As a general rule, a Christian life should be open - open to inspection and question, suggestion and caution, open to correction, discussion, and outside influence. Privacy is not a luxury Christian enjoy. That's difficult for us, living in a society that prizes privacy as much as anything. We like the notion of independence, self-determination, and the ability to say, "that's none of your business." Building that wall around ourselves, one whose access is controlled by us, is comforting. No doubt.
I'm not sure it's helpful, though.
Recently, a large purchase by one of my denomination's leaders made waves because it got picked up by a big city newspaper. It was sort of unfortunate all around, especially because a lot of the discussion it spawned turned pretty personal, judgmental, and vindictive. That was sad. Obviously, one needs some sort of relationship with the guy to be able to truly ask questions about this specific purchase. At the same time, I was excited to see people willing to talk about something US society tends to avoid - money, spending, income, investments, giving, lifestyle, etc. I think these are important things, worthy of real examination.
Obviously there was a personal example floating around, so it wasn't like we could totally speak in hypotheticals - but I have some real internal conflicts between the way we're taught to behave with money (both culturally and within the Church) and the words Jesus used about money and the future and how we're best to respond to those things.
What became frustrating was how simply and easily such questions were shot down, even in the generic. I'd love to sit down and have a conversation with someone about my own finances, asking and evaluating exactly the same kind of questions we were asking about the leader in question. I think that kind of loving scrutiny can only help expand my perspective and energize my imagination for more and better attempts to be faithful.
One of the go to responses when people get uncomfortable with such conversation about someone else is, "why don't you lay out your checkbook for us and let us go over how you spend your money." In one Facebook thread I started to do just that - laying out some basic spending habits and decisions we've made for our family, with a promise of more detail if the discussion continued - I mean it when I say my life is an open book. The response was one of awkward negation, "I was only being rhetorical." I've had the same interaction with people many times, to the same result. It just seems like this kind of openness and examination should not only be normal, accepted behavior for Christians, but welcomed and encouraged.
There are problems inherent in this, especially when we're not culturally used to these discussions. They'll be awkward and floundering at times, but they're important. Yes, some people are too quick to speak and do so with unhelpful motives. But lots of other people are too reluctant to speak with equally unhelpful motives.
As Christians, the way we act, including what we make and how we spend it, is someone else's business. It's all our business, because we're accountable to each other and responsible for each other. I'm not saying it's easy, but we have to work hard to have personal discussions about things our culture generally names off limits. It's only going to do us good in the long run.
One thing for sure, though, as we move quickly to quiet those voices looking to challenge for selfish or unloving motives, we must be careful to just as quickly challenge those looking to maintain silence or exclusion in the interest of privacy. Questions are good. Discussion is good. New perspectives are important, valuable, and helpful. Yes we need relationship and context and all of those other things, but mostly we need to simply trust each other. If we really believe we're doing this journey called life together, we're going to get where we want to be quickest and easiest if we do it together.
It's not my business or your business; it's OUR business - and we can't forget that.
In a way, I like it. The fact that government officials weren't using secure email at the same time Justin Beiber was cute-famous and not yet creepy famous just goes to show us all that things aren't as perfect as we imagine. Our government isn't any more high tech or on the ball than the place you work. We're all just people - even those people who pretend to be the most important people in the world.
Speaking of them. Lindsey Graham comes out commenting on this whole thing by admitting he's never sent an email!! He also said he doesn't have an email address. I'm pretty sure that's a lie - he might not know what it is or who answers it, but he's got one - unless of course the government's IT department is woefully behind the times... oh, right... Hillary Clinton was sending top secret emails through a server in the basement of her Westchester home. Awesome. Maybe Lindsey really doesn't have an email address.
Still, bragging about it doesn't seem to be any better. With email, even a strange, unsecure, private email, there's a record of conversations. Lindsey might have some sort of paper trail, but likely everything he's doing is out loud and in person, what kind of historical record is that? Also, this guy is one of the more powerful Senators in the US. Shouldn't his job require some measure of access to that's become a life necessity even for the Bushmen of the Kalahari? Maybe?
The odd think-tanker and occasional sports commentator Gregg Easterbrook used to go on and on about CEOs and minor political officials traveling with huge security details to make themselves look and feel important. Perhaps we've got the same thing going on in Congress? "No, I don't need to use email, I have ipads and things I keep track of stuff on and people I tell to do things for me." They don't write (or read) their own bills, they don't have to actual fillibuster anything anymore (just tell someone they're thinking about it and the wheels of the greatest representative democracy in the history of the earth come to a screeching halt), they don't even have to walk on the street like normal people (looking at you, private underground congressional monorail). Perhaps this is a sign of being just a little bit out of touch?
People get into politics to reinforce their sense of self-importance, I get that, at the same time, you'd think they might be a little better at hiding that ego from the general public? Then again, maybe the machines of money, gerrymandering, and ad-men really have made elections obsolete and Lindsey is laughing his way to the bank (because he still has to go to the bank, you know, since he doesn't do email).
Any death is tragic, especially a suicide. It speaks of unfathomable hurt and loss. In this case, it was possibly a result of public embarrassment, which itself was the result of a joke gone wrong. Our immediate reaction is to cast blame. We have to find someone responsible.
I'd like to argue that there's no one to blame - this is the result of a society we created, one with priorities way out of whack in a number of ways.
Privacy is not really of utmost importance. I laugh at CEOs who have bodyguards, mostly to make themselves look important, and at celebrities who bemoan the paparazzi for following them everywhere, despite the examples of many big-name stars who are never seen. Not that anyone should be able to get your medical records without your permission, but it shouldn't be such a big deal if it happens.
I think this obsession with privacy comes from our societal push towards self-control and competition. We want others to know as little about us because it might reveal weakness. Or, perhaps we want to keep things hidden to project a certain image to the rest of the world - how accurately are you represented by your carefully crafted Facebook persona?
Somehow we think if we can control how people see us, we can actually be different. We reject our failures and weaknesses as somehow other than who we are when our sins are almost always worse in our own minds - at least to the people who love us.
It's those other people - those strangers, enemies or frenemies?, I guess. Those people who will leap on our "private" matters to put us down, gain an edge, or try to change how we're viewed (by ourselves and others). Sometimes just the knowledge that I'm self-conscious about something will make it an object of ridicule, even if objectively there's no reason for it to be.
There's a fine line between laughing at some guy who falls down the stairs and dehumanizing him. If you have to say, "I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing with you," you're not, and they know it.
All of this leads us to a place of absolute guarded-ness. We think that everything needs to be secret - the results of my blood test, my salary, how much I paid for that purse, the fights I have with my spouse, etc.
I think perhaps we're better off not worrying so much about privacy as propriety. Obviously, I'm not going to put all the things about my wife that bug me in a newspaper column, or tell random strangers how much cash is in my wallet, but there are certainly times for discussing everything.
I've often said that Christians don't have the luxury of privacy - and I believe it strongly. We are accountable to each other for the way we participate in this shared life in Christ. We're responsible to others for our actions - talk about a counter-cultural idea. We have the right to ask each other just about anything.
Of course this - and every other path to escape the tyranny of privacy - requires relationship. We have to have people we trust not to abuse us, and people who will be similarly vulnerable to us. That's how we begin to find a way out, to actually become the kinds of people we'd like to think we are.
I made a vow to myself when I joined Facebook that I wouldn't censor myself - I wouldn't present a picture of myself that was any different than the me my friends and family know. I think they'd all say I've stuck to it (to my wife's chagrin, at times). But part of that was learning what things I should be saying or thinking at all. Knowing others might see it or be offended by it gave me pause to think.
Some would call that censorship, but I call it growth. I've found that the discipline of refusing privacy in that way has help shape me into the kind of person who considers others all the time. My thinking and speaking have changed. Perhaps not always in socially acceptable ways, but ways I can live with, ways I can defend, for the most part.
I do believe my life's an open book. I think there's an appropriate place to share anything - but the key is not content, but situation. Propriety.
There are still things in my life that embarrass me. There are times where I've been blind and foolish. I'd rather not everyone know about them, but I won't be upset if you ask or if they come out (at least I'll try really hard not to be with varying success), because, like it or not, they're me. I hope they aren't always me, but for now, they are who I am. They're not worth losing sleep over, let alone someone's life.
I don't think this is license to just go rousing into everyone's business and exposing the deep, dark secrets of the world. But we do live in a world where such secrets are exposed and their exposition is a favorite hobby for many. On top of watching our lives and working to become people whose secrets are less deep and less dark, we might also think about surrounding ourselves with people who won't be surprised by our secrets and won't love us any less if they are.
