Is it not alarming how quickly our attention can be redirected without our ever realizing it?

One moment, everything we do is centered on one subject, such as our health. The next, we are staring at that glowing triangle, sneering at people who think differently than we do.

I cannot believe they think driving a Pinto in 1976 was better than driving a Ford Torino.

Then we exclaim inside our heads, or worse, in the comments, how ignorant those people must be.

That sounds ridiculous, and yet it seems to be where we are at the moment. We are unable to keep a single train of thought, but remarkably skilled at tracking the thoughts of people we have decided are inferior.

James 4:11 gives us a warning, and it is not subtle. It names the offense:

“Brothers and sisters, do not slander one another. Anyone who speaks against a brother or sister or judges them speaks against the law and judges it.”

It is interesting that the chapter and verse are 4:11, the same number we once called for information when we wanted to look up someone’s telephone number.

We used to call 411 to get information about someone. Now James 4:11 warns us what not to do with the information we think we have.

Since you have read that, let us think about something else.

Gossip.

No, I am not suggesting that you gossip.

I am saying it outright: you probably do.

We gasp and scoff.

“I would never do that.”

Yet we do. Nearly everyone on the interweb does it.

We comment on someone’s post, condemning them or clutching the tops of our heads in amazement at their supposed stupidity.

“Oh, I bet I know why he is working out more.”

“Look at her putting on all that new makeup.”

We think we know their intentions, and before long, we are telling someone else.

How many times have we seen someone at the market and said to a friend, “Did you see John’s post on social media? What is that boy thinking?”

That is gossip, folks.

It is also judgment.

We do not stop there. We begin building a case against people who may have simply been trying to say, “Hey, look, I am finally taking care of myself.”

Or perhaps, “Isn’t this makeup wonderful? My daughter bought it for my birthday.”

We just convicted two innocent people of crimes they had never even considered committing.

Hey, reader, did you notice what I just did?

Go back and reread it. I will wait.

I changed the subject three times, dragged in a Pinto, tossed in the Bible, and put two strangers on trial.

In less than two minutes, your mind followed every turn.

Now imagine what an endless stream of glowing triangles can do.

Those glowing triangles start more trouble than they stop.

The saddest part is that we have trained ourselves to react without giving much thought to what we may be becoming.

I can already hear the argument:

“It is their fault. Big Tech designed these things to be addictive. They made them impossible to live without.”

Yes, they designed the machine.

But did they force me to give it a permanent home inside my mind?

I have caught myself doing the very things I am writing about. I have judged, assumed, reacted, and occasionally climbed onto a soapbox built from information I barely understood.

I have also seen you do it.

Yes, you.

So what are we going to do about all this noise and clutter?

We cannot simply throw the glowing rectangle of judgment into a drawer and walk away. Nearly everything in our lives is tied to it now. Banking, utilities, shopping, work, appointments, and even Walmart delivery all pass through that little screen.

Nothing seems untouched.

Church services are streamed online, which means some of us no longer feel the need to attend, visit, shake a hand, or sit beside another person. We can watch worship from the couch, close the screen, and never actually bond with the congregation.

Why stop there?

Even many doctor visits can now be handled through that same glowing rectangle.

We can bank without entering a bank, shop without entering a store, worship without entering a church, and visit a doctor without entering an office.

Convenient?

Certainly.

But convenience has a quiet little habit of removing people from our lives before we notice they are gone.

Two men meet on the street.

“Brother Sam! I haven’t seen you in a month of Sundays. How have you been?”

“John! I didn’t expect to see you out and about. I have been keeping up with you on the web. Congratulations on the new grandbaby. I bet she is a doll.”

“Annabelle? I hear she is. We haven’t seen her yet. We hope to go next weekend. We just don’t get out much these days. She will be twelve weeks old on the twelfth.”

Sam pauses.

“John, don’t your daughter and son-in-law live over on Twelfth Street?”

“Yeah, they do.”

“Oh. I thought maybe they had moved away. I don’t know whether I could wait that long to get my hands on a granddaughter.”

At that moment, a warning bell goes off inside John’s head.

I can see it now. The grin slowly leaves his face. His shoulders slump. His posture changes as the truth settles over him.

She was not far away.

She had simply been almost forgotten.

That is what happens when we allow everything around us to divide our attention, or worse, steal it completely.

John finishes the conversation, walks away from Sam, and pulls the glowing phone from his pocket.

“Katie? Honey, it’s Dad. I’m sorry we haven’t been over yet. I’m going to pick up your mother, and we should be there in about twenty minutes, if that is all right with you.”

That is a painful little scene, and some version of it plays out every day.

We do not merely use the glowing rectangle to judge people, misunderstand them, ignore church, or lose touch with friends.

Sometimes we use it so often that we become isolated from our own children.

Even from the new grandbaby living only a few streets away.

Is this what we wanted?

Convenience?