Does God Do Zoom?

 

Zoom (verb) 1. To move or travel very quickly  2. To be sucked into a technological abyss, marked by staring at and talking to, a lifeless screen from your dining room table, for hours on end   --Websters Dictionary (alt.)

Okay, I made up that second definition. In March 2020, if you had asked me for a definition of “Zoom”, I might have answered it’s either the sound that a very fast rocket makes in a cartoon or it’s the thing we say to a toddler, while clutching a spoon and trying to get that reluctant kid to eat, as in: “Zoom!!! Here comes the carrots!”

But that’s not what Zoom is these days, not in the past fifty-two weeks, certainly. It’s amazing to consider that what was once was an obscure app, a sometimes balky and slow program used by business folks for the rare remote meeting or by distance learning schools for students at home: Zoom now dominates our lives.

Zoom is the lifeline that keeps us all connected.

We either love it or we hate it or if you’re like me, we feel both emotions, depending on the day and time and activity. I love Zoom as a platform to teach my writing classes. It is perfectly suited to gathering writers and talking craft and critiquing pieces. I can’t stand Zoom when it comes to having the back and forth needed for a robust or normal discussion or conversation. Folks either talk over each other or begin to talk and then go mute in frustration (that’s what I often do) or they sit back passively and just watch the show go on.

Still, Zoom is now the tech portal through which millions of us are now seeing our aging parents and learning our ABCs and playing games with friends on a lonely Friday night and going to church and having business meetings, a shirt and tie on view up top, and down below, out of view, sweatpants, and cozy socks. Zoom is where many folks are now dating (AWKWARD!), and often the only place where grandparents can get a glimpse of the grandchildren that they miss so, so much (SAD!).

If anything symbolizes the weirdness and the dislocation of the past 365 plus days, it’s Zoom. According to the company, every day, more than 300 million people use its service to connect to others. In the past year, Zoom reports it is has logged an astounding 3.3 trillion meeting minutes.  Though none of us has a crystal ball to predict post-pandemic life, my bet is that video conferencing is not going away. It is no longer the stuff of science fiction. It is now the norm in our lives and so we might as well just accept it, albeit at times, grudgingly.

Zoom is here to stay. It’s quirks too.

Like the fact that I can use a thirteen-year-old photo for my Zoom “video off” function and folks might imagine I still look like that youthful guy in the picture. More hair, less grey and barely a wrinkle in sight. Zoom is where our less tech savvy friends and family give us a view of the upper half of their face, straight up their nose and no amount of our gentle coaching can change that perspective.

“You’re muted!!!” “UNMUTE PLEASE!” How many times have we had to say that or has someone said that to us, since last March?! Or better yet, how about Zoom’s kiss of death? “Your Internet Connection Is Unstable”— “THANKS FOR TELLING ME!” I want to yell at the screen. I know my internet is unstable: everyone on my meeting is now frozen in time, stuck in various embarrassing still life poses: eyes half closed, mouths hanging open, hands lifted to make a point, now just hanging there in mid-air. And yes, that’s exactly what you now look like to your fellow Zoombies.

Zoombie is the term for what Zoom does wrought: the state of head and heart and mind after a full day or night, or both, of uninterrupted Zooming. Tired and burning eyes. A numb butt from sitting for so long. A foggy brain, and an exhausted spirit, having spent so many hours just trying to keep up with this warped and odd and new form of human communication that is Zoom.

And yet for all my complaints about Zoom, here’s my truth. Zoom has saved me. It has rescued me from loneliness. As a single person, it’s kept me connected in times when, without Zoom, I would have gone crazy with isolation. Or become so sad or been lost to the people I love and who love me and the groups I so need, like my choir. Zoom has helped me hang on to the life I so love too, even, especially, in a time of pandemic.

So, Zoom on. Zoom away. Zoom until the cows come home! Zoom to your heart’s content and then zoom some more. Zoom to find others and to be found by others in these strange days. Zoom, and as we zoom, we might even thank God for Zoom. Which makes me wonder: does God do Zoom? Tune in next week! I’ll send you a link.

But for now? End meeting for all.