Zoom Communion

 for Margaret

communion (noun)
1: an act or instance of sharing
2: a Christian sacrament in which consecrated bread and wine are consumed as memorials of Christ's death

I made the mistake of reading the comments.  Something you should never do – I know! 

It was shortly after the pandemic began, things were shutting down, and the United Methodist Bishops met to discuss the issue of Communion.  Upon deliberation, they agreed that Holy Communion could be conducted remotely, but that it must be live – not recorded.  Enter Zoom Communion.

The United Methodist News Service published the decision.  I saw it on Facebook – and, oh, the comments!  Many (opposed) seemed to base their arguments on what it means to be a “congregation” and to “gather.”  This is impossible, they said, except in person – certainly not online!  (Under my breath I said, “something something, stones, something something, sons of Abraham.”)

As the pandemic drags on, my church has been doing Zoom Communion for several months now.  We gather on a Sunday afternoon.  As we wait for everyone to gather and the inevitable individual technical difficulties are resolved, our pastors ask if there are any prayer requests.  We share, we chat, we greet each other with joy – it has been too long!  We begin with intercessory prayer, and then the familiar liturgy.  

Zoom makes this close-up, and face-to-face.  We see each other in a way we do not when we are sitting in pews, all facing one direction.  In this way, we feel more “gathered” even though we are physically apart.  It is clear that this communion is not just with God, at the altar rail, it is also with each other.

The fruit of the vine…

We bring to our respective tables whatever we have – juice, water, maybe some very un-Methodist wine (no judgment here), bread, crackers, what have you.  It is a real “loaves and fishes” moment.  We are fortunate, my husband and I:  our grape vine has been prolific, and we are well supplied with fresh (and frozen) grape juice.  Every week I make a loaf of sourdough bread.  We fill a cup, set out a plate, light a candle, and launch Zoom on our iPads.  And thus together we “proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.”

Gathering and sharing to mark occasions is something all humans in all places and times do and have done.  We gather to mark births, coming of age, marriage, births again, and eventually death.  We gather in such ways as we are able.  And if we seem cursed to live in a time where physically gathering is dangerous, then the Lord has sent us prophets in the form of computer programmers … who, made in the image of the Creator, have themselves created this thing, this internet, which makes it possible for us to gather after a fashion.

Our hearts break for those women who are giving birth without the loving presence of family to ease the pain, for those who cannot celebrate their bar mitzvahs and quinceaneras and graduations and weddings surrounded by joyful friends.  We especially mourn for those who die alone without the comfort of holding a familiar hand, even as we know the comforting Spirit cannot be kept from the room.  And we pray for and with those who mourn without a mass or a graveside to mark the passage of a loved one.   

And so we gather as we can – by Zoom and Facetime and even an old-fashioned telephone.  We struggle with slow internet connections, and dying batteries, and rejoice that this is even possible.  And we long for a time when we can gather in person again.  

“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face.”