worship

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Fighting the coronavirus wars -- in churches and impoverished communities overseas

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Fighting the coronavirus wars -- in churches and impoverished communities overseas

While fighting the coronavirus, medical professionals have offered a strategy now seen everywhere in America, Europe and other First World cultures.

Here's the battle plan: Stock up on food and other essentials and then stay home. Wear masks when in public and practice safe social distancing. Everyone should wash their hands frequently for 20 seconds using soap and hot water. People with fevers or other symptoms should go into quarantine.

There's more. City and state lockdowns are essential to "flatten the curve" of new cases. Governments encourage waves of coronavirus tests. Hospitals collect ventilators to save critically ill patients. Mass transit is discouraged. Scientists rush to create a vaccine and develop new treatments, such as transfusions of antibody-rich blood serum from recovered COVID-19 patients.

Now, imagine selling those plans to the million-plus people jammed into the Kibera shantytown near Nairobi, Kenya -- Africa's largest urban slum.

“Our solutions are primarily for those who can afford it," said Dr. Mike Soderling, organizer of the Health for All Nations network for the Lausanne Committee for World Evangelization. "To whose advantage? … The big question: What are we going to do -- what can be done -- in the slums of Kibera?"

In America, news coverage of the crisis continues to be dominated by infection rates and death statistics, while politicos focus on the New York Stock Exchange and political polling about the 2020 elections. The lockdown-weary public celebrates any signs of normality witnessed in restaurants, big-box stores and sports stadiums.

Missionary doctors and activists active in Third World lands have a different point of view. Thus, 200 or more took part in a recent Lausanne webinar focusing on strategies for the COVID-19 battles they know will eventually reach the people they serve. Participants in this discussion kept asking painful questions, such as:

* How do slum-dwellers practice "universal hand-washing hygiene" without running water?

* Is it possible to practice respiratory hygiene in cultures in which masks are a stigma -- signs that individuals are carrying a life-threatening disease?

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Struggling to take sacraments to the people, while honoring social-distancing rules

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Struggling to take sacraments to the people, while honoring social-distancing rules

Priests in the Church of England have faced many challenges in recent decades -- from plummeting attendance numbers to fierce debates about marriage and sexuality.

Nevertheless, a coronavirus epistle from Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby and Archbishop of York John Sentamu was a shocker -- offering worship guidelines even stricter than those released by the government.

"Our church buildings must now be closed not only for public worship, but for private prayer as well and this includes the priest … offering prayer in church on their own," they wrote. "A notice explaining this should be put on the church door."

Thus, there was quiet defiance in Father Marcus Walker's voice as he stood alone near the altar of St. Bartholomew the Great -- London's oldest surviving church -- on the first Sunday after Easter and said, "I speak in the name of the Living God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen. And so we're back."

There was no response from his Facebook Live flock, but the priest stressed that he had been listening to his people. The bottom line: There had to be some way to proceed that stressed public safety, while addressing people's spiritual needs.

"Their voices have been loud, insistent and -- so far -- unanimous," he said, in his sermon. "I have received scores of letters and emails, calling on services to be restored here in their church: the church they have upheld and kept up, where they were married, where they buried a partner, saw a child christened, found God, were confirmed.

"This is their church and I am their pastor. I owe them my solidarity. As one said in her letter: 'We don't need you in solidarity at home, we need you in solidarity at the altar of our church.' "

With Easter in the rear-view mirror, members of ancient Christian flocks -- those built on liturgies and sacraments -- are waiting to see how their shepherds will walk a liturgical tightrope between church and state.

The bottom line: It's easier for megachurches to put their dramatic sermons and worship bands on home computer screens than for priests to digitize Holy Communion and rites of confession.

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Where is God in coronavirus crisis? Yes, that ancient question is part of this news story

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Where is God in coronavirus crisis? Yes, that ancient question is part of this news story

Queen Elizabeth II has seen more than her share of good and evil during her 68 years on the British throne.

Candles shining in the darkness just before Easter are familiar symbols of the presence of good, even in the hardest of times, said the 92-year-old queen, in a recent address about a single subject affecting her people -- the coronavirus crisis.

"Easter isn't cancelled. Indeed, we need Easter as much as ever," she said. "The discovery of the risen Christ on the first Easter Day gave his followers new hope and fresh purpose, and we can all take heart from this. We know that coronavirus will not overcome us. As dark as death can be -- particularly for those suffering with grief -- light and life are greater."

An ancient question loomed over the queen's remarks: Where is God during this global pandemic that threatens the lives and futures of millions of people?

Theologians have a name -- "theodicy" -- for this puzzle. One website defines this term as "a branch of theology ... that attempts to reconcile the existence of evil in the world with the assumption of a benevolent God."

In his book "God in the Dock," the Christian apologist C.S. Lewis of Oxford University argued that "modern man" now assumes, when evil occurs, that God is on trial. This process "may even end in God's acquittal," he noted. "But the important thing is that Man is on the Bench and God is in the Dock."

This tension can be seen during news coverage of tragedies, wars, disasters and pandemics. Ordinary people involved in these stories often address "theodicy" questions, whether journalists realize it or not. This is a pattern I have observed many times -- since this past week marked my 32nd anniversary writing this national "On Religion" column.

The late Peter Jennings of ABC World News Tonight noted that, whenever news teams cover disasters, reporters often ask questions that sound like this: "How did you get through this terrible experience?" Survivors frequently reply: "I don't know. I just prayed. Without God's help, I don't think I could have made it."

What happens next, Jennings once told me, illustrates the gap that separates many journalists and most Americans. There will be an awkward silence, he said, and then the reporter will say something like: "That's nice. But what REALLY got you through this?"

Here we go again.

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Painful choices: Coronavirus lockdowns threaten some familiar Passover traditions

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Painful choices: Coronavirus lockdowns threaten some familiar Passover traditions

Passover Seders include one moment that is especially poignant for grandparents.

Early in this ritual meal they look on as one or more of their grandchildren sing or recite the "Ma Nishtana," the "Four Questions" that frame the lessons Israelites learned from their bondage in Egypt and Exodus to freedom.

The first line echoes from generation to generation: "Why is this night different from all other nights?"

This year, Jews everywhere are wrestling with the fact that -- in a world wracked by the coronavirus -- this Passover is radically different from other Passovers.

"There's no way to replace having Passover with your parents, your grandparents, your friends and loved ones," said Rabbi Yaacov Behrman, founder of the Jewish Future Alliance and director of Operation Survival, a drug abuse prevention program in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn.

"A grandmother looks forward to seeing her grandchildren at the Seder. Fathers and mothers look forward to seeing their families around that table. … There's no way to ignore the pain of what is happening this year."

Prayers and symbols describing suffering and liberation are at the heart of Haggadah (Hebrew for "telling") texts that guide the Seder meal and interpret the eight-day Passover season, which began this year at sundown on Wednesday, April 8.

Why is matzo the only bread at Passover? Because the Israelites didn't have time to bake leavened bread as they fled Egypt. Why dip bitter herbs into chopped apples, dates, nuts and wine? Because this paste resembles the clay Hebrew slaves used to make bricks. Why dip parsley into salt water? This represents new life, mixed with tears.

One ritual will have special meaning this year, as the leader of the Seder prays: "Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us concerning the washing of the hands."

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Coronavirus crisis creates a legal, doctrinal minefield for priests and their flocks

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Coronavirus crisis creates a legal, doctrinal minefield for priests and their flocks

Every now and then, while a priest is traveling or out running errands, a stranger will approach and ask: "Father, will you hear my confession?"

This can happen on a city sidewalk or in a quiet corner of a big-box store. Often the question is urgent -- because something disturbing has shaken someone's faith.

"I've been asked for confession in a taxi. I've been asked while on a train," said Father Fergal O'Duill, part of the Dallas-Fort Worth branch of the Catholic movement Regnum Christi. His name is pronounced "O'Doul" and he is originally from Dublin, Ireland.

These requests happen, he added, because "people see you and they know you're a priest. We're priests no matter where we go."

Hearing confessions is crucial during the penitential season of Lent, which precedes Easter, which is on April 12th this year for Catholics and Protestants (and April 19th for Eastern Orthodox Christians). Centuries of Catholic and Orthodox tradition urge believers to go to confession during Lent, before receiving Holy Communion on Easter.

The irony, right now, is that O'Duill can hear confessions during chance encounters, but not during scheduled times at the school where is serves as a chaplain.

The evolving coronavirus pandemic has turned Lent into a confusing minefield of legal and doctrinal questions for pastors and their flocks. In many communities, but not all, state or local officials have ordered people to "shelter in place" -- staying home unless they have "essential" needs elsewhere. This has raised an obvious question: Is going to confession "essential," even if Catholics are preparing for Holy Week and Easter rites they will have to watch on digital screens at home?

For most of March, O'Duill was one of several priests who heard confessions in a giant parking lot, or in a pair of tents, near the Highlands School in Irving, Texas. Every effort was made to provide enough privacy to maintain the "dignity" of the sacrament, he said, while priests remained a safe distance from the penitents. Priests offered similar "drive-through" confession opportunities in a few other parts of America.

Then, on March 22, Dallas County Judge Clay Jenkins issued a "shelter in place" order effective through April 3 and, perhaps, beyond.

The ground rules changed.

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Democrats need to start asking more faith questions (especially about Catholic voters)

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Democrats need to start asking more faith questions (especially about Catholic voters)

After Democrats voted in the Alabama primary in early March, researchers for CNN and other National Exit Pool newsrooms asked them several questions.

Reactions to the candidates were sorted by gender, race, LGBTQ identity, age, education level, political ideology and other factors. However, researchers didn't ask about religious faith and how often voters attended worship services. They didn't probe differences between evangelicals, Catholics, Mainline Protestants and "nones" -- Americans who claim zero ties to organized religious groups.

"We don't know the answers to these kinds of questions because they are rarely being asked," said Michael Wear of Public Square Strategies. He is best known for his work as faith-outreach director for Barack Obama's 2012 campaign and as part of the president's White House staff.

"This isn't just about exit polls. It's hard for Democrats to do their planning, and to allocate resources during campaigns, without this kind of data. … We need cross-tabs in these polls so that we can compare differences between white evangelicals and black evangelicals, between Catholics who go to Mass all the time and those who don't and other groups as well."

Exit Pool researchers did ask about religion in South Carolina, the pivotal state in former Vice President Joe Biden's stunning surge. It was significant that Biden was backed by 56% of Democrats who attend religious services "once a week or more," while 15% of those same voters backed Sen. Bernie Sanders. Among those who "never" attend services, Sanders was the clear winner.

Similar religion gaps emerged in North Carolina, Florida and Tennessee. In news coverage, these trends were linked to Biden's support from African-Americans, including churchgoers -- a huge voter bloc among Democrats.

That's important information, said Wear. But it would have helped to know how Catholics in South Carolina voted, as well as more about evangelical Protestants -- black and white. It would have helped to know what issues mattered most to active members of various religious groups and how faith affected their choices.

It's possible that pollsters and journalists do not ask these questions, he said, because key "players in the Democratic Party leadership aren't asking the big questions about religion, either."

Part of the problem is that many Americans have decided that the "religious" now means "Republican," according to a Pew Research Center poll conducted after the Iowa caucuses.

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Our new normal isn't really new -- ancient prayers go online during latest epidemic

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Our new normal isn't really new -- ancient prayers go online during latest epidemic

For centuries, Eastern Orthodox Christians have shared prayers "for the sick, the suffering, the captive and for their safety and salvation" as well as petitions that "we may be delivered from all affliction, wrath and need."

The faithful respond: "Lord, have mercy."

This past Sunday, some worshippers heard modern phrases woven into the ancient cadences of the Divine Liturgy of St. Basil the Great.

During the Litany of Fervent Supplication, priests in the Orthodox Church in America added: "O Lord who lovest mankind, deliver us from the impending threat of the Corona Virus. Send thine angel to watch over us and protect us. Grant health and recovery to those suffering from this virus. Guide the hands of physicians and preserve those who are healthy. Enable us to continue to serve our suffering brothers and sisters in peace that together we may glorify thy most honorable and majestic name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, now and ever and unto ages of ages."

Following instructions from our bishop, most members of parishes in the Diocese of the South heard these words while gathered around home computers.

This was part of America's new normal as religious leaders -- some already tech-friendly, others veering into new territory -- worked to develop online forms of worship, education and fellowship. For Catholics, the Orthodox and others in liturgical traditions, all of this is happening at a highly symbolic time -- the penitential season of Lent. Easter is April 12 for Western churches. For the Orthodox, Pascha is April 19.

This is not the season of Great Lent we anticipated, but it is nonetheless a fitting Lenten effort, "explained Archbishop Alexander, OCA bishop of Dallas and the South. In his letter to priests and parishioners he urged believers -- using a monastic image -- to recognize "that this initial response to this pandemic will work for the greater good of our faithful and our neighbors. Use this time of 'social distancing' for prayer and to keep vigil 'in one's cell.' "

Across the nation, some religious congregations met, drawing smaller flocks, while many closed their doors. Things were different at my home Orthodox parish in Oak Ridge, Tenn. We were somewhere in between.

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Autism and mysteries of the Mass: Holy Communion is different from food at home

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Autism and mysteries of the Mass: Holy Communion is different from food at home

Ever since the Last Supper, Catholics have pondered what happens during the Mass when they believe the bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Jesus.

"Because Christ our Redeemer said that it was truly his body that he was offering … it has always been the conviction of the Church … that by the consecration of the bread and wine there takes place a change of the whole substance of the bread into the substance of the body of Christ our Lord and of the whole substance of the wine into the substance of his blood," proclaimed the Council of Trent, after the Protestant Reformation.

"This change the holy Catholic Church has fittingly and properly called transubstantiation. The Eucharistic presence of Christ begins at the moment of the consecration and endures as long as the Eucharistic species subsist."

Believers approach this mystery with the greatest care and respect. This may be hard for children to grasp as they prepare for First Communion.

Now imagine trying to teach this core Catholic doctrine to persons -- young and old -- who have mental and physical disabilities that make it hard, or impossible, for them to acknowledge what is happening in the Mass.

"Because we believe Holy Communion is the Body and Blood or our Lord, we want to be very careful about this," said Father Matthew Schneider, who is known to his Twitter followers as @AutisticPriest.

"This isn't a theology test. No one needs a theology degree to take Holy Communion. We simply need to make sure that they know this is an act in a church rite -- that they are not eating ordinary food like at home. We're trying to find out if they have a basic understanding of what's happening."

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During times of plague and panic, priests do what priests need to do

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During times of plague and panic, priests do what priests need to do

The second wave of influenza in the fall of 1918 was the worst yet and, by the time Father Nicola Yanney reached Wichita, Kansas, a citywide quarantine was in effect.

A 16-year-old girl had already died, creating a sense of panic. The missionary priest -- his territory reached from Missouri to Colorado and from Oklahoma to North Dakota -- couldn't even hold her funeral in the city's new Orthodox sanctuary. As he traveled back to his home church in Kearney, Neb., he kept anointing the sick, hearing confessions and taking Holy Communion to those stricken by the infamous "Spanish flu."

After days of door-to-door ministry in the snow, Yanney collapsed and called his sons to his bedside. Struggling to breathe, he whispered: "Keep your hands and your heart clean." He was one of an estimated 50 million victims worldwide.

A century later, many Orthodox Christians in America -- especially those of Syrian and Lebanese descent -- believe Yanney should be recognized as a saint. And now, as churches face fears unleashed by the coronavirus, many details of his final days of his ministry are highly symbolic.

"Father Nicola got the flu because he insisted on ministering to people who had the flu," said Father Andrew Stephen Damick, creator of "The Equal of Martyrdom," an audio documentary about the man known as "The Apostle to the Plains."

"For priests, there are risks. But you cannot turn away when people are suffering and they need the sacraments of the church. You go to your people and minister to them. This is what priests do."

Few acts in ministry are as intimate as a priest huddled with a seriously ill believer, hearing what could be his or her final confession of sins. Honoring centuries of tradition, Christians in the ancient churches of the East also take Communion from a common chalice, with each person receiving consecrated bread and wine -- mixed together -- from a golden spoon.