Incarnate Savior, Embodied Sacrament: Or, What I Affirm When Rejecting Online Communion

Photo by Jametlene Reskp from Unsplash

This article is part of our Counterpoint series, in which Firebrand explores opposing viewpoints on theological topics. For a different view of online communion, see C. Chappell Temple’s article, “A Case for Online Communion.”

It is easy to be against something. In fact, it seems that much of our social media ecosystem is sustained by the heckler's veto. Outrage drives more engagement than enjoyment, and so our algorithms constantly feed us a steady stream of increasingly vitriolic and conflictive content. In this piece, I hope to say more about what I am for than what I am against.

Oddly, I have been a part of the online communion debate for years. I happened to be serving in North Carolina when this debate suddenly exploded into the UMC conversation in 2013. A church near Charlotte announced they were going to begin an online campus complete with Holy Communion. I was invited to take part in a dialogue of Conference leaders, thanks to a friend who knew of my liturgical interests, and, to my surprise, I ended up writing a twenty-page essay in response.

The question of online communion is not new, but it took on new urgency amidst the COVID-19 pandemic. United Methodist Bishops who had, just a few years ago, collectively issued a moratorium on the practice suddenly began individually authorizing it. Whether bishops have this authority or not is a separate and unfruitful debate. It is worth exploring, however, whether online communion fits within a Wesleyan view of worship and doctrine, and how Christians should think about potential new liturgical practices.

Steelmanning Online Communion

Let's begin with a word of appreciation, by steelmanning the argument for online communion. To steel man is the opposite of the straw man argument; it is a sincere endeavor to put an argument in its strongest possible terms. To my mind, the best Wesleyan case for online communion is as follows.

First, the intention of online communion is wholly positive. For those with progressive theological leanings, online communion is often seen as an act of hospitality and inclusion, a way of ensuring maximum participation for those who otherwise could not be present in person. For those with evangelical impulses, virtual sacraments are often seen as a kind of spiritual entrepreneurship, a way of using emerging technologies to reach new people for Christ.

Second, Wesleyans who practice online communion often do so by claiming adherence to John Wesley's high view of the sacrament. Wesley, who received the eucharist twice a week on average throughout his life, is thus honored by forging a new path to ensure more frequent celebration. Many Methodists who practice virtual sacraments believe they are recognizing what Wesley called the "duty" of frequent communion.

Third, those who propose or practice this new medium for sacramental observance typically claim (or at least presume) an active, powerful, and gracious God in keeping with some of the main currents of Methodist teaching. Digital eucharist assumes a God who is omnipotent, not limited by the physical confines of a worship space, and a God who is graciously reaching out to all humanity (in good Arminian fashion). Likewise, practitioners often narrate a robust pneumatology in keeping with a Wesleyan grammar, trusting that the Holy Spirit is faithful to convey the presence of Christ even to those not physically present at the table. 

But many arguments are not this robust.

Common But Less Convincing Arguments

Contemporary Methodists, especially when it comes to worship, are pragmatists to the core. We tend to argue from utility rather than doctrine. Thus, simplistic arguments tend to reign in these conversations. A common move is to draw an analogy from early Methodist field preaching. This somewhat hackneyed approach rests on a problematic analogy because it assumes anything done with an intention to reach new people for the Kingdom that also makes the "establishment" uncomfortable must be acceptable for Wesleyans. To argue against a new practice is to be just like the close-minded Anglican leaders that marginalized Wesley and his movement, and who doesn't want to be on Wesley's side?

Of course, the chief problem with this analogy is that it has no limiting principle and isn't helpful for determining when or if the effectiveness of a given practice is nullified by its iconoclasm. Are good intent and discomfort from the stodgy really enough to justify anything in worship? Like the so-called Wesleyan Quadrilateral, there is little that couldn't be justified based on the field preaching analogy, and therein lies its deep unhelpfulness.

Another argument, used more recently by United Methodist episcopal leaders in particular, is to claim the pandemic is an "en extremis" scenario in which normal restrictions must be suspended. One of my mentors, Dr. Justus Hunter, has very astutely addressed this already. Suffice it to say United Methodists importing this terminology to justify a new liturgical practice is the theological equivalent of proof texting Scripture. 

As outlined above, the most serious arguments for online communion are theological rather than pragmatic. Loving intent, Wesleyan inheritance, and a robust doctrine of God together constitute the strongest theological case for online sacramental celebration.

To consider whether this case merits a warrant for the church to practice the eucharist online, let's take a step back to discuss the nature of the sacrament.

What is Communion?

Wesleyans are part of the Anglican family; thus we inherited both Catholic and Protestant sensibilities about the sacrament. This means that neither a fully Roman understanding of transubstantiation nor a simple memorialism can best describe a Methodist view of the bread and cup. Charles Wesley's O the Depth of Love Divine puts it well:

O the depth of love divine, the unfathomable grace!
Who shall say how bread and wine God into us conveys!
How the bread his flesh imparts,
how the wine transmits his blood,
fills his faithful people’s hearts
with all the life of God!

The Methodist family has typically steered clear of scholastic arguments over the precise mechanism by which the Lord's Supper conveys grace. We take it on faith that God keeps God's promises. When we baptize an infant (or an adult), we trust God to show up. When we gather around Christ's table, we similarly believe that -- even if we can't fully explain how -- Christ is present. 

This is also reflected in the Articles of Religion. Article 18, "Of the Lord's Supper," specifically names the Supper as a sacrament and states that in this meal there is a "partaking" of the body of Christ and the blood of Christ. (This language is picked up in the United Methodist Hymnal as part of the Great Thanksgiving.) Yet immediately the Article goes on to deny transubstantiation and further clarify: "The body of Christ is given, taken, and eaten in the Supper, only after a heavenly and spiritual manner."

The bread and wine (or Welch's) remain themselves and yet convey, in a manner received by faith, true grace. The sacrament is spiritual but not immaterial; the body and blood of Christ are there "for us," somehow in and through this sacred meal. 

Jesus is present with us at the table. This begs the question: who is Jesus?

Who Sets the Table?

The most concise and clearest answer to this question comes from the New Testament, "Jesus is Lord" (1 Cor. 12:3). The creeds and councils of the first centuries of the Church also tell us that Jesus was fully human and fully divine. This point should carry a lot of freight for how we understand Holy Communion.

The gospels go to great lengths to make clear that, after the resurrection, Jesus is not simply a vision, a figment of the imagination, or a ghost. The closing chapters of Luke's gospel tell us explicitly that some thought Jesus was a poltergeist until they saw him eating and drinking. Jesus, then, remains embodied and yet transformed -- physical and yet transcendent of the merely physical. Jesus returned in flesh and blood to eat and drink and embrace his disciples in a genuine, incarnated community.

Whatever else Christians say about the "real presence" of Jesus, it must be a physical presence both on the table and around the table. This is, of course, part of how Protestants define the sacraments themselves. Matter matters to God, and in these sacraments the Spirit transforms the work of human hands into a means of grace for the gathered Body. The material becomes capable of divinity. 

For a tradition steeped in the high calling of entire sanctification, for a people who believe the holy God longs to make us holy, this understanding of sacraments is natural. It follows, therefore, that a Wesleyan understanding of the sacrament involves sanctified physical signs then received in faith by an embodied community. 

This raises a further question: why couldn't Jesus be truly present in non-physical forms and gatherings?

Propriety Over Possibility

In short, this is the wrong question to ask. Jesus could do anything. Jesus is, in N.T. Wright's lovely phrasing, "Israel's Messiah and the world's true Lord." He is Alpha and Omega, the judge of the living and the dead, and his Kingdom will have no end. But this does not help us determine whether online communion is a fitting form of sacramental observance.

It is better to ask, "How does the way in which we celebrate fit the story, person, and ministry of Jesus?" As Neil Postman observed in his prescient Amusing Ourselves to Death, the technologies we employ shape the content they convey. Medium and message are not so easily separated.

As suggested above, the maximally charitable reading of online communion is that it seeks to fulfill the Missio Dei; it makes sense of a God who condescended in Jesus, who "made himself nothing" (Phil. 2) to become available (even over digital and other media, some suggest) to those who would otherwise not be able to receive this means of grace. For Wesleyans, "submitt[ing] to be more vile" is second nature.

But how does this manner of sacramental celebration fit with the whole narrative of Jesus? Jesus was incarnate. The Son of God took on flesh "for us and for our salvation," in the words of the Creed. Moreover, Jesus was deeply embedded in human community throughout his life, first through his family and later through his disciples. He fed people, blessed children, healed the sick, washed feet and had his feet washed. This is an embodied savior who ministers in embodied ways.

From Communion to Consumers

To excarnate the sacrament, even with the best of intentions, is to go against the grain of the gospel narratives. The presence of Jesus becomes a specter, and the eucharist becomes just one more product we can have through a screen with a few clicks (or, if you're an Amazon Prime member, just one click). The sacrament is thereby stripped of its embodied community and made into a commodity, and rather than Christ setting the table for the gathered body, we scatter to private enclaves and receive as isolated individuals (or families) rather than joining the whole community.

None of this is to suggest that pastors who practice and parishioners who receive Communion over wi-fi do not have a genuine experience of grace. Of course Christ can meet people in this way. In a similar way, there is value to listening to a sermon via a podcast or, for a previous generation, watching a Billy Graham crusade on national TV. But experience is not where Wesleyans begin when it comes to divine things. We begin with Scripture. And the Jesus of Scripture is the Christ of flesh and blood. 

Digital ministries have great value, as many of us have been forced to learn during the pandemic. But the sacraments are among the chief treasures that God has given the church. We should approach significant alterations to these gifts with humility and prayer. Might it be that the sacrament by which our Lord's real presence is consumed is best celebrated in ways that maximize the physicality of the bread and cup and the (face-to-face) gathering of the faithful?

The medium cannot be fully divorced from the message. Digital connection is significant, but not a complete replacement for an embodied community.

A personal example: Instagram knows that I like steak, and so my instagram feed constantly suggests famous chefs, fancy knives, and grill aficionados. It is interesting to watch people cook, but it is not the same as eating. Likewise, my wife and I enjoyed watching Hamilton on Disney+, but we were under no impression that our couch was any match for Broadway.

Let us not settle for anything less than real (incarnated) presence. Jesus, though not limited by space and time, was no ghost. Let us keep the feast in ways that honor the host. If I must reject online communion, it is because what the Church affirms in the sacrament is so powerful, so beautiful, so grace-filled, that it is worth being celebrated in its fullness.

More Faithful Responses

That said, online communion is a new practice that, while it may be ill-conceived, it is not ill-intended. There is a real need to be met that this seeks to fulfill. Fortunately, God has already gifted the church with several better alternatives: spiritual communion, love feasts, and visitation.

Spiritual Communion originated in situations where Christians had no priest to celebrate the mass (think of far flung missions or military outposts, or situations of oppression or imprisonment). Roman Catholics and Anglicans will acknowledge the need of the faithful who cannot be present and invite them to partake of a spiritual communion, trusting that Christ is truly present to them even if they are absent from the sacrament. Here is one example of this service from the National Cathedral.

Second, love feasts are a classic Wesleyan practice that can also serve as a fitting substitute when the eucharist is not possible. No one regards love feasts as a sacrament, but they are certainly a means of grace and a celebration of Christ's love in the form of a meal. Borrowed from Methodism's Moravian forebears, this is an option that deserves more attention from contemporary Wesleyans.

Finally, the most effective response to a Christian community scattered by illness or geography or other impediment is also the simplest: visitation. While it is against the Methodist Articles of Religion to reserve that sacrament in the manner of some churches, it is fully within a Wesleyan understanding of the sacrament to extend that table to those not able to be present in a timely manner. This is an excellent ministry for a local church, in which the consecrated elements are brought from the primary gathering of the community to those unable to attend. This response is a longstanding ministry that still deserves our attention today. (See p. 22 of This Holy Mystery for more.)

Conclusion

This essay has sought to take seriously the beauty of the sacrament and the deep spiritual need felt by God's people that only the eucharist can fulfill. We have seen that there is a theological case, even a Wesleyan case, for a digitally celebrated eucharist, and conceded that God's grace is powerful enough to meet people in this medium.

We also asked whether this form of celebration is appropriate to the story of Jesus. We saw how the whole course of Jesus' life and ministry, from being born of Mary, to calling his disciples, to eating and drinking, was deeply embodied. We concluded that regardless of what God can do -- which is, for classical theists, truly anything -- the church must be careful in deciding what we should do. God is always the primary agent in the sacraments, and we are called to be faithful stewards of these mysteries. While God can do anything, radically altering the sacrament in this way strikes me as dangerously akin to putting God to the test.

We do not faithfully tend the holy presence of an incarnate savior by digitizing it. This would be closer to a Gnostic vision than a Christian vision; Gnostics viewed the body as inherently evil and salvation as escaping the bonds of physicality. Christians, by contrast, view God's creation, including the body, as a good gift that will be fully redeemed in the Kingdom (of which the sacrament is a sign and foretaste).

Medium and message are not so easily divorced. In an age in which adolescents are choosing pornography over relationships, in which loneliness is epidemic despite our digital connectivity, and we are encouraged at every turn to be consumers of things rather than be in communion with others, we would do well to resist the reduction of the sacrament to one more pixelated product. Jesus is not an avatar, the church is not a platform, and communion is spiritual, but it is not immaterial. The hard work of embodied community will only become more important in a wired and yet increasingly distant world that confuses a wi-fi connection with intimate communion. In such a world, a robustly incarnate Church is best prepared to offer the body and blood of the risen Christ in the eucharist. The glorious mystery of an incarnate savior is worthy of a fully embodied sacrament.

Rev. Dr. Drew McIntyre is an Elder in the Western North Carolina Conference and the pastor of Grace United Methodist Church in Greensboro, NC. To read more from Drew, visit his blog: https://drewbmcintyre.com/.