The Case for Virtual Communion
Photo by James Jadotte 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 Drew McIntyre’s article, “Incarnate Savior, Embodied Sacrament: Or, What I Affirm When Rejecting Online Communion.”
Hopefully we're on the homeward stretch at last. For at least in the United States, as vaccinations have increased since January, so too have the openings of numerous segments of society, including many churches that were largely closed during the past year-and-a-half. Even as more congregations are moving back to in-person worship, however, there's one pandemic pattern that is likely not to change, and that is the emergence of virtual corporate worship.
According to some surveys, in fact, perhaps as many as one-quarter of faithful churchgoers now prefer the online option, not just when they are sick or out of town, but regularly. And that projection matches up with another statistic that every pastor knows all too well, namely, that the number of times that the average church member attends in-person worship has sadly been declining over the past half-century. All of this means that churches will need to continue offering robust live-streaming and on-demand options if they want to grow, connect with their congregants, and reach new individuals, even after they are fully open to in-person worship once more.
In turn, however, that raises the question for many as to whether or not Holy Communion can be shared in such a virtual setting. Earlier in the pandemic, several bishops and others issued guidance discouraging such practices, arguing that our sacramental understanding requires a physical connection for the elements of bread and juice to be properly blessed and shared. And that in turn, led many pastors to try to find creative ways to do so, such as drive-through and parking lot services. But is physical proximity really a requirement for sharing the koinonia meal of the church?
Three things would argue against the idea. First, mere physicality never seemed to be all that necessary for Jesus to work in the lives of others. In at least three instances in the gospels, for instance, it is clear that Jesus actually healed individuals without ever coming into contact with them. Mark 7.24-30 and Matthew 15.21-28 tell of a non-Jewish woman (that's a whole other story) who once came to Jesus asking that He heal her daughter who was oppressed by demons. Even though Jesus replied that it was not appropriate to "take the children's bread and toss it to the dogs," the woman's faith was strong enough for her to proclaim that even "crumbs" from the table of the Lord would be enough to effect the healing. And impressed by that response, Jesus not only commended the woman for her faith but granted her request. In fact, though He never came within sight of the girl, she was healed at that very moment.
In a similar way, another Gentile, this one a Roman centurion, also came to Jesus despite the religious differences involved, believing that the Master could perform a miracle in the life of his servant who was sick unto death. As told in Matthew 8.5-13 and Luke 7.1-10, though Jesus then offered to come to the soldier's home to perform the healing, the centurion replied that he was not worthy to have Jesus do so. Instead, as a man under the authority of others himself, he understood the authority of Jesus and so he requested that the Lord simply speak the word, trusting that his servant would then be healed. Jesus did so and at that moment, so the gospels tell us, that servant too was indeed healed, but not before Jesus told those around Him that He had not found such great faith in anyone in Israel.
John 4.43-54 records that another official from Capernaum, this one a royal emissary, came to find the Master in Cana in order to beg him to come and heal his own son who was also close to death. Though Jesus declined to walk the sixteen miles back with him, chastising the man for his rather tepid faith, He nonetheless told the official to return home and he would find that his son had been healed. And sure enough, when the man arrived back in Capernaum he discovered that the boy's fever had left him at the exact moment that Jesus pronounced it so.
In each of these instances we find that the one needing healing never physically touched or even saw Jesus. And yet because of the intercession of someone who cared for them enough to go to Jesus on their behalf, those individuals were indeed healed. All of this suggests that when it came to changing people's lives and fortunes for the better, Jesus was never limited to only those with whom He could share physical proximity. It is thus reasonable to suggest that such physicality need not be a requirement for the efficacious sharing of the body and blood of Christ in the life of another either. All that is necessary is that there is the presence of faith on the part of someone, no matter how great or small it may be.
Secondly, the well-known concept of the "communion of the saints," or communio sanctorum, suggests that there is a spiritual union between all of the members of the Christian family who together constitute one mystical body with Christ as the head. Indeed, as suggested in such places as Romans 12.4-13 and 1 Corinthians 12.12-27, the interconnectedness of all who believe is a cardinal principle of the faith, including not merely those in the Church Militant here on earth but those who constitute the Church Triumphant in Heaven. Hebrews 12.1 even proclaims that we are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses, all of whom will presumably share in the great wedding supper or bridal feast of the Lamb, à la Revelation 19.7.
What's more, the language of banquets and feasts in the kingdom of heaven is found throughout St. Matthew's gospel, and we invoke the imagery not just on All Saints Day but each time we gather around the Lord's Table. And in that respect, a fuller understanding of the meaning of communion should point us not simply back to the Last Supper, in any kind of morbid re-creation manner, but to that joyful feast yet to come one day. It's not out of bounds, in fact, to even think of the eucharist as a kind of "tasting party" for the bridal supper to which we have all been invited.
Horatius Bonar understood this idea well. Inspired by Revelation 19, he penned the words to perhaps the most elegant communion song in the Methodist hymnal, "Here, O My Lord, I See Thee." The words of his hymn invite us, in fact, not simply to "the hour of banquet and of song," but to a "heavenly table spread" for us and a hallowed hour of fellowship with Christ. It is in the closing two verses of his words, however, that Bonar hints at something which is often overlooked in the all-too-common roteness of our ritual:
Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;
the feast, though not the love, is past and gone,
the bread and wine remove,
but Thou art here, nearer than ever,
still my shield and sun.
Feast after feast thus comes and passes by;
yet, passing, points to the glad feast above,
giving sweet foretaste of the festal joy,
the Lamb's great bridal feast of bliss and love.
What does this have to do with the notion of virtual communion, one may ask? The point is simply that when we gather at the Lord's Table, we proclaim that we are indeed in holy communion not just with those who may kneel beside us, but with all of those who have gone before us and now celebrate in the celestial realms of heaven. And in such union, there is no restriction based upon being in the same physical setting, or even on one side of heaven or the other.
This brings us to the third reason for not just allowing, but even embracing, the notion of a non-geographical table when it comes to celebrating the Lord's Supper. And that is that as followers of the Wesleys, we have been called to "serve the present age," as Brother Charles once penned it. The gift of God during the pandemic has been the deeper discovery of how to relate to others virtually as well as physically. Though most folks are by now fairly "zoomed out" when it comes to the ubiquitous use of technology, the ability to be present with others despite distance (whether occasioned by quarantines or other reasons) has been a wonderful provision of God for remaining in koinonia/communion with many. (Most Sundays, for example, my grandchildren in England and their parents worship with us here in Texas, though our morning service comes about at their dinnertime.) What's more, ironically enough, the worship attendance of many folks using this technology has actually increased since the pandemic began.
To be sure, the practice of live streaming worship services, as opposed to simply pre-recording them, has created a temporal connection with folks, even if a physical one is not present. But if all are indeed gathered together at least online, even while scattered apart, there would seem to be no good reason to prevent the sharing of the Lord's Supper as well as the preaching of the Word of God via this medium. For it is only rank sacerdotalism that suggests that the power of the Eucharist lies in any ordination-enhanced capacity of priests or pastors who are physically present at an altar to consecrate the bread and juice, and not in the bread and juice themselves as symbols of something far greater.
In this regard, the words of St. Paul to the Corinthians in chapter eleven of his first letter are a clear signal that the ordained among us have a responsibility to protect the sacraments--and those who receive them-- from a less-than-worthy understanding or questionable practice. But such is balanced out with the Reformation principle of the "priesthood of all believers" which clarifies that clergy, though accountable, do not have a monopoly on regulating the sharing of the bread and juice at the table of the Lord.
How then does virtual communion work in a congregational setting? Again, sharing it simultaneously even if separately seems to be significant. Likewise, it is important to advise in advance congregants who are worshiping online to be ready for that part of the service, by having secured their own bread and juice, either in a prepackaged communion cup or otherwise. And the liturgy should reflect this broader understanding of the table. After the prayer of confession, the ritual we have developed at my local congregation in Houston during this season, for use both by those who are present in the sanctuary and those who are with us online, thus invokes the presence of God with the following words:
Come now, O Lord, and visit us Your people in our homes and in our hearts as we share in this sacrament. As You have invited us to Your Table, so we now invite You to our own, here and in rooms all across the community and even across the world. Pour out Your Holy Spirit on all everywhere who are gathered with us this day, and on the gifts of bread and juice which we have brought. Make them be as for us the Body and Blood of Christ, that we might be the Body of Christ, redeemed by His Blood for the world. Grant that we who receive these elements--wherever we may be--may be drawn closer to You in this moment. And by Your Spirit make us one with You, O Christ, one with each other, and one in ministry to all the world, until You return and we feast with all of the saints at Your table in Heaven. Through You, Son of God, with Everlasting Father and the Holy Spirit, in Your Holy Church, be all honor and glory now and forever. Amen.
Likewise, after receiving both elements, a prayer of thanksgiving is made that says simply, "Lord, thank You that wherever we may be in this world, You are yet with us. Our communion is in You and with You, now and forever. Amen."
To be certain, there is a power in being able to touch those with whom we may share the sacrament, placing the bread into their hands and holding the cup in our own as a shepherd of God's people. And as a pastor, I have often been moved by the simple sight of the faithful standing patiently in line until their place at the altar is open. But the Great Thanksgiving really is great enough to incorporate any and all who may not be in the same physical space as we are, but who are ready to share in the same spiritual moment or experience.
Modifying the rituals used by our congregation at Christ Church to allow for this enlarged understanding of the Table kept our communicants fed and connected in the months that our doors were closed but our services were conducted via livestream. And it has continued to do so even after our re-opening for those who are unable to join us in person still. As we hopefully move past the pandemic, perhaps this is one modification that others might wish to make in their thinking, therefore, remembering that it is not really our Table, but His.
C. Chappell Temple is an elder in the Texas Annual Conference and adjunct professor in the areas of United Methodist history, doctrine, and polity.