If the average person spends seven hours a day staring at a screen—and data says we do—then here’s a sobering thought: that’s nearly half of our waking life spent online, in apps, in feeds, in someone else’s highlight reel or algorithm. We’re tethered to glowing rectangles like our souls depend on it. But what if the opposite is true?
We already know our phones are wrecking our focus. The pull is constant: you reach for it when you’re bored, anxious, tired or overwhelmed. What’s harder to see is how it’s affecting your spirit. Not just how you feel, but who you’re becoming.
Recent studies are making the connection clearer. The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention found that teens who spend four or more hours a day on screens are far more likely to experience anxiety and depression than those who don’t. Researchers at the University of California, San Francisco, linked higher screen time in children to an increased risk of developing mental health issues later in life. That’s the psychological fallout. But what about the spiritual one?
We’re formed by what we repeatedly give our attention to. That’s not new. But in the past, spiritual formation happened in places of prayer, Scripture and stillness. Now it’s happening in TikToks, Instagram stories, 24-hour news cycles and push notifications. Every moment we spend online is shaping us—our thoughts, our values, our priorities—whether we realize it or not.
The Greek philosopher Epictetus said, “You become what you give your attention to.” So if the best of your attention is going to your phone, what kind of person is it turning you into?
This is the stuff we rarely pause to ask. The problem isn’t just distraction. It’s formation by default. Constant scrolling doesn’t just steal time—it rewires the way you think, love, worship and relate. And often, we don’t even notice it happening.
Jesus didn’t live like that. The Gospels show a rhythm of intentional disconnection. He withdrew often. He stepped away from the crowds, even when there were needs to be met. He prioritized silence and solitude not as a retreat from purpose, but as a return to it. He created space to listen to God, not just react to the demands around him.
Luke writes that Jesus “often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.” That wasn’t a random act. It was a practice. A way of staying rooted. He didn’t treat silence as optional. He treated it as sacred.
Meanwhile, we treat silence like something to avoid. Something awkward. Something uncomfortable. We’ve trained ourselves to fill every quiet second with noise—something to scroll, stream or skim. We never really stop. And that has consequences. Christian therapist Aundi Kolber says the endless input creates what she calls “the erosion of presence.” We lose touch with ourselves, with others, with God. Our attention becomes fragmented. Our emotions stay unprocessed. Our inner life gets drowned out by constant chatter.
We assume that because screens are everywhere, they must be neutral. But they’re not. Not when they quietly demand our loyalty, attention and energy. That’s what Scripture has always warned us about—not technology, but idolatry. Anything that claims the space in our lives that belongs to God alone.
Romans 12:2 says, “Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” That pattern might look different today than it did in the first century, but the pull is the same: comfort, distraction, noise. And it still takes intention to resist it.
If that sounds extreme, ask yourself this: when was the last time you went a full day without your phone? Could you even remember what silence feels like? Could you sit in it without reaching for something to fill it?
You don’t need to throw your phone away. But you might need to renegotiate its place in your life. Set boundaries around it instead of letting it shape you on autopilot. Choose moments of quiet, even if they feel awkward at first. Relearn how to sit with your own thoughts. Rebuild your attention span. Reconnect with people in real time. Worship without documenting it. Pray without a podcast playing in the background.
Start small. Try a digital Sabbath—just one day a week with no scrolling, no streaming, no status updates. Pay attention to how your body and soul respond. Audit your input. Ask whether the people you follow are helping you become more like Christ or just making you feel like you’re behind. Practice presence. Silence. Stillness. These aren’t throwback disciplines. They’re survival strategies.
Jesus told his followers to seek first the kingdom of God. That’s not just a theological idea—it’s a reordering of focus. The question is whether we’re still seeking, or just passively consuming whatever lands in front of us. If your screen time report was the only evidence of your priorities, what would it say?
You don’t need to delete your apps or move to a cabin in the woods. But you do need to get honest about who or what is shaping your soul. Because formation is happening every time you scroll. Every time you open your phone without thinking. Every time you silence discomfort with distraction.
Jesus didn’t offer a self-help plan. He offered an entirely different way of being. One that requires margin. Stillness. Attention. And you won’t find that in your notifications.
The question isn’t just “How much time are you spending on screens?” The question is, “What kind of person is that time making you?”
And if the answer makes you uncomfortable, maybe that’s where healing begins.
