It's in acknowledging our need for something and someone beyond ourselves and bringing those things to the light that healing and peace can be found.

On July 29, 1954, a man prophesied the iPhone. His name was J. R. R. Tolkien. Only, he called it by a different name: the Ring of Power. Here’s how he described it (emphasis added): It would be a relief in a way not to be bothered with it any more. It has been so growing on my mind lately. Sometimes I have felt it was like an eye looking at me. And I am always wanting to put it on and disappear, don’t you know; or wondering if it is safe, and pulling it out to make sure. I tried locking it up, but I found I couldn’t rest without it in my pocket. I don’t know why. And I don’t seem able to make up my mind. When I first read this, I had chills. Then I read it again. And again. Seventy-five years ago, Tolkien diagnosed exactly what every Gen Zer (and everyone else too) has felt in the smartphone age: the weight of carrying an irresistible object that has a will to dominate. Six Ways the Smartphone Is a ‘Ring of Power’ After reading Tolkien’s quote and journeying with characters like Bilbo and Frodo who expressed eerily similar sentiments to my own, I decided to ask ChatGPT, “What are the main purposes of the Ring?” It gave six purposes. Each was an eerily accurate description of the 6.1-inch screen I was staring at. I’ve condensed ChatGPT’s answers: 1. Control. The Ring is made to reach, master, and control everything in existence. 2. Amplification. The Ring enhances the natural abilities of its wearer, corrupts humans by giving a twisted version of what they want, and serves as a mirror and magnifier for our own desires. 3. Invisibility. When worn, the Ring makes people invisible. The wearer enters a wraithlike state, and they assume they can do whatever they wish without detection. 4. Addiction. The Ring has a will of its own, aligned with its maker. It tempts and corrupts its bearer over time, driving them toward obsession and destruction. 5. Connection. The Ring creates “a spiritual tether” between the maker and the ring-bearer. This allows the maker to perceive and influence those who wear the ring. The maker can both hear and affect your every word through a piece of tech on [or in] your hand. 6. Extended life (but not true life). The Ring prolongs life unnaturally, as seen in Bilbo and especially Gollum. But it doesn’t grant peace—it withers the soul and body over time. Rings of power tend to make you more wraithlike. They make you more, well, virtual. And less human. They’re also nearly impossible to toss in the fire once they’re in our hands. As a minister, I’m constantly having conversations with high school and college men (and women) addicted to pornography. As a small group leader, I’m frequently discipling my high school seniors to learn to work and sleep instead of scroll. As a close friend, I’m often helping peers whose screens are inducing comparison and consumerism. In each of these instances, it seems the first and most obvious mitigator of sin is the brave decision to take off our rings of power. Yet still we keep our precious, precious pieces of plastic as our closest companions. It’s starting to turn us into digital wraiths. Toss Our Phones into the Fire? Jesus had a wonderful tendency to ask questions that made everyone uncomfortable (see Luke 6:46; 18:19) and to respond to questions without the “appropriate” answer that would have set everyone at ease (see John 3:4–12). While Jesus might not prescribe an anti-phone rule for every Christian, we could easily hear him saying something like “Where is your faith? Would you dare to give up your most precious item for me?” When we, abashed, respond, “So you’re asking us to throw our phones away?” it seems unlikely Jesus would simply say, “Oh no—absolutely not! That’s ridiculous!” (see Matt 19:10–12; 16–22). Instead, I wonder if he’d respond as he usually does, with a barrage of uncomfortable questions: Can a teenage girl really handle the ability to compare herself to every other person on the planet? Should a pornography addict be expected to hold a strip club in his pocket 24/7? Must an anxious mom battle with the superhuman ability to see where and how her teenager is at all times? Can the workaholic surrender his progress when it sits inches from his fingertips at every moment? What if we, the church, had the liberty to simply ask, “Should I get rid of my phone?” And what if we had pastors who actually believed that “Yes!” is a possible answer to that question? We keep our precious, precious pieces of plastic as our closest companions. It’s starting to turn us into digital wraiths. Yes, Jesus wants to heal the human heart more than he wants what my generation likes to disdainfully call “sin management.” We’re quick to say, “Getting rid of a phone can’t instantly solve someone’s lust, laziness, fear, or greed.” But we forget that “sin management” is an essential part of how humans recover from addiction. Distance from the addictive substance allows our brains to be rewired. Instead of allowing sin to manage us, we take practical steps that might enable us to “be transformed by the renewal of [our minds]” (Rom. 12:2). After all, what if obedience could mean gouging out our eyes and cutting off our hands (Matt. 5:29–30)? Escape Bondage In late September, I helped organize a Homecoming event at Wheaton College. We called it “AWAKE,” an all-night prayer and worship service for both alumni and current students to repent, fix our gaze on Jesus, and intercede for Wheaton’s campus and beyond. I wish I could tell the full story. Nine hours of worship and prayer. Three and a half hours of uninterrupted public confession. But there was one moment in particular where words of confession solidified into action, and I won’t soon forget it. The room grew quiet as one grad student determinedly marched to the stage, reached into his pocket, and slipped out his iPhone. I can’t remember what he said, but I vividly remember him taking a trash bag, lifting it in front of everyone, and tossing his phone into the bag, which he later tied and chucked into a dumpster. When I spoke to him afterward, he told me he’d hoped he wouldn’t be the only one who felt the conviction to escape the bondage of the smartphone. But, as Tolkien so aptly perceived, only a few people have the strength to escape something many of us might benefit from escaping. Of course, the “smartphone as Ring of Power” metaphor breaks down at some point. You’re likely reading this article on your smartphone, and you likely do many other good and true and beautiful activities on that same device. So perhaps you and I are right to second-guess the throw-away-the-smartphone strategy. “If phones are inevitable these days,” we reason, “then can’t we just use technology for good?” Still, we ought to remember Jacques Ellul’s insight that technology isn’t neutral. Your tech wasn’t simply made to be used—it was made to use you. Your tech wasn’t simply made to be used—it was made to use you. So while our churches need not make the destruction of smartphones or AI normative, we must encourage and normalize drastic actions to limit these technologies. Otherwise, technology’s default—its will to dominate—will consume us. And the church’s default has always been to not give in to society’s default settings. Perhaps this is why, as I marveled at the grad student’s boldness, I felt a stirring of hope that—should a Spirit-filled craving for repentance fall on our churches—more of us might be moved to cast our rings into the fire.

Knowing God’s will is possible for every one of us.

Stepping into mission work means more than traveling—it means serving with humility, love, and courage. This prayer covers missionaries with protection, guidance, and God’s presence as they go where the gospel is least known.

... if we can put into practice sharing our stories without fear, it emboldens us to share God’s story with others through praying out loud.