Last Sunday has been called one of the most unusual Sundays in the history of the Christianity – and I don’t think that’s an exaggeration. It was a day when the majority of Christians across the world were either not permitted to gather to worship or considered it inadvisable to do so.
Church leaders around the world spent the week leading up to it scrambling to decide what to do instead. Some churches held drive in services in their car parks, with people staying in their cars and rolling down their windows to listen to the sermon and join in the singing. Others, like Stranraer Baptist Church, had the minister pre-record a service and put it online around the time people would normally be meeting together. Many, like ourselves, livestreamed a service – in other words the minister preaching to a camera, with congregants able to watch the service live via facebook, youtube or a plethora of other video-sharing platforms.
Whatever the medium however, the message that was proclaimed sought to make sense of this crisis and provide comfort to those facing worries about their health, their job and even their very lives. A number of fellow ministers turned to the familiar words of Psalm 121 – ‘I lift up my eyes to the hills. From where does my help come? My help comes from the LORD, who made heaven and earth’. Others turned to the 46th psalm, which was a favourite of Martin Luther: ‘God is our refuge and our strength, in trouble our sure aid’. Some sought to bring comfort to their people from Philippians 4v6: ‘do not be anxious about anything’. I turned to Isaiah 8v12: ‘do not fear what they fear’.
Although it was strange and sad not to be able to meet together with other believers, many testified to a comfort they received that went beyond what any mere human words could bring.
One question that myself and other ministers have been asked is whether this is a sign of God’s judgement on us. An article in Monday’s Times called the Archbishop of Canterbury’s broadcast service the previous day ‘anaemic’ and noted that ‘once upon a time a plague might have prompted our religious leaders to demand we put on sackcloth…or perhaps they would have thunderously blamed the coronavirus on our decadent, sinful lives’.
In his day, Jesus told his followers that those who had been killed in a couple of local disasters were not actually any worse sinners than any others (Luke 13:1-5) – and yet he did use it as an opportunity to call people to repent. So we can’t make dogmatic pronouncements about why this virus has struck, but Amos 3v6, which another friend preached from, is still true: ‘Does disaster come to a city, unless the LORD has done it?’
Of course, many ministers have ditched the Biblical rhetoric altogether, other than for vague pleas for us to ‘love one another’. However, as the Times review of Welby’s efforts at ‘well-meaning spiritual consolation’ concluded, ‘This was all very nice but I wasn’t quite sure I trusted him with my soul’.
Whether we go down the road of blaming the virus on peoples’ decadent, sinful lives or not, the last few weeks have certainly brought to light an ugly side of human nature that we would like to pretend isn’t there.
Certainly, there have been stories of compassion. Some have rallied valiantly to care for the self-isolating. And yet there have also been headlines about people bulk buying disinfectant wipes and hand sanitiser in order to sell it on at a profit. Doctors have reported hygiene levels on wards slipping because people are stealing hand gel from the end of patients’ beds. And it’s not just a few selfish individuals. In the last three weeks Britons have spent £1 billion stockpiling food. When NHS workers do manage to make it to the shops, they’re often confronted with empty shelves.
One thing the pandemic has done is reveal what’s really important to us – and often it’s not pretty. If we don’t examine our own lives in the light of such an unprecedented crisis, we never will.
How long these ‘virtual’ Sundays will go on for is hard to know. One thing’s for certain – when we are able to meet together again, we will rejoice in the privilege like never before.
Next Sunday morning I plan to begin a series on what’s been called ‘The greatest chapter in the Bible’. Romans chapter 8 speaks of a love that even death itself can’t separate us from. And from the comfort of your own home, you’re very welcome to join us.
Published in the Stranraer & Wigtownshire Free Press, 26th March 2020