Belated seasons greetings and churchgoing in the time of covid

I haven't been writing much because changes to the Blogger posting function make writing much more laborious, and because I am still depressed by the election, and how Democrats were pretty much trounced, except for the presidency, not to mention what Trump's continued existence says for democracy ("What We Get Wrong About America's Crisis of Democracy," New Yorker; "Americans’ acceptance of Trump’s behavior will be his vilest legacy," Guardian; "Republicans closely resemble autocratic parties in Hungary and Turkey – study," Guardian; "Is Trump's 'coup' a dress rehearsal?," New York Magazine).

I'm not religious.  I'm intellectually Jewish but have grown up in a Christian culture.  It happens that I am a fan of religious architecture, even though I am agnostic at best--some things sometimes you can't shake even if intellectually you know faith is pretty much a loser.

I guess in Christianity the tension between the Old Testament (vengeful and cruel) and New Testament (social justice, loving, forgiving) is reproduced in society more generally such as the difference in outlook between Republicans (vengeful, blaming, individualistic) and Democrats (more focused on the collective and mutual aid).

St Margaret’s church in south London is being used as a food bank distribution centre, supported by the Trussell Trust. Photograph: Dan Kitwood/Getty Images.

An article in the Guardian, "If the Church of England worships online, how can its historic buildings survive?," about the impact of pandemic related meeting restrictions on churches, and how some churches are responding in creative and innovative ways, which increases rather than diminishes their relevance, is relevant to my earlier writings on churches and urbanism, codified here, "Churches, community, religion and change," last in 2015 (although I do "update" it from time to time in the comments section as I come across relevant articles and findings).

Photo: St. Bridget's church in Glasgow, Scotland (ANSA).  Fixed pews make churches inflexible spaces.

A photograph in the article of the St. Margaret's Church in South London, showing the worship hall used for a food bank, reminded me of my experience going to the Liverpool Cathedral when I visited the UK in 2018.  About churches as flexible spaces.  (I've written about church social halls as flexible spaces here, "Ground up (guerrilla) art #2: community halls and music (among other things).")

I went there because there was an art exhibit, using the cavernous hall to show the "Museum of the Moon" (more) which had been written up in my local newspaper before I left.  

The Cathedral, the largest in Britain, also has a Tracey Emin neon sculpture ("Award for Cathedral's Emin Work," BBC) which was placed as part of Liverpool's European Capital of Culture program in 2008.

I was intrigued because the church doesn't have fixed pews, which means that the space can be flexibly used.  

My understanding is that it was designed that way deliberately (although I never got around to confirming it), so that the church space could be multipurpose.

And later that weekend, the same space was used for what the church called the "Summer Arts Market," basically an art fair, within the church.  They also do this in the winter.

Years ago I wrote some pieces related to the point Washington Wizards team owner Ted Leonsis made about the arena or stadium being a platform ("Stadiums and arenas as the enabling infrastructure for "money-making" platforms").

Simon Jenkins points out in the Guardian article that some churches are more than doubling their pre-pandemic attendance with the addition of Zoom-based services.  

He wonders what that means for church buildings, although he argues it's an opportunity for renewal as well.   

In my piece, I made a similar point but in a different way.  I wrote that churches, especially megachurches, are organized at the scale of a metropolitan area.  It means that they get much greater attendance and membership, but it comes at the loss of connection to a particular community or neighborhood.   

Although this has happened anyway, because only a few religions maintain a tight geographical bound between the community and the place of worship, because of how religion is practiced.  This is especially the case for Islam--which requires daily practice ("Can This Muslim Community Create a Model for Rebuilding Detroit?," The Nation); and Orthodox Judaism, which forbids the use of mechanical devices on the Sabbath, so people live within walking distance of their synagogue.

Dream of Detroit is an Islamic initiative focused on revitalizing the neighborhood around their church building.  And in nearby Oak Park, in the late 1980s, the State highway department built a deck across a local freeway to facilitate a community's ability to walk to and from synagogue ("Who knew? There's been a freeway deck in Oak Park, Michigan over I-696 for almost 30 years").

Interestingly, in Utah, especially Salt Lake City, the Mormon Church historically built churches around the idea of people living close and walking to church ("A Brief Introduction To Mormon Urbanism").  

Although I believe that the practice of walking to church has waned, as most churches have big parking lots, and even before the pandemic it was rare to see people walking to or from church.