Crowds attending ANZAC Day events, it has reported for many years now, are growing. The further away we are from the events of Gallipoli, Lone Pine, the Kokoda Trail, and Long Tan, the more people are flocking to crowded public events: at dawn services, at Cenotaph gatherings, at local town war memorials, and in major city marches.
But not this year. No social gatherings, no travel except for essential purposes, meant no ANZAC gatherings: no large Cenotaph dawn services, no massed marches, not even any local services at the town war memorial. Instead, a grassroots movement saw thousands of people standing outside their house, at the front of their driveways, as the sun rose.
TV news reports this year showed streets with one, two or a handful of people outside each house, a string of candlelights stretching along the street, as the sun rose. Gathering apart, no close contact, no large crowds. In some enterprising streets, musicians played The Last Post on bugle, trumpet, clarinet, or saxophone.
And those official events that did take place, with just a handful of invited “dignitaries” in attendance, were seriously pared-down events: no massed singing; no droning long addresses on the valour and bravery of those who died in war; no string of people, one after another, laying wreaths in remembrance. Instead, a short statement, the traditional Last Post and Reveille, the Ode of Remembrance, just a few words to mark the occasion; perhaps the national anthems of Australia and then New Zealand.
Then, it was over. Short, succinct, sombre.
Central to the Christian story of Jesus is the death and burial of Jesus, followed by his being raised from the dead on the third day. Central to the Christian Church is the annual remembrance of those crucial events, over the four days of the Easter weekend.
Quietly reflective recollections of the last meal of Jesus on Thursday evening, subdued recollections of the story of his crucifixion and death on the Friday, a time of silent vigil on Friday afternoon and, for some, throughout Saturday; then, the early Sunday morning fire (in some denominations) and the grand Sunday morning celebrations, recalling our baptism, hearing the Gospel read and proclaimed, gathering at the table of the Lord. This is what Easter is. This is what the church does so well.
Indeed, every Sunday morning throughout the year, in purpose-built structures and and in rented halls, in majestic cathedrals with stained-glass windows and in modest wooden country church buildings out in the paddock, people of faith gather to be reminded of the good news, to be strengthen in their faith, to be challenged in their discipleship. The Gospel is read and interpreted, hymns of praise and reflective tunes are sung, prayers are offered, then tea and coffee are drunk as people share news and gossip.
But not this year. The doors of every church, every cathedral (and every synagogue, every mosque, every temple, every meeting house) were shut for Easter, and will remain closed, locked, not to be opened until the wave of viral infections has well and truly passed. Inside, the vacant spaces, the silenced pulpits, the empty tables, all point to the way that we are now “being church” in different ways—in ways that, not so long ago, we never imagined or expected to see.
So the worship services have been transferred to online platforms: ZOOM, YouTube, Facebook Streaming; or resources are collated and emailed to people; or printed and posted, or even hand delivered to letter boxes or front doors. We have demonstrated both great ingenuity and also focussed energy, devoted to ensuring that we maintain contact with everyone connected to our church communities.
And more than worship—now, morning teas that once took place around tables in church halls, now take place online, in chaotic but warm and friendly conversations on ZOOM. Church Council meetings that once required everyone attending in person, now also meet online by ZOOM. We have held on to our connections, and are ensuring that nobody is left out.
Churches, of course, are more than just worship. Lots of community-oriented activities are integral to the life of the church. Op Shops with low cost clothing and kitchen items, weekly Free Meal programmes, Emergency Relief and Food Pantry programs for vulnerable people in society, book libraries at the front door of the church building with free books available for borrowing and swapping, are some examples.
Fellowship Groups for lonely people to meet and talk together on a regular basis, the availability of overnight accommodation as Safe Shelter in church halls for people who are vulnerably housed, and Community Gardens operating from the grounds of churches. All of these activities are fundamental ways that faithful followers of Jesus live out their discipleship. Caring for others, especially the lonely and the vulnerable, is at the heart of how people of faith live out the command to “love your neighbour”.
Such activities happen day in and day out, throughout the year, each year. But, for the most part, not this year. Some of these activities have had to be suspended for the duration of the period that restrictions are in place. Some of them have been able to continue, albeit with significant changes to the regular way in which they were operating.
Food pantries have adopted strict social distancing and thorough disinfecting protocols. Some meals programs continue by providing pre-cooked, individually packaged take away meals for regular clients. Many Op Shops, unable to provide space to enable appropriate social distancing, have closed for the duration.
What will ANZAC Day look like in 2021? Assuming that restrictions are eased and “life returns to normal” by April next year, we might well expect to see the return of the massed gatherings, the carefully-choreographed dawn services and the modest meetings at thousands of small town and suburban war memorials, the long, extended city marches, followed by the inevitable breakfasts, two up games and afternoon drinking sessions. ANZAC Day will likely “return to normal”.
What will Easter look like in 2021? Again, if we assume that restrictions are lifted, most churches will undoubtedly offer their usual array of worship services across the weekend; people will gather to reflect, to grieve, to give thanks, to celebrate. And Easter egg hunts will presumably be able to be held once again!
What will church look like in 2021? Will it simply “return to normal”? Or will we take this opportunity to change things, to do church differently, to step out into a new way of gathering and serving?
Will worship go back to “Sunday morning at 9:30am, everyone in the same building”? Or will a variety of ways of gathering be offered, including options that continue online participation from those least able to be present in person?
Will food programs revert to the “business as usual” pattern of past years, or will there be important learnings about hygiene, work patterns, seating, or other matters, that will inform new practices?
Will church-based Community Gardens open up to all members of the community with “free seed collection” days, so the people can benefit from the produce in their own gardens?
What will church look like, near year? and the year after? What are your thoughts?
One thought on “Not this year. So what about next year?”
Thank you John. Very poignant. I hope Anzac Day can be observed by the new precedent of residents standing in front of their driveways. Very meaningful and respectful. Most of our neighbours in Winmalee (Blue Mountains) were outside well before 6am with their fires and candles, and there was an assortment of broadcasts and music. I hope this continues in future.