ON A RECENT Sunday, my pastors asked the congregation to show up for Zoom church with “something to consume during communion.” And let me tell you, if you’ve never had a tortilla chip as the bread and chipotle salsa as the wine then you might be experiencing a lower tier of consecration. Even my dog—who not only considers the lilies, but also pees upon them—ate from the crumbs of my Tostitos and knew something beautiful and mysterious had transpired.
In other words, Zoom church, even with its lag time and pixilation, has had its perks—but one perk, specifically, above all other perks: While the absence of commutes and underwire bras has been noteworthy, the absence of churchy small talk has been paramount.
My trifles with the Passing of the Peace predate and rival my newer fears of the Passing of the Germs. At the age of 8, I had what my therapist called “separation anxiety” and what my older sister called “OHMYGOD Loosen Your Grip on My Forearm, JENNA.” I did not know what to say if the kind, adult Presbyterians asked me, “How’s school?” or the even more terrifyingly open-ended: “How’ve you been?”
But by the age of 9, I’d found a workaround. Right before the third hymn, I’d tell my dad I had to go to the restroom, where I would remain until all the peace was passed and all the post-church lemony sugar water consumed. From the stillness of the corner stall, I could listen to the doxology and feel a tranquility unencumbered by the fear of looming how-are-yous.
By the time I was 10, my parents—on to me—insisted I go to the restroom before church, and so that was the end of that period of peace. Until Zoom church arrived ... with its blessed mute button and “Leave Meeting” always just a click away. Listen, Zoom church was never enough to hold all the grief of COVID-19. But that overflowing of heartache did necessitate a sort of desperate ingenuity. One that showed us that, in a pinch or in a pandemic, a tortilla chip can be a communion wafer. Facebook Live can be a sanctuary. And there are things we can pass other than peace.
For instance, notes. We could pass paper notes!—ah the chitchat of the adolescent introvert. Just imagine the thrill of Rev. Maria calling out your bestie for sliding a piece of paper your way: Bring that note to the pulpit, Bri. Whatever you so-urgently had to share with Jenna you can share with the whole congregation.
I’d also be open to passing a raw egg with a spoon, or passing time (in the rest-room! Or with a ninth verse of “Amazing Grace”!), or just passing out, because in these exhausting times, what is holier than a post-homily nap?
May the peace of Christ be with you, dear ones, and also with your snooze.
Jenna Barnett is the culture editor at Sojourners and the producer of the award-winning podcast Lead Us Not.
Got something to say about what you're reading? We value your feedback!
