There are some things I really love about social media. I’m not suggesting it’s evil or that it shouldn’t be used. But it has this weird way of granting me semi God-like omniscience without God-like omnipotence. In other words, it makes me aware of much more without enabling me to do anything with my knowledge. The result can be a crippling weariness. It seems to me that the only solution is to look down less and around more. To spend less time on my phone and more time observing what’s happening in my immediate my vicinity.

Social media makes me really tired.

Yes, it makes me physically tired when I stay up too late watching stupid videos of elderly people riding scooters and then taking wicked spills (I clearly have a terrible sense of humor). There’s plenty of that nonsense/hilarity filling the corners of social media. I like my share of memes.

But it also makes me emotionally tired. Drained. Wrung out. Like butter scraped over too much bread. Like I’ve read the obituary section for people who haven’t died yet.

I scroll through my feed and read about people’s lives. Their broken down, tear-strewn, fractured lives. Cancer diagnoses and flooded houses and political angst and racism. News of police brutality and retaliatory strikes. GoFundMe campaigns for people in dire situations and a lot of people who just want to vent.

It’s like eating a big bowl of depression soup.

By the time I log off, I feel like I’ve watched the world’s worst movie – a tragedy interspersed with random, non-sequitur moments of comedy.

But why specifically does social media leave me so dried up?

Because of callings, burdens, and borders.

Stretched Beyond My Calling

Let me make an incredibly obvious statement that tends to get lost on social media: your calling is not my calling.

I’m called to be with a particular people in a particular place at a particular time.

I’m called to my family. My church. My immediate circle of relationships. I’m not called to go everywhere, be everything, and fix everything. I’m not God. I can only be present in one place.

Now let me bare my soul a little bit: sometimes I get jealous of your calling and sometimes I confuse your calling with my calling.

As I scroll through my newsfeed, I see you doing big, exciting things for God. Maybe you’re doing missions. Maybe you’re writing a book. Maybe you’re leading an amazing Bible study at your church. Maybe your church has some crazy cool new program.

Meanwhile, I’m at home doing small, seemingly unimportant things. Taking kids to school and going to work and going to church on Sundays. Nothing big. Nothing that’s going to get lots of likes and retweets.

It’s kind of depressing.

I get jealous. I want your calling. I want to do those fun, amazing, big, fast things. I want big, now, cool things for God. Quiet is boring. Mundane seems lame. I feel pathetic and purposeless.

Social media stretches me beyond my calling. It makes we want people and places and things that God has called you to and not me. I find these words of John Calvin to be very helpful:

…each individual has his own living assigned to him by the Lord as a sort of sentry post so that he may not heedlessly wander about throughout life.

Your calling isn’t my calling, and if I try to take what you have I’ll wander heedlessly throughout life. I’ll leave the places of good, fruitful, productive work God has staked out for me and wander into wastelands.

If I’m not careful, social media will stretch me far beyond the borders of my calling.

When I go beyond the borders, I leave the pleasant pastures God has led me into.

Burdened Beyond My Strength

Social media also has a way of crushing me with burdens I was never meant to carry.

Scripture clearly calls me to bear the burdens of other believers. Implicit in this command is the assumption that I’m bearing burdens of believers in my local church. The command is very location specific.

I’m not God. I can barely carry my own burdens, let alone those of my fellow church members. To add any more than that simply staggers me. Why? Because I’m not God! I’m not supposed to carry most people’s burdens. Trying to do so will crush me.

And yet when I scroll through social media, I am confronted with burden after crushing burden. An earthquake kills thousands and supplies are desperately needed. Someone I vaguely know is in dire financial straits and is appealing for financial help. A missionary I’m randomly Facebook friends with is calling for support and has set up a GoFundMe campaign.

So. Many. Burdens.

So exhausting.

So crushing.

I’m not dismissing these problems and concerns in the least. They’re real. They’re serious. And they need to be met.

But I’m not called to be the universal burden bearer. That’s God’s job. Only God has the strength to do that.

Rather, God has connected me to a people in a place. I’m called to be present for those who are literally close to me. Yes, there will be exceptions to this rule, but for the most part, God wants me to direct my energies toward a single location and then leave the rest to him.

Social media has a way of piling burdens on me that God never wanted me to bear in the first place.

This, in turn, drains me of energy that should be used to serve those around me.

In the end, I’m ineffective and exhausted.

Pulled Beyond My Borders

There are some things I really love about social media. I’m not suggesting it’s evil or that it shouldn’t be used. But it has this weird way of granting me semi God-like omniscience without God-like omnipotence.

In other words, it makes me aware of much more without enabling me to do anything with my knowledge.

The result can be a crippling weariness.

It seems to me that the only solution is to look down less and around more. To spend less time on my phone and more time observing what’s happening in my immediate my vicinity.

If you know me you know how silly this sounds. I’m on my phone a lot.

But I’m realizing that it makes me depressed and tired.

It turns out I’m carrying the weight of the world in my pocket.

This article first appeared on The Blazing Center and is used with permission.