Why churches should keep their buildings closed until a vaccine is widely available

As states have started to lift COVID-19 restrictions, "reopening" has become the new cultural and political battleground. Possibly no reopening debate has been as contentious as the reopening of houses of worship. It seems that everyone from the president to the pope has an opinion.

As a church-going Dane County liberal, my inclination is to listen to the public health authorities who caution against returns to mass gatherings like church. And like many Dane County liberals, my unfortunate bias is to cynically dismiss the arguments of those who would rush to reopen church buildings. In my rush to judgment, I imagine that many of the "reopen church now" crowd are less concerned with a return to in-person worship and more concerned with concealing flawed logic behind religious freedom platitudes.

But for a moment, let me attempt to set aside my biases and give the "reopen everything" crowd the benefit of the doubt. Let me imagine that the reopen church crowd is driven by a sincere yearning to return to the close-knit community of their home congregation, to find spiritual sustenance in seeking God while sitting next to their neighbor. Resolving to see this crowd not as the "other" but as fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, let me attempt to thoughtfully and politely explain why it is in all of our best interest not to open church buildings until a COVID-19 vaccine is widely available.

But before I make my case, allow me to state that I know church closings are sincerely difficult for many. I myself genuinely miss seeing my church community each week, in-person. I miss the calm that I experience each time we "pass the peace," the sounds of a peppy postlude played on an organ, the fellowship of coffee and donuts after church. I lament the loss of the sacred space in the sanctuary, where I unplug from digital distractions and the demands of my to-do list for one sweet hour of prayer every Sunday from 10-11 AM. I long to get back to chatting with my church friends, shaking the pastor's hand on the way out the door, and experiencing the small acts of peace and fellowship that I took for granted before the pandemic. And most personally, I grieve when I realize that two baptism dates for my daughter have come and gone, with another soon to pass. That joyful occasion is permanently on hold as I endure some of the disappointment that so many of us have shared in these past eleven weeks. When I suggest that church buildings must remain closed until we have a vaccine, I do so not out of some smug elitist sentiment, but with heartache and sadness.

Churches should keep their buildings closed until the wide availability of a vaccine for several reasons related to science and sound theology of ministry. Since the science is well-documented elsewhere, I won't belabor the points about the risks of mass indoor gatherings during a respiratory pandemic capable of spreading through aerosols. Instead, I'll make three brief points about what church buildings would need to do in order to reopen safely, and how such actions are contrary to the nature of ministry.

If churches were to open their buildings, safety protocols would dictate a phased approach. Churches would perhaps admit twenty-five percent of their typical capacity, then fifty, and so forth. Setting aside the logistical difficulty, such a burden forces church communities to immediately determine who is "in" and who is "out." Pastors and priests would no longer be concerned just with the proclamation of God's word and the administration of the sacraments. They would be concerned with keeping in-person attendance under a specified threshold, ensuring that those in attendance are "healthy enough." They would be tasked with blocking the vulnerable and the elderly at the church door. The pastoral call would be transfigured into something of an ecclesiological bouncer. The moment a church leader says the words "you can't come in, you're not on the list," is the moment that COVID-19 undoes decades of social justice and inclusivity work.

Throughout and beyond this phased approach, church buildings would require social distancing protocols, including physical distancing and masking. Implicitly, safety demands a church building characterized by uniformity. But who would ensure compliance with such protocols? Would the same church leader who takes ticket stubs at the sanctuary door also be tasked with keeping masks on faces and measuring six feet between non-cohabitants? Suddenly, this starts to look like a church that wants you to look like "us" and act like "us," and especially to dress like "us." As churches, we've been down this route too many times. It doesn't take us anywhere we want to go.

And then there's the question of what happens to our expressions of online worship. As 75% worship online while 25% gather in the building, perhaps a church continues to view virtual community as authentic and spiritually edifying. But does this change when the ratio shifts to 50-50? What happens when church leaders admit 75% but 25% remain online? I remain convinced that church in a digital age must be a hybrid experience, both fully online and fully offline. If we pivot too quickly, we risk relegating those worshipping from their living rooms to mere spectators at best, to outsiders at worst.

When we rush to reopen our church buildings, we risk more than the physical safety of our communities. We risk erasing years of efforts to create a church that is more communal, diverse, authentic, and gracious. Regrettably, there appear only to be less-than-ideal options for the time ahead. We can proceed with a phased reopening, knowing the physical and spiritual consequences.

Or we can prayerfully await a vaccine, which may well be widely available in early 2021. As we wait, we can continue to worship together on YouTube, Zoom, and Facebook. We can continue to study what it means to be church in a virtual community, knowing that the future of Christian practice is a future that is equal parts virtual and in-person. Most importantly, we can continue to protect the most vulnerable amongst us, finding innovative ways to support their spiritual, mental, and physical health.

This is not an easy time for any of us, the church included. Let's not make this any harder by putting our faith communities in untenable positions. Let's await a vaccine or widely viable treatment, because we know that in reality, the church was never closed. The grace of God never stopped flowing. Let's keep our doors closed a little while longer while the Spirit dances on, as we pray for the day we'll throw the doors open to all.

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@ryanpanzer is the author of "Grace and Gigabytes: Being Church in a Tech-Shaped Culture," coming December 2020 from Fortress Press.

Book Update! "Grace and Gigabytes: Being Church in a Tech-Shaped Culture"

I learned yesterday that my publisher, Fortress Press, delayed the release date of my book due to uncertainty around COVID-19. Instead of releasing the book on September 1st, Fortress anticipates a new publication date of December 2020 - just in time for the holiday rush!

Ultimately, the delay of a book release represents a trivial inconvenience when compared with the drastic disruptions that continue to affect nearly everything the world had planned for 2020. While I am disappointed by the delay, I completely understand the rationale. At least now I'll be able to focus more energy on coaching and watching football this fall (I hope!).

I still anticipate that the book will bring clarity and inspire innovation amidst a time of deep uncertainty: for church leaders, for church-goers, and for anyone curious about the future of religion. The book will likely be available for pre-order in early November.

As I've observed what churches are doing during the pandemic, I've seen ministry leaders validate the book's core ideas. Churches rapidly learned the tactics and the tools for digital-age ministry. Church leaders quickly discovered how to communicate effectively in digital spaces and how to establish and maintain community through social media. Before the pandemic, fewer than half of churches had a website. Fewer than one out of one-hundred churches used live streaming.

While we don't yet have the data on live-streaming or website launches, we know that churches have truly adapted to the pandemic with remarkable agility. Many have started live-streaming worship, conducting Bible studies over Zoom, and connecting with messaging apps. As I hypothesized when I began work on this book, we already had the potential to use digital tools, we just needed the impetus to get started.

But being church in a tech-shaped culture has always been about more than social feeds and Zoom accounts. Once the pandemic ends, ministry will be about more than one-way streaming and well-organized communications.

That's why I am writing a book that takes a good look at our shared digital culture to explore what it means to do ministry in the digital age, a time of free-falling church attendance and increasing skepticism about the future of religion.

The book identifies four shared cultural values of the digital age, the values of questions, connections, collaboration, and creativity. Drawing on experiences in the tech industry, I explain how these values emerged and how they shape our culture. It tells stories of ministries that have engaged these cultural values and invites readers into a conversation about how these values call the church to change.

Throughout this unprecedented time, I've also heard many church leaders asking questions that align with those posed in the book. What would it look like for churches to cultivate a space for candid questions and raw uncertainty, especially during a time such as this? What would it look like for a church to engage its community as co-creators and collaborators, and not merely as content viewers? And would it take for church leaders to engage all of the stories within their community, instead of a few professionalized perspectives?

In the coming months, I'll share more on this site around these questions as we explore what church will look like in the digital age. With this site, I hope to start a conversation that will culminate with the release of Grace and Gigabytes this December.

So while I'll have to wait a little longer to share the book with you, I look forward to the conversations and questions to come, as we all anticipate a return to togetherness.

Being the church in a social distancing version of Holy Week

Let's allow ourselves plenty of space to lament the disruption of normalcy. Let's grant ourselves permission to grieve the experiences we have lost, the time with friends and family we'll never get back, the memories we had hoped to form that will now exist only as imagination.

Most importantly, let's allow ourselves to step outside the walls of our home, to hold up in thought and prayer those suffering from this pandemic, and especially those risking their lives to provide healthcare and treatment. Let's permit ourselves to dwell within this time of sorrow and sadness, for the times are unprecedented, and the valley appears deep indeed.

But let's not allow ourselves to be misguided by the idea that virtual connection is not "real" connection, or the idea that virtual church is not "real" church.

Though we may call this a period of "social distancing," in reality it is a time of "physical distancing." With YouTube, Zoom, Instagram, Snapchat, TikTok, and countless other tools, we must remain grateful for the opportunity to remain socially connected, albeit in a different way. And we must remember that though we are physically apart, the spirit draws us together all the days of this pandemic.

This Palm Sunday marks the start of a Holy Week different from all other Holy Weeks the church has ever or likely will ever experience.

As we gather in front of phone screens and televisions, with YouTube or Facebook Live, we'll still be connected in a very real way. Though we may wave homemade palms of paper, or no palms at all, the shouts of "Hosanna" will be as real as ever.

Though we may not gather to wash feet or celebrate the Lord' s Supper on Maundy Thursday, Christ's service towards us, and our service towards one another, continue uninterrupted.

Though we may not gather in a church on Good Friday at Noon, our presence at the foot of the cross will be as true as always.

And even though we may not smell the lilies or wear our Sunday best, the tomb will be empty on Easter morning, just as it always will be. In these times where the reality of death is rampant, the promises of Christ's resurrection remain stronger. Though the stone that closes the tomb is heavier than it has ever been, God's commitment to rolling it away is greater still.

Virtual community is indeed real community. Church from home is indeed real church. The cross and the empty tomb are indeed as real as ever. Whether we go to church, lead a church, or have no interest in church, let us pause as we begin this Holy Week journey to realize the many surprising ways that the Spirit continues to draw us together. Let us recognize the many often subtle ways that God is turning the world around for the better. And let us remember that God will empty the tomb, wipe away our tears, and enfold us in the everlasting promises of the Easter season - this week, and all the days of our lives.