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Neo-Nicodemuses roam the religious neighborhoods of cyberspace.
Like that famed Pharisee who "came to Jesus by night" on his spiritual quest, millions of today's seekers-after-spiritual-truth search cyberspace cloaked by screen names. Such anonymity allows searchers to shed their inhibitions. But it also may shield them from the full benefits of Christian community.
After all, if no one knows your age, skin color, weight, denominational history, sexual preference, phone number or political affiliation, you can ask any question, argue any theological point, explore any theology at your own pace. The good news is that no one can pass you a collection plate or pressure you to make an emotional response. The bad news is that no one can pass you the communion cup or press your hand in hers.
Christians of all sorts have set up shop on the Web and are open for business 24/7 -- con men and counselors, theologians and King James-only advocates, bleeding-heart liberals and venom-spewing fundamentalists -- along with satirists, kind-hearted moralists, atheists and a great number of people with serious mental problems.
Nicodemus, the old hymn reminds us, "met the Master" during his clandestine spiritual quest. But what of his networked 21st-century imitators? Do they eventually reveal themselves and grapple with real issues of faith?
Welcome to the cyberchurch -- or temple or mosque or drumming circle. Here you can stare at a computer screen, instead of the back of head of the guy in the pew in front of you, and discuss predestination with folks you'll never meet this side of "hvn." If you wish, you can join in chat room and blogs and bot Bible studies.
All of which begs the question: Is the cyberchurch a valid part of the Body of Christ or just a slacker substitute for the real thing?
What makes it church?
The answer to that question typically hinges on what is meant by "church." Those who require physical proximity as part of the definition obviously exclude cyberchurch from their theological dictionary. But if chat rooms, shared e-praying and the emotional gathering of like-minded believers online are included, then the cyberchurch qualifies.
Some Christians offer ecstatic endorsements of the cyberchurch. Geoff Smith, canon of the Church of England, suggests surfing the Internet can give us a glimpse of God. Margaret Wertheim, in The Pearly Gates of Cyberspace, depicts the World Wide Web as a New Jerusalem and the means of achieving a type of immortality. But there are also stern rejections. Denver Seminary professor Douglas Groothuis warns of the loss of biblical "truth" under the onslaught of practically unlimited information. Other critics insist face-to-face community is essential DNA of a congregation.
And of course there are opinions at just about every point in between. Many welcome the technology as an evangelism boon rivaling the invention of the printing press and television. Others damn it (occasionally literally) for luring individuals deeper and deeper into isolation and darkness.
No one denies the dark side of cyberspace is deep and wide. Hate groups, pornography and pedophiles abound. Violent interactive games come in attractive, easy-access packages. Time on-line is time not spent in personal interaction. Not unsurprisingly some Christians advocate avoiding the Internet altogether.
That, according to Brenda Brasher, who teaches a course on religion and the Internet at Mount Union College in Ohio, is akin to trying to outrun a tidal wave. "The best possibility open to us may be to run toward the wave, to leap into its force and surf its energies to a new shore," advises the author of Give Me That Online Religion. "We may find that surfing spiritual change is exhilarating, frightening and slightly dangerous. It may even be fun. Regardless, it is a necessary skill, given our techno-cultural circumstances."
Like Brasher, most Christians evaluating the cyberchurch paraphrase Martin Luther's comment on secular music and ask, "Why should the devil have all the good URLs?"
"Debating whether an online church is a 'true' church is not nearly as important as formulating a response to the sweeping changes that are diminishing the church's influence," insists Andrew Careaga, author eMinistry: Connecting With the Net Generation." He also refutes the characterization of some that the Internet is a digital Antichrist. "The Internet is as evil as a hammer. A hammer can be used by Habitat for Humanity to build houses for the poor or it can be used by a street gang to knock out car windows."
Susanna Cornwall, who studies post-Christian church patterns, concurs. "It is pointless to try to argue that cyberchurch can ever 'be' as obviously tangible as a physical gathering of Christians," says the University of Exeter graduate. "But this alone does not diminish its worth.… The prayers of the saints still rise like incense, however they originate, and the outcome is still an active response from an interactive God."
There is plenty of anecdotal evidence that real relationships and ministry happen on the Internet.
"Cyber sites can be a source of unexpected strength," says Kent Curry, executive editor of the college-ministry website ninetyandnine.com. Last summer he received a plaintive request from a young girl in Louisiana: Could he help her contact JoAnne, a St. Louis teenager whose testimony was posted in 1999. JoAnne had written about relying on ninetyandnine.com for spiritual support and guidance because her parents refused to let her attend church. The Louisiana teen faced a similar situation.
They were two "spiritual babies" left to fend for themselves, Curry says, "trying to live for God alone - but they could go to the Internet. One has e-mentored the other about living for God without a physical support network. That could happen only on the Internet."
Hong Kong resident Hannah C. happened upon a contemporary Christian music chat room based in Canada. She was drawn into the discussion and had her questions about Christianity answered "with love and care," she recalls. Ten days later, Hannah typed her version of the sinner's prayer, hit "enter" and sent that message to her new friends. They were not physically close enough to hug her, but they swamped her e-mail box with messages of "Halleluhjah!!!" and "Praise God!!!" with plenty of emoticons.
"Thank God," Hannah says. "I met some good Christians on the Net. It is God's grace. God let me meet them."
Planting churches on-line
On-line ministry is one thing; on-line congregations are more rare. Determining how many churches exist only on-line is virtually impossible. A search for "cyber church" on Google.com gets more than 200,000 hits, while a check with religiousresources.org turns up two dozen self-proclaimed cyberchurches.
One bona fide on-line church is the First Church of Cyberspace, started in 1994 by Presbyterian minister Charles Henderson of New Jersey.
"Though there are many religious groups that advertise their presence on the Web, we are the first to organize within cyberspace itself ... making connections, building relationships, supporting people who are interested in growing in faith and understanding," he explains. "It is an experiment, an attempt to see how far we can go in creating a faith community on-line."
Henderson's cyber congregation grew out of a series of workshops he led in Montclair, N.J., titled "Does God Surf the Internet?" At the time he was looking for ways to expand the reach of his "tactile" church (as in bricks and bodies together), Central Presbyterian Church, where he was pastor.
He remains convinced, he told Presbyterians Today, that the Internet is the place to find "the group that is missing from church on Sunday mornings" yet still anxious to explore their questions about God, the Bible and church.
Being pastor of an Internet church sounds like a joke to many people, Henderson says. "If there is not enough humor in your life, you might try introducing yourself as the organizing pastor of the First Church of Cyberspace."
"There seems to be great entertainment value in the notion of finding God in cyberspace, or forming a faith community in and through the Internet. However, there is also a serious purpose to be served by this construct which becomes so easily an object of satire."
Despite the name, First Church of Cyberspace may not be the first. Prior to 1994, a group in Gainesville, Fla., incorporated a congregation by the same name, although they share little else .
Internet indigenous
Overwhelmingly cyberchurches are add-ons to existing traditional congregations or hurried attempts to exploit the exploding popularity of the Internet. But a growing number are being birthed slowly and as intentionally as any traditional church plant.
Five years in the making, e-Church plans on 'going live' with new members this spring. Former youth pastor Tim Bednar of Minneapolis has spent the time developing the on-line tools that will make e-Chruch work, particularly weblogs, or blogs. "It's my desire to go way beyond traditional interactivity -- that is, discussion boards, photo galleries and Web casting -- toward blogs as a community," Bednar explains. "Blogging has an Internet DNA. It is indigenous. We see blogging as a spiritual discipline that promotes spiritual formation. e-Church aims to both publish content and aid in discipleship."
E-Church also expands the idea of church membership. "It is time to explore what a church might look like if it were not based on the assumption that its members exclusively 'attend' a single church," Bednar says. "A healthy Christian is one who has multiple memberships in communities of faith." To belong only to the local church diminishes the reality that the church is global, he notes, while belonging exclusively to a cyberchurch entails the loss of vital face-to-face fellowship.
Bednar has no doubts that God meets present-day Nicodemuses on the Internet. "It's not like the Pentecostal revival meetings I've been a part of, but he does show up in the chance meetings and conversations," he says.
"In fact, I am convinced that the whole emerging-church movement could not have occurred without the Internet. I believe God used the Internet to 'revive' his church in North America and the world. It very well could be looked at as a protracted tent meeting or altar call. It just looks different because it is steeped in a postmodern vibe and sensibility."
- Craig Bird is a free-lance writer in San Antonio, Texas. This article was first published inFaithWorks.
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