Jim Taylor's Soft Edges

Wednesday August 1, 2007

Like almost everyone else in this community, I had to change my e-mail address recently.
        The cause, of course, is that classic Canadian economic game – build a business and sell it to someone bigger. In this case, “someone bigger” is Shaw, the national corporation who bought the local cable and internet company.
        Shaw was very helpful in getting me a new e-mail address.
        Except that my name, Jim Taylor, was too common. I had to invent a nom-de-plume, a new identity.
        So far, so good.

Invalid address
        The problems began when I tried to notify the organizations and e-mail lists that I belong to.
        When I first contacted these lists and websites from my new address, they wouldn't recognize me as a member. They were programmed to accept only my now-defunct former address.
        So I lie. I give the computer on the other end my previous address, even if I'm not connecting from it. Then the program wants my password, to confirm that I really am who I say I am.
        I don't know it. I invented that password years ago, in response to some arcane rules requiring a unique combination of letters and numbers. Ever since, my computer has automatically logged me on automatically.
        The faraway computer says that if I “click here” it will e-mail me my password.
        Except that it will send my password to an e-mail address that no longer exists.
        I'd keep a list of my passwords, but I'm told that's dangerous. If some unauthorized person ever got hold of that list, he or she could empty my bank account, destroy my credit rating, steal my identity, and send pornography in my name all over the world.

Relying on a formula
        The whole episode got me thinking about the importance we attach to passwords. And security codes.
        We have security codes to get into our offices, our churches, our homes. We have passwords for internet pages, credit card accounts, and on-line banking.
        Once, in a car rental office, I caught a glimpse of a computer screen that proclaimed, “For security reasons, our password has been changed. The new password is 'changed.'”
        We even have passwords for prayer. Devout people assure me that any prayer uttered in the name of Jesus Christ will always be answered. God has promised that, they insist. But no other password will do.         I don't believe that any more. I'm not sure I ever did.
        Reliance on a password – on any formula – makes God little more than a giant computer-in-the-sky, mindlessly accepting this petition and rejecting that one. As if the content, and the intent, is irrelevant.
        And if God doesn't give you that red tricycle or better job, doesn't cure your cancer or get you a winning lottery ticket, it must be your fault. You didn't use the right passwords or security codes to catch God's attention.
        I believe God is more than that.
        Indeed, that's probably my credo – whatever words, codes, icons, images, or metaphors anyone creates to define God, God is more. God is always more.

Jim Taylor