The Screen Between Us

Reflections on the Blessings & Boundaries of Digitial Community and the Spiritual Life

The Paradox of Zoom

Like many of us, I didn’t start using Zoom in earnest until COVID. At first it was great to stay connected with everyone, but Zoom fatigue is real.

The Holderness Family, who truly helped my family stay sane during the lockdown, produced a parody video, I Knew Zoom was Trouble When I Logged In (watch here). At the end of the video, they panic at the idea that we might still be doing this in 2021. None of us could have imagined.

And yet here I am in 2026, forever attached to Zoom the same way we’re now dependent on email, cellphones, and social media for basic needs in work and life. Who ever thought we needed to be connected to everyone 24/7?

For now, I want to focus on Zoom (or Google Meet, Microsoft Teams, or similar video conferencing platforms).

The Promise

When my family moved from Baltimore to Orlando, one of the hardest parts for me (other than the heat), was losing touch with my grandmother. I was only 10 at the time. We wrote a lot of letters, but that was about it.

Long distance was still a thing. (For the younger crowd: that’s when phone calls on the landline to anybody outside your area code cost extra and showed up on your parents’ bill so you couldn’t get away with it). Well, that makes me feel old.

Anyway, we always talked about how great it would be to have video phones like they had on Star Trek. (OK, Star Trek technology was a bit more advanced than a phone, but still, the idea seemed incredible). We would be able to see anyone in the world and talk with them like they were in the room with us. Who wouldn’t want that?

Then again, I was also part of the generation that paid for ringtones on our first cell phones… only to eventually put them on silent mode for the rest of our lives. Tech isn’t always as cool as it seems.

The first video calling program I remember was Skype. But at the time, it wasn’t accessible to my grandmother, who didn’t have a computer, so I didn’t find much use for it.

Reality

Then came Zoom.

Not only could we make a video call, but we could also host entire parties on our screen, so long as only one person talks at a time.

If you’ve ever tried to do Zoom worship where everyone sings or recites a prayer together, you know what I mean. Even now, multiple voices are still a disaster. If you want to have side conversations, like all normal people do at a dinner gathering, you have to use breakout rooms, which means you’re no longer all together.

And then there is the persistence of Zoom. It was supposed to make life easier. We wouldn’t have to spend hours in traffic anymore. For many, it meant you could even wear shorts to work, so long as you remember not to stand up while your camera is on. The convenience was amazing.

But like most things that are meant to save us time, people find a way to abuse it for increased productivity and profit. Those hours spent on the road, listening to music or an audiobook or even decompressing in silence, have been replaced by more Zoom meetings.

No need to leave time between sessions to walk from one place to another. Just log off and sign into the next call.

Suddenly, an eight-hour day that used to include a lunch break, a few coffee breaks, and maybe some hallway conversations or travel between meetings, was gone.

You might still get a short break, but now you’re in your own home, where a million chores await. Instead of chatting with a friend during a coffee break, you’re taking out the dog or emptying the dishwasher before running back to your screen.

Zoom Community

Don’t get me wrong. There are a lot of benefits to Zoom.

It has expanded my circle of friends far beyond what would have been possible in person. I’m part of multiple contemplative groups that could never have physically gathered because we’re too far apart geographically.

People are now able to participate in my church’s Bible studies, even when they can’t be there in person. And because they can engage with those in the room, it’s far better than passively watching a livestream or recording.

Zoom also made it possible for me to complete a Doctor of Ministry degree and a certificate in Spiritual Direction, programs that would not have been feasible for me to do on campus.

But there is a limit to how far it can go in facilitating real community.

There is only so much disembodied connection a fully embodied human being can handle.

Knowing the Limits

I think I first realized the limit during my third term in the D. Min program at Duke.

This was intentionally designed as a hybrid program, with residential weeks on campus at the beginning of each term. In August 2019 and January 2020, I drove to Durham and met up with 19 other cohort members from across the country for five full days of coursework and relationship-building.

Yes, we could have gotten the material online, as we did during the rest of the semester through weekly Zoom sessions. But as an introvert, I didn’t realize how vital that in-person time was until campus shut down for the remainder of my time in the program.

During those residency weeks, I had lunch with different people each day and went out to dinner with the entire group multiple times. I had wonderful conversations with classmates and faculty in the halls between classes.

And I realized, that’s where real connection happens, especially in larger groups.

We need the ability to break off into smaller conversations to truly get to know one another and learn from each other’s experience.

We need unstructured space for relationships to form organically, something not possible on Zoom with more than a few people.

Zoom Retreats & Worship

I’ve noticed a similar limitation when it comes to spiritual retreats.

Despite helping facilitate them, in my opinion this is one of the worst uses for Zoom.

We do our best to carve out space for small group breakouts, for silence, and for deeper reflection. But there’s only so much we can do to create the sacred space necessary for people to encounter God. We are all still distracted by our familiar surroundings.

At the retreat center, even in times of silence, there is something about being in a physical space with other people who are holding that space with you. The distractions of home are gone. Phones are generally left in our cars. There is nothing to do but be fully present.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’ve ever been fully present on Zoom, no matter how engaging the meeting or retreat is.

Why?

Because I’m sitting at my desk, the place where all my other work happens.

That’s partly why I do most of my writing on the couch or at a coffee shop, just to get away from business as usual and focus on one thing.

The same is true of online worship. For some, it’s a tremendous blessing to be able to watch a service online, especially from their home church. It’s great for people who are traveling or physically unable to attend.

That’s why, despite some criticism, I’ll probably never stop live streaming our Sunday worship. It helps people who could not otherwise connect.

But no matter how good our online experiences are, they can’t fully replace the experience of being together.

Reclaiming Sacred Space and Embodied Community

As I said, I’m an introvert.

I’m perfectly fine spending most of my time alone.

But Zoom has taught me that no matter how comfortable I may be with solitude, I’m still an embodied human being who needs connection with others.

Something happens in those shared physical spaces that cannot be replaced by a screen, no matter how interactive the experience may be. There is an intangible quality about being physically present with others for a shared purpose that I can’t fully explain or even understand.

It’s not about the content of our meetings, classes, worship, or retreats. Content is easy to share online.

It’s about human contact.

It’s about facial expressions and body language that convey emotions more fully than a webcam ever can.

It’s about the energy people talking, laughing, or even crying together, when the shared sounds are not cut off by a technology that can only process one voice at a time.

It’s about the intentionality of setting aside space and time to be with one another, making the effort to leave our homes because this gathering mattered to us. It was at least important enough to put on real pants and shoes and show up.

The more I try to explain the difference, the more I don’t fully comprehend it myself.

There is a mystery to human connection, to shared energy and emotion in a physical space, that just can’t be put into words. Perhaps the poets can capture it better than I.

But I know this.

No matter how vital our digital communities may be, they cannot replace being physically together in community.

There’s a reason most good hybrid programs begin with in-person gatherings. Bonds form more quickly and trust grows stronger in person than online alone.

I don’t know what the sociologists of the future will say about these decades of trading in-person interaction for the convenience of a screen. But as a theologian, I’ll leave it at this:

The Word became flesh
and made his home among us.
We have seen his glory,
glory like that of a father’s only son,
full of grace and truth.

~ John 1:14 (CEB)

As spiritual people formed by the incarnational theology of the Divine Word embodied in human flesh, we, of all people, should be the first to sound the alarm when the world tells us that we can somehow become more than human by shedding these mortal coils.

Reconnecting

Technology is an incredible tool for sharing information, for engaging our minds. But it cannot connect our souls. It cannot replace our need for embodied humanity, embodied community, and an embodied spiritual life.

In a world where we are already increasingly isolated from one another, I worry about the trends toward less in-person interaction in education, in healthcare, and even in our everyday lives at restaurants or grocery stores.

But even more, I worry what might happen if we lose the embodied gatherings of spiritual communities. If our love for God and neighbor is not enough to bring us together, face to face, what will?

---

For Deeper Reflection:

• How have you used Zoom, or a similar platform, in forming Spiritual Community?

• What has been your experience? Blessings and challenges?

• Where do you need to step away from the screen and reclaim a more embodied spiritual practice or community?

---

These reflections are always offered freely. If they’ve been meaningful to you, you can support my work by buying me a coffee as a small gesture of encouragement. Thank you for reading and journeying alongside me.

Next Up -
Beyond the Music: Don’t Listen To Me

I’ve occasionally shared Behind the Music posts about the stories behind my original songs. Now I’m starting a new, parallel series: Beyond the Music, reflecting on songs by others that have spoken deeply into my life.

Next week, I’ll share Martin Kerr’s Don’t Listen to Me—a meditation on the quiet wisdom within us, the loud voices of culture, and learning to trust our own hearts. Sometimes a song can speak louder than any expert ever could.