Worship Goes Underground

About fifteen years ago during an ebb cycle of church attendance in Eastern Washington, our local pastor was assigned an additional church in a neighboring village. The plan was for him to have an early service 30 miles down the road and be back to face our congregation at the normal hour. My routine volunteer duties included filling in for vacations and other routine absences. With the addition of the church down the road, I was assigned the additional duty to be ready just in case inclement weather caused delay in his return. I found it handy to keep a sermon in my pocket for other unforeseen circumstances as well. On rare occasions our pastor would wake up Sunday morning too sick to get out of bed, and I had to experience the thrill of driving 30 miles on icy roads, preach a sermon, and drive 30 miles back to preach again at our home church. This arrangement worked fairly well except on Easter. Both congregations had a sunrise service. The logistics demanded our minister go down the road to the other sunrise service then preach at their regular time before returning to our church service. Thus, sunrise service in our village was left to me.

Five churches participated to present a meaningful service overlooking a beautiful lake. I was the only preacher who didn’t have a regular service later Easter morning, so I became the main speaker. One minister was responsible for the music, others would read scripture or say a short prayer, and I would present the sermon as the sun came up over the lake. It was a beautiful venue. The only weak link was the amateur preacher. No one else volunteered, so I continued for fifteen years. This year, however, two official decrees made our service impossible. All boat launches in the state were closed, and worship services were outlawed.

Funeral services were somewhat legal but tightly regulated. I guess the officials were concerned about the back log of recently deceased waiting for the virus to abate. An old and dear friend died during worship prohibition, and the family called me to conduct a service. It was sad. We were allowed graveside only with no chairs and less than ten people total. It is hard to comfort loved ones and help them with closure under those constraints.

The Sunday following the funeral was the highest of the Christian holy days, Easter. It was to be the first Easter morning in fifteen years when I didn’t speak. One of the local pastors suggested we hold a sunrise service on main street. We could block each end of the business strip and spread out in lawn chairs so we could keep our distance from one another. Someone ratted us out; reported us to the county sheriff. Threatened with arrest, we dropped the idea. Our only option was to watch Easter service on TV conducted by one of those millionaire preachers. I have always thought TV evangelists had a tighter connection to the bank then they did to faith. But it seemed I had no other choice. Then I received a call from a friend, also a preacher, who invited me to a service in a local farmer’s hay field. He didn’t want too much publicity for fear that we would be shut down by the authorities, but he needed my portable amplifier and loud speakers, so I was included. The ad hoc congregation of about a dozen families stayed in their cars afraid to socialize with one another. It was church as normal in that a couple cars arrived a few minutes late and kicked up a dust cloud that obscured the preacher until it dissipated. Overall, however, it was a success. So much so that the organizers are planning to do it again. I would tell you where and when, but the word might get out and attract the attention of the social distancing police.

Frank Watson is a retired Air Force colonel and long-time resident of Eastern Washington. He has been a free-lance columnist for over 20 years.