The Divine Social Network

Last updated on: July 1, 2026 at 1:33 pm by Jordan Hathcock

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The Divine Social Network 2026-07-01T13:33:17-07:00 Jordan Hathcock

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A confession: I’ve won a lot of arguments in the shower. | Image courtesy of the author.

I have a confession: I’ve won a lot of arguments in the shower.

You know the kind. You’re shampooing your hair when suddenly your brain remembers that Facebook comment from three days ago. This time, however, you’re brilliant. Every comeback lands. Every point is airtight. Somewhere in your imagination, the stranger admits defeat, apologizes for everything wrong with modern civilization, and nominates you for “Most Reasonable Human Being on the Internet.”

Then you dry off, make a protein shake (me need to be strong lol), head to work…two steps away in your bedroom (so fun), and realize absolutely none of it mattered.

It’s amazing how much emotional energy we pour into people we’ve never actually met. We argue with profile pictures. We assign motives based on punctuation. We become convinced we know someone’s entire worldview because they posted a meme, quoted a Bible verse, or forgot to use the correct form of “their.” We know everyone’s opinions, but we know almost nobody’s story. The internet has given us the ability to instantly communicate with billions of people while somehow making us forget how to simply be with the person sitting across the table. That’s a strange accomplishment. And if I’m being honest, I don’t think Jesus would’ve spent much time in the comment section.

The Internet Knows Your Opinion—Not Your Soul

Social media is remarkably efficient at shrinking people. A human being with decades of experiences, heartbreaks, victories, failures, family traditions, fears, dreams, and unanswered prayers somehow gets reduced to a username and three paragraphs. That’s all it takes. We think we’ve figured them out.

The algorithm encourages this reductionism. Every click whispers, “Here’s more people who already think like you.” Before long, your feed becomes a neighborhood where everyone has the same political signs in the yard, attends the same imaginary church, laughs at the same jokes, and agrees that everyone outside the neighborhood has collectively lost their minds. It’s comforting, but it’s also spiritually dangerous because curiosity begins to die. Wonder begins to die. Compassion quietly packs its bags and moves somewhere with better Wi-Fi.

One of the greatest tricks of our digital age isn’t convincing us to hate each other. It’s convincing us that we’ve already met each other. Reading three Facebook posts isn’t knowing a person—it’s barely meeting their front porch. Every human being is an unexplored landscape, but the internet keeps handing us tourist brochures and calling it intimacy.

Jesus Didn’t Build a Following—He Built a Table

One of the things I love most about Jesus is how physical His ministry was. God could have sent a podcast. He could have emailed humanity. He could have dropped a divine PDF from heaven titled Everything You Need to Know Before Tuesday. Instead, John tells us that “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” That single sentence changes everything.

God didn’t rescue humanity from a distance; He entered it. He walked dusty roads, attended weddings, laughed with friends, cried with grieving sisters, ate with tax collectors, welcomed children, and touched people everyone else avoided. Jesus didn’t merely teach love—He embodied it. Most of His greatest moments happened around tables instead of stages.

Meals have a funny way of accomplishing what debates rarely can. You stop defending your tribe long enough to ask someone about their childhood. You hear about the parent they lost, the marriage they’re trying to save, the anxiety they never post about, or the child they’re praying for. Suddenly they’re no longer “the liberal,” “the conservative,” “the atheist,” or “that church person.” They’re simply another human being carrying joys and burdens that look surprisingly familiar.

Mystics Don’t Escape the World—They Learn to See It

People often hear the word “mystic” and picture someone floating three inches off the ground while humming in a cave. I’ll admit—that mental image makes me smile. But Christian mysticism has always pointed somewhere much simpler: presence. The mystics weren’t trying to escape reality. They were trying to wake up to it.

They understood that Christ isn’t encountered only in cathedrals but also around coffee tables, basketball courts, surf lineups, neighborhood barbecues, and conversations that wander far beyond the weather. Jesus said that whatever we do for “the least of these,” we do for Him. That’s a profoundly mystical statement because it means Christ continually hides in ordinary people.

Some of my favorite conversations about God haven’t happened inside church buildings. They’ve happened waiting for the next wave to roll in, after pickup basketball games, over fish tacos, or while lingering over coffee long after the cups were empty. Nobody was trying to win. Nobody was performing. We were simply present. Funny enough, that’s often where transformation begins.

The Kingdom Exists Beyond Our Boxes

We all live in boxes—political boxes, denominational boxes, theological boxes, progressive boxes, conservative boxes, even “I don’t fit in boxes” boxes. Humans are wonderfully predictable that way. Jesus, however, was gloriously unpredictable. Every group wanted to recruit Him, and every group eventually became frustrated because He refused to stay inside their carefully constructed categories.

He loved too broadly, forgave too freely, asked uncomfortable questions, and kept sharing meals with the wrong people. I sometimes wonder whether we’ve become better at defending Christianity than practicing it. Jesus said the world would recognize His followers by their love—not by winning every argument or crafting the perfect theological takedown. That’s beautifully simple…and terribly inconvenient.

Christ Is Waiting Across the Table

So here’s my challenge. Close the app for a while. Invite someone to hang out (without the desperation vibes). Join the pickup pickleball game. Grab breakfast after surfing. Invite someone who sees the world differently than you do. You don’t have to surrender your convictions. Just bring your curiosity to them.

The older I get, the more convinced I become that spiritual maturity isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about becoming deeply present. Presence is where love lives. Presence is where healing begins. Presence is where Christ continually meets us.

The internet is an incredible tool, but it was never designed to replace incarnation. It was never meant to replace eye contact, shared meals, awkward laughter, or stories told around a backyard fire pit. Maybe the next revival won’t begin with another viral post. Maybe it’ll begin over breakfast, on a basketball court, while waiting for the next wave, or around a table where two people stop trying to win and simply decide to wonder together.

Because every person you meet bears the image of God in ways you haven’t fully discovered. Every conversation is unexplored terrain. Every shared meal is an opportunity for grace.

Flesh and blood is still God’s favorite social network.

And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another argument to win.

With my monkey mind…weeeeeee!

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