My home has been crowded. In addition to my two teenage daughters and my wife (currently laid off) we are caring for a precocious six year most days. As a result, I have often broken out from my self-imposed quarantine to seek some space and quiet. In this pursuit I found myself in my parked car memorizing words of greeting and absolution for a practicum when the Discovery Weekend worship began.
I don’t know about you, but whatever novelty virtual worship held for me has quickly waned. There certainly are some advantages: dressing from the waist up, enjoying a cup of coffee and bagel while listening to the Word, or even enjoying the coziness of family joined together in our bed while “attending” worship.
Virtue worship is a controversial descriptor, but it seems apt nomenclature. Worship via screens feels virtual – not real. Our connection seems tenuous, hampered by technical hiccups, awkward pauses, and persistent distractions. We’re all still learning how to leverage our resources, collaborating our creativity, and discovering new forms. Some things work, others do not.
The bar set by APTS’s online worship is high. The passing of the liturgical torch is well coordinated and effective. It’s been a blessing to join in community worship, and I was eager to see how the platform would accommodate the large number of participants anticipated. The liturgy and message were beautiful, as were the hymns. But, at times the muting seemed a little off. In the responsive hymn Eric’s piano was joined by an older frail voice that would drift in and out – apparently unintentionally unmuted in lieu of those chosen to sing. The soft voice punching through on the chorus seemed to echo my own – somewhat tentative on the verses but assured in the refrain. Of the 50+ people logged-in for worship, this random voice caught my heart – wondering who they were, where they were – why they were there – why they were here with me. I closed my eyes – attempting to get closer to them in some way – sitting alone in my car in the parking lot.
The concluding prayer ended with the Lord’s prayer recited in unison. I began to pray out loud, but soon stopped to listen. I’ve always found this prayer to be one of the most meaningful moments of worship – the congregation coming together to speak in one voice the prayer that unifies beyond denomination or theology. Variations in timing, lag, and bandwidth created a cacophony of sounds. Words seemed out of order. Disconnected voices burst forward and subsided into the online din. And, above the voices was a sound similar to wind chimes, or clinking glasses – a digital artifact produced from the inability of the platform to process all of the voices offered in prayer.
It seems that unison prayer may not be best suited for online worship, yet I was struck by the beauty of this moment – the way that the meaning of the prayer was transferred and transposed by the medium. The experience of the prayer was unlike that felt when physically gathered together – when breath and vibration join in the chorus of petition. For me there was something new: magical – mystical – sublime – spiritual – (and yes) sacred in the sound. Even when the individual words could not be discerned, the music made in concert was beautiful. The ineffable presence of the Divine is always present in the disconnected gaps of life, making music from the din of disconnected prayers, and revealing God’s grace as we stumble into the unknown.