On and off for the last week, I've thought about my objection to so-called virtual Communion. (For those of you not oriented toward the inside baseball aspects of mainline Protestant Christianity, you are free to stop reading here. This debate is our version of discussing the merits of different fonts on a PowerPoint presentation for the Sales world) But, just like Neil Young sang, "Though my problems are meaningless, that don't make them go away." 

So-called virtual Communion and its accompanying cousins of Drive-Thru Communion or the more costly Drone Delivery of Communion are alternative ways for the Sacrament of Holy Communion to continue to be practiced during these days of sequestered Christian worship. The primary justification is that it's legit for a Pastor to stand in the sanctuary or their kitchen table, consecrate bread and wine and then invite viewers sitting in their place of residence to partake of bread and wine.

There's a bit of a theological debate going on as to whether or not this is, for lack of a better word, "Okay."  I'll confess to a limited reading of the online chatter, nor have I read the histrionics by some self-proclaimed blogosphere theologians. It’s not worth the time. I have also not read much of the theologically sophisticated writings making the case against the practice. The exceptions being a short piece by Tim Wengert & Gordan Lathrop, and the excellent article by Dirk Lange. 

"Okay, Hazelwood, so you've not read much. That means you have no qualifications to speak on this matter." 

Fair enough. But, I will, because…well, it's the age of the internet, and honestly, the chocolate chip cookie supply has just been exhausted. What else am I going to do?

My two main objections to this rush to legitimize virtual Communion are Hastiness and Lament.

Lament. Despite a rich tradition in the Hebrew Bible, lament gets short shrift in US American Christianity, heck in the general culture at large. US Americans don't do lament very well. We don't do grief very well.  We are quick to move on and are always seeking to move to solutions, answers, and an optimistic outcome. There is a reason for lightly attended Good Friday worship here.  Contrast that with Latin American Christianity, where it's the most important day of the Christian year, and many people skip Easter altogether. Walter Brueggeman has pointed out the lack of Lament Psalms in the Revised Common Lectionary (A schedule of scripture readings for Sunday worship) 

US Americans are lament avoidant. That condition has not made it into the latest DSM 5 (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders), but a strong case has merit.

How does this relate to the topic of Virtual Communion? As I see it, the rush to legitimize the practice is, at its essence, an attempt to avoid or dismiss the grief we are experiencing around not being able to gather in person for worship. In-person worship is the one practice we Christians have that makes us unique. Whether it's the simple gathering of people one hasn't seen in a week, or the joining together for singing, reading of scripture, listening to story and Word through to the meal and subsequent sending. In this time of CV19, we are not able to do that, and we are grieving that loss. (Along with the loss of a whole host of other activities, and even our general way of living) 

The rush to an online version of Communion is an avoidant tactic.

We are avoiding the deeper issues of loss, loneliness, isolation, work loss, routine loss, and just the general realization that we US Americans aren't as powerful as we thought we were. A tiny bug can bring our whole way of life, our economy, and even our lives to a halt. My sense of power and authority, especially if I'm a person of some means, education, and skin color, has been brought low. Instead of acknowledging that that is what is the deeper issue, we want to seek a quick fix solution, and virtual Communion is the cause du jour.  

Our congregations, our people, need an incarnational touch in these times. Some want to argue in favor of online Virtual Communion. I'm making the case that a telephone call from a person in the congregation asking, "How are you doing?" is medicine more appropriate to the need.  There is a lot of grace communicated in our congregations organizing care teams, and people are responding.

Hastiness. One might think that I am about to go down the path of criticizing those advocates of virtual Communion for their hasty theological thinking. That's not my plan. That debate is already happening. The lightsabers on all sides readied, and the dark and light side of the force is with each – I just can't figure out who is who, but I'm sure as Bob Dylan once reminded us, God is on our Side. I'm inclined to suggest a Lutheran both/and paradox might be more appropriate, but I've got other things to do. Oh, wait, I just did recommend.  Anyway…

My hastiness argument is an extension of the lament. Hear me out, or if you are bored already, move onto a new episode of the Netflix series "Ozark." I think we move to quick-fix solutions when we do not want to do the hard thing. We choose the easy way when we have an opportunity to embrace this time of fast as a discipline that could reveal ancient/future ways of being the church in isolation.  On some intuitive level, I suspected this to be true. But, then last Thursday I was confronted with the reality.

During our Synod Worship & Spiritual Life Team meeting, I listened as person after person described the many and various ways they were planning for Holy Week. Congregations were partnering for joint online Easter vigils, creative tactile home Holy Week kits; fun uses of water for Baptism remembrances, interactive engagements online, more substantive coffee hour conversations. A treasure trove of ideas, creativity and imagination are being realized. Some of these may have come about anyway, but I’m convinced that by embracing a temporary fast from Communion, our God-given imaginings expanded.

 Richard Foster at Renovare has reminded us that each of the main streams of Christianity brings both light and shadow into the body. Fasting is one of those streams, mainly from the Roman Catholic tradition, yet misunderstood by the rest of us. Traditionally, the blessing of fasting is that it makes us appreciate what we are missing. But it also stirs in us a more profound desire for what we long for and churns the imagination for other ways, other paths, and other expressions of what we are missing.

 By temporarily pausing from Holy Communion, could it be those other expressions of the body garner energy, thus making our worship life richer?

I've politely asked our New England Synod congregations to view this time as a chance to go deeper. Nearly all have responded by refraining from online Communion. My approach has not been heavy-handed because that doesn't get us anywhere either. What I'm attempting to do, in my inept way, is to ask us all to engage in a more thoughtful approach to our decision making. Is there a time to talk about how we might acknowledge the new world that is coming? We should, and we will. But, while we are in this brief time of protecting our loved ones, securing our health care system, and learning to live without one form of worship; let's use this as an opportunity to learn from lament and be creative in our engagement in worship, discipleship, and congregational life. 

(Edited - 4:15 p.m. EDT 3/29/20 - A thoughtful reader helped me see the wisdom of using a better word. Hastiness more accurately reflects my intent, rather than the original title Laziness)