In his book, entitled Dedicated, author Pete Davis, describes an all too familiar experience.1 It’s evening, and you’re searching Netflix or the TV channel line-up for something to watch, so you start scrolling through all the different titles. You might stop on one or two, watch a bit of it, maybe watch a trailer or two to get a taste of what that program is, but you just can’t commit to watching anything. Then you notice that you’ve been at this for 30 minutes and you’re still in infinite browsing mode, so you just give up. You’re deflated and too tired to watch anything now, so you turn off the TV and go to bed. This is something bigger than our TV habits or one night’s couch surfing.
Polish philosopher, Zygmunt Bauman, has a great phrase for it: “liquid modernity.” Liquid modernity is our increasing unwillingness to commit to any one identity or place or community, so like liquid, we’re in a state that can easily adapt to any shape.
These days, it’s harder for us to count on what’s ahead—a job or role, an idea or cause, any group or institution—they can change in a moment, or at least it seems that way, so we’re in constant preparation mode. But that’s a survival mechanism, and survival isn’t living. Pete Davis writes that we’re always in infinite browsing mode, and it goes much deeper than trying to find something to watch. Infinite browsing mode is for everything in our lives that has us skimming across the surface of everything because we think we can count on any one thing. Infinite browsing mode betrays our lack of trust in one thing.
Whether we’ve experienced that level of restlessness or not, we can all relate to infinite browsing mode. Too many of us scroll through our lives. But keep your options open for too long and you’ll find you won’t get anything done. Browsing forever will make us dizzy and confused, and it can lead to despair. But commitment can lead us to great joy.
In an age of infinite browsing, where too many of us are restlessly grazing from our own lives, just trying to get through the day. Our own schedules become bad habits we get trapped inside of. We think we must go on enduring these things because it’s what life as we have made it demands of us. But are we not in control of what our lives demand of us?
Aren’t we impressed when we meet someone who has mastered—well, anything? Whenever we see competence, proficiency, devotion, and dedication it impresses us. What could change if we stopped browsing and made deeper commitments to fewer things? Diving deep is an expression of defiance. Commitment is countercultural. Choosing less and determining to become better at it is gutsy, unconventional, and cool.
Paul had been in Athens, Greece for a few days. It’s his first time there, we can suppose, strolling around the city and taking in the sights. There’s much to pay attention to. It’s a bustling city pack with people leading their lives in all sorts of different directions.
Paul notices that Athens is also packed with gods, statues of all these Greek gods; they’re everywhere. Paul is here to establish a Jesus community. If he’s successful, it will be the first one in Greece. There’s a group of philosophers who are called the Areopagus. They gather like a club to discuss philosophy. They’re into having self-important conversations about the gods, the meaning of life, and other huge ideas that cannot be sorted out. They’re always asking each other questions that have no answers to them. They discussed the gods, the innumerable amount of them. They talked amongst themselves about what the gods they believe in had to do with them and what they have to do with the gods. This sounds intolerable.
The philosophers of the Areopagus we’re early Infinite Scrollers. They roamed the hallways but never settled into a room. Paul had chosen a room to make a life inside of. Let’s call it the Christ-life. He chose to establish himself there. For him, there’s no other room to live inside of; and to live outside the Christ-life is a life without meaning—it’s a life of restless and infinite scrolling, which isn’t a life at all—not according to Jesus, at least.
Paul finds a way to get the attention of the Areopagus, and in his address, he tells them that he knows what they’re missing. The Greeks had this statue dedicated to an unknown god. It’s literally a concrete (or marble) expression of their culture’s desire to leave their options open. Paul declared to them that he knows who this god is. He’s the Creator of all who came close in the person of Jesus Christ, and that coming to know Him will put an end to all their infinite browsing. “He is the one worthy of your greatest attention,” Paul tells them.
At first, commitment sounds limiting, too risky a thing. The Areopagus had a fear of commitment. Once Paul entrusted himself to Christ, life opened up for him. He often reflected on his past life as a Pharisee. He talked about it as if it was a habit he was trapped inside of. Christ-reliance freed him. Being stripped of everything until all that remained was that one holy Center of attention—it didn’t make less of him, but more.
These philosophers got together, stroked their beards, got lost in their cluttered lives, and talked about the gods—each of which represented a demand placed upon them.
Ever think of the demands placed upon us as gods? Don’t dismiss the idea so quickly.
They preferred religious browsing to faithful devotion. Paul appealed to their pride to grab their attention and point it in a different direction: toward Christ. We can stay in infinite scroll mode if we want. God’s not going to get our devotion until we’re ready to give it to Him, but once we’ve seen all that gets in the way of being one with God, He goes to work becoming our All-in-All.
God desires a deep relationship with us. When there’s so much to give ourselves to, we end up committed to very little and losing ourselves in it. We end up scattered and undedicated. The philosophers of the Areopagus were window shoppers in a mall full of gods.
God has always been in committed pursuit of us. He does so that we might see Him and reach out to Him. He is not far from us. We shouldn’t look so far away to find what we give ourselves to.
John Dull writes a weekly blog post that you can find via the church’s website. This week, he asked,
“What aspects of life do you attribute to something other than our Lord and our God through Christ Jesus?”
Can we be committers? Can we find great joy in one thing? There is a joy in deep engagement that we’ll never know until we stop spreading ourselves so thin. It turns out that sticking to one thing is not confining, but freeing. A few things will happen when we dare to live chasing after one thing. We’ll be able to slow down; and in slowing down, we stand a chance of regaining ourselves; and being regained by God. We should give God a chance to catch up to us.
The Areopagus were in love with their own ideas. Sometimes we are too, but our ideas will never love us back, nor will they pursue us like our God does. We have a choice: open options and infinite scrolling or Christ commitment. What does God have for you that you keep walking around in circles trying to find elsewhere? What other than Christ is worthy of our greatest dedication?
All praises to the One who made it all and finds it beautiful! Alleluia! Amen.