Echo Chamber or Community?

“I feel a little less alone when I read the Reformed Journal.” 

Comments like this are incredibly gratifying to me. Or when one of our readers (you?) might say “Sometimes when I’m despairing about our world, the Reformed Journal renews my hope.”

And who really knows, but it looks like we’ll need this even more in the coming years.

Unique is a unique and overused word. Still, comments like those above tell me that something good and important is going on here. Something that people are apparently not finding elsewhere. Voices, ideas, inspiration that resonate with them, that bless them.

We could call that community. 

It’s one of our biggest goals for the Reformed Journal, that in our world, with its well-documented loneliness epidemic, people find connection here. In a time when Christianity and the North American church are so often disappointing, embarrassing, and scandalous, people find something else here. And this connection brings us (you, too?) some hope and beauty, some courage and insight.

Sometimes our critics call us an echo chamber, where you only hear what you like. Your own opinions are echoed back to you. Maybe so. Or maybe they’re just vexed that their views aren’t found here. As I’ve said many times, the Reformed Journal never intended to be a clearing house for all views or hold some illusory, neutral perspective.

A community is not an echo chamber. A community gives you the energy to come out of your echo chamber or silo or isolation, or whatever image you prefer. Don’t underestimate the power of being with or talking to people who support you, encourage you, who share similar commitments and values. We all need that. We don’t need to apologize for being a community together. 

A couple days ago here on the blog, Roger Nelson shared David French’s concerns about the weakness and ineffectiveness of “monocultures.” I hear that, and agree. But first of all, I don’t really believe that RJ readers are a thorough monoculture. And secondly, I believe there is a place for the courage and solace that comes from discovering solidarity with others.

I’ve heard a story about some of Calvin College’s vaunted professors from days of yore. As they moved on to larger, more prestigious, less parochial universities, they discovered the conversations there were not the broader, more stimulating conversations they expected. Instead, distrust was high and competition higher. The truly beneficial conversations they had, when they looked back on their careers, were with people with some common commitments. It wasn’t an echo chamber. It was a community.

* * * * *

We’ve given a lot of thought at RJ to the readers’ comments that typically appear here. How can they contribute to our community conversation? Many of you have remarked that you wish commenters would use their whole and actual name. Not initials. Not a pseudonym. Agreed. But no matter how many filters and platform tweaks we try, those who do not want to use their whole or real name will find a way.

The vast majority of your comments are words of gratitude. That’s okay. No writer can hear “Thanks. Good work!” too many times. Thank you for your affirming and enthusiastic comments. They build community.

Still, how might we use the comment section to be more probing and develop a richer sense of trust and community?

Part of the reason, I think, that our comments do not go deeper is because of our social polarization, our red versus blue world. In asking a question or probing a writer, you don’t want to be perceived as “that guy,” a troll, the cranky voice from the other side.

Here’s an example: a while back there was a blog about a visit to memorial chapels built on the site of a former Nazi death camp. One of you wrote to me privately wondering, “Should it trouble us that there are Christian chapels on the ground where the vast majority of the victims were Jews who were killed by Christians? I’d ask that in the comments, but I don’t want to appear cantankerous or unappreciative of today’s blog.” 

I encouraged this person to post their comment. It wasn’t oppositional. It wasn’t a cheap shot. It was an attempt at a potentially interesting conversation. And I wish we had more of those. Not accusatory. Not winners and losers. Curious. Collegial. Neither an echo chamber nor a boxing ring. 

For whatever reason, they chose not to post it.

* * * * *

My own social media has been pared down pretty much to children and dogs and retro sports. I’m told I should consume more widely. I simply do not need the agitation of views I don’t believe or trust. I’ll read David French or David Brooks — but I can’t do Ross Douthat. I don’t watch TV news. Maybe it’s a weakness. Maybe it’s old age. I apologize. But not really. 

So I’m amazed, grateful, and suspicious when people who don’t generally share the perspective of the Reformed Journal dip in and read us. Frankly, some are doing “oppo research.” They quote us on their sites, aghast at what they read here. This makes some RJ writers feel scrutinized-unto-vulnerable. Please, remember that. There are also a few–not that many–annoying trolls who leave inappropriate, name-calling comments that we delete. 

Some, however, seem to be actually intrigued. Maybe they think we’re not half-bad, or at least interesting. I don’t fully understand their motives and tenacity. Maybe they simply have a greater capacity to take in differing views than I do. I can respect that. 

The community we’ve formed here makes me glad. I appreciate your many complimentary comments. Even more, I appreciate your words about feeling a little less alone and a little more connected. I don’t want to overhype RJ’s importance, but if we play even a small part in a few of you holding on to faith, or staying in conversation with the church, I am awed. 

We don’t have to apologize for being a community. 

I’m also inviting you to a richer, fuller conversation–not of scorn or scoring points–but of colleagues in a lively, supportive community. Use your real and full name. Be kind and curious. Dare to probe, but not humiliate. We need conversation. We need community. Now, more than ever. 

Please, play your part.