As I have already said, I’ve been pondering a planning exercise with a logo, slogan, and title that comes from a story in the Bible. It’s certainly not an unusual way to go for strategic planning in church land. It’s designed to suggest a new direction coming out of a pandemic. I wonder though, if it is missing something when asking about where we are and where we are going. This was the time that our institution, along with our schools, our workplaces and our law courts became digital. You can’t start from there and get to here.
People complain now that their buildings are burdens. They were doing so before the pandemic hit because of the cost of utilities, mortgages and aging infrastructure – but at least the churches were open then. Many places of worship have been locked and mostly dark for months on end. One that I know did put a small altar inside at the entrance – and some people walked up to the closed doors to see it and said their prayers. The only other time I have observed similar behaviour was when I visited the Czech Republic during its last year under communist rule. Church vestibules were open but further entry was blocked by glass barriers. I frequently saw parents taking small children inside and whispering to explain what the spaces were about. Sometimes there were elderly ladies on their knees saying their beads inside; they must have entered defiantly through side doors but were assumed to be harmless to the regime.
For about 24 months, we couldn’t sing. Part of my working life has been administering an organization that supports choirs and I have been a lifelong chorister myself. For many, singing in any choir is a lifeline to connecting with other people; we sit physically close to one another; we listen to the nearest voice and try our best to make a blended sound. The pandemic cut the lifeline. To compensate, some singers recorded a few lines on their phones singing at home alone – heard how that single voice croaked and sounded terrible without the others – and sent a small tape to someone technically sophisticated enough to compile several files into one after dozens of hours – to be sent back out into the world as a one minute recording.
We couldn’t worship together. Clergy read lessons, preached in an empty space, conducted services with one person present and sent recordings one after another into the world. Alternatively a gathered grid of familiar faces appeared on screen. When they spoke at the same time it was a small cacophony of voices. Zoom changed from an active verb to a passive noun. You became joined to Tube – the latter used to refer to a TV screen – but no more. Or nothing happened at all.
Now we say we are coming back to normal. But what is normal about still singing or preaching through a mask? What is normal about preferring to wear pajamas while watching church online, drinking coffee and checking email at the same time? We are grateful for technology as we advertise our online services. But are we pausing to ask – who are we now? What is our work now? Where are we going? How are we using technology for our purpose? How is technology using us?