The Loneliness of the
Screen
No one knows exactly when Yvette died. “According to the Los Angeles coroner’s report, she lay dead for the better part of a year before a neighbor and fellow actress…noticed cobwebs and yellowing letters in her mailbox, reached through a broken window to unlock the door, and pushed her way through the piles of junk mail and mounds of clothing that barricaded the house. Upstairs, she found [Yvette’s] body, mummified, near a heater that was still running. Her computer was on too, its glow permeating the empty space.”[1]
Yvette Vickers had once attracted the attention of many people as a Playboy playmate and B-movie star, famous for her roles in horror movies, such as Attack of the 50 Foot Woman. She had been famous as a young woman. Yet she died in utter obscurity. No one noticed when she stopped leaving her home. No one noticed when she stopped tending to her yard. At the height of her life, you would have thought she was well known. At the end, it became much clearer that she was not known at all.
Yvette had no children, no religious community, no immediate social group of any kind. Her neighbor who discovered her body later told Los Angeles magazine that she had looked through Yvette’s phone bills for clues that could explain such a lonely existence. She discovered that “in the months before her grotesque death, Vickers had made calls not to friends or family but to distant fans who had found her through fan conventions and Internet sites.”[2]
There is a tragic symmetry in Yvette’s life. She had gained notoriety on the silver screen. And she died unknown in front of a glowing screen. The screen had promised connection, and for a short time it had seemed to deliver on that promise, but it had in fact left her lonely and unknown. Her death is arguably more haunting than any of the horror movies in which she starred, because it strikes so close to home in our world filled with screens. Who among us hasn’t been caught staring into that little rectangle in our hands? And is it a coincidence that new research is suggesting we live in a lonelier and more narcissistic world than ever before? Some people blame cell phones and tablets and social media for our increasing detachment and division, and it’s true that some people are literally dying because of it—looking at the screen instead of the road, paying attention to fantasy instead of reality. But our ancestors in the Christian tradition would probably point out that technology is just a tool that we use to accomplish the desires of our heart. The real reason for our loneliness is not some external device. The real reason resides within us, in a harmful thought.
That thought, which the desert fathers and mothers identified as “vainglory,” goes something like this: Being seen will make me belong. Being admired will mean I am accepted. Being noticed will make me known. But as the word itself suggests, glory in the eyes of others is ultimately an empty (“vain”) reward. Being noticed is not the same as being known.
Like Looking in a
Mirror: The Pharisees
A couple of weeks ago at the Lenten Bible study, we looked closely at the Pharisees—and discovered that, in some ways, we were looking into a mirror! It’s true that in the gospels, the Pharisees are often painted in a negative light, as legalistic and self-righteous, smug and superior. But then that is also how Christians are sometimes seen by the world. Much that has been said about Pharisees in the gospels, has also been said about Christians in our own newspapers. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the word “churchy”? It’s usually spoken with negative connotations. Someone who is “churchy” believes they’re always in the right, knows what’s best for everyone else, and is closed off to the world around them. Sort of like our stereotypical Pharisee.
If we read the gospels closely, we can begin to discern what most historians would tell us, which is that the Pharisees were actually among the most respected Jewish practitioners of their day. They were the ones who took their faith seriously, who lived as though God mattered. They were the ones who showed up first at the synagogue and helped to set up. They were the ones patiently teaching the children. They were the big donors, the ones who tithed regularly. They were the ones who knew scripture inside and out, who could pray the right prayer and make everyone feel at ease. The Pharisees were the guys you could trust, the good old boys you could rely on when there was a need in the community. In fact, it’s a group of Pharisees who warn Jesus that Herod intends to kill him (Luke 13:31). So before we leap to any judgments, we should remember that the Pharisees are not Jesus’ enemies. They’re his Jewish brothers, who share his concern for the kingdom of God.
Outside and Inside
But today’s scripture reveals that the Pharisees—and faithful folks like ourselves—sometimes get turned around in their priorities. The story begins, as so many with Jesus do, around a table. A Pharisee has invited Jesus to dine with him. Now, the Jewish law never mandates washing before a meal. Only the priests must wash before serving at the altar (Ex 30:19-20). But the Pharisees, who are a movement of the lay people, have assumed this practice for themselves as a symbolic reminder that we are all ministers of God, called liked priests to be pure and holy. So Luke tells us that the Pharisee is “amazed” when Jesus does not wash before dinner. Presumably he’s keeping this observation to himself, being gracious in his behavior while judging Jesus in his heart.
But Jesus picks up on the Pharisee’s judgment. Perhaps he notices the Pharisee looking quizzically at his hands, or perhaps he notices an awkward pause before the meal, while the Pharisee waits for Jesus to wash up. Well, Jesus gets to scrubbing pretty quickly, but it’s of the heart, not the hands. He addresses the Pharisee’s vainglory. He points out that the Pharisees often care more about what other people think, than they care about other people. On the outside, they do everything that is right, everything that will win them honor in the synagogue and respect in the marketplace (cf. 11:43). But within, there lingers greed and wickedness. In truth, they care only for themselves, not for others.
Your Pockets and Your Hearts
The result, according to Jesus, is tragic—not unlike the
tragedy that befell Yvette in front of her glowing computer screen. Jesus
repeatedly proclaims “woe” to the Pharisees, an expression that was commonly
employed at funerals (11:42-44). Indeed, Jesus concludes his lament by
comparing the Pharisees to “unmarked graves” (11:44). To live in vainglory—to
thirst for attention, to pursue praise, to strive to be right or beautiful or pure
in the eyes of others—is to be like one of the living dead. An empty shell.
Why? Because, quite simply, others never get to know the real me. I am putting
on a show, whether I’m on a screen or in front of people’s eyes; and even if
people love it, their love never comes close to touching me, in all my
humble limits and quirks and interests and failures, all that I am. It is a
horror story like Yvette’s, to be so seen and so visible, and yet so unknown
and so disconnected.
Amid his many laments, Jesus does offer the Pharisee (and us) one word of hope. And it’s a curious expression: “Give for alms those things that are within; and see, everything will be clean for you” (11:41). I like Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase: “Turn both your pockets and your hearts inside out!” There’s no doubt that many Pharisees turned their pockets inside out when it mattered, when people were looking. But their hearts? Are “churchy” people known for sharing their weakness and vulnerabilities? Their doubts and uncertainties? Are they known for listening (because maybe they need help too)? Are they known for being gracious and admitting their mistakes and changing their ways?
Honesty and Being Known
One of the reasons I love the desert fathers and mothers, those Christ-followers who left the civilized world in order to unlearn its ways and to learn the way of Christ, is their honesty. There’s a story of a man who is plagued by temptations. He hurries off to an elder and asks what he must do to be saved. The elder responds, “How should I know? I have been on the path for years, and just this morning I was tempted myself. Therefore, we must pray and trust in God’s help.” This old monk did not trot out some pious platitude to demonstrate his wisdom. He bared his own struggle, turned his heart inside out. He gave the younger man what he could, which may not seem like very much. But in fact it was more precious than gold. It was his faith that what mattered most was not honor in the church or respect in the marketplace, but being known in all his weakness by the love of God.
The thing about vainglory is that it promises something that is good, something that we need. It promises being known and accepted. But as the stories of Yvette and the Pharisee remind me, I will never be known or accepted as long as I am posturing or pretending. The difficulty about becoming honest and turning my heart inside out, is that I risk dishonor or disapproval in the judging eyes of my peers. But when I take the risk, I discover something much better than short-lived fame or the fleeting, fickle attention of others. I discover that I am fully known and loved, by God, and by all who bear God’s love. I discover that I am not alone.
I guarantee you: that older monk, when he was honest, strengthened his connection with God and with his brother.
Prayer
Innermost God,Who dwells within our hearts—
Sometimes you feel so distant
Because we are so distant
From our own heart
…
Help us to live honestly
That we might be known and embraced by your love;
And that we might bear witness to its goodness.
In Christ, whose love raises us to life: Amen.
[1]
Stephen Marche, “Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?” https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2012/05/is-facebook-making-us-lonely/308930/,
accessed March 20, 2023.
[2] Marche,
“Is Facebook Making Us Lonely?”
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