Action at a distance

Reflecting on the importance of space, as in my last post, leads quite neatly into another church debate which has taken off on social media. Or at least on Twitter, which is the one I tend to look at. In these times of isolation, with worship being done at a distance, via live streaming, conference software, and so on, can we do Holy Communion at a distance? Is it OK for each of us to eat bread and sip wine in our own home, and in doing so partake of the eucharist?

The predominant answer seems to be no. A quite resounding no, in fact. Writing a few weeks ago in the Church Times, Angela Tilby referred to the bishop of Western Louisiana, who had initially given permission for this form of communion, but had withdrawn it, partly, apparently, because it did not fit with the Episcopalian/Anglican eucharistic theology.

This came as a bit of a surprise to me. It’s not that there is no Anglican theology of the eucharist, so much as that there are so many Anglican theologies. I’m sure an Anglican understanding of Communion could somewhere be found which would allow such a practice. Of course, the Book of Common Prayer is officially the gold standard of Anglican theology, and therein should lie the definitive theology of the eucharist for all good members of the Church of England, at least.

However, I seem dimly to recall from long ago lectures that the said theology of the BCP was debated at its first publication, and the length and volume of contradictory scholarly treatments has only grown in the succeeding centuries.

On the other hand, all is not lost. I don’t think that most theological issues really matter here. Is communion possible without a priest? Does a substantive change take place in the bread and wine? Is consecration effected by the priest alone as celebrant, or the whole congregation? Does it occur at certain words in the eucharistic prayer, or is it a process with a beginning and end, but no fixed point between? Is it a re-enactment of the sacrifice of Christ, a simple mnemonic, a bringing of the eternal act of atonement to bear on the discrete celebration of each eucharist or summat else?

Does any of this mean anything to the average worshipper?

Never mind. I’m sure it’s irrelevant to the question in hand, which is, I am convinced, primarily about space.

A eucharist takes place when Christians gather together to share bread and wine in memory of Christ. (With whatever embellishments our church tradition deems necessary.) What do we mean, though, by “together”? I suspect that in some sense, it means sharing a space. Here we need to be careful. Communion in one’s living room, and communion in Britain’s biggest cathedral (just over the river from my house) may each be seen as obvious examples of a space which can be shared for worship. The same might apply to a mass in St. Peter’s square or one of those huge gatherings in parks for papal visits etc. These are simple and obvious shared spaces.

What about spaces which exist, essentially, only in the mind? I have sat in a church hall, joining in a service which took place a good many metres away. I watched the service on a TV, joined in the hymns (probably a bit out of phase with the main body of worshippers, but who was to know?) and received communion as part of the one service, despite the barrier of walls and a car park.

There are certainly plenty of churches where the kids and their carers are hived off into another room, but who are linked by loudspeakers, or even actually isolated in “children’s church” but who are welcome back to communion as part of the gathered body. In a sense, they are, like those of us in the church hall, seen as occupying the same worship space, the same event.

The thing is, our concept of space is not about purely physical phenomena. It is about the perception of presence, of belonging. In daily life we frequently extend our sense of personal space beyond our bodies – to encompass our car, for instance, or our shopping trolley. And, of course, online, we think and speak in spatial terms which are more than simple metaphors. We “visit” websites, “enter chat rooms” (are they still a thing?) And when I join in the act of worship at my old church, via Zoom, I think of myself as being present in a real way.

So, if we can share in worship in an internet “virtual” space, why not share in communion, which binds the body of Christ together, existing as it does not in a physical space, but wherever Christ is acknowledged?

One answer might be about bread and wine. Surely the elements have to be in the same place to be blessed, and perhaps touched, and to be physically broken, Surely it is the sharing in one bread which carries much significance? Well, I don’t think so.

Some friends who trained for ordination at Mirfield, that bastion of anglo-catholic rectitude, recounted how surprised they were to find that the principal, presiding at a small eucharist in his study, sat at the opposite side of the room from the bead and wine. The words were spoken, bread was eventually broken, but the action seemed to take place at a thoroughly unseemly distance. Then again, think of those mass masses, where huge baskets of bread are blessed without being present on the communion table, or even of the many modest parish churches where individual communion wafers are blessed and distributed.

Is there a sort of spatial limit beyond which consecration cannot take place? I suspect there is not. What matters is surely the intention—that bread and wine brought to the worship space (virtual or otherwise) should be the means of grace in this sacrament.

So, in summary, if we can join for worship, prayer and even hymnody, by Wi-Fi, it seems to me logical to say that we also can share in the sacrament of holy communion.

And if that’s not heretical enough, I think one could make a similar case for doing the same with a recorded service. If we can do it with spatial separation, perhaps a temporal barrier might also be no obstacle. If it is intended that those who join in, separated by space and time are none the less included as they are included in Christ himself, it seems likely that the grace of God could still be operational! But I won’t push that suggestion further, as this post is already too long.

One final thought. On one level, this sort of debate is an in-house issue, a minor spat between churchgoing types. On another, though, it is about how open the body of Christ is. As unprecedented numbers log on to acts of worship in our present predicament, do they see a church which is fully functional and fully inclusive, or one which draws the line between the worshipper and the heart of worship? If the eucharist is indeed a converting ordinance, should it not be allowed to convert? Even the converted probably stand in need of further conversion.

(Disclaimer - the illustration arrived on a social media stream. If it is copyright, I am happy to remove it!)