Go with me here a minute, even if you disagree with the title.
And put aside the questions of quarantine, etc. That reality will change.
I had an interesting talk with my therapist this morning. I told her that I'm looking at a five-year plan to begin to pivot in some areas of my professional life, and that one of the things I'm looking at is some kind of house-based community—not a church, but some kind of human interaction, in my home, that is entirely about relationships, not programs.
Because, truth be told, I have a really taxing job, I live in a place where literally no one values getting together, and I can't really say for sure that if, God forbid, one of us got really sick, that I have anyone who would show up on a sustained basis. And my therapist said that this year has shown that a lot of people really like "staying in their jammies with their coffee and doing church online." I almost threw up.
You would think, in an era of already epidemic loneliness, that the one thing we would have learned in this year of quarantine is how damn much we need each other. Instead, we've taken the exact opposite lesson, and decided that "Jammie Church" is ok.
I'm perfectly aware that there is a real valid use for online church, or online communities of any kind: the elderly or immuno-compromised, for example—although, gosh, it'd be lovely if we thought of ways those folks didn't have to sit home alone. Some churches will take communion to the sick after the service, for example, though this is rarely practiced.
But church is not entertainment. The distinct thing about "Jammie Church" is that it is one hundred percent non-relational.
Sure, you may have a live chat going at the same time, but that's not the same as someone seeing your face, hearing the emotion in your voice, seeing tears well up in your eyes, or sharing a laugh over something cute a kid is doing in the room. It's not the same as holding the hand of someone or feeling a hand on your shoulder when you need it. It's not the same as showing up after chemo, missing your hair, and having people tell you to your face that you are still worthy and full of dignity, and even beautiful.
WE NEED TO SHOW UP FOR EACH OTHER.
So I'm starting to think of what this looks like for me and my family.
Church has been a really fraught subject in the last four years since we moved to our small antisocial town. So I figure that rather than complain, I'll go first.
I see it starting as a "singing club"--where I just get some folks in the house to sing Beatles songs, spirituals, pop and folk, '80s classics. From there, if anyone's interested in doing a book club, Bible study, cooking club, I don't care—we can do it, because it's based on relationships, not programs.
This is what the church has lost over the last 20 years. Relationships. And the last thing I'll say about it is, until we get this right, no one is going to give a whit about people marching and blowing shofars around our Federal buildings.