Crackberry Prayer
Blog / Produced by The High CallingA recent Wall Street Journal article caught parents in dance recitals covertly sending and receiving emails while their budding stars were not directly on stage. I now know why—it’s because multitasking stubbornly demands full attention. When the spotlight moves off my object of interest, I can tap that momentary rush of euphoria from "getting something done"—even if it means hiding my BlackBerry in the medicine cabinet and taking frequent trips to the bathroom through the evening.
It’s the dark side of our hyper-connected world. And the reason my colleague talks about her “Crackberry.”
As a new BlackBerry user, I confess I'm powerless to ignore the flashing red light that indicates an email or phone call. There is an innate draw to staying in touch with colleagues even while living out the ordinary events of a full life. Blame it on the instant responses that fuel the addiction, because even after the new-toy feeling wears off, the instant connection with others pulls me back. It's a connection with colleagues that shoehorns easily into a perfectly good trip to the zoo. A connection that makes a person quickly push back from the dinner table in response to some hidden signal.
Can Anyone Really Multitask?
Why do I multitask? Let's review:
It seems like I can cram all sorts of small pebbles and sand around the really big rocks of an already over-full schedule.
The two- or three-minute intervals where I am not entirely engaged are fair game—like extra bandwidth going to waste. Why not answer an email or see what the VP of marketing is saying?
Plus—it's kind of cool to hear from colleagues standing in another department, city, or country, talking about stuff that concerns my real-time worklife. It's like we have an important global connection.
But more and more studies show that multitasking only works for those who are adept at switching topics. That's because there really is no such thing as multitasking—there's only the illusion of actually doing things simultaneously. In essence, multitasking works for people who tolerate (or even prefer) constant interruptions. For everybody else multitasking is mostly smoke and mirrors and wishful thinking. My own experience bears out that while I get some small things done in the wee moments, there is a cost involved with these micro triumphs: I pay in the currency of calm reflection.
What If?
But what if God meant for his creation to communicate in just that way? What if prayer were a two-way, real-time conversation between God and his people? Frank Laubach thought of it that way: he recommended Christians turn their minds and hearts to God every 60 seconds throughout every day. Laubauch's life was a monument to this very idea, and he accomplished things that, while not “churchy,” were certainly in keeping with God's desire to cultivate the earth and care for the poor.
I would argue that such frequent, focusing prayer is the very opposite of the Crackberry syndrome. Rather than constantly disengaging with the present—this real-time, interrupting, prayerful give-and-take actually opens new doors to redeemed engagement with real life. Even the life right before us. That’s partly because God’s Spirit can inform the very conversation we’re having right now—with more profound effects than my BlackBerry.
That Crackberry Look
Where I work, colleagues walk the halls with a fixed gaze on their BlackBerry—thumbs atwitter. Occasionally they look up for foot placement. This is the BlackBerry look. And in meetings there is the tell-tale blank stare into the lap during a meeting—which some have dubbed “Blackberry prayer.”
I think I can scale back my BlackBerry use whenever I want. I just don't want to. Yet. But even more important and attractive to me is this vital communication with the God of the Universe who interrupts and intervenes throughout every day. But that communication is not some religious thing. No—it’s messages coming and going that have everything to do with each present moment. Such prayer may look more like engagement than vacancy.