What we see on social media cannot be construed as what is broadly true, sociologically speaking. However, social media can be incredibly insightful, as it allows us to encounter people who are different than us and challenge our preconceived notions about a people, group, or subject. It enables us to connect with people we normally wouldn’t in our local communities who have the potential to positively impact our view of the world.

It’s worth asking: What is social media good for? It’s not good for everything, and in many ways, it is, in fact, bad for us. I think it’s important that we continue to sound the alarm about the problems social media (and technology, more broadly) poses to our flourishing as we continue to progress further and further into the digital age and more generations are raised with devices. That said, social media isn’t all bad. There are things that it is good for. I thought it would be worth mentioning a few of those things.
Networking
David Fincher’s 2010 Oscar-winning movie isn’t called The Social Media; it’s called The Social Network. It wasn’t that long ago that we referred to these social websites as networks rather than media. That’s because their primary function wasn’t to mediate content to us, but to connect us with other people. To this day, this remains the best use of the social internet.
Patrick and I first met over Twitter (ummm, X) and worked together for six months before we ever met in person. I’ve made many other meaningful relationships because of social media, but that’s mainly because social media was the starting point, not the ending point. The relationships that have been the most meaningful have progressed from tweets to texts to calls to Zoom calls, and sometimes meeting in person. Some of these relationships have had a tremendous impact on my life, leading to job opportunities, significant worldview shifts, and just general encouragement and helpful feedback. The best reason to be on social media remains connecting with actual people.
Exposure
If you’re an artist, activist, writer, or any other kind of content creator, you no longer have to wait for the gatekeepers to choose you. You can find an audience and speak directly to them. It’s not easy, but it’s possible. With consistency, determination, and skill, you can bypass the traditional avenues of being discovered and have your voice heard by those who want to hear it. It doesn’t take that many, either.
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Augustine wrote in his Confessions, “It is a disease of the mind, which does not wholly rise to the heights where it is lifted by the truth, because it is weighed down by habit.” In other words, it doesn’t matter how much we believe the truth if we don’t get the truth into our bodies through our daily habits. We shouldn’t be surprised we feel crazy when we simply allow ourselves to go along with the current of the crazy world we live in. We don’t have to resign or rage; we can resist.

As you begin to bear more responsibility in life, you realize how deficient human nature is to thrive in our cultural machine of hustle, distraction, isolation, and self-defined identities. Before I had kids, I didn’t see anything wrong with how my life was structured and the digital age that shapes our day-to-day lives. I wasn’t conscious of my daily habits and how they were forming me because they didn’t seem consequential.
Staying on my phone in bed instead of sleeping?Waking up minutes before the start of my soonest responsibility?Watching more Netflix than reading?Scrolling social media with no prayer life?Posting every highlight of every day on Instagram?
None of this seemed like it had any material impact on my life because, by and large, I had very little weight to carry. And having no weight to carry required little in terms of character. Every day was relatively low stakes compared to the life, health, and future of another human resting almost entirely on who I am as a person. Small responsibilities led to a small vision of life, which led to little attention to who I was becoming day by day through the little things I did.
But once there was real weight to carry—once every move I made was monitored by another person who would see me as his example of what it means to exist in our world as a healthy adult—everything that was previously invisible to me became as glaringly bright as the noon sun on a Texas summer day. It was like being in middle school all over again when you suddenly become self-aware of all of the things that make you different from everyone else and how everyone perceives you. It felt like a magnifying glass was placed over all of my faults and flaws and the ways that my son would see me be distracted or angry, impatient or selfish, aloof or insecure. These flaws couldn’t simply be written off as aberrations of my “true self” who obviously isn’t any of those things. Our character is the sum total of our actions over time, not who we imagine ourselves to be in our finest moments. If I never faced my flaws—my sin—and dealt honestly with them before God, then I would be the kind of father, the kind of person, who is those things.
In hindsight, it’s obvious that contrary to what my former deconstructed self would have admitted, “The World” is conspiring against us.
What else do you call it when the dominant narrative of the good life is to leave behind your obligations and constraints so you can define yourself however you like while advising us that we should cut off anyone who doesn’t make us feel good about ourselves, distracting us with the most insane and outrageous takes on an infinitely scrolling feed that we carry in our pockets and sleep with by our beds, and promising us that working harder is the key to unlock all of our dreams and if we don’t have what we want, it’s because we’re not hustling as hard as we should?
The world has lost its mind, and it’s all too easy to lose yours with it.
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When we hear a phrase like “God wrote the Bible,” we immediately want to include a dozen or more asterisks behind it to try and prove that we’re not ignorant, uneducated, and anti-intellectual. We want to sound sophisticated and enlightened, having moved beyond the simplistic statements we were taught as children. We want to signal to others that we’re not like those Christians who just accept everything on blind faith.

Last month, The Wall Street Journal ran an article where they asked college students who sympathize with Palestinians in the Israel/Hamas war whether they knew which river and which sea were being referred to in the popular chant “from the river to the sea.” Only 47% of students could name the river (Jordan) and the sea (Mediterranean). Once they were shown the river and the sea on a map and informed that “from the river to the sea” meant the annihilation of Israel, 67.8% of the students changed their minds and no longer supported the chant.
It might not be wise to wade into a hot-button issue to prove a different but related point, but the fact that close to 70% of students in a pro-Palestine rally were unknowingly calling for the extermination of Israel because they chanted a slogan that was catchy to say and sounded supportive shows how easy it is to be captivated—literally taken captive—by the sound of words when they play to the desires of our hearts. Having compassion and concern for the innocent Palestinians who are caught up in this tragic conflict is good and noble. Unknowingly chanting for the annihilation of a different people group—one that has a history of being the victims of genocide—a position you don’t even hold is not good and noble; it’s ignorant and dangerous.
My point here is not to talk about the Israel/Palestine conflict. I would be way in over my head. I simply want to point out how easily we are swayed by words and rhetoric more than arguments. I’m currently reading Augustine’s Confessions and this is a something that he discusses. Having doubts about his Manichean beliefs, he was excited that a prominent Manichean teacher, Faustus, was coming to speak in Carthage, where he lived.
After hearing Faustus speak, he was impressed by the way he spoke but disappointed by the content of his speech. Yet Faustus’ reputation for being a Manichean teacher was great, and Augustine’s peers said all he needed was to wait for Faustus to come, and all his doubts would be relieved. That failed to be the case.
Augustine wrote about this experience,
Those who had given me such assurances about him must have been poor judges. They thought him wise and thoughtful simply because they were charmed by his manner of speech.
…
You [God] had already taught me that a statement is not necessarily true because it is wrapped in fine language or false because it is awkwardly expressed.
…
You [God] had already taught me this lesson and the converse truth, that an assertion is not necessarily true because it is badly expressed or false because it is finely spoken.
I had learned that wisdom and folly are like different kinds of food. Some are wholesome and others are not, but both can be serveed equally well on the finest china dish or the meanest earthenware. In the same way, wisdom and folly can be clothed alike in plain words or the finest flowers of speech.
tldr: The way something is said has no bearing on the truth of the thing.
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As members of Christ’s body, we should connect ourselves as members of a local expression of that body. Digital space disconnects us from our bodies, communities, and physical locations, and swirls us about in cyberspace, but the church roots us in reality, grounds us in love, and is ground zero for our life with Christ. 

It’s no secret that the church is experiencing an institutional crisis. Forty million people have left over the last 20 years. Not everyone is leaving for the same reasons, and just because they’re leaving the church behind doesn’t mean they’re leaving God. About 50 percent of people who have “hardly any” trust in organized religion still believe in God “without a doubt.” And while the reasons for leaving the church are wide-ranging, it’d be naive not to look at our digital practices as the church to see in what ways we are contributing to it.
In their book, The Great Dechurching: Who’s Leaving, Why Are They Going, and What Will It Take to Bring Them Back?, Jim Davis and Michael Graham write,
“Most dechurched evangelicals still worship online (which is more common among evangelicals anyway), but they do so at their convenience. Many evangelical churches now call their online worship services ‘on demand,’ and that is exactly what people are choosing to do. What is intended as a new front door is often having the opposite effect by helping the dechurched leave through the back door. Our research showed that physically going to a church in our consumerist digital age has become inconvenient, and many people concluded that they had other priorities for their time and money.”
This doesn’t mean that you should shut down your live stream. That would need to be determined on a church-by-church basis, and there are good reasons to have a live stream. What this does mean is that we need to take a closer examination of our ecclesiology in a digital age. What are we communicating about the church in an age of institutional distrust and digital convenience? Can church really be “on demand”? Or have we lowered our ecclesiology to the lowest possible rung, happy to have views when Jesus called us to make disciples?
The proliferation not just of live streams but of Christian influencers and podcasts makes it easy to consume religious content and get the weekly dose of spirituality one feels one needs without the messy realities of dealing with a community of fellow sinners.
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In order for the Bible to be coherent, we really do need to have some insight into their world. It’s not that someone needs to understand their ancient setting in order to understand what the Bible is teaching, but many pieces of the full Biblical puzzle will remain missing until you start to dive into their world and thought. Which makes things much more messy and complicated than many conservatives are comfortable with.

The more I’ve thought about this simple statement—The Bible is a historical document—the more I’ve come to realize how simultaneously helpful and frustrating this reality is. On the one hand, it has tremendous explanatory power when thinking through how to read the Bible, but it is that exact same explanatory power that makes the Bible’s placement in history frustrating to both sides of the ideological spectrum.
In the conservative environment I was raised in, I was taught a strictly literal interpretation of the Bible. What you see is what you get. The “plain” reading is the most faithful reading and is all you really need. It may or may not be helpful to have some understanding of the culture at the time it was written, but it doesn’t do any good to try and get at the world behind the text because frankly, it doesn’t matter. Exactly what you read is exactly what happened, take it or leave it.
The issue here is that this isn’t how the Bible is written. The biblical authors wrote the Bible from their unique, individual perspectives, employing common and complex literary styles, and responding to the cultures around them. Before you think this is me falling off the liberal slope, this is exactly what the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy says.
Article VIII
We affirm that God in His work of inspiration utilized the distinctive personalities and literary styles of the writers whom He had chosen and prepared.
We deny that God, in causing these writers to use the very words that He chose, overrode their personalities.
This isn’t a liberal view. This is within the view of biblical inerrancy. The Bible was written using various genres of writing, literary devices, and was aware of the world around it.
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What if instead of seeking a large platform to make a name for themselves, individual Christians made niche, interest-based content for specific audiences, seeing themselves as missionaries to those people? Instead of the Christian media landscape being dominated by a handful of celebrities, small to midsize Christian content creators—rooted in their local churches—have the opportunity to speak to their niches in helpful ways and minimize the attention given to those who represent evangelicalism with their platform but not their character. What might this look like? 

People sometimes say, “Social media is neutral. It’s just about how you use it.” This is false. As we learn more about social media’s role in our national mental health crisis, it’s increasingly clear this technology is anything but neutral—and government leaders are starting to respond. In May, Montana became the first state to enact a total ban on TikTok. Arkansas enacted a similar law that requires minors to have parental approval to create an account on certain social media platforms.
Christians know well that social media’s harmful effects also extend to our spiritual formation. As authors like Chris Martin have noted, social media has become our chief discipler. It conforms our minds to the patterns of the content we consume (anxious, outraged, fearful, and numb), reengineers our habits with its liturgical practices (opening, scrolling, swiping, liking, and commenting), and asks us to offer our bodies as living sacrifices (posting content for consumption by others and profit for the corporation through advertisers).
Social media acts as a spiritual and cognitive distortion machine that warps our view of reality and bends our will away from God. It’s the systematic, corporately incentivized inversion of Romans 12:1–2. Instead of our minds being renewed by the Spirit of Christ, they’re shaped by algorithmically curated delivery of the particular patterns of the world that best play to our unsanctified desires. They beckon us into conformity with the world by drawing our hearts and minds away from God.
Social media isn’t a neutral player in our sanctification. It’s an active agent working against our becoming more like Christ.
This doesn’t mean social media is entirely irredeemable. Our media intake has the potential to form us both away from Christ and toward Christ. It’s because algorithms mirror our desires that the possibility of redeeming social media exists. The more our desires are for Christ, and the more content we seek out to aid us in our desire for him, the more the algorithm will be bent toward Christ-centered content that benefits our discipleship. The very tool that can pull us away from Christ has the ability to be re-formed to push us toward Christ.
New Categories of Christian Social Media Users
While we need to be wise about our engagement in the spiritual distortion zone of social media—and for some, that might mean stepping away entirely—we also need new categories for thinking about it Christianly and modes of operating that glorify Christ and help others flourish in a digital Babylon. Here are four categories to consider.
1. Discipleship through Content Creation
We underestimate the formative power of the steady drip of content consumption over time. If consuming digital content can form us away from Christ, then it can also form us toward Christ. But we need faithful, intentional, intelligent Christians creating this content and using best practices to reach their intended audience.
Churches have a unique opportunity to do this for their particular congregations. More and more, as pastors are replaced by podcasts and average church attendance drops to once a month, churches can meet their congregants where they are throughout the week by producing local digital media that keeps people connected to their local congregation.
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Am I critiquing simply to destroy someone else, or am I critiquing to build someone else up? This matters significantly. It doesn’t take a genius to see flaws. But it does take someone with character, hope, and love to critique in a way that actually makes things better.

Is it to tear down something bad?
Is it to poke holes in something weak?
Is it to add value to something that needs work?
Is it to correct something that has gone wrong?
Is it to finally put someone in their place?
Is it to show people how smart I am?
Is it to keep an appearance of truly “seeing” things as they are?
Is it to avoid the responsibility of offering a better solution?
Is it to confirm my cynicism?
Is it to make a case for something better?
Is it to show a better way that the world can be?
Is it to help someone else see the truth?
Is it to expose the shallowness of something in order to show the fullness of something else?
Is it to break free from harmful views and practices?
How you answer this question determines a lot. It may be any one of these at any given time. Our motivations behind our critiques are rarely as transparent to us as we would like them to be.
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I probably wouldn’t have deconstructed my faith if it wasn’t for YouTube. On the other hand, I don’t know if I would still be a Christian today if it weren’t for podcasts.
Growing up as an only child and experiencing tremendous suffering, I dove into my faith early looking for answers, meaning, and anything that could help me make sense of what I was experiencing.
I would come home after the final school bell rang and instead of hanging out with friends or doing homework, I would spend hours in my room watching YouTube videos of pastors, teachers, scholars, and scientists talking about the things I was wrestling with in my faith (this explains why I was terrible at school). I wanted answers and I knew someone had to have them.
One night I stumbled upon one of the original deconversion stories on YouTube. It was a series of twelve videos that chronicled the systematic deconstruction of someone’s faith from Christianity to atheism. At the time, it was more than my brittle faith could stand. My house of faith collapsed and I began a long journey through deconstruction.
My deconstruction was spurred along by many podcasts including, as I’ve written before, The Liturgists. I watched countless hours of talks from Pete Rollins, Rob Bell, Richard Rohr, and many more. I all but dropped out of my youth group and replaced my pastors with podcasters. I stopped trusting those who knew me in real life—my struggles, my propensities, my sorrows—and only trusted those who delivered spiritual goods to me in the form of .mp3s and .wav files.
Soon, however, the exact opposite path also took place. I knew my faith couldn’t be built solely on the critique of what is wrong with Christianity, but had to be built on the good, the true, and the beautiful. For all that might be good in regards to mystery and mysticism, I needed a sure and firm foundation to anchor my soul. I needed a real, bodily resurrection. I slowly but surely changed my media diet to include less The Liturgists and more Bible Project, less Rob Bell and more John Mark Comer, less Richard Rohr and more NT Wright. I realized that there was much of the Christian tradition I missed because I jumped straight from the fundamentalist environment I was raised in to the progressive side that has no use for institutions and sacred texts. My eyes were being opened—through media—to a way of being Christian that I never knew was possible.
This new media diet of mine made me hungry for more. The church I was attending, progressive and therapeutic, had no resources available for those wanting to grow in their faith. I had to enroll in a theological training program at a different church that was an hour-long drive from my house in order to begin a theological journey that would change my life. Ultimately, my faith would be rebuilt stronger than before and I now find myself a member of a local church.
It was media that took me out of the church and media that sent me back to the church.
It was media that undermined my faith and media that helped rebuild my faith.
It is impossible to understate—for better and for worse—the role of digital content in my faith.
Devices of Deconstruction
All of this was before “deconstruction” was part of the mainstream conversation in the church that it is today. Much of it was before most people even had an iPhone. In many ways, my story was a precursor for much of the way that tech and faith interplay with each other today.
Now, I make digital content for Christians full-time. I am on the other side of the screen from where I was all those years ago, partly because I know full well the power of media for discipleship. Our media diets have the power to form our faith and deform our faith. And the algorithms that feed us our content diet aren’t neutral. They know exactly what questions we’re asking, what life stage we’re in, what fears we have, where we live, and who on the internet is speaking to those things.
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