Bright-Eyed and Bushy-Tailed

by Ret David North

You wake up groggily on a Sunday morning, the sun peeking dimly through the curtains that have been mostly shut since last Wednesday—remember? When your uncle on Facebook got to be a little too much to handle and you just had to shut out the world for a while? You pull the curtain open just a bit more to light up the space, but instantly regret it and shut the curtain the rest of the way. Too bright. Not today. You haul yourself out of bed, throw on your bathrobe, and head barefoot to the kitchen to get the coffee maker going. It’s quite possible that your kids are up already, but you’re not sure, since they basically haven’t left their rooms since Monday. For a moment, you’re almost relieved to not be rushing around, shoving yourself into nice clothes while trying to make a “nice” breakfast. Instead of trying to book it out the door to get to church on time, you mosey back to wake up the family before pulling up a Facebook livestream and setting your laptop on the coffee table.

The introductory music is so familiar that it’s easy to tune out as you survey the room. The kids have already poured their bowls of cereal and curled up on the floor, leaning against the couch with cereal bowls sitting atop their pajama’d laps. You’ve said it so many times that it goes without saying: “I’ll make an exception today because I know we’re all tired, but remember, we dress nice for church.” At this point, you and your family are content praying in your pajamas; at least you showered yesterday.

As the livestream continues, your kids are whispering to each other placing bets as to how long the stream will go before latency causes a glitch, and whether this time will be video, audio, or both. “How much of it can we skip this time?” While typically you’d scold them, at least they understand the concept of reverence. Besides, you can’t even remember what half the sermon was about because as soon as the pandemic came up in the conversation, you automatically retreated inside your head, alone with your thoughts. The words “Peace be with you” vaguely float in one ear and out the other, and a small voice in the back of your head mutters, “Gee, I wish.”

Sound familiar? While everyone’s experiences were different, and everyone developed their own consistency in some form or another, worship during the pandemic was and remains an ever-evolving practice. Many of us may not have expected to be continuing the learning process, even while back in-person.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I was working at an Episcopal church with a focused calling in online communications, which at the time involved a great deal of configuring (and frequently troubleshooting) a hasty livestream setup. Without fail, the livestream would glitch every week, and the only question was whether we’d be able to get it back up and running in time for everyone to still be watching. I was deeply involved in the community, constantly texting, and calling back and forth with at least 50 community members a week.

The pandemic may be far from ending, but time has brought many changes. On the weekends, I have now found myself working at a Lutheran church with a focused calling in audio/visual work during services and on behalf of the music program. Services are not livestreamed; they haven’t ever been. Rather, my predecessor recorded services ahead of time and posted them on the website, which most parishioners didn’t (and still don’t) know how to access. As this church returns to in-person services, the physically attending population has decimated, down to only a handful of people in-person on Saturday evenings. This could be for any number of reasons, but it’s certainly on everyone’s minds. I’m not very involved in this community yet but I’m not the only one hesitating, because those who are coming back are still having trouble reconnecting with each other, much less with a brand-new staff member who is a quarter their age.

Communicators, no matter how technologically literate we were at the time, became doubly vital when COVID-19 first struck. Some of us watched as clergy and church administrators got into theological battles over how appropriate it was to hold and broadcast church services online. There was talk of how cheap and shallow we all were, becoming televangelists begging for money on social media and “dumbing down” prayer to the comment section. Meanwhile, parishioners told me how nice it was to see each other in the comment section and how fun it was to incorporate emojis into prayer. One family worked to translate the Lord’s Prayer into emojis to the disgust of several other parishioners watching (most of them over the age of 70). Some were yelling in the comment section about how we should not be talking in church, as if we were gossiping and sinning directly in the Lord’s presence.

With the pressure of these debates came the new critical nature of technology within these services. Those of us putting each livestream or recording together suddenly had a lot more to be concerned about. Aside from how much liturgical silence is poignant enough, which candles to light, or who would read which reading, we had to be concerned about who needed microphones, how to balance the sound going into the camera (and whether we had overloaded the sound input). The musicians had to be placed within the camera’s frame of view, but also had to be far enough apart from each other to be considered safe.

All too familiar for church communications is the plague of numbers, which began to make every service an anxious nightmare. How many people are watching the stream when it happens versus whenever they get to it during the week? Is everyone who used to be in person watching every service? Where were people attending from? Are they actively participating according to the liturgy’s indications and tradition? Is everyone receiving notifications? Is there anyone who doesn’t have access to a device or to internet? What about hearing impairments? Why are livestreams doing better or worse than other social media posts? Are people getting ads during services, and if so, can we control them or eliminate them entirely? How long will it take during a glitch or a crash for people to lose their patience and leave?

For some of us, the experience of “Zoom church” may be a distant memory, as churches across the United States are gradually moving in-person once again. Returning to in-person worship may be a relief: it provides some long-lost consistency, especially in reconnecting with community. It’s nice to see those who don’t have access to a computer, let alone social media, and watch as they rejoice in being able to worship again. The return of structure and predictability is a breath of fresh air.

At the same time, being back in the physical church might feel foreign. Perhaps you feel that your calling has changed, or parts of online worship made it easier for you to feel connected to God, especially in the safety of your own home. On the contrary, some of us may be feeling a total loss of connection to God both at home and in the church; if that’s you, you may be wondering where to turn, or how you ever coped before. If new exploration of spirituality were not enough to worry about, every community is very suddenly grieving the loss of people who died during the virtual times and were never properly mourned.

To make a long story short, coming back is either the release of a burning deep breath or a new challenge entirely. It is important to note, we are either relaxing or recovering, and for the latter, we may not be healed through self-care. In fact, self-care as it is regularly marketed to us as workers can feel trivial and pointless. So how do we return?

Caffeinated Church has always been a platform which aims to enable church communicators and administrators to see themselves as more than the job description, and even more than the church. We feel obligated to tell you that returning in-person, while it comes with its own work from new commitments to reviving old practices, is also first and foremost a time for us to reflect on an individual basis in each of the facets of personability and self-care. Check in with yourself physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and socially. Spend time reflecting on your relationship with your work, with your calling(s), and with God. Spend time reflecting on your personal life. Returning to in-person functionally does not have to be the ultimate relief, as we might all like to see it, but it also does not have to be an uphill battle.

Things have changed. In many ways, the church has been forced to make technological, logistical, and perhaps even liturgical progress. This may be progress we are currently making or that we have set as a goal. This does not exclude personal progress. It does not have to feel as if you are carrying the church on your shoulders. While we admit it is easy to glamourize, the rush to return fully in-person should not have you so over-caffeinated that your work is done on half the necessary amount of sleep. Give yourself space for prayer and reflection, and most of all, give everything some time to breathe.