Top Secret

I read a fascinating article this week in Duke University’s Divinity magazine about a project called PostSecret, a Web site that displays artful postcards that divulge the secrets of their anonymous authors. The article questioned, “What’s church got to do with it?” suggesting that perhaps these postcard writers are confessing their sins, worries and fears to a Web site, rather than to their pastors. “Are churches failing to provide an outlet for the need to confess?” writes Ned Barnett. “And if so, are they also neglecting another potential spiritual hunger – the longing for forgiveness?”

McKennon Shea, admissions director for Duke Divinity School, says yes. She’s quoted in the article, saying, “PostSecret put the church on notice that we have lost a sense of confession and what goes with it, that absolution, that forgiveness. It’s something we lost in the Reformation.”

I disagree. Maybe it’s my Catholic upbringing. Perhaps I spent quite enough time in the confessional as a child. But I for one feel liberated by the act of confessing my sins, my fears and worries, directly to God. I get this opportunity every Sunday in the formal church setting, but I also talk directly to God every day (well, nearly every day) on my own.

Rather, I think PostSecret points to a larger, much graver societal problem: that of disconnect. In an age of Facebook and MySpace, instant messaging, texting, tweeting and twittering, basic human interaction, one-to-one and face-to-face, is being overshadowed by pseudo-communication [Hey I’m guilty, too – look at me, blogging away…and to whom, exactly?].

Third-year Divinity student Tommy Grimm is quoted in the article, saying that young Christians “find an honesty that they long for, yet fear” on the PostSecret, but I would argue that it’s a false honesty they find. It’s not real. After all, what’s missing from this supposed confession: the reconciliation and forgiveness that often follows when you confess to a real person. What in the world is honest about PostSecret? It’s an entire Web site built on secrets.

What’s frightening is that this turn to electronic pseudo-connection is a self-fulfilling process. As we rely more and more on this quick, shallow, instantaneous exchange of minutiae, we become less and less able to communicate face-to-face, person-to-person.

My friend Jennifer commented on this phenomenon recently. She observed that while she will have a perfectly pleasant exchange with an acquaintance via Facebook, when she runs into that very person in the grocery store, the conversation is awkward, strained.

Communication is a learned skill. And the less we practice, the less we are able to communicate human-to-human, face-to-face.

My theory is that the problem isn’t so much the church’s failure to offer a channel for confession, but rather, a failure to offer a community in which people, particularly young people, can connect; a community that teaches and encourages the act of reaching outward, rather than inward.

Before I go further I should say that, in my experience, Southwood is an exception. The average age of the Southwood member is 29 – I’m the old one in the pew on Sundays. Young people comprise the bulk of Southwood’s members, and they are clearly connecting in a dynamic, life-changing way with each other and with the community at large. That said, my experience as a New England Catholic was markedly different. Most Sundays the cavernous cathedral was half empty, and the people who sat in the pews were, quite frankly, old. When Mass ended, we filed quietly out the door with a hardly a perfunctory greeting.

Some don’t need a church community. I’ve met spiritual people who naturally reach out to others, who naturally connect without the gentle prod that a spiritual community offers. My neighbor Karna is one such person. She and her partner John host a neighborhood brunch each fall on their driveway, bringing us all together to share egg bake and scones. She bakes pie and bread for George, the widower next door. Karna doesn’t belong to a Lincoln church. She doesn’t sit in a pew each Sunday. But she connects, she serves, meaningfully and thoughtfully each day of the week.

But Karna is the exception. Most of us don’t naturally think of serving others before ourselves. Most of us would benefit from a weekly reminder.

I need that push, and that’s what the Southwood community does for me each week. It’s too easy for me to get caught in the maelstrom of my own world – the errands, the school lunches, the laundry, the email; bent on surviving each day, never lifting my head out of the swirl of my own life to see someone else’s needs. And that’s where my church community gives me a much-needed nudge. Would I have volunteered to pick up trash in a Lincoln park on a recent Saturday morning, were it not for the Southwood Serves project? Heck no. Would I commit an evening to City Impact, wrapping holiday gifts this November, were it not for this service project my small group plans to do together? Absolutely not.

PostSecret is indeed fascinating. Enticed by the thrill of voyeurism and the slightly clandestine nature of the content, I admit, I could not stop reading the postcards. But more than that, I found PostSecret downright frightening. I felt saddened for the people who turned to PostSecret as their only viable outlet for expressing their heart-heavy burdens. PostSecret is non-judgmental, true. But it’s also empty, soulless, offering no hope of an embrace, a kind word or a connection on the other end.

What do you think? Check out PostSecret yourself, and then post your thoughts here. I'm curious to hear your reaction.






Art courtesy of postsecret.com.