The role of church in the pandemic
Every fall, when it’s not a pandemic at least, I take the girls to the Tennessee State Fair. The smells of cotton candy and deep-fried Oreos fill the air. We watch the goat race and hit up the bumper cars. The best stories always come from the Fun House, though. It doesn’t seem to have changed much since my dad took me thirty years ago. The floors move. The room spins. A mirror maze always produces some laughs and bruised noggins. We love it because it makes everything weird, in a silly way. It throws us off balance, in a fun way. It disorients us, until we find the exit.
That’s the thing though. A Fun House has a clear exit. Pandemics don’t.
Certainly, we hope and pray for a vaccine, and the news on that front surely seems encouraging. Still, a lack of clear end to all of this looms large. This perpetual Fun House moment has been hard to describe. One of my favorite observations has been watching the way we quickly ran out of words to describe it-unprecedented, weird, odd, unforeseen, surreal, uncertain, new normal, and my personal favorite-“these trying times.” All of these terms got old for me quickly, and none seemed to really capture my experience.
But the other day, a friend mentioned the word that perfectly described it all for me-anomie. Yes, this is our current moment. Anomie is “a state or condition of individuals or society characterized by a breakdown or absence of social norms and values, as in the case of uprooted people.” The pandemic has thrown everything off, disrupted our norms, and left us in an uprooted state. I’m watching major league baseball games online with no fans and NBA bubble games in mid-August. My kids sit at computers in our basement for school, and when I’m out in public, I can’t tell if people are smiling or frowning behind their masks. Everything seems a bit off. A Fun House without the fun. Disruption. Anomie.
As a minister, I did what most ministers did in March. Along with others at my church, I scrambled to attempt to do all our normal stuff in a virtual way. Intentions were good. People were patient. Results were mixed. Podcasts. Zoom. Outside, distanced visits with masks. Planning to do more. Cancelling those plans. It all felt like a lot, and as it played out in real time, we did it all without our “go to” skill-human presence. Worship. Service. Pastoral Care. In normal times, we leverage physical proximity to accomplish those aims. Not in these times, though. Worship the LORD your God, just not close together and not in song because of propelled air droplets. Serve your neighbor and show concern for the least of these, but don’t get too near them.
As my church and I valiantly struggled through it, we watched the debates play out in the public square. Most churches abided by government regulations and health expert recommendations. A few didn’t. Conversations spread wondering about the purpose of worship after all. Many pondered the differences between “meeting as church” and “being church.” We all saw social media mantras such “Church has not been cancelled, just the meetings.” Like many others, I spent a lot of time reflecting on how church should function and adapt. What does it mean to be the people of Jesus in this moment? What is the purpose of the church?
Five months in, I’ve been reminded of an ancient truth. In the midst of widespread anomie, to an uprooted globe, the purpose of the church centers on providing a sense of rootedness. The church gives us roots, such as…We are not alone in this universe. God created us. God loves us. God cares about us. Life has purpose and meaning. Jesus shows us what that life of love looks like in practice.
The church is not the root. The church points to the root. Whether it’s on Zoom, livestream, texting, podcasting, or masked and distanced gatherings, the church connects us to stability through communion, encouragement, proclamation, scripture, and prayer. Through these practices, the church offers roots to an uprooted world. When everything feels tenuous, the church shows us something to grab onto and hold. The church offers a steadying hand in the dizzying Fun House.
Last night, I zoomed with a buddy from my church. We talked openly about all we miss. We talked about how weird it was and used all the jargon I’ve grown weary of, such as unprecedented and new normal. We mourned our anomie. But then, we shared how we’re hearing and sensing the voice of God. We told each other we loved each other. We reminded each other of our roots, our hope in a loving God. And as we ended the call, I felt steadier and more balanced than I’d felt an hour before.
This is the role of the church in a pandemic. The church points to a deep rootedness. It’s not the totality of our role or calling. Certainly, churches should lament and serve. But a central purpose, in any age but especially this one, is to root. God exists. Jesus loves us. We are not alone. Life has meaning. The church has shown me all of this over the last five months, and I’m better off because of it. The ground has felt unsteady during this season of anomie, and none of us know how much longer we have to go. I’m tired of it all-Zoom, podcasts, and masked/distanced visits. It’s gotten old, but I’m gonna keep doing it. Life is better with roots.
