To Entertained to Believe Part 3: Ancient Warnings, Modern Weapons

There is an ancient book—one most people have not read unless they stumbled down a Bible commentary rabbit trailcalled the Book of Enoch. It did not make the final cut of Scripture, but it is fascinating. In it, fallen angels descend to Earth and give humanity forbidden knowledge: warfare, cosmetics, astrology, and technology.

Yes, technology. A gift from demons. Make of that what you will.

Perhaps the ancients were onto something. The very tools meant to connect us have isolated us. The devices built to inform us have left us misinformed and overwhelmed. The apps created to entertain us have turned us into restless dopamine addicts, bouncing from one shiny video to the next.

And here is where it gets tricky. We are still trying to fight this battle like it is a 19th-century debate club. We are using words like "truth," "proof," and "doctrine" in a world that is asking, "Does it vibe with my feed?" We are bringing theological switchblades to what is essentially a neurochemical gunfight. This is no longer about ideas; it is about appetite.

Our attention is bought and sold in a marketplace of endless novelty. We are no longer guided by reflection but by reaction. And you do not refute that with a well-reasoned essay. You break the spell with beauty, with witness, and with embodied, interruptive grace.

So what do we do? How do we rouse a world that is being lulled to sleep by poppies and pixels?

We start small. We become people who can say no to the algorithm, who can silence the noise, who can sit still in the presence of God. We model a faith that is attentive, not performative; rooted, not reactive; deep, not distracted. We practice stillness and invite others into that sacred space—not with shame, but with quiet, joyful resistance.

But there are two additional paths we must reclaim if we are to break the spell.

First, we need to re-embrace real, in-person relationships. It has been widely observed that when people stopped going to church, they thought they were opting out of sermons or songs, but what they actually lost was community. We were made for face-to-face connection, conversations across a table, meals shared, lives intertwined with spiritual purpose. We must recover the discipline of presence, not only with God, but with one another.

Second, we must remember that the Christian life is fundamentally supernatural. Ours is not merely a rational worldview or an ethical framework; it is a Spirit-empowered way of life. In many quarters of the Church, there has been a tragic neglect of the Holy Spirit. If we hope to live counter-culturally—to put down our phones, connect with one another, and bear faithful witness in a distracted age, we must once again depend on the Spirit of God to give us power, discernment, and renewal.

We become Glinda’s snow; a quiet, powerful act of resistance in a world of noise and distraction. And perhaps through our stillness and presence, others might finally lift their eyes, awaken from the digital trance, and encounter the voice of their Shepherd who has always been calling their name