I was on Facebook the other day, a not uncommon occurrence. I like staying connected with people and seeing what they are up to as it gives me something to talk with them about the next time I see them.  Of course, I realize that Facebook is a highly curated presentation and doesn’t often provide the full picture of what is happening in my friends’ lives. I simply see what they want me, and the whole world, to see.

This point was brought home through one specific recent post. Friends of mine had recently moved to New York City, which was a move they were genuinely excited about.  The first few days here, their posts were shots of exploring their new home with their two young boys.  It was fun to see them on the top of the Empire State building, running around the Central Park zoo, and eating pizza in their new favorite neighborhood joint.  Every picture and post was filled with happiness and genuine joy.

Toward the end of the first week, the wife posted a very self-aware entry.  She said that she realized that her posts didn’t tell the whole story of their first week of transition—a week that included realizing cereal cost $10 a box, having their six-year-old have such a complete meltdown on the subway that they felt obligated to get off, and dealing with the uncertainty of whether there would be a spot for both boys in the closest school.  She said that she realized she had just highlighted the positive aspects of the move without acknowledging the challenges and that she wanted to share those as well.

What she had noted was something that we all tend to do, especially through social media.  We highlight the positive and ignore the negative.  I think there are several reasons that this may happen.  Many of us were brought up with the notion that the question “how are you?” is simply a conversational tool and that one of the worst things you could do is answer the question with anything but a positive.  Other times, I think we ignore the negative as a way of simply not being forced to deal with an issue or concern.  We return home after a rough day at work not wanting to talk about it because reliving the pain is just not worth it.  Lastly, I think there is always a sense of self-aggrandizement and a little bit of “keeping up with the Joneses” that goes on.  We want others to see us as successful so that we can feel successful.

The net result of this is a very whitewashed existence that sets up a false self.  We create idols in our own image and ask others to worship at our handmade altars.  We don’t reflect the real world. Yet few of us take the time to realize the two-fold negative effect that this is having on those around us.  First off, by celebrating our wins we can make others feel worse about their losses.  Second, by not letting people into the challenges in our lives, we are reducing their ability to care.

The first point is one that has been discussed at large—putting ourselves up can result in pushing others done.  We ignore failure and most important the lessons that can be learned through failure.  We make everyone view the world through our rose-colored glasses.  This is not a new observation so I won’t spend more time on this point.  But the second effect is one that I haven’t heard much discussion about.

So how is a whitewashed experience reducing others ability to care?  Empathy and sympathy are like a muscle that needs to be exercised.  We are all given the potential to be empathetic—some of us may be a little more highly tuned to the needs of others.  But as humans we are instinctively given the ability to care for members of our tribe, if only as a way of self-preservation.  Yet if we aren’t given the chance to show empathy, our ability to be empathetic is dulled like a knife that just sits unused in a drawer.

I realize that my own Facebook feed is doing as much to dull my friends’ opportunities as anyone else’s.  There is a small group of friends who may know what is going on, but they represent a tiny fraction of the folks with whom I share my “life”.  Even during my worst struggles of depression, one would have seen pictures of the Florida coastline without understanding that my husband had taken me there to get me out of New York because I was essentially experiencing a breakdown caused by anxiety.  I never showed pictures of myself hiding underneath my desk at work when I was too overwhelmed with worry.  I never showed pictures of the meals I didn’t eat because the new medication had reduced my appetite to such a point I lost 20 pounds in three weeks.  I never showed pictures of looking down from our terrace rooftop with the question, “would this be high enough?”

Yet by not being willing to show the pain in my life, I was robbing others of the chance to exercise their empathy muscle.  I wasn’t giving people the gift of showing me their own gift of caring.  I was preserving the “golden boy” image when perhaps showing my own struggles may have meant a lot of someone who was also struggling.  I wasn’t allowing others to grow in their own ability to reach out to others.

What does all of this have to do with Jesus’ Instagram account?  I couldn’t help wondering how Jesus would have used social media to help us grow our sense of empathy and thus our ability to love our neighbors.  While I am sure that he would have included pictures of the wedding of Cana (after all Jesus was human and would have been thrilled to watch his friends celebrate milestones), I think Jesus would be mindful of keeping a balanced representation of life.  I imagine that Jesus would have shown hands touching the lepers to remind us of the suffering of others and to help remove the social stigma between the “clean” and “unclean”.  I also imagine that Jesus would have sent a picture of the darkness in the garden when everyone around him had fallen asleep so he could share his own sense of isolation and fear.

Jesus would have used Instagram to connect us to each other through our challenges and not merely have celebrated our wins.  He would have reminded us that pain is meant to be shared and not ignored.  He would have let us know that in the darkness we are not alone if we simply call out.

I would like to think that his last post would have been the only “pseudo-selfie”.  I would like to imagine that he would have posted a picture of the wounds in his wrists to let us share in his pain.  I would like to imagine that the hashtag would have read #painfulbutworthit.