Brian Houston of Hillsong disrepute added to his woes recently by accidentally typing his google search ("ladies and girls kissing") into a Twitter post seen by millions.
Schadenfreude captures a fair bit of the public responses, and Mr. Houston (who does have a problem) did not improve matters by trying to claim (a mere 16 minutes later) on the same Twitter account that it had been hacked. This additional epic fail received the derision it deserved. (Observers gleefully remarked at how he had miraculously recovered control of his hacked account within minutes, when such problems usually take days or even months to resolve.
Mr. Houston has a problem, to be sure. From the looks of it, he has quite a few problems. But enough about him. Let's talk about me.
After I was done enjoying his further decline in the estimation of the world (toward the place of respect he deserves, having brought such disrepute to the name of Jesus), I turned to the awkward question that needed to be asked. What consequences would I face if my worst searches were made globally and publicly visible?
Ouch.
I am thankful that a full listing would show that I've got a pretty good record the vast majority of the time. I'm doing pretty well. Well... compared to some. Some of the time.
But that kind of accounting won't cut it. It only took one moment of typing in the wrong textbox for Mr. Houston to get into the situation he found himself in. Let's be generous (very generous, I'm sure) and assume that was his first and worst internet search on his worst day.
What was my worst search on my worst day? I won't put it here. But it's worse than what Mr. Houston typed. A lot worse.
I don't want Mr. Houston's problem. But I do want to remember it.
It is always preferable to do the right thing for the right reasons. Failing that, a distant second is to do the right thing for less awesome reasons. Distant second, indeed. Jesus delivered strong rebukes to Pharisees who did all the right things (or at least a number of good things) for a lot of really bad reasons.
If I avoid bad internet searches because my heart is in the right place? Perfect. But when my human frailty is winning the day in my heart, perhaps I'll remember that my internet searches are emblazoned across eternity, with nothing hidden–even if, unlike Mr. Houston, I do not have a highly visible Twitter account.
Mr. Houston's problem is mine, too. Our actions are never as invisible as we think. All SHALL be revealed. Some things now. But ALL things, eventually.
Keeping these things in mind might help me to evaluate more truthfully (for oh, how we do love to lie to ourselves) just how innocent and defensible my internet searches are.
Even the worst ones.
