Drifting Away From Church During COVID
Caitlin Doherty
DANBURY, CT—Before 2020, I was in church three times a week. That all changed, as most things have this year. Since March, I have only gone back to my church building three times.
Although it was considered relatively safe to go places in my state over the summer as long as social distancing was in place, my church was never safe. They do not follow social distancing; no one wears masks. Although the auditorium is spacious, at the end of services attendants funnel out to a smaller room and a long hallway, with no care as to how close they are to each other. During the beginning of the pandemic, prominent members of the church shared numerous posts on Facebook claiming that COVID was a hoax and being blown out of proportion as a way for the Democrats to win the Presidential Election.
The church building reopened its doors in late May, but my family continued to stay home. We regularly watched the online service on Sunday mornings, but once as we gathered around the television to watch the live stream, our pastor said, rather forcefully, “We’re safe here, there is a lot of room to socially distance. If you are a member of this church, it is time to come back.” Guilt seemed to materialize in the air of the living room. Were we doing something wrong, sinful, in not returning? Almost everyone else had already resumed their in-person visits to church.
Guilted into returning, my family and I went back to church the week after the pastor’s announcement for the first time since March, but we only went back once or twice after. The last time I sat in the service, I tallied the number of people in the auditorium from the back row of pews, a vantage point with which I was unfamiliar after years of sitting in the middle rows. It gave me a different perspective, however, because I was able to see all sixty of them, gathered around: the sixty unmasked faces lifted towards the pulpit raised upon a platform in the front of the room. I was able to hear the singing of the hymns as people’s breath flowed freely from their mouths. I tried not to flinch each time the elderly man sitting to our left coughed. I attempted to lead my family as far away from the lingering talkers and towards the end of the long hallway that opened to outside, away from the tainted air and the feeling that being inside that building was terribly wrong and the contradicting one that told me I should be inside of that building as some part of my obligation as a Christian.
I grew up in an environment where I was led to believe that whatever my church believed was right, even if it was political and unrelated to the teachings of the Bible. As I have matured, I have gained perspectives that have given me independent opinions on various issues, but I always feel guilty when I do, as if having a different political view from those at my church is some sort of sin. COVID has allowed me to realize that the guilt I was putting on myself was undeserved. Over the course of the year, I have lost respect for many of the members of my church of whom I once thought highly. My family lost those we love because of the virus, and members of my church spewed misinformation: calling COVID a hoax and walking into the church without masks or any consideration for others. Masks are scientifically proven to work, and I cannot help but view not wearing them as selfish and uncompassionate. The attitudes of those in my church made me question my faith, so I turned to its origin: the Bible. Almost every day over the summer, I would go into my Bible to pray and question the faith on which I had relied for so long, and I found answers. While exploring my beliefs, I became not more sure in my church but in my personal faith. I had never been bold enough to question the things I had been taught in church before, but when I finally took the time to test my beliefs, I found my faith was at its strongest, although I was the farthest point from my church community than I had ever been.