I started to write a piece about the Ft. Lauderdale shootings, but then I realized that I had the wrong motivation. You see, writing about tragic or shocking news events is a quick way to get views (which in turn help me build this website, which then helps attract more Patreon supporters, who then help me cover my expenses so that I can spend more time in my chaplain role). I learned this lesson a few months ago when my response to a racially-charged act of vandalism on Jacksonville’s Northside received more than 16 times the web traffic of an article about church that I had posted the day before.

Of course, major news outlets figured this out long ago and have utilized emotionally-charged pundits and suspenseful headlines to hook and hold our attention for decades. When the worst occurs, our impulse is to learn every detail. We’re compelled to sit for a moment in that world of hurt and anger and lament, and this by itself is a very healthy thing. After all, the Bible offers considerable space for disappointment, frustration, grief, and unanswered questions— just look at the Prophets, the Psalms, Job, Lamentations, and Ecclesiastes. The problem comes when we’re unable to exit that world and when we start to revel in the pain of it. While our news media certainly cash in on this, it’s the transition over to social media that has my attention.

After every major tragedy, our thoughts and prayers inundate Twitter, Facebook, and the blogosphere. We can look at this phenomenon charitably as a way to share our grief communally, but I think this merits a more skeptical second glance.
Why not just pick up the phone and call a loved one instead?
Why not knock on a neighbor’s door to see if they’re watching the news too?
What is it about a public proclamation in front of all of Twitter or Facebook?
As with the slacktivism movement, I suspect our motivation lies not just in grieving, but in showing that we’re grieving. There’s an image factor here. Posting about large-scale tragedies makes us look sensitive and mature and aware, and my fear is that this will lead to a sort of fetishizing of bad news (if that hasn’t occurred already).

When tragedy happens, it’s important to take a moment and examine our motives:
Is your post a genuine burst of emotion?
Will it lead to real connection with other mourners?
Or are we just shouting into a void that we’ve mistaken for a community?

I’ll write a piece on guns, violence, and air travel eventually —I have a lot of thoughts on all three—, but now just isn’t the time.