The Complex Questions of Reopening After COVID-19
I have been wrestling with a series of questions regarding church reopenings after the coronavirus pandemic. The current trends suggest that when we are permitted by local officials to return, it will be on a staggered basis (e.g., groups of no more than 10, then 50, then 100, 200, etc.). Additionally, social distancing protocols will still be in place, including face masks, six-foot distancing, possibly no children’s programming, no Sunday School classes, amended communion practices, etc. The duration of these protocols is unknown. Some predictions project a time frame as long as two years. Many believe these modified protocols may exist to some degree into perpetuity as a “new normal.” Given these considerations, these are the questions I have:
Is there something about God, church, worship, or community that we are not experiencing now (online), that we will experience once we return, even under those conditions?
If so, what is “it”?
Given that “it” comes with potential costs, including:
Health risks to members and guests
Increased cleaning costs
Increased utility costs (most church buildings are currently “turned off”)
Increased labor for ministers or staff running face-to-face services as well as some form of online services for those unable to attend
A possibly diminished worship experience (e.g., large rooms with limited numbers of congregants, spaced widely and wearing masks)
How do we decide if and when “it” is worth it?
Defining “it” precisely is a challenge. We all feel “it” at times when we have been together, but “it” is almost inarticulable. One friend of mine said that he expected his congregants to be joyful to the point of tears when able to return. But naming the precise reason for that joy and emotion is critical if we are to answer the last question: How do we decide if/when “it” is worth it?
Christians faith is an embodied one, reflecting the embodiment of our Lord in Jesus Christ – the incarnation. Practices like baptism, the Lord’s Supper, and congregational singing are physical acts filled with spiritual power. They are also meant to be shared and experienced by a community. We don’t baptize ourselves. We break bread together. Our practices reinforce our belief: church is a spiritual reality that is empowered in physical acts and physical proximity. So much so, that we believe the manifest presence of God encounters us when we gather (Matt. 18:20). This may be the closest we come to articulating the “it” – the presence of God.
Are we experiencing the presence of God now through online gatherings?
Brian Zahnd put it like this, echoing the essentialness of embodiment: “Virtual church is like a virtual beach vacation – it’s just not the same thing. A beach vacation means sand between your toes, and real church means sacrament and human contact.”
Perhaps so. Yet, many of our members have expressed profound experiences of God in this unusual season and through online church. One senior woman at our church is currently caring for her terminally ill husband. She called me a few days ago and wept as she described the way online church is sustaining her through a very difficult time. Would she like to be back with the church physically? Yes. Will she be able to anytime soon? Probably not.
And if she could be back with the church, the church would not be the same.
To return to the earlier metaphor, it may be that a return to church in its modified form will feel less like sand between toes on the beach, and more like sticking a finger into the mason jar filled with sand brought back from the beach four years ago.
Now, the presence of God is not a feeling. It can be felt, but it’s a reality, whether felt or not. I suspect the way we feel this presence over the course of our staggered return will be different than the way we have felt “it” in the past. Different is okay. Maybe even better. But we need to anticipate a difference.
So the final question remains: When is “it” worth it? Should we push ahead in the pursuit of “it” whatever the costs (as outlined above)? Or can we find creative ways to mitigate the costs, while still encountering the presence of God? Better yet, what is the best way to mitigate the costs and feel “it”?
Let’s return to the beach metaphor – that coming into the presence of God in corporate worship is like sticking toes in the sand on a beach vacation, something best experienced fully and physically. If we expect that a modified return will feel more like a finger in a sand-filled mason jar, should we change our vacation plans entirely? Should we, for instance, head to the mountains instead? Could we experience the presence of God in a different way that is beautiful and awesome in its own right?
We are not the first Christians to face these questions. The early church, first gathered in Jerusalem, was then scattered by persecution. We find those accounts in Acts 8:1-8 and 11:19-21. Perhaps now, unlike any time in recent memory, we can sympathize with the angst they felt as they headed toward something new, and the longing they felt for what they could no longer enjoy. They were first-hand witnesses to the most powerful demonstrations of the presence of God the body of Christ has ever seen. Can you imagine walking away from that? The difference between a beach and a mason jar does not do the disparity justice.
Yet God’s presence was not quenched. Instead, the scattered church experienced the presence of God with such power that many were healed, whole cities erupted with joy, and the church grew exponentially. What did the scattered church look like? Small groups, gathered in homes, worshiping and breaking bread together, all in the empowering presence of God. If the corporate gatherings of Jerusalem were the beach, the scattered small groups were the mountains. Different, but beautiful and awesome. The beach is still a place of great blessing, as many will attest. But sometimes it takes a hurricane to make you look inland, and encounter – as if for the first time – the breathtaking splendor of snow-capped peaks.
Now to abandon the metaphor and put this all plainly. Given the “costs” of a staggered return, and the disparity of experience that likely awaits, should we instead push hard in the direction of small group worship experiences, coordinated by the church and facilitated through online tools? Should the scattered church release (for a time) its aspirations to re-gather, and instead focus on the fruitful possibilities of its scattered season?
