Do you know that irritating thing people with smartwatches do? One second, they are looking you in the eye, apparently listening. But suddenly, they jump, convulse their head down, look at their wrist, and, with their index finger, start tapping like they’re sending Morse code: “The British are coming! The British are coming!”
Yeah. That thing.
It’s one of the many modern gyrations unseen by previous generations—and, thus, maybe not fully comprehensible to our brains. Evolution (and deevolution?) takes time.
When they finally return to eye contact, they can’t remember what you were saying. You remind them, and they say, “Oh yeah, your mom and the terrible car accident.”
I once scoffed to myself at people with smartwatches. My inner narrator would go off:
“That watch face is so huge.
You think you’re Dick Tracy or something?
And now you look like you’re having a seizure as you scramble to find out what message is coming down to you from The Cloud.”
No, thank you. I didn’t want to be that person. My friends and family will tell you: I’m bound to my phone enough without it having another tentacle-covered appendage.
But then I got one for Christmas, even though I never asked for one. I never even dropped the slightest hint by slowly walking past the window-front of an Apple store as I gently squeezed the hand of my beloved.
Regardless, there it was in that stark-white box. Its metallic gun-barrel gray strap looked so masculine. The magnetic latch is so cool.
It went around my wrist like a handcuff on someone in a movie scene with lots of black leather and latex. (So I’m told.) Willing submission to domination.
Yes, I’m captive now. Offsetting my initial disdain, I’ve discovered enough advantages of my smartwatch that I’m lured deeper into Big Brother. In my case, the main attraction comes while driving.
I’m a daydreamer. I have been known to drive many miles past my interstate exit. I can get so far into my imagination that my GPS’s spoken directions are no more than a combination of white noise and the voice of Charlie Brown’s teacher.
Next stop: Santa Fe!
But now, when I’m approaching a turn, my smartwatch gives me a gentle but alerting jolt to bring me back to “reality” (as many of you call it), and I’m back just in time to hear my British-voiced GPS say, “The car park is on your right.”
Not only that, but I have also discovered that my smartwatch is quite a pietistic zealot. The first Sunday I wore it in church, several minutes into the sermon, I felt its spirit move upon me. I glanced down, and it said, “Time to stand.”
I leapt to my feet just as our pastor said how a close exegesis of the Hebrew of Lamentations reveals existential implications for our contemporary “Sitz im Leben.”
Many in the congregation followed my lead as I followed the direction of my smartwatch. We started shouting and praising the revelations imbued by our beloved pastor’s hybrid expository-narrative preaching. Three people professed faith, two rededicated their lives, and someone volunteered to work in the nursery.
I’m exaggerating, of course. No one volunteered for nursery duty.
But wait! Order now, and you also get: Affirmation!
The following Sunday, during prayer-request time, I remembered a friend had told me he had a friend diagnosed with cancer.
I asked the congregation to please remember my friend and his friend. The pastor then began praying for all the requests.
Shortly into the prayer, my smart watch sent me good vibrations. I glanced. The screen proclaimed, “You have reached your activity goal.”
Yes! My smart watch affirmed I had checked enough boxes. Having met my goal, I daydreamed through the sermon.
So, if you like this story, thank my smartwatch.
Still, I’m going to start leaving it in the car. We need sanctuary even from—or maybe especially from—global connectivity to make room for focused spiritual connectivity.
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Dr. Brad Bull describes himself as a Tennessee native born in Texas (to parents in grad school). A licensed marriage and family therapist and free-lance writer, he holds a Ph.D. in child and family studies from the University of Tennessee, a 1992 M.Div. from Southern Baptist Seminary, and a BA in psychology with a minor in creative writing from Carson-Newman University. After several years as a pastor, he spent 16 years as a university professor. He has published essays in Christian Single, Family Therapy, Spirituality & Health, and Baptist News Global. He enjoys playing Scrabble as a full-contact sport.
