There was an unusual cover on the most recent issue of The Christian Century magazine. Jesus and the disciples are at the Last Supper in boxes on a Zoom screen. Apparently they can’t be together sharing wine and bread because of a pandemic. They can only be together virtually. 

The cover leads you to the main article about dinner churches. Apparently, unknown to me, there are churches that meet regularly around the dinner table. When I was in campus ministry, we always began our Sunday evening gatherings with a meal, before our program and concluding worship. But I wasn’t aware there were some congregations that shared food weekly as the heart of their regular worship.

Like many Christian communities, these churches are finding creative ways to continue gathering during the pandemic with the aid of technology. Members are encouraged to join the Zoom gathering at their family dinner table. Loaves of bread are made from the same batch of dough at a local bakery and delivered to each home. They sing and pray together. They read scripture and hear a sermon. When the time comes for sharing the bread and wine in communion, the minister says the words of institution, recognizing that it is God who consecrates the elements, even in individual homes, not the hands of the priest. They offer bread and wine to each other, virtually, one screen square at a time, with the appropriate words. Zoom rooms are used to allow for more intimate sharing during the service and to give people an opportunity to share more informally afterwards, as if they were standing around outside the church.

Reading this article made me reflect on some of the more unusual experiences I’ve encountered in my decades in ministry. 

This close to Easter, I remembered a sunrise service while I was chaplain at a college in Maryland. In order for students to have easy access so early in the morning, we decided to have the service on the roof of one of the college buildings. It was a flat roof, almost like a huge terrace, with appropriate safeguards, high enough so the gathered could see over the trees to the eastern horizon. The only prop was a lectern, placed so I could see those gathered and they could see the rising sun. Perhaps I saw the surprise on people’s faces. For sure I heard about it later. But as I said the words, “Arise, shine; for your light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon you,” the sun popped over the horizon. Perfect timing, as if I controlled the sun.

Then there was the time a clergy friend invited me to take his place in his absence. His was an old downtown church with a large sanctuary, intimidating in size but not a large congregation. It was the ‘60s and there was social ferment all around us. The friend and I were on the same page theologically and politically, so I assumed my biblically based and socially conscious sermons would do. Halfway through the sermon something I said disturbed a member near the front to the point where he could not stay quiet. He rose and shouted, “that’s not true.” 

A rather stunned congregation and I listened as he explained what he had to say. When he was finished, he took his seat. I thanked him for his comments and proceeded to finish the sermon. 

I learned later this was not exactly unusual behavior for this person. Although I am a proponent of dialogue sermons, where there is opportunity for digging deeper into text and interpretation, usually it helps to have the context clear ahead of time, and a fitting format.

Serving small rural churches has offered some unique experiences. My last year in college before going to Seminary, I was asked to be a supply preacher some Sundays. One church I supplied had a congregation of about six people. The pianist was sick and not being a song leader with an unknown choir, we skipped the hymns. I shortened a short sermon. The offering didn’t take long. When a family arrived late, we were almost ready for the benediction.

On another occasion, I drove an hour in a Sunday, South Dakota snowstorm. Greatly relieved to be off the road and out of the storm, I found three people sitting in the church. As the time for the service arrived, it was still the same three people. One of the three proceeded to tell me how, when they go to feed the cattle, if only three cows show up, they don’t give them the whole load. I understood! We had an informal and shortened service, and it was worth the hour back in a snowstorm. 

We do what we can and sometimes what we must, to gather, to share, to be church. If the pandemic has taught us anything, it has confirmed our need for human connection, human touch, human community. Even in sometimes strange, even bizarre circumstances, we reach out to each other.