Online faith is a poor substitute for turning up on a Sunday

How weird and wrong and sad that the Church of England reaches more people via its digital services than its live action, so to speak. Yes, I get it that the C of E is not exactly known for its firebrand speakers, and rumours that The Vicar of Dibley was a documentary were not entirely unfounded. But going to church in spirit isn’t the same as going to church.

I know some parishioners are housebound and others have caring responsibilities and urgent brunches to attend – but what about the rest of the 34,000 worshippers who have gone Awol over the past 12 months? That’s some collective sickie.

I know I sound a bit of a scold, but that’s because I kick with the other foot. In Catholicism, guilt is a primary driver; frankly, if our family fails to fill a pew every week, the priest will invariably have words. And, trust me, it won’t be: “Quick! Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. For the Woods family was dead, and is alive again; it was lost and is found.”

It’s not ideal, but reproach sure gets us out of the house on a Sunday, however reluctant/hung-over/ agnostic any particular family member might be feeling on any given occasion. But the thing is, once we arrive and nod and say hello to the rest of the congregation and stand and sit and kneel and sing, we are always glad we came. Always.

In an age of fractured communities and isolationism, when you can order food and drink, watch movies and flirt without leaving your sofa, actually being among other souls – likeminded, kind, welcoming souls – is a salutary reminder that a church isn’t a building but a body of believers.

That’s why there’s something relaxing, uplifting, heart-warming about the shared act of weekly worship – not forgetting the nice cup of tea and chitchat afterwards. Facebook Faith may be more convenient, but like all human interactions conducted at arm’s length, it’s a very poor substitute for the real thing.