I attended church online yesterday. It is not my preferred mode of church attendance, but a cold with a persistent cough convinced me to stay home to avoid the possibility of sharing the virus with others. Occasional colds seem to be part of our lives these days. Living close to four grandchildren seems to expose us to periodic viruses that affect us. A couple of colds each year doesn’t seem out of the usual. At any rate, I joined our congregation on facebook and watched the service live. Our congregation has a pretty sophisticated broadcast system, with multiple cameras so it was possible to get a good sense of the service. One thing that I miss when worshiping remotely is that there are no microphones aimed at the congregation, so I can’t hear congregational singing or responses to litanies.

On the other hand, I am able to participate win the service when I might otherwise have simply missed worship in the days before online options. Online worship is one of the legacies of the Covid-19 pandemic.

What I noticed yesterday as I worshiped is how much less connected I was to the service. When I attend church in person, I am aware of the other members of the congregation. I look around and acknowledge the presence of friends and visitors. I pay attention to each element of the worship service. I sing the hymns and sing in the choir. When I am participating remotely, the service is kind of a background to other things that are occurring. I carry my phone with me to the kitchen and set it on the counter while I make a cup of tea, walk to my recliner and sit there for a while, get up and roam around the house. I watch the birds at our backyard feeders and note the rain falling. My mind wanders a great deal more when I am an online participant.

I certainly don’t want to make online participation the standard for my worship life. I’ll be happy to return to in-person worship next week.

I know, however, that there are a lot of people whose participation in church is primarily online. Before I retired, I noticed that there were a certain number of church members who preferred to make a minimal commitment to the congregation. They would worship on Sundays, but would agree to serving on a committee only if the meeting was immediately before or after worship. I used to gently joke about people who give voice to their dedication to Christ, but who were unwilling to make two trips to the church in a week. Now, there is a substantial group of church participants who have an even lower level of commitment. They attend online and then do so only occasionally when they have no other conflicting plans.

While a congregation has room for all sorts of different levels of participation, low commitment leaves those who choose that level without the solid connections to community that is one of the benefits of church membership. When no one notices whether or not you are participating, it is easy to think that your participation doesn’t matter. As an in-person worshiper, I know that when I occasionally miss a worship service, there are others who notice my absence. I received multiple emails from friends inquiring about my health and wondering about my absence yesterday. It is nice to know that you are missed. Those who are simply another online observer of worship don’t have a similar level of connection.

Whether or not I complain about it, however, online worship is here to stay. If I were not retired, I would be seeking to learn as much as possible about how to make online connections. I would figure ways to have real time responses to comments made online. I would seek a system of including online prayer requests in community prayers. I don’t know how all of those dynamics might work, and I’m sure that the process would be imperfect, but I think that dealing with the reality makes a lot more sense than simply saying I don’t like the change.

One of the essential parts of my ministry was outreach to those who are unable to get out to worship. I regularly led worship services in care centers and nursing homes. I visited those who were home bound. I took communion to shut in members. I never was able to do as much of this kind of visitation as I thought I should, and always had a sense that there were some with whom I didn’t connect as well as I might have, but I made it a regular part of my ministry. I worry that the availability of online worship might decrease this sense of the necessity to taking the church to those who cannot attend for pastors now serving congregations. Although yesterday was not a communion Sunday, I know that there is a big difference between being served bread and the cup and being told “Those of you at home gather something to eat and something to drink.” I don’t find online communion to be sacramental. Distance and disconnection don’t build community. I know that whether or not I get a piece of bread and sip something from a glass is not noticed in the community of those attending in person. When I worship in person, I am not thinking of the stories of those who are online as I wait for my turn to receive. It is an entirely different experience.

I suspect that the changes taking place in the church are too big for me to see all of their ramifications in my lifetime. Sometimes major changes in institutions take several generations to play out. Sometimes, however, I wonder what the future holds for the church. I worry about it even though I know that it is beyond my control. I am only beginning to learn to trust God with the future. For me and my generation, however, worshiping in person remains an essential part of belonging to a church.