When doors closed, communities opened

Through this past year of pandemic-driven isolation, one thing has become clear: It’s not the locale that makes the community; it’s the people.

What does it mean to belong to a community? 

There are, of course, many answers to that question. Some communities cohere around common activities, others around mutual values. But until very recently, most communities had one thing in common: They all hinged on some kind of shared physical space. A neighborhood. An office. A school. A ball field. A church. 

Through this past year of pandemic-driven distance and isolation, one thing has become increasingly clear: It’s not the locale that makes the community; it’s the people.

At its root, that’s what this week’s cover story is about. As governments and organizations restricted in-person gatherings last spring, many congregants worried what that would mean for the sense of fellowship that stems from gathering in a single location to worship together. Some religious communities railed against the restrictions, pointing to the freedom to practice religion enshrined in the U.S. Constitution. 

Many churches learned that locking the doors didn’t have to mean pulling up the welcome mat. By pivoting to virtual programming, religious leaders were able to not only engage their congregations, but also grow their ranks. In some cases, that meant former parishioners who had moved away could rejoin a loved community. In others, it meant a chance to bring new people into the fold, regardless of where they live.

Our story focuses on Christian churches, but other religious communities have discovered unexpected benefits in making space for virtual gatherings. 

When the annual pilgrimage to Mecca was restricted last summer, virtual offerings suddenly made participation possible for Muslims who could not afford or otherwise manage to travel to Saudi Arabia. Similarly, in Jewish communities, virtual shiva enabled a broader range of friends and family to join together in the traditional rituals of mourning.

Virtual communities aren’t entirely new. People have been convening online in chat rooms and digital forums since the 1990s. But for the bulk of society, a clear dividing line separated the digital world from what many consider real life. The pandemic changed all that.

As the world retreated from public spaces, people flocked online to try to replace what they missed most about communal life. It was always meant to be a temporary measure, a placeholder until our regular lives could resume in full. 

But something unexpected happened along the way. People began to realize that some of these stopgap measures are actually useful. 

Grandparents who may not have felt particularly digitally savvy braved Zoom and FaceTime to read bedtime stories to their grandchildren. Teachers opened up new avenues of communication with families that could make it much easier for working parents to check in during the semester. Universities and cultural institutions opened their virtual doors to people around the world who might never have been able to visit in person.

The irony is that this global crisis that isolated us all has also helped us to see new ways to connect with each other.