With almost everything we know experiencing a digital transformation in the past year, it’s sometimes surreal to think we ever used to actually do things “in person.”
During the past 15 months, we have witnessed work “off-sites” morphing into draining “virtual summits.” Neatly structured plans dissolved into organized chaos before finding their footing in the “new normal.” Playing Settlers of Catan with a board, table, and snacks turned into “bring your own snack” while attempting to replicate the familiar banter over Facetime and Wi-Fi. While some praise the efficiency gained as a result of a virtual event—“I’m so glad we didn’t have to travel for that!”— this format often leaves us wanting.
The Insufficiency of Digital Presence
You may have attended a virtual wedding during the course of the pandemic. The sub-par audio quality, static video frame, and other small squares cheering on mute were never the ideal experience but rather the accepted norms given the circumstances. Feelings of joy for the newly wedded couple coalesced with a sense of lingering discontentment.
I felt like the well-intentioned livestream made me feel like I was being shown a cheapened glimpse of their radiance. The groom was dashing and the bride beautiful, yet for such a sacred event and celebratory occasion, the experience felt incomplete.
You may have attended virtual funerals as well. You witnessed the shuddering of shoulders that could only imply soul-wrenching sorrow. From behind your screen, you realized that the halting moments of silence were not due to Wi-Fi issues but rather due to emotions overwhelming those sharing in memoriam of the deceased. But you only heard echoes of what was in the vicinity of the microphone and could only see from one particular vantage point.
When the stream ended, you were back in your room, grieving in a ringing silence. For such a sacred and somber occasion, the experience felt disrespectful and wrong. While you saw others mourning together, no one could see you.
While neither the wedding nor funeral is primarily about you as an attendee, to be acknowledged in your presence still holds weight.
Being Seen
The phrase “being seen” has proliferated throughout the AAPI community in the past year. In the wake of ongoing anti-Asian hate crimes or even in light of a film like Minari, many in the AAPI community have expressed feeling like the world is now finally seeing their story for the first time. It has emboldened some and empowered others to speak up and no longer be satisfied with being relegated to the fray.
It is shining a light on pain and darkness, boldly declaring that it is “not okay” and that there is a better way forward. It emphasizes that this better way requires community, affinity, and commitment. Crowds have gathered to speak up, boldly, audibly, and visibly.
Yet oddly, this same desire to “be seen” may not extend to the way we view our presence at church. Many of us have slowly tapered off, disengaging bit by bit until it seems like we’re past the point of no return. We don’t want a light to shine on our personal pain and darkness. We don’t want to be told that the sins we indulge in are “not okay,” and we’re afraid of what people would think if they found out about the sins committed against us because we have tried so hard to erase them from existence.
While some of us have legitimate reasons which preclude us from worshipping in person just yet, others of us have grown so comfortable in our secluded pandemic lifestyle that the very thought of having to socialize with a room after service (even at limited capacity) triggers negative body language and anxiety. Reflecting upon relationships, you recognize that once-budding friendships fell apart during the pandemic because they weren’t rooted enough. Even the foundational relationships you had were challenged and perhaps broken.
You may have even realized that your church involvement prior to the onset of the pandemic was superficial, even if frequent. You went to “get something out of it” or “start your week right”—for strictly habitual and social reasons. Now, you’d rather not have to interact with “that person” or make the trek because it all does not seem really worth it—but you still consider the threads of your relationship with Jesus to be important.
Perhaps you feel conflicted, oscillating somewhere between resentment, apathy, or shame for feeling these or other things. It’s easier to continue on with this “new normal” rather than to try to go back to the way things were, or figure out a new way forward.
But consider for a moment these conflicting feelings as a part of God’s grace — dissatisfaction with the way things were can lead you to deeper and more fulfilling fellowship with him. But God sees me, isn’t that enough? To skirt meeting others face to face will certainly help to avoid certain inconveniences, yet in perpetuity, it will rob you.
Sure, no one will see how the COVID weight you’ve gained, or how your face has broken out due to constant mask-wearing. But if you never come back, no one will notice something is off about your body language—the way it droops and slants because of the crushing disappointment of a miscarriage. No one will realize that you actually are going through a divorce and are temporarily staying with family. They won’t see you trying to hold onto threads of hope, all the while knowing that your close kin’s battle with cancer is nearing its final end.
Likewise, you won’t see many things either—that newcomer who is sitting in a far corner, his mind teeming with so many questions while hearing the gospel for the very first time. Or sense the long-time attendee next to you, who is worshipping in person after a year-long hiatus, so overjoyed just to be with beloved brothers and sisters all raising up a sonorous melody to the Lord.
Embodied Community
Sunday worship is first and foremost about worshipping God. It is both somber, as we recognize the destructive implications of rampant sin, and celebratory, as we praise him for raising Jesus, defeating death, and imparting to us eternal life.
Worship is meant to be raised the way God intended—in an embodied community. When we say, “Hallelujah,” we, along with so many who came before us, are actually calling upon a group of people to praise God. In addition, an embodied community that is deeply rooted in the Word of God can be a healing and powerful force, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer so aptly expressed in his book, Life Together:
When one person is struck by the Word, he speaks it to others. God has willed that we should seek and find His living Word in the witness of a brother… Therefore, the Christian needs another Christian who speaks God’s Word to him. He needs him again and again when he becomes uncertain and discouraged, for by himself he cannot help himself without belying the truth. He needs his brother solely because of Jesus Christ.
Experiencing the embodied community of the church doesn’t allow us to selectively choose our interactions. We will inevitably do life with those who make us uncomfortable, vice versa. At the same time, physical presence alone is not enough. To be physically present with a hurting friend but emotionally absent can be more damaging than being absent altogether. Yet doing spontaneous life together will help us to see more than just a finite vignette through a camera lens. From this starting point and through the Spirit’s prodding, we will hear and sense things that can lead us to recognize opportunities to minister to and more fully love others.
Brothers and sisters — I long for your honest presence, and I humbly offer you mine.