Why I still read the Bible

Written by Rhys Bezzant

I have been a Christian for over forty years, and I still read the Bible. Sometimes with more spiritual focus, and sometimes with less. I hate it when my Bible reading is rushed, but that does happen at least a few times a week. My Bible reading might be directed towards a sermon I am preparing in a few weeks’ time, but equally I might be reading a book of the Bible because it has been a long time since I last made my temporary home there. The passage might be long and meandering, or alternatively short and sharp. I normally spend time reading before I focus on praying, but I know that I could organise my devotional time the other way around. Old habits die hard! There is however one devotional habit that I have reshaped. I used to follow the ACTS principle: first adoration, then confession, then thanksgiving, then supplication. But I have realised that the psalms don’t necessarily follow this pattern, so I feel free to begin my time of prayer with whatever prayer posture suits the day, or even suits the reading. The Bible can set the agenda for my prayers and suggest how I go about them on that particular day to keep my praying fresh. However I don’t read the Bible just as an overture to my prayers. Reading the Bible does a whole lot more than that.

Reading the Bible in a time of quiet is not a warm-up exercise, but is rather a whole body workout in itself. Reading the Bible is not merely an occasion to engage with rational content but is a more spiritually demanding apparatus. For I want to encourage every Christian to persevere in engaging with the Scriptures attentively because they consist of words not pictures. And words are magnificent things! We are prone to think that the purpose of words is to transmit information – which they do – but they do so much more. Words convey emotion and hit the heart. Words address our will and demand our obedience. Well-chosen words lift us beyond the everyday and motivate us to look to the reality we inhabit and to look up to the one who guides history. Words reveal the soul of the speaker, and when we know the soul of our friends we grow in confidence to hold fast to their promises. Words are carried through the air with the breath of the one who whispers, so words are the framework for relationships. Of course I am not so naïve as to think that words can’t damage people. I have been on the receiving end of harsh words. And words may reveal a duplicitous heart as well as reveal one that is true. Words in the last hundred years have been used disastrously for propaganda and advertising, both devaluing their currency. But God has chosen words to be the primary vehicle for his promises, presence, and purpose, and has made himself most clearly known in the Word made flesh, the Lord Jesus Christ. Even today, the Son holds all things in this cosmos together through his powerful word (Heb 1:3).

 So when I come to read the Bible, I discover that God addresses every part of me, and in doing so makes me whole again. There is never a time when we should consider giving up reading the Bible, because there is never a time when we don’t need to be remade in the image of Christ.

In fact, I can do better than just accidentally find myself reading the Bible. I need to run towards the Lord who will address me in his Word. And when I turn towards him, I am making a decision, and surrendering my body, and yearning with my heart, and expecting with my mind to learn Christ again, as Paul describes Christian discipleship in Ephesians 4:20. When I come to grasp that God’s words will engage with every part of my life, I should bring every part of my life to him, so running is a great metaphor. The whole point of fearing the Lord is weirdly not to run away from him as the word fear might suggest, but to run towards him. To fear the Lord is to run to the Lord! To fear him means to put myself in the position of a learner, as the first few chapters of the book of Proverbs picture. There may be days in the week when I find myself physically running out of the door because I am late for work, but that shouldn’t exhaust the opportunities I take for spiritual running, eagerly coming back to the Lord in his Word even when that happens not to be first thing in the morning. And this is true when I am feeling like I have let the Lord down again. In fact, the best thing to do when you are conscious of your sin is not to hide your face from the Lord but to seek his face, pursuing him to grasp hold of cleansing and forgiveness in order to sate your hunger. We must keep close accounts with the Lord, and regularly practise eating his flesh and drinking his blood (John 6:54). He is better than the manna from heaven, satisfying us daily if only we would take up his life-giving word. Where else can we go, asks Peter, to find the words of eternal life?

So what is the best posture for prayer? Kneeling? Pencil in hand? Devotions at the break of day? Actually it is running with all that you are to allow God to address all that you bring. The posture is spiritual and only secondarily physical. The pattern and the rhythm of a devotional life have been for me of enormous help in times of darkness and despair, but these are external helps at best. Celebrating the life of the Spirit within is something altogether more substantial.

In which case, we need to work out what is the best way to read the Bible today, because that might look a little different from yesterday. Of course, it is likely to be the same physical book or device as yesterday. But that doesn’t mean that how I spend my time is the same. Yesterday I read a passage quickly from end to end, to see if God gives any reasons why Jeremiah has to buy a field during a siege (Jeremiah 32). But today I wanted to work out how Jeremiah understands his own personal relationship with the Lord in the same chapter when he prays. And tomorrow, I might just take up God’s response to Jeremiah, in the words “Is anything too hard for me?” and repeat it over and over in my mind to taste and see that the Lord is good indeed. I might even visualise myself in the storyline and imagine what I would do if one prophet was telling me to stay in Jerusalem, and another – namely Jeremiah – was advocating giving up and going with Nebuchadnezzar to Babylon. The tension between the prophets has been bubbling up throughout the book, but the choice to stay or to go represents the clash of the prophetic titans. Which side will I be on? What does that mean for my sacrificial discipleship today? Perhaps, I will ask, what should I do in this time of covid to help me look beyond the immediate crisis and yearn hopefully for the future, though I suspect it won’t be to buy a field. There aren’t too many of them in the inner suburbs of Melbourne. 

I can read the Bible slowly to capture its emotion, or I could read it quickly to get an overview of a story. I can allow the Scriptures to speak to a decision I have to make today, or to address a talk I have to give tomorrow. The Bible is wonderful in the variety of literary genres it contains, and it never ceases to surprise me that a passage I have known well can speak to me in fresh ways through the Spirit’s prompting. There are seasons to read a prophet’s warnings, seasons to travel with Jesus on the road to Jerusalem, and even seasons when the book of Revelation can bring spiritual comfort as well as intellectual challenge. I am still reading the Bible. Not always because I want to. But always because the Lord serves my soul when I do.

Mentoring

Written by Rhys Bezzant | Ridley College

Our Cultural Moment

Perhaps it was a mistake. When I returned to St Jude’s Carlton recently after sixteen years away, my ministry of mentoring was highlighted in a get-to-know-you interview. In fact, one of the reasons for returning had been to identify and encourage young men and women into vocational Christian ministry, but I was unprepared for what came next. Barely a week goes by when someone at Unichurch doesn’t buttonhole me and ask to begin a mentoring relationship. Not all of them want to go down the career diversion track and begin theological study, but there is in this little pocket of the world at least a pressing need and desire for the kind of input that mentoring provides. But perhaps I shouldn’t have been surprised. We are living through a great mentoring moment. I hear of it from friends in the armed forces, in business, in educational settings, and in campus ministries. While sometimes it can mean something as base as networking to get ahead, in many other instances mentoring has the more noble goal of developing character or learning skills for service. In the postmodern world where relationships are key and truth is relative, spending time with a credentialed friend is a great forum for personal development even if it is also extremely inefficient. And now with the virus upon us, and restrictions for meeting in groups more burdensome, mentoring will become a yet more attractive strategy to pursue. What a timely invitation to write this piece.

In recent research for a book on the mentoring ministry of Jonathan Edwards (1703-1758) – one of my great heroes of the faith – I discovered yet more reasons why our cultural moment is a mentoring moment, having uncovered parallels with eighteenth-century New England. It seems that throughout Christian history when the institution of the church has been on the nose, mentoring ministries have thrived. It makes sense. You love the church as the body of Christ, but find its institutional life difficult to engage with. You want to offer for leadership in the church to improve its life, but the options for cultivating your calling are limited. And in the case of Edwards, his mentees had experienced the power of the Gospel in their own lives during the Great Awakening, but the established church of the day was discouraging of enthusiastic Christians and refused them a licence to preach. No wonder they turned to a senior pastor to pick his brains, receive his input and care, and to find opportunities for developing their pastoral giftings. Beyond the religious sphere, the eighteenth century was a great period for mentoring relationships for another reason: old social and political hierarchical structures were in decay in a revolutionary age, and people found themselves thinking about their identity in modern horizontal ways. Coffee houses and salons were the meeting place of the day where conversation in informal settings was prized. An era of fluidity and change makes concrete relationships of intimacy and accountability more attractive. It won’t take much to see the parallels with life in Australia in the twenty-first century.

Definition of mentoring

But all of this assumes that we are on the same page when it comes to defining mentoring, an ambitious proposition. Some Christians prefer the word “discipling” because it has New Testament support, whereas the word “mentor” is from Greek mythology and therefore should be avoided, referring as it does to the tutor Mentor who had responsibility to teach Telemachus while his father Odysseus was away fighting in the Trojan War. I understand that our approach to ministry needs to be controlled by biblical categories. But there is some contemporary relevance in keeping the meaning of the two terms distinct, and in overlooking the etymology of the word “mentor.” For commonly we use the word “discipling” to refer to the period just after someone has become a Christian when a senior believer meets with the new convert to make sure that they have grasped the basics of the faith. We might choose to read Mark’s Gospel together, or Romans, or buy a Christian workbook like Just for Starters to consolidate basic lessons of discipleship, like assurance, evangelism, godliness, church attendance and so on. To be truthful, if this were a bigger priority in our churches I would be happy, even if the longer range commitment to growth in maturity and equipping for service (which I call mentoring) were not. Mentoring builds on discipling, but has a different dynamic.

Perhaps this is seen most clearly if I make a dangerously big contrast. There is a difference between a staff meeting and professional psychiatric help. For the former, the person in authority, the team leader, calls the staff together and sets the agenda. That is the privilege of the supervisor. The goal of the meeting is largely administrative, though some personal reflections on the achievement of goals or plans for an event may be relevant too. Contrast this with the latter. It would be malpractice for a psychiatrist to command a potential client to attend an appointment. And in that appointment the goal is not to measure performance but to uncover trauma which has impacted behaviour, perhaps unknowingly. In the former power lies with the supervisor. In the latter, power lies with the client, and this is expressed through the initiative to set the time and agenda. So with mentoring as distinct from discipling. It is appropriate to take the lead in helping a young believer to get some things straight, but as we go on in the Christian life, it is also appropriate to recognise that adults learn on a needs-to-know basis, that our sins go deeper than we had imagined, and that a person needs to be ready for leadership before we ask them to take on a new responsibility. The mentoring relationship is more equal in its dynamic and more individually focused. No generic advice here, but personalised care. We don’t have to be much further ahead in the Christian walk to be a mentor, just open to hearing the details of someone else’s life and helping a brother or sister to draw down biblical truth in their own experience. An imperfect comparison to be sure, but containing some important pastoral wisdom.

My own definition, for what it is worth, sees mentoring as an exchange of authority for agency, such that the personal qualities of the senior Christian are applied to the growth and health of the junior Christian in the relationship. That growth might be in the realm of godliness, or it might be in the realm of competencies, either inside or outside the life of the church. We want to invest in the service and witness of another Christian, such that they become a model of Christlike priorities, actively or passively. We must remember that faith is caught as well as taught, so we should not rely exclusively on sermons to do the job. We need better sermons in our churches, for sure, but this should not be at the cost of a culture of mentoring, which the leader of the congregation is in a unique position to inculcate. A culture of honesty and accountability are the best soil in which to encourage a ministry of mentoring to grow. Mentoring is a subset of pastoral care, and pastoral care is attentive to both the health of the creaturely human being before us, as well as the Christian human being before us. Mentoring has a wide brief, quite distinct from the early input for a young believer.


Scriptural support

You won’t find the word “mentoring” in the Scriptures, but you will find everywhere the theological framework to understand its power and usefulness. For example, in Genesis 1, God creates a world that is profoundly personal, with human beings at the apex and God’s own life as the template for ours. We are after all created in his image. As Father, Son and Spirit, the most important thing we can say about reality is that it involves relationships. At the end of the account of creation, the Lord rests to enjoy all that he has made, including us! No wonder that mentoring proves effective in such a relationally charged universe. When the serpent in Genesis 3 intervenes to disorder relationships, and to bring division between human beings and God and the creation, we see another value of mentoring. Just as the serpent had to make an intervention to undo harmony, so we have to make an intervention to reset harmonious relationships. Christian ministry is all about spiritual interventions, like sermons, or prayer meetings, or small groups. Deciding to meet one on one with someone is another type of ministry whose deliberate goal is to thwart Satan’s evil plans to undo the cosmos. Mentoring is a kind of intervention, however, that gives power away.

The Old Testament is full of examples of the older leader passing on the baton to the younger leader. Whether we read about Moses with Jethro, or with Caleb, or how parents are to instruct their children in the purpose of the Passover, intergenerational education is prominent. We learn in the book of Proverbs how the father addresses the son to teach him wise ways. Either in practice or in principle, the Scriptures place a premium on learning to learn and learning to teach. In Proverbs, the assumption is that we need lots of incentives to do both, so we hear of the cost when we persist in pursuing foolish ways, or the value in undoing bad ways and learning new ones. We are encouraged to practise not malforming but reforming habits: “My son, be attentive to my words; incline your ear to my sayings … Ponder the path of your feet; then all your ways will be sure” (Prov 4:20, 26). Mentoring is like this too. It is an individualised ministry of the Word, backed up with the example of a life well lived. In fact, the book of Proverbs is a great resource for a mentoring ministry, provoking lots of conversations about maturity and stability in the faith.

Of course the Lord Jesus didn’t just help young believers in the faith for a couple of weeks of Bible study, but hung around with the twelve, those who were committed, for 24/7 pedagogical opportunities over a period of a number of years. And remarkably he didn’t wait for people to come to him as a rabbi might traditionally have done (assuming a powerful position), but as Lord of all creation he took the initiative to approach fisherfolk in their boats and asked them to follow in a vulnerable way. He cared enough to take the risk to make the first move – not only in his incarnation but also in his public ministry. When he sent out the twelve in Matthew 10, he described their commission in exactly the same terms as his own, outlined in Matthew 4. Our ministry is an extension of his. Just as Christ prayed with and for his disciples, so we can. Just as he took up random incidents on the road and turned them into learning opportunities, so can we. Just as he expected his followers to be independent and capable when he was gone, so also we mentor others not to make them dependent on us but instead to prosper a kind of preparation for separation, as any parent knows. On the day of Pentecost, Peter was prepared theologically and practically for a sermon that marked the turning of the ages. We can be thankful that at least this expectation doesn’t fall on preachers in our own day!

Mentoring is also well suited to the ministry expectations of Paul in his letters. Paul expects leaders to empower others. He wants to build up those in his churches so that they too might teach and train others. According to Ephesians 4, our job as leaders is to equip the saints for works of service. With the gifts of the Spirit, our job is not to become self-focused but rather to build up the body with the capacities and energies that the Lord has showered on us. Peter uses the language of the spiritual edifice like a temple that we each have a part to build (1 Peter 2). We each have a ministry of the Word, for when the Spirit comes we each have a ministry of prophesying (Acts 2:17-18) as the prophet Joel foretold. That ministry of the Word might mean preaching sermons, but it could also mean timely teaching one on one. Mentoring is the most basic ministry of the Word, and one in which God delights!

Mentoring is profoundly biblical, even if the word never appears in the Scriptures.


Cultivating leaders

Not only is our culture ripe for the pursuit of mentoring ministries, in our churches the need has almost never been greater. I don’t have to persuade my readers of the challenges to Christian ministry in our own day. Churches are seen as toxic. Compliance to government or church agencies is onerous and burdensome. Entertainment and leisure activities are so much more attractive – or at least less demanding – than self-forgetfulness and moral reform. But we do need to reclaim the personal in our ministries to reclaim heart to heart relationships. Programs can go only so far in promoting maturity. I am not saying that small is beautiful, but I am saying that our culture is shaping people in such a way that we are increasingly desperate for the human dimension, even in a church where there are plenty of bums on seats. I understand that there are many – too many – demands on pastors in the complexity of our world, but we neglect the ministry of mentoring to our peril. Was John Wesley too busy to mentor John Fletcher as his successor to lead the Methodist movement? Was Jonathan Edwards too busy to mentor Joseph Bellamy, who himself mentored perhaps sixty men into ordained leadership? Was Sarah Osborn too busy in organising prayer meetings in Newport, Rhode Island at the time of the revivals, to mentor individuals? No and no and no.

I fear that in my circles at least in Melbourne we have neglected mentoring future leaders. There are some, of course, who have benefited from a senior Christian investing in them over a number of years. But many students at Ridley have never known mentoring and yearn for it. And how many more students could there be at Ridley if only their pastor or small group leader had taken an individual aside years earlier to encourage them in holiness and wholeness, and to train them in skills for service, even suggesting that career diversion might be something to consider. Every pastor previously had a different job, and we never regret a pastor having made the decision to move out of that previous employment to take up the responsibility of caring for us in our church! To put it frankly, we don’t have enough people, men and women, in the ministry pipeline to provide for the spiritual needs of our grandchildren. What can we do, apart from suggesting they go to College? Start with encouraging the practice and culture of mentoring in our church. Put it on the agenda of our eldership or parish council meetings. Celebrate the mentoring relationships that do exist. Read a book about it!


Getting started

It really doesn’t take much to get started. You don’t have to be particularly saintly or academically qualified. You don’t have to have been mentored yourself. You don’t even need much time on your hands. You just need to be a couple of steps ahead of the person you meet with and believe that you have something to offer for their life stage. You could meet at a café to talk about the sermon you both heard last week. That takes the pressure off doing preparation, though it would thrill the preacher to learn that their own efforts in preparation were being multiplied. You could chat while you are taking the baby for a walk around the block or going to the supermarket. What mum or dad doesn’t enjoy a helping hand while doing something as banal as the shopping? Time can be redeemed and turned to spiritual good while engaged in daily chores. For the younger Christian to see how an older believer is handling the pressures of family life, and to be able to talk through life decisions, or life pressures, under the common authority of the Scriptures, is just gold. It might be that you do have time to read a Christian book together to talk about when you meet up, in someone’s home or in the pub. Finding common cause in a particular theological topic or pastoral issue can sharpen our teaching and obedience, and bless others in the fellowship immensely when we share with them what we are learning. You might choose to start the mentoring relationship through a common activity and only gradually build towards more focussed theological discussion, and so be it. There are any number of on-ramps. My plea here is just to encourage you to get onto the freeway whatever way you decide to do it!

The biggest blocker in all this is lacking confidence. But with belief in God’s power and intervention in our life, we grow in strength and capacity. Psalm 18 begins with the psalmist’s desperate weakness, but after God has made a dramatic appearance, the psalmist doesn’t focus on his own needs but instead can claim that his arms can bend a bow of bronze. God’s power provokes not the psalmist’s passivity but instead the psalmist’s confidence and action. Meditate on this psalm, and get to it.

Deferring Easter? A Thought Experiment

Written by Rhys Bezzant

So here is the thing. Easter this year is going to be flat. The emotional twists and theological minefields of the week before Easter are captured in Matthew’s account of the last week of Jesus’ life, where Jesus persists in making the Kingdom of God--not the law, not the Temple, not the Jewish nation--the centre of discipleship. Some of these themes will be communicated in online services with skill and wise preparation, and our own personal devotions can dwell on some of the horror and hope of the events. However, the rhythm of readings that take us through the week of Christ’s passion, with all its ups and downs, won’t climax as in other years with the reflective services of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, or an Easter vigil for some on Holy Saturday. The exuberant joy of Easter day will be curtailed without the possibility of joining together to break the Lenten fast and to shout in unison that “He is risen indeed.” How wonderful that some Christians have placed a palm cross in the front window of the house, in silent protest that there were no fronds waved in triumphal procession this year. But we all know that it is not quite the same.

Here is my wild blue-sky-dreaming thought. Perhaps we could honour Easter in restrained ways this week and postpone our celebration until later in the year. I understand that the church calendar sets Lent as forty days from Ash Wednesday (not including Sundays), but why couldn’t we extend Lent this year? After all, the word “lent” means “lengthening” of days which happens in the spring-time, so celebrating new birth in April in Australia, when all the leaves are falling off the trees, has always struck me as a mixed message. We may not choose to fast until the spring, but we could decide that foregoing the Lord’s Supper until then is one way of showing solidarity with Jesus who fasted forty days and forty nights in the wilderness. And anyway, the date of Easter is a moveable feast, falling on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the equinox. I know that conversations are happening (beyond my pay grade) between different branches of ancient European churches to set a regular date for Easter. Not sure what I think about this yet. But in the meantime we could, just could, cash in our chips and go full steam ahead and plan for a September celebration.

So here is my next crazy thought: Easter celebrations normally build on the date of Passover. But the book of Hebrews makes a powerful connection between Jesus’ death and the Day of Atonement as well, which this year is being commemorated by our Jewish friends on Sunday, September 27. We are reminded by the author of Hebrews that, just as the high priest enters the holy place once a year with the blood of animals, so Jesus entered as a high priest into the most holy place with his own blood as a sacrifice of atonement, not once a year but once and for all. Jesus is the better sacrifice, who makes a better covenant: “How much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to serve the living God” (Heb 9:14). The Lord’s Supper, which on the night before he died Jesus commanded us to perpetuate, is not merely an updated version of the Passover without the lamb, but a new practice which combines many threads from the Old Testament, such as Exodus 24 and Jeremiah 31. The Lord’s Supper is no longer a domestic rite like the Passover but a public one, taking this cue from the Day of Atonement which was national in its scope. Blood poured out to cleanse by a divinely ordained priest in the order of Melchizedek is not something that the Passover ever saw as its foundation idea. 2020 is turning out to be an upside-down year, so why not reinvent the church calendar too?

The most amazing thing about conversations and online interactions in the last couple of weeks is that ecclesiology is cool again. As someone who has spent the last twenty years researching and writing on what the church is about, I am overjoyed that an often undervalued doctrine is getting its day in the sun. Taking away the regular pattern of Sunday services, or at least substantially reinventing them in a digital age, has made us rethink what we do and why. Some social commentators are already calling 2020 the Great Pause or the Great Disruption. I like the idea. We have to face our own lack of control of the natural environment, and spend more time at home with those closest to us, even if they aren’t necessarily the ones we would by preference choose to hang out with in a log cabin in the hills. So pressing pause on so many things that we hold dear might turn out to be for our deep emotional refreshment and spiritual recalibration. Pressing pause on the liturgical high point of the year, the celebration of Easter, might just be a blessing in disguise. Or in the best case scenario, we might get to celebrate it twice.

Communion in the Covid-19 Crisis

Written by Rhys Bezzant

We all have to make sacrifices. So communion has got to go. Let me explain.

I love the Lord’s Supper – it is a big part of my personal spiritual discipline. It joins all the dots for me: a focus on Christ’s atoning death, personalised address from my minister, taking part in community life, a challenge to stand up and be visible as a believer, getting ready for heaven’s banquet. I find it encouraging to hear familiar words week by week from the prayer book but I recognise that won’t be everyone’s experience. A friend once said that he got to know me in a new way when I explained why I love communion so much. As a single man, going to church more generally, and communing with the Lord more particularly through bread and wine are profoundly encouraging rhythms in my life. I have felt the sadness and confusion this week as friends have debated the role of the Lord’s Supper during the COVID-19 crisis. Yet my personal grief can’t be understood in emotional terms alone. It has to be understood within a theological and social framework as well.

It is time to decentre communion. In many Anglican churches we celebrate the Supper weekly, or more often. Since 1937 when The Parish Communion was published, Anglicans have increasingly given priority to weekly celebrations but this was an innovation in local churches at the time. Formerly (and in some circles even today), Anglicans’ primary service was Morning Prayer, with communion for some happening before or immediately after that service. But in the present crisis we seem to have forgotten much of that history. It has been great to see how many clergy have been chatting online about how communion will work under new conditions, but we need to remember that we don’t have to have communion regularly at all. The prayer book only asks us to participate in the Lord’s Supper three times a year, which is (as it turns out) much like the experience of Christians before the Reformation. OK, monks and nuns did participate in the mass more often! But in the sixteenth century, Protestants, even if they wanted to participate in the communion weekly, often only managed it monthly. In the Scottish Highlands, there weren’t enough ministers or churches to offer communion more than perhaps four times a year. In the American colonies, believers in remote locations had to go without the bread and the wine for long periods of time. John Wesley broke the rules by ordaining men for the Methodist church in America so that those on the frontier could partake with more predictability.

In the present crisis, there will be lots of pressure to confect some kind of online experience of the Lord’s Supper because we have grown used to regular communion, and as consumers (or “communers”?)  the customer is always right. Some churches will film the minister celebrating the Lord’s Supper and taking the elements on behalf of those watching. This is sometimes known as spiritual communion. Some churches will use the words of institution, the words that Jesus used on the occasion of the Last Supper, and expect that those watching will have their own bread and wine available to partake. Still others will encourage family groups to do their own thing. In some circumstances the minister might lead a communion service in someone’s home or garden on their visitation rounds if it is safe and legal. I understand that there will be quite a range of responses, each with differing outcomes and regional variations. I take it that the way we conduct the Lord’s Supper is a matter of secondary importance – during a crisis or even under normal conditions! Though I have committed myself to Anglican discipline in these matters, I recognise others as brothers and sisters despite our differing practices and theology.

But here I want to make the case that it is better to forego communion for the time being than pursue a practice which might have dangerously unforeseen consequences after the crisis has passed. Do we really want to become observers of the priest taking the bread and the wine? How will this change our theology when the crazy time has passed? I can genuinely see why some might want to encourage small groups to conduct communion services in their own homes. But this changes the purpose of communion, such that it is reduced to individual preference, without factoring in the long-range good of the fellowship, learning to wait on each other, or to build up the body. In Anglican churches celebrating communion is tied to a relationship of accountability with the minister and the bishop, which promotes the godly notion of being part of the church catholic, and so for this reason Anglicans believe that communion is a function of ordained ministers alone. If communion is about celebrating the deep unities we share, with the Lord and with each other, any kind of arrangement in online settings will be impaired, for part of the rite is not just remembering some theological truths but is more profoundly a corporate enactment of the story of salvation as a result of Christ’s command. Some people will no doubt uphold the view that a compromised experience is better than no experience at all. But I am not persuaded.

Clearly for the time being, we have to reconcile ourselves to the fact that our goal in online settings cannot be to replicate all that the church should be, because these are weird days. A ministry of the Word and prayer, highlighting the promises of God, is better suited to digital communication. Words can travel great distances and not be compromised. Promises are primarily received by the ears. God’s power is communicated first of all through the witness and words of the Scriptures. We are not short-changing our people by offering sermon, songs and supplications alone. But communion is different from – though dependent on – the ministry of the Word. Tongues and touch require proximity to be effectively engaged, and how great it will be, at some time down the road when gathering on Sundays returns, when we get to pass the peace, embrace one another and receive the bread and wine in our own hands! Standing up in a public setting to own the new covenant is not easily transposed into the private and domestic sphere. There are warnings attached to participation in the Lord’s Supper in 1 Corinthians 10 and 11, but nowhere in the New Testament are warnings attached to non-Christians hearing a sermon. We would love for outsiders to listen in to a sermon through an online service, but I don’t want unbelievers to mock up a communion service in their loungeroom. I agree with the Articles that theologically the Protestant church is focused on a ministry of Word and sacraments. But sacrifice is something Christians should be good at as well. To sacrifice the sacraments temporarily in a period of national crisis does not mean that I have failed in my Reformed convictions. Instead, I want to preserve the deep purpose of the sacraments and not give in to panic and pragmatic pressure in the first weeks of not meeting together. Compassion for our people can be expressed in ways other than by offering them the bread and the wine. Too much is at stake.

As Bonhoeffer so eloquently said in the opening of Life Together:

‘It is by God’s grace that a congregation is permitted to gather visibly around God’s word and sacrament in this world. Not all Christians partake of this grace. The imprisoned, the sick, the lonely who live in the diaspora, the proclaimers of the gospel in heathen lands stand alone. They know that visible community is grace. They pray with the psalmist: “I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God, with glad shouts and songs of thanksgiving, a multitude keeping festival” (Ps. 42:5). But they remain alone in distant lands, a scattered seed according to God’s will. Yet what is denied them as a visible experience they grasp more ardently in faith.’