Baby Steps
If you’ve ever gone swimming in not-quite-warm-enough water, you know there are two ways to get into the pool. If you’re like my wife, it’s a whole process. You inch your way in, slowly and carefully, cringing and grimacing with every step as the water very gradually gets deeper and deeper. To me, that looks agonizing.
I’m much more of a run up and do a cannonball kind of guy. Rip the band-aid off, get it all over with in one shot, and you’re good to go. Those first 3 seconds in the cool water… they’re not pleasant. They’ll wake you up good. But once the shock is over, at least you’re in and it doesn’t take 20 minutes.
When this pandemic first started (and we’re still very much in it), I sort of had it in my mind that our return to church together would be more like cannonballing into the pool. That it would be a day of hugs and handshakes, joy and singing, I sort of had it in my head that we’d do a huge fellowship lunch and just bask in being together again.
As the weeks turned into months and the reality of it became a lot more sober, my dreams of a big dive back into the pool dissipated, and what we’re looking at instead is a gradual inching… in baby steps… one at a time.
I picked this passage from Ephesians this morning, mostly because I think verses 14-17 are very well suited to our situation today. So let me just read those 4 verses again.
“This is why it is said,
‘Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.’
Be very careful, then, how you live – not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity because the days are evil. Therefore, do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is.”
Our church is about to wake up. And it’s going to be a slow awakening. It’s not going to be with a crash of symbols or a clap of thunder. It’s going to be slow, steady, and measured. Which is not the way I prefer to get in the pool – and I realize I’m mixing metaphors here – but you know what I mean. As our congregation re-awakens, and begins the process of coming back together again – and it will be a process – we have to be wise about it.
What does this mean as far as what worship will look like?
Well, for starters – not everyone will get to see it. There are some congregations in our classis and in our region that have made the decision not to re-open until it’s possible for everyone to attend. While the theology behind those decisions is sound, and the intention admirable, that effectively means that some churches will remain closed for many, many more months. I know that Unitarian Universalist congregations have received guidance from their denomination not to re-open for at least a year.
I don’t fault the churches that go to such lengths to be cautious. That’s their decision.
For our church, we are small enough that distancing on a Sunday should be possible in our sanctuary, even if most of the congregation shows up all at once.
But I would discourage everyone from trying to show up all at once.
By now we all know who the most seriously-affected demographics are. The elderly. People who are overweight. People with underlying medical conditions, especially respiratory or heart conditions. If you have any concerns about your health – please – do not come. I know most of us have grown up with the habit that if it’s Sunday morning, if you’re not on your deathbed, you’re in church, come hell or highwater.
I’ll let you in on a little secret – I don’t think God’s really keeping an attendance sheet. And if God were – I’m pretty sure the months ahead would be considered “excused absences.”
We also know that there won’t be any congregational singing at first. That’s the one thing that I know has caused a lot of hand-wringing and consternation. We’ll still have Ben there playing the organ, and I’m not going to kick anyone out for singing under their breath. But until we know more about how this virus spreads through and around masks, really belting it out will be off the table.
And yes, there will be masks. That’s non-negotiable. If you want to be in the building, you’ll be wearing a mask. And that’s going to make the experience feel different. Especially for me, as I won’t be able to tell as I’m preaching who’s smiling, who’s frowning, or who’s sticking their tongue out at me (probably John).
And fellowship will not be the same. The passing of the peace, if we still do it, will be contact-less. There won’t be any handshakes or hugs. There will not be coffee hour afterwards. Although, if there’s interest, I may see about continuing virtual coffee hour on Sunday afternoons.
Not all of the changes will be bad, though. We’re looking into ways to record or possibly live-stream services (which I don’t know how to do, but if other pastors who are less technologically able than myself can figure it out, I can probably figure it out too). But we’d like to continue offering a way to access worship online for anyone who is unable to attend in person, or anyone we’d encourage not to attend in person.
I’m also going to try to start gearing my sermons to get even shorter. I think my longest ever clocked in at 22 minutes. Average is about 14 minutes. I’m going to be looking to deliver messages in under 8 minutes. Why? Because one thing that we know (or think we know) about this virus, is that transmission depends on viral load. That there needs to be a certain amount of the virus in an area for it to be passed on. And one of the factors that can affect viral load is time. One of the reasons we heard so much about churches being especially risky gatherings for spreading the virus is that they tend to be indoors, with people close together, singing and belting out their voices (and projecting air while they do it), and that they’re together doing these things for a long time. So we’ll be indoors, but with people spaced out, not belting out our voices, for a relatively short amount of time.
The offering will be different. As will communion. There won’t be any more passing the plate around, or sharing a cup. To be honest, I’m still working on the logistics of communion. But for offering, expect to see a single plate near the sanctuary doors as you come in, to just drop your gifts in there as you come or go.
There is a lot for us to figure out. And it’s entirely possible that people will come to church next Sunday, go through the entire worship without singing, without handshakes, without some of the touchstones that tend to keep us balanced through our service… and come away wondering just what on earth it was that they just sat through. Because things will be different – some things may be downright strange.
But the wonderful thing about our liturgy is that it is flexible. There’s room for adaptation. There’s space in it for us to say, “we still need to worship – here’s how we can be wise about it in our current environment.”
So even as things change, some aspects will not. We will still pray together, even if we do so, again, under our breath, through masks, at a distance of 6 feet or more.
We will still share in the good news of the Gospel. And there is plenty of Good News to be found in the Gospel and in God’s Creation, even in the present times.
We will still love each other and lift each other up. I’ve never been part of a more cohesive church family that mourns each others’ sorrows and celebrates each others’ victories as much as this one does. And that’s not changing any time soon.
And we will still give our praise and love to our Lord, Jesus Christ. We approach God humbly, pray to God boldly, receive God’s Word reverently, and respond to God’s call passionately.
These things will never change. Because they are a fundamental part of worship; they are a fundamental part of our relationship with God; they are a fundamental part of who we are and who God created us to be.
So as we look forward to taking our next step in this strange new world, we put our trust in God’s wisdom, God’s faith in us, and God’s gracious love in all of our lives.
To God be all glory, praise, and honor. Amen.
Let us pray.
Holy Lord, we pray that as we begin to look ahead to what is next for our church and our greater community, that you guide our steps with prudence, hope, and love. Kindle our hearts to accept and embrace different ways of worship, as we all seek to honor and glorify you. Make us humble before you, and fill our hearts with your peace. We pray this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.
If you’ve ever gone swimming in not-quite-warm-enough water, you know there are two ways to get into the pool. If you’re like my wife, it’s a whole process. You inch your way in, slowly and carefully, cringing and grimacing with every step as the water very gradually gets deeper and deeper. To me, that looks agonizing.
I’m much more of a run up and do a cannonball kind of guy. Rip the band-aid off, get it all over with in one shot, and you’re good to go. Those first 3 seconds in the cool water… they’re not pleasant. They’ll wake you up good. But once the shock is over, at least you’re in and it doesn’t take 20 minutes.
When this pandemic first started (and we’re still very much in it), I sort of had it in my mind that our return to church together would be more like cannonballing into the pool. That it would be a day of hugs and handshakes, joy and singing, I sort of had it in my head that we’d do a huge fellowship lunch and just bask in being together again.
As the weeks turned into months and the reality of it became a lot more sober, my dreams of a big dive back into the pool dissipated, and what we’re looking at instead is a gradual inching… in baby steps… one at a time.
I picked this passage from Ephesians this morning, mostly because I think verses 14-17 are very well suited to our situation today. So let me just read those 4 verses again.
“This is why it is said,
‘Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.’
Be very careful, then, how you live – not as unwise, but as wise, making the most of every opportunity because the days are evil. Therefore, do not be foolish, but understand what the Lord’s will is.”
Our church is about to wake up. And it’s going to be a slow awakening. It’s not going to be with a crash of symbols or a clap of thunder. It’s going to be slow, steady, and measured. Which is not the way I prefer to get in the pool – and I realize I’m mixing metaphors here – but you know what I mean. As our congregation re-awakens, and begins the process of coming back together again – and it will be a process – we have to be wise about it.
What does this mean as far as what worship will look like?
Well, for starters – not everyone will get to see it. There are some congregations in our classis and in our region that have made the decision not to re-open until it’s possible for everyone to attend. While the theology behind those decisions is sound, and the intention admirable, that effectively means that some churches will remain closed for many, many more months. I know that Unitarian Universalist congregations have received guidance from their denomination not to re-open for at least a year.
I don’t fault the churches that go to such lengths to be cautious. That’s their decision.
For our church, we are small enough that distancing on a Sunday should be possible in our sanctuary, even if most of the congregation shows up all at once.
But I would discourage everyone from trying to show up all at once.
By now we all know who the most seriously-affected demographics are. The elderly. People who are overweight. People with underlying medical conditions, especially respiratory or heart conditions. If you have any concerns about your health – please – do not come. I know most of us have grown up with the habit that if it’s Sunday morning, if you’re not on your deathbed, you’re in church, come hell or highwater.
I’ll let you in on a little secret – I don’t think God’s really keeping an attendance sheet. And if God were – I’m pretty sure the months ahead would be considered “excused absences.”
We also know that there won’t be any congregational singing at first. That’s the one thing that I know has caused a lot of hand-wringing and consternation. We’ll still have Ben there playing the organ, and I’m not going to kick anyone out for singing under their breath. But until we know more about how this virus spreads through and around masks, really belting it out will be off the table.
And yes, there will be masks. That’s non-negotiable. If you want to be in the building, you’ll be wearing a mask. And that’s going to make the experience feel different. Especially for me, as I won’t be able to tell as I’m preaching who’s smiling, who’s frowning, or who’s sticking their tongue out at me (probably John).
And fellowship will not be the same. The passing of the peace, if we still do it, will be contact-less. There won’t be any handshakes or hugs. There will not be coffee hour afterwards. Although, if there’s interest, I may see about continuing virtual coffee hour on Sunday afternoons.
Not all of the changes will be bad, though. We’re looking into ways to record or possibly live-stream services (which I don’t know how to do, but if other pastors who are less technologically able than myself can figure it out, I can probably figure it out too). But we’d like to continue offering a way to access worship online for anyone who is unable to attend in person, or anyone we’d encourage not to attend in person.
I’m also going to try to start gearing my sermons to get even shorter. I think my longest ever clocked in at 22 minutes. Average is about 14 minutes. I’m going to be looking to deliver messages in under 8 minutes. Why? Because one thing that we know (or think we know) about this virus, is that transmission depends on viral load. That there needs to be a certain amount of the virus in an area for it to be passed on. And one of the factors that can affect viral load is time. One of the reasons we heard so much about churches being especially risky gatherings for spreading the virus is that they tend to be indoors, with people close together, singing and belting out their voices (and projecting air while they do it), and that they’re together doing these things for a long time. So we’ll be indoors, but with people spaced out, not belting out our voices, for a relatively short amount of time.
The offering will be different. As will communion. There won’t be any more passing the plate around, or sharing a cup. To be honest, I’m still working on the logistics of communion. But for offering, expect to see a single plate near the sanctuary doors as you come in, to just drop your gifts in there as you come or go.
There is a lot for us to figure out. And it’s entirely possible that people will come to church next Sunday, go through the entire worship without singing, without handshakes, without some of the touchstones that tend to keep us balanced through our service… and come away wondering just what on earth it was that they just sat through. Because things will be different – some things may be downright strange.
But the wonderful thing about our liturgy is that it is flexible. There’s room for adaptation. There’s space in it for us to say, “we still need to worship – here’s how we can be wise about it in our current environment.”
So even as things change, some aspects will not. We will still pray together, even if we do so, again, under our breath, through masks, at a distance of 6 feet or more.
We will still share in the good news of the Gospel. And there is plenty of Good News to be found in the Gospel and in God’s Creation, even in the present times.
We will still love each other and lift each other up. I’ve never been part of a more cohesive church family that mourns each others’ sorrows and celebrates each others’ victories as much as this one does. And that’s not changing any time soon.
And we will still give our praise and love to our Lord, Jesus Christ. We approach God humbly, pray to God boldly, receive God’s Word reverently, and respond to God’s call passionately.
These things will never change. Because they are a fundamental part of worship; they are a fundamental part of our relationship with God; they are a fundamental part of who we are and who God created us to be.
So as we look forward to taking our next step in this strange new world, we put our trust in God’s wisdom, God’s faith in us, and God’s gracious love in all of our lives.
To God be all glory, praise, and honor. Amen.
Let us pray.
Holy Lord, we pray that as we begin to look ahead to what is next for our church and our greater community, that you guide our steps with prudence, hope, and love. Kindle our hearts to accept and embrace different ways of worship, as we all seek to honor and glorify you. Make us humble before you, and fill our hearts with your peace. We pray this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.