satisfying, those words are enough to make me feel ashamed.  My job doesn't feel like a divine calling.  The part of my job that appears to be the most useful to God is the uses I put my interet access too when there is no work to do, and that's not exactly part of my job! It makes me feel that I have failed, that I have got something wrong.  Is that the job itself?  Well, I believe God was clearly involved in the circumstances that got me the job.  So is it my attitude that's wrong?  Probably.

The passage itself is one I've thought about a lot.  A few years ago, about the time when I was a few months out of university and utterly depressed because I couldn't even get a job in a shop, I heard a sermon on this passage (I think it was this one, or at least a very similar one) that really made me angry. 

The speaker was very insensitive in the way he approached the passage, and what he said (I can't remember exactly how it was phrased) blamed people who- for whatever reason- didn't have a job.  I thought this was quite insulting, and certainly not what Paul meant.  The problem, I suspect, was that this was a middle-class church with a middle-class vicar.  Unemployment was not something (in those days before the recession) was not something most of the congregation had to fear.  But even so, I felt that it was wrong to condemn everyone who didn't have a paid job.  

In my case- and that of many others- I wanted to work, but couldn't find a job.  Was that my fault, as I was made to feel?  It's hard enough that the benefits system makes you feel that you are a worthless person who is to blame for your own problems, without the church joining in- I would have thought that the church should be helping and supporting people in this situation, not making them feel worse.  And what about the other situations that prevent people from having a job? Is someone to blame if they can't work through illness?  What about parents who stay at home to care for their children?  Is that wrong?  Or people who have retired after many years of hard work? 


One of the areas that the WordLive reading looked at was that of how work is shared out within the church.  It's a well known saying that 10% of the people do 90% of the work.  It certainly feels like that's true.  Some people just seem to relax and let others do their share, while others just can't sit back and watch- if something needs to be done, they feel they have to do it.  I know I'm in the second group.  But as this video shows, neither is really right.  People like me shouldn't do everything, otherwise we 'burnout' and miss out.  But if not everyone is doing their fair share, it's inevitable that some people (often the clergy) will be doing too much.


Perhaps this is more what Paul is talking about.  Because there's a difference between having a job and not being idle.  In fact sometimes I think I'd be less idle if I didn't have a job (or at least this particular one...)  When I was unemployed I spent a lot of time volunteering for my church, and doing other voluntary work.   I may not have been contributing financially to the community, but I was giving a lot in other ways- time, effort, prayer.  Paul condemns in this passage people who don't contribute to the community but simply take from others and sit back.  Many people don't contribute to the church community as much as they could, either financially or with their time and gifts.  They need to be encouraged to do so.  Others do more than their fair share, and should perhaps be encouraged to rest.  But to class all those who don't have paid jobs as 'idle' and say they are sinning is, I believe to misinterpret the passage.  Cheerfully doing unpaid work and coping with the pressures of unemployment seems to me to be perhaps more honouring to God than having the security of a job- even a boring one- and continually grumbling about it.  And I know I do that.  So now I've had time to think about this, if I ever hear a sermon like that again I will challenge it.


If, of course, I have time, in between all the service rotas and mission planning...

Looking outward

It's my opinion that as Christians we should be looking out more than we look in.  We have to connect with the world around us- the world of people outside the Church, who don't share our beliefs.  So I've always tried to make sure I don't get so caught up in church stuff that I loose all meaningful contact with those outside the church.  At the moment I'm fortunate enough to have some great friends, most of whom don't share my beliefs.  But sometimes I struggle because the assurances I have about my Christian friends just aren't there for my friends who aren't Christians.

This is something that's struck me over the last few days through WordLive readings.  Today's was about grieving.  For a Christian who believes that death is not the end, illness and death, though still unpleasant because of the pain and sense of loss, aren't quite as fearful as they could be.  There is hope beyond death.  And so, the notes say, we should grieve differently, because we are comforted by this hope.

All that is true.  But what if the person we're grieving for- a friend or family member- doesn't know God?  In a way that makes it even harder for a Christian to grieve, makes it something to be feared all the more.  Christianity is certainly not a soft option in that circumstance.

This is a problem I keep coming across when I'm praying for my friends.  Praying for myself, I know about all the promises that God will care for his people, will answer their prayers, that we shouldn't worry because he will provide what we need.  And I know- although sometimes I forget- that this is true, that whenever I have really been struggling either through lack of money, worries about housing, or not having a job, or when I've been feeling really down and hopeless, lonely and worthless- God has provided for me.  Maybe he's not given me what I want- the perfect job/ sufficient money not to have to be careful/ complete freedom from feeling rubbish, but he has given me what I need- enough money, somewhere to live, friends to sympathise and cheer me up.

But when I see my friends in need- through illness, or unemployment, or stress- I don't have those assurances.  When I pray for myself, I know that however much I struggle, in the end things will have worked out according to God's plan.  The journey may be hard, but I know I will reach the destination in the end.  There will be a good ending.  But with my friends I don't know that this will happen- that everything will be all right in the end.  I know God loves them- but since they don't care about him, do promises like Matthew 6 vs 25-34 -"But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well" -apply to them?  They are promises given to God's children.  And will they allow God to help them, or reject what he might want to do to help them out of a desire for independence?  

That doesn't stop me praying for them, though.  Because there's also the promise that God answers prayer, not in the way I always want or expect, but in his much better way, seen from his perspective outside space and time.  Perhaps I should be sure that God will answer my prayers to help my friends.  I know that he has their- as well as my- best interests at heart.  Perhaps what I want isn't the best or right thing for them- perhaps what God does or doesn't do to help them would be better.  I don't know.  But I trust that God does.  

And yet I often spend more time worrying about my friends' well being than about my own.  Perhaps that's taking looking outward to the extreme.  And yet perhaps that's better than not caring.