The church punctures my social bubble

If there's one thing I see in my work in the tech sector, it's how good we've become at personalizing experiences. From your Netflix homepage to your LinkedIn feed: algorithms ensure you see exactly what you want to see, and that you're surrounded by people who think like you.

It's comfortable. It's efficient. And I am convinced that it is disastrous for our mental health and our society.

We live in a loneliness epidemic, paradoxically fueled by hyperconnectivity. We withdraw into bubbles of like-minded people. The gym, the business club, the circle of friends: we choose them ourselves based on shared interests or status.

But there's one place in my life where that algorithm doesn't work. And that's on Sunday morning.

The geographical lottery

A unique aspect of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is how our communities – we call them 'wards' – are organized. It is purely geographical. You don't choose your church based on the music, the popularity of the bishop (oof), or the political preference of the visitors.

You go to the church where you live. Period.

That might sound like a limitation, but I experience it as an enormous liberation. It means that I sit on the church benches next to people I would never have met 'by chance'.

Next to me might be a retired worker, in front of me a young single mother struggling to make ends meet, and behind me a student grappling with life questions. We don't vote for the same parties. We have different hobbies. Our incomes differ enormously.

In a normal setting, we would pass each other by. Here we call each other ‘brother’ and ‘sister’.

Friction makes things shine

Is that always easy? No. It sometimes clashes. It can be uncomfortable. You have to collaborate and meet with people who have a completely different view of the world than you do.

But that's exactly where the value lies. You don't learn true compassion in a room full of people who flatter you. You learn compassion when you have to be patient with someone you don't understand at all, and who doesn't understand you, but with whom you prepare the hall together or organize a service project.

It pulls me out of my comfortable ‘CEO bubble’ weekly. It forces me to see the world through someone else’s eyes.

A village in the city

In a time when generations increasingly live past each other, the church is also one of the few places where intergenerational contact is still the norm.

My children learn to interact with seniors who are not their grandparents. Seniors, who often struggle with loneliness, are seen, heard, and engaged. We bear each other's burdens. If someone moves, twenty people are ready with boxes. If someone is sick, meals are cooked. Not because we are all best friends, but because we have made a covenant to care for each other.

Why this works for people seeking

You don't have to be religious to see the value in this. In a society that is becoming increasingly individualistic, people long for ‘community’. Not the superficial online variant, but the raw, real variant where people actually show up when things get tough.

My faith offers me theological answers, certainly. But it also offers me something very practical: a ‘training ground’ for humanity. It teaches me that the other is not my enemy, but literally my brother or sister. And that is, in these polarized times, perhaps the most powerful message we can convey.