We have a love/hate relationship with this social media giant, don’t we? I see friends post about cleaning out their own friends list or unfriending because Facebook has made relationships toxic. The news is rife with stories of data mining, privacy violations, and fake news. There is clickbait and cyberstalking. No wonder people check out for Lent or a host of other reasons.
But I see something else more often. I see people post their vulnerabilities. Expressions of depression or failure or pain. I’ve watched names shift as young people struggle with their identity and gender expression. And I know some see this as TMI, too much sharing, all that. But when I see these posts, I hear, “I am fundamentally flawed. Does anyone love me anyway?” And I see comments that express love and support. I see numbers ticking up next to tiny hearts and thumbs up. I see little round faces shedding sympathetic tears.
I suppose I could be all cynical and say that support isn’t real, but I’m not cynical, and while I know the depth of those responses is varied, I also know each one is a whispered, “I do. I love you anyway. Like you, I am fundamentally flawed, but I can offer some small measure of comfort, and so I will.”
There’s not a damned thing wrong with that. I know it does a lot of good sometimes.
To all my friends who have found themselves calling out into the wilderness of social media, “I am fundamentally flawed. Does anyone love me anyway?” I offer this poem, which was read in church this morning:
The Guest House
This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.
The dark thought, the shame, the malice.
meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.
Be grateful for whatever comes.
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.
— Jellaludin Rumi,
translation by Coleman Barks