The following is a guest-post from Tom Rowley of A Rocha USA. A Rocha and Care of Creation partner in various ways in the interest of creation care and Tom blogs regularly at the A Rocha USA website. Here he tackles a fundamental question: How do we dance around the problem of modern technology when almost all the tools we have to deal with creation care issues are, in fact, technological? Enjoy and offer a comment.

This piece started with me feeling rather smug over a major technological breakthrough at our house—namely, setting up the hand-me-down Wii that my sons got for Christmas and then, hold on to your hats, connecting that to Netflix for family movie nights. All without uttering an expletive (at least none that my dear ones heard). Before putting fingers to keyboard, however, the smugness gave way to heartburn over what we had unleashed on ourselves—yet again.

A bit of background: in our house, as in many I suspect, the dance with technology seems never ending. One step forward and two steps back, as we ask ourselves “What is good? What is frivolous? And what is downright evil?”

Luddites, we are not. We’d be hard-pressed and hungry to go without the microwave. Unemployed if it weren’t for wireless laptops and 3-, 4- or whatever-G-they’re-touting-now cell phone coverage. And flat out broke if we bought movie tickets, let alone the popcorn. In short, we are thankful for the blessings of technology.

But parents, we are. And though every generation has lamented likewise, the onslaught of games and gizmos designed to suck the very brains from our children’s heads is dizzying, draining and downright frightening.

And people of faith, we try to be. So we recognize that with all of technology’s good, there comes, too, a degree of insulation and arrogance that whittles away at our dependence on God. With life-enhancing and life-extending advances all about us, it’s sometimes difficult to remember that we are not gods. At the very least, there comes great distraction—bells and whistles and tweets—that crowd every waking moment, leaving scant space for attention to the divine. The most plugged-in era in history may well be the most disconnected from the Author of history. I can read the Bible on my iPhone, but do I take the time to ponder what it says—in between emails, text messages and ding alerts from Southwest.com? I can pull up any number of nature webcams, but do I get outside and savor God’s other revelation: the book of nature? Sadly, not enough.

This irony (“tragedy” really) took center stage in a recent discussion with colleagues about using Internet videos to teach and encourage environmental stewardship. Ed Brown at Care of Creation put his finger on it.

“Isn’t there a fundamental disconnect here?” he asked. “We are working to heal creation, to put people back in touch with the glories of God’s world and everything that goes along with that: I don’t think it’s going to happen by trying to get people to watch more pixels!”

He’s right, of course. The best way to inform and inspire people to steward the Earth (and a really good way to introduce them to its Maker) is to get them outdoors with their sleeves rolled up amidst the wonder of it all—whether ringing birds to study their migratory habits or planting streamside trees to improve water quality or tending gardens to feed those in need.

That is the best way.

Still, we first have to reach people in order to get them outside. People with eyes glued to a screen. Ironically (“sadly” really), in this age we have to use technology to counter technology. For good and for ill, it is part of life.

The question then is “how will we use it?” As with every other aspect of life, we are called to be thoughtful, full of thought, in our relationship to technology. Not daftly dancing along to the latest drumbeat, enticing as it may be. Rather, asking ourselves whether we “should”, not simply whether we “can.” Should I let my children play a video game now? Or should I accompany them on a hike? Should I watch a movie? Or ought I read or write or pray? Should I buy another gadget—knowing that its manufacture put carbon in the atmosphere and mercury in the water? Or should I say enough already? As Paul wrote in his first letter to the Corinthians, all things may be permissible, but not everything is helpful.

James Krenov (NY Times photo)

James Krenov died recently.

No, you don’t remember him.  It would be quite surprising if you’d ever heard of him, unless you are one of the dwindling number of genuine ‘cabinet makers’ in the world today.  I hadn’t heard of him either – but his obituary in the New York Times this week makes me wish I had known him.

“Through his school and his furniture, Mr. Krenov inspired a generation of furniture makers with a high regard for both materials and craftsmanship and design with an aesthetic informed by organic, subtle details,” the Web site FineWoodworking.com said…

Behind the shaping and the teaching, said David Welter, the shop technician for the woodworking program, was Mr. Krenov’s credo “that the work had life in it.”

“It wasn’t about showing off technique as much as about having a personality in the work,” Mr. Welter said in a telephone interview last week. “He worked with material rather than on material; it wasn’t a matter of conquering the wood. He had just a killer instinct for wood combination, the colors and textures, melding them to make works with an elegant simplicity.”

He “worked with material rather than on material.”  That is the sign of a craftsman.  And the sign of someone who is “in sync” with the pieces of God’s creation with which he is working (see “Three Cheers for Luddism” and “When You See My Farm…” and “What’s in a Calling?“).

Let us know our wood as we do our hands, and work with it in common respect and harmony,” he wrote in “The Fine Art of Cabinetmaking.”

Wendell Berry would approve.

In my hometown lives a baker.  The very ordinary name of his business (“Madison Sourdough”) hides the fact that he’s a European trained master pastry chef.  Croissants, danish, brioche – the stuff is, if not worth dying for, certainly worth driving several extra miles across town early in the day to grab the last items before someone else gets them.

Still-life with Brioche by Chardin (Wikipedia Commons)

Now, I’ve been a fan of most of what he makes for quite a while, but his brioche are some of the best pastry I’ve ever eaten.  Which has led to a couple of very interesting conversations:

About a month ago my faithful readers may recall I was in Washington DC during the time of the Inauguration.  One of the mornings there I found myself, with Daughter #1, in a very authentic french patisserie in Bethesda Maryland.  Guess what was in the pastry case?  Brioche!  But these looked a bit different from those I’ve become accustomed to  in Madison.  A long conversation with the woman who ran the shop followed.  She had baked everything in the shop herself.  She had serious doubts as to whether the so-called brioche from Madison was the real thing, and in what would have to be described as a passionate defense of her craft, grabbed a brioche, sliced it in half, and stood there while we sampled it, with the following (please imagine a strong French accent):  “If this is not the best brioche you’ve ever had, I want to know it…”

Not wanting to offend, and appreciating the free pastry, we agreed with her – it was certainly pretty close to the best we’d ever had.

Fast forward to this morning, and the serving counter at Madison Sourdough.  I simply had to tell my baker friend the story of his competition in Bethesda.  Before I knew what was happening, he had a brioche on the counter, as well as a croissant.  He sliced them down the middle and proceeded to instruct me.  [Please insert strong midwestern accent here].   “The layering in this croissant is so **** perfect I could win a prize.”  And more of the same.

And I walked out with what I had ordered, plus the remains of the examined brioche and croissant, two more croissants for good measure – and a couple of pieces of chocolate.  Because “the way a french baker starts his day is with a croissant, a piece of chocolate and a hot cup of coffee.  The coffee melts the chocolate in your mouth.  THAT is how a croissant should be eaten.”

Why am I sharing this?

Here are two craftsmen in a world of high-tech, efficient production who are doing something ancient and ordinary and who not only love doing it but are passionate enough about their craft to wax eloquent and give away samples to try to persuade me of what they already know:  They are creating something good and beautiful and tasty.  They are both luddites in the best sense of that word – people who reject the relentless advance of ‘progress’ because they understand that sometimes an advance is really a retreat.  Long may they prosper – and all of their brothers and sisters with them wherever they may be found.

And they are prospering – at least my friend in Madison is doing so.  In this time of recession, *his* business is up.  Significantly so.

If there is a path forward in our chaotic and unhappy world, it may well start here:  With a man – or woman – who is doing what he loves, to the best of his ability, and giving joy and happiness to the people around him.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a piece of chocolate and a hot cup of coffee waiting for me.