​Für mich ist Jom Kippur immer der Tag im Jahr, an dem ich mich am persönlichsten mit der jüdischen Gemeinschaft verbunden fühle. Vielleicht klingt dies etwas seltsam, da wenigstens von außen her Jom Kippur aussieht, als sei er intensiv privat und persönlich. Er ist der feierlichste Tag im jüdischen Jahr und wird ganz und gar im Gebet, im Fasten, in der Kontemplation und in der Buße verbracht. Es wird gelehrt, dass an Rosch Haschanah, dem jüdischen Neujahr, der zehn Tage vor Jom Kippur ist, das Buch des Lebens geöffnet wird; zehn Tage lang untersucht jeder und jede von uns seine und ihre Taten während des vergangenen Jahres, und unser Los für das kommende Jahr wird geschrieben. Was wir in dieser Zeit tun können, ist  sowohl von Gott als auch von unseren Schwestern und Brüdern um Vergebung zu bitten, Taten der Liebe und des guten Willens zu tun und zu beten, weil Gott natürlich die Quelle des Erbarmens ist und barmherzig sein wird, wenn wir darum bitten. In gewissem Sinne ist Jom Kippur unsere letzte Chance, dieses Werk der Buße zu tun.

​Ihr könntet Jom Kippur also als analog sehen zur katholischen Beichte, und dies einen ganzen Tag lang – privat, sogar geheim, vielleicht ein wenig beschämend und wirklich nicht etwas, worüber man redet. Aber eine solche Sicht könnte gar nicht weiter entfernt sein von meiner Erfahrung. Jom Kippur ist sozial. Ich verbringe fast den ganzen Tag in Gesellschaft mit meiner ganzen Gemeinde. Es gibt tatsächlich so viele von uns, dass wir nicht in unseren normalen Synagogenbau hineinpassen; so mieten wir ein örtliches Theater. In meiner gegenwärtigen Gemeinde kennen mich alle als den Ehemann der Rabbinerin, und sie wollen schnell guten Tag sagen, aber sogar in der Vergangenheit, als ich in eine Gemeinde fuhr, in der ich absolut niemanden kannte, wurden alle an Jom Kippur plötzich zu meinen neuen Freunden. Es ist eine Erfahrung der kollektiven Solidarität. Die meisten liturgischen Sündenbekenntnisse, die wir sagen, sind in der ersten Person Plural formuliert, und auch wenn es Zeiten für private Meditation und ein schweigendes Bekenntnis gibt, sind diese die Ausnahme, nicht die Regel. Viel öfter reden wir zusammen über “die Sünde, die wir gegen Dich durch unsere Worte begangen haben, und die Sünde, die wir durch unsere Taten gegen Dich begangen haben.” “Vergib uns, verzeih uns, schenke uns Versöhnung.” Es gibt sogar eine alphabetische Liste all unserer Versäumnisse - “aschamru, bagadnu, usw., usw.” - alle mit dieser -nu Endung im Hebräischen, die als ‘wir haben’ übersetzt wird; so beginnt eine kreative Übersetzung im Gebetbuch der Reformbewegung des Vereinigten Königreichs von 1985 mit der Formulierung dieses Gebetes mit den Worten:
            Wir haben mißbraucht (abused)
            Wir haben verraten (betrayed)
            Wir waren grausam (cruel)
            Wir haben zerstört (destroyed)
            und das Leben anderer Menschen verbittert (embittered)
 
Dies ist emotional eine schwere Last zu tragen. Und sie wird durch das strenge Fasten noch schwerer gemacht – keine Nahrung und kein Wasser von Sonnenuntergang am Vorabend bis Sonnenuntergang an diesem Abend. Man beginnt, sich physisch und emotional ziemlich verwundbar zu fühlen. Aber man schaut sich um und sieht alle anderen mit demselben Kampf.  Der Chor der Stimmen im gemeinsamen Lesen und Singen der Gebete, die Energie, die man von dieser Gemeinschaft erhält – diese erheben einen. Natürlich ist die Hauptquelle der Hoffrnung an Jom Kippur die Tatsache, dass unser Gott ein liebender und verzeihender Gott ist, der Jahr für Jahr die irregehenden Schafe wieder willkommen heißt, aber fast genauso hilfreich ist die ständige Erinnerung daran, dass  du als Teil der Herde willkommen bist. In der Arbeit von Jom Kippur geht es nicht nur um mich; es geht um uns und ist immer um uns gegangen.
​
Ich wollte mit meiner typischen Erfahrung von Jom Kippur beginnen, um diesen Tag meiner Erfahrung in diesem Jahr gegenüber zu stellen. Wir konnten uns natürlich wegen der Pandemie nicht versammeln. Und so habe ich den Jom Kippur Gottesdienst dieses Jahr allein verbracht, indem ich auf meinem Sofa saß und dem Gottesdienst live gestreamt auf unserem smart Fernseher zusah. Ich habe versucht, mein Mögliches zu tun, um mein Wohnzimmer in einen zum Gebet geeigneten Raum zu verwandeln. Ich habe Ordnung gemacht, ich habe alles, was eventuell  ablenken könnte, entfernt, ich habe meinen besten Anzug und meine beste Kippah angezogen, ich habe den Kaffeetisch mit einem Gebetsschal bedeckt, und ich habe versucht, mich zu konzentrieren. Der gestreamte Gottesdienst wurde wunderbar durchgeführt (obwohl ich hier zugebe, dass ich als Ehemann der Rabbinerin voreingenommen bin) – der Gottesdienst war klar, musikalisch, gut organisiert, einnehmend, und er enthielt reichliche vorher aufgenommene Beiträge von verschiedenen Mitgliedern der Gemeinde. Die Technik wurde gut gehandhabt – das war nicht das Problem. Und trotzdem war es der schwierigste Jom Kippur, den ich als Erwachsener je erfahren habe, und derjenige, der mich am meisten mitgenommen hat. Am Ende des Tages kam meine Frau nach Hause und fand mich so:

Niemand hätte gedacht, dass wir den Großteil von 2020 mit einer Pandemie konfrontiert sein werden. Viele von uns hatten große Pläne für das Jahr, so auch ich. Masterstudium, neue Jobmöglichkeiten und Persönlichkeitsentwicklung und -entfaltung. Ja, Träume muss der Mensch haben.
Dann war es plötzlich ganz nah - das Corona-Virus. Von der Epidemie zur Pandemie. Plötzlich mussten alle Zuhause bleiben. Ich hatte bereits nach der vergangenen JCM im Februar angefangen, nur noch das Auto zu benutzen. Meine Angst hatte ich da noch im Griff.

An meinem Geburtstag ging es sogar an die Nordsee. Was für ein schöner Tag es doch war.
Am 13. März war es dann soweit: die ersten Moscheen schlossen ihre Türen wegen des Virus. Ich sollte an dem Abend einen Vortrag in einer Jugendgruppe halten und war vorher in Halimas alter Wohnung zum Ausmisten und Aufräumen. Es passte mir auch in den Kram, da ich nun genug Zeit hatte, um Halimas Arbeitszimmer so gut es geht auf Vordermann zu bringen.
Die Woche drauf schrieb ich meinem damaligen Chef, ob es okay sei, wenn ich ab jetzt homeoffice mache, bis sich die Lage wieder beruhigt. Da ich durch meine Immunschwäche zur Risikogruppe gehöre, willigte er ein. Gesundheit und Sicherheit gehen schließlich vor. Hatte ich schon erwähnt, dass ich eigentlich eine Hausarbeit bis zum 31.03.2020 abgeben sollte?
Irgendwann mitten im Sommer stellte ich folgendes fest: Corona triggerte meine überwunden geglaubten Ängste.
Seit meiner vorläufig diagnostizierten Immunschwäche 2013 mit Ausblick auf eine Knochenmarktransplantation, war Arbeiten immer meine Bewältigungsstrategie. Zeitweise habe ich in meinem Bachelorstudium in drei Jobs parallel gearbeitet. Verrückt? Naja, die Arbeit konnte ich kontrollieren, die Unberechenbarkeit meines Körpers nicht.
Genau so und nicht anders verlief es von Mitte März bis ca. Anfang Juli.
Das ganze Jahr war eine Achterbahnfahrt für mich: Zwischen Todesangst, Lebenswillen, Selbstzweifeln, Selbstbewusstsein, Erleichterung, Frust und Hoffnung.
Wie ich damit umgegangen bin und immer noch umgehe? Achtsamkeit. Geduld. Entschleunigung. Statt gegen den Strom zu schwimmen, lernte ich nach und nach, mich von diesem tragen zu lassen und meine Energie zu wahren. Auch der Austausch mit Freund:innen half mir, mit meiner Situation besser klar zu kommen. Zu wissen und mir immer wieder zu bestätigen, dass es nicht nur mir so geht, tat manchmal ganz gut. Auch der Austausch mit meiner Mutter, Chefin und allgemein Kommunikation hielten mich auf Trab, gaben mir Kraft und neue Energie. Ohne meinen Psychoonkologen hätte ich vor allem die Zeit von April bis Ende September schwer überstanden. Mich meinen Ängsten stellen wurde für mich zu einer Reise zu mir selbst voller Erkenntnisse, Trauer und doch am Ende vor allem eins: Heilung. Der Glaube versetzt Berge sagen wir immer. Ja, das tut er. The best way out is through – dieses Motto gilt für die Überwindung meiner Ängste und es ist ein Lernprozess. Die Entschleunigung durch Erkenntnissuche und Austausch mit anderen machte mir deutlich, wie wohlwollend wir die meiste Zeit eigentlich sind, jedoch durch Missverständnisse den Weg zueinander versperren. Innehalten und Zuhören, nachdem ich gesprochen habe – das ist für mich persönlich eine der besten Möglichkeiten gewesen, die Achterbahn der Gefühle und das Chaos in dieser Pandemie anzunehmen und gelassener zu werden. Wie Dr. Alan Watkins in einem seiner TED Talks sagt: emotions are energy in motion. Diese Tatsache als solche anzunehmen hilft mir bis heute zu erkennen, wenn ich wieder aus reiner Emotionalität oder Überforderung reagiere, statt innezuhalten und besonnen zu agieren. Wenn du es eilig hast, gehe langsam, sagte eine gute Freundin zu mir. Ich übe und werde langsam und sicher besser.
Als ich am 13.03. die Nachricht der Moschee-Schließungen kam, wusste ich nicht, wie sehr es meinen Alltag beeinflussen würde. Die Moschee ist für mich wie mein zweites Wohnzimmer - ich spaziere mit einer Selbstverständlichkeit rein, wie ich sie sonst nur für mein eigenes Zimmer habe. Plötzlich durfte ich nicht mehr in die Moschee. Das kannte ich so noch nicht. Später im Jahr fiel mir ein, dass ich Anfang des Jahres 2020 in Hebron ein ähnliches Erlebnis hatte: ich musste durch eine Sicherheitskontrolle, um in die Höhle der Patriarchen eintreten zu dürfen. Natürlich nur in den Moscheeteil.
Wenn ich also nicht in die Moschee durfte, dann holte ich die Moschee zu mir. Um genau zu sein, sind viele Jugendgruppen, denen ich folgte, auf online-Unterricht umgestiegen und das auf den unterschiedlichsten Plattformen: Zoom, Instagram Live, Skype, Webex, um nur einige zu nennen. Einige Moscheegemeinden haben sich vor allem YouTube und Facebook-live zunutze gemacht.
Das Problem schien gelöst, doch der Schein trügt. Ich konnte zwar meine Vorträge halten und Wissen vermitteln, doch der Austausch war erschwert.
Da viele in meiner Umgebung ungern vor der Kamera standen oder andere Plattformen bevorzugten, sprach ich oft meinem eigenen Bild zu oder in kleine schwarze, weiße oder graue Video-Fenster hinein. Ich war verbunden und gleichzeitig getrennt. Es war eigenartig.
Manchmal war es schön, in meinem eigenen geschützten Raum mit anderen Personen Kontakt aufzunehmen. Ich meine, wer verbringt nicht mal einen entspannten Tag in Jogginghose?
Jedenfalls dachte ich am Anfang „Alhamdulillah, ich kann mich besser strukturieren.“ – Doch weit gefehlt! Schnell wurde es mir zu viel, weil ich plötzlich gar keine Struktur hatte. Mein Homeoffice steht neben meinem Bett. Wie oft bin ich aus dem Bett gefallen und habe mich wortlos direkt an den Laptop gesetzt? Zu oft. Und auch emotional wurde es mir zu viel: Ich war von wenig Menschen (Mama, Papa, Schwester) umgeben, jedoch hatte ich mit viel zu vielen Menschen zu tun. Alle waren plötzlich in meinem privaten Raum, meinem Ruhepol. Zugegeben, ich bin sehr stolz auf mein Bücherregal, weil sie einfach prächtig aussieht und mich glücklich macht – doch sowohl im Studium, Ehrenamt und auf der Arbeit hatte ich immer mal wieder mit Menschen zu tun, die ich jetzt nicht unbedingt in meinen privaten Raum lassen würde.
Draußen spazieren gehen war lange Zeit auch so eine Sache: Als Risikopatientin hatte mich früh eine unterschwellige Angst gepackt und schon kleine Menschenansammlungen stressten mich ungemein, sodass ich kaum das Haus verließ. So kamen natürlich alle möglichen Stressfaktoren für mich zusammen: Das Projekt, in dem ich arbeitete, sollte gut laufen, die Uni sollte wie gewohnt laufen bzw. sollte mich die Pandemie nicht davon abhalten, in Ruhe meine Hausarbeiten zu verfassen. Doch weit gefehlt, Frau Böler! Rückblickend bin ich verwundert darüber, wie hoch meine Selbstansprüche in einer Pandemie waren und wie hartnäckig ich mich an ihnen festgehalten habe. 2020 hat eine beachtliche Anzahl an Nachtschichten, um einfach fertig zu werden. Doch so wirklich „fertig“ werden wir ja nie, oder?
Grenzen setzen war 2020 ein großes Thema für mich. Sowohl im Privaten als auch im Beruflichen. Die Pandemie hat den Umgang mit mir selbst und meinen Mitmenschen grundlegend verändert. Zeit- bzw. Selbstmanagement sind nach wie vor herausfordernd, doch ich habe für mich festgestellt, dass ich eine eigene Routine brauche, jenseits von einem Miracle Morning, Robin Sharmas 5-Uhr-Club. Eine Routine, die mir in solchen ungewöhnlichen Zeiten Halt gibt. Sei es ein „Ortswechsel“ wie vom Schreibtisch in eine andere Ecke des Zimmers, oder auch handy- und internetfreie Zeiten: Probieren geht über Studieren. Das schlechte Gewissen und die innere Kritikerin sprechen gerne und vor allem Laut, doch auch da habe ich festgestellt: Es gibt Schlimmeres im Leben. Und hey – wir sind in einer PANDEMIE.
Auch habe ich durch die Pandemie festgestellt, dass ich im gemeinschaftlichen Sinne ein wenig sesshaft sein möchte: Als Mensch, der offen für jede muslimische Gemeinschaft ist und Moscheen und Gebetshäuser auch dementsprechend nutzt, wurde mir klar, dass ich doch gerne eine stärkere Verbundenheit nicht nur zu dem Raum, sondern auch zu der jeweiligen Gemeinschaft hätte. Und nicht nur ein „As-salam alaikum Schwester, wie geht es dir?“.
Naja, die Pandemie ist nicht unbedingt die beste Situation, um sich mit einer Gemeinschaft zu verbinden, wenn diese nicht zusammenkommen kann. Gleichzeitig ist es auch eine Chance, aus einer geschützten Umgebung heraus eine neue Umgebung zu erschließen.
Doch da kam schon das nächste Hindernis: Wo finde ich die Gruppen? Wie finde ich Anschluss im World-Wide-Web? An wen kann ich mich wenden?
Mir wurde klar, dass viele Moscheegemeinden viel Nachholbedarf im Bereich Öffentlichkeitsarbeit und Sichtbarkeit haben. Zumindest trifft es auf die Gemeinden zu, denen ich mich „annähern“ möchte. Wenn du wen kennst, der wen kennt, der Kontakt zu einer Gruppe hat, ist es einfacher, Zugang zu finden. Doch selbst das „Reinkommen“ ist kein Garant dafür, Teil einer Gruppe zu werden. Doch Soziale Netzwerke wie Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, Telegram sind gute Möglichkeiten, um einen ersten Anschluss zu bekommen.
Doch auch da ist eine Balance für mich sehr wichtig gewesen: Plötzlich war sehr vieles verfügbar und möglich, sogar parallel. Es war Fluch und Segen zugleich.
Auch die Art und Weise der Kommunikation hatte sich verändert: Durch die Reizüberflutung der Online-Vernetzungen in Studium, Arbeit und Ehrenamt merkte ich bald, dass auch meine Konzentration darunter litt. Meine Aufmerksamkeitsspanne war kürzer als gewohnt.
Neue Umstände, neue Herausforderungen.
Das ist auch der Grund, warum ich meinen Vortrag kürzer gehalten habe: Gemeinsam in einem Raum sitzen und einander zuhören ist eine andere Erfahrung, als alleine vor dem Bildschirm zu hocken und jemandem in einer großen Runde zuzuhören.
Zu der Frage, wie wir unsere religiösen Gemeinschaften und den interreligiösen und interkulturellen Dialog zukunftsfähig gestalten können, habe ich persönlich keine allumfassende Lösung, möchte jedoch folgende Punkte festhalten und zum Gedanken- und Meinungsaustausch einladen:
1. Trotz Pandemie ist es möglich, in Kontakt zu bleiben.
2. Online ist vieles möglich, jedoch können wir unsere Präsenz-/Offline-Formate nicht eins zu eins übertragen, da Online-Formate andere Voraussetzungen erfordern und einfach anders sind.
3. Wir sind in der Lage, auch online gemeinsam zu beten, uns auszutauschen und zu lernen. Wichtig ist hier Länge und Methoden zu überprüfen und Mut – Trau dich, Neues auszuprobieren.
4. Digitale Sichtbarkeit im Internet ist ein Muss für religiöse Gemeinschaften. Hier gilt es zu überlegen: Was haben wir bereits und wie können wir es sichtbar machen? Wollen wir das überhaupt?
5. Wird alles wieder „normal“, wenn die Pandemie vorbei ist? Oder gibt es Aspekte und Tools, die wir weiterhin berücksichtigen und nutzen sollten?

​Mein Name ist Mirko Lipski-Reinhardt.
Ich bin 32 Jahre alt und ev. Pfarrer in der Kirchengemeinde Hünxe am Niederrhein. Das diesjährige JCM-Thema ist unglaublich spannend, denn zum ersten Mal in unserer Generation sind wir mit dem Phänomen konfrontiert, dass die gesamte Menschheit – egal wo, egal ob oder welcher Religion sie angehören – vor dieselbe Herausforderung gestellt ist. Die Unverfügbarkeit des Lebens ist seit März 2020 global erfahrbar geworden, hat von unserem Alltag Besitz ergriffen; auch von unseren Religionsgemeinschaften. Wir mussten unsere Gottesdienste anders feiern, unsere Feiertage anders verbringen, haben mit Enttäuschungen leben müssen.
Ich möchte daher, wenn ich aus christlicher Sicht versuche eine Antwort auf diese Frage zu geben, aus meinem vergangenen Jahr als Pfarrer einer „normalen“ Kirchengemeinde und als Pfarrer in den Social Media erzählen.

Von unserer Gemeinde ist es nicht weit bis in das Ruhrgebiet. Trotzdem sind wir schon ländlich geprägt. Landwirte gehören zu unserem Gemeindeleben dazu und die Kirchengemeinde besitzt Wald- und Ackerflächen, die verpachtet sind. Zentrum unseres Gemeindelebens sind unsere beiden Kirchen:
Die eine Kirche ist ca. 800 Jahre alt; älter als die Reformation Martin Luthers, der sich die Kirchengemeinde Hünxe 1562 anschloss.
Die andere Kirche ist ein 30 Jahre altes Gemeindezentrum. Das bedeutet der Kirchraum wird nicht nur für Gottesdienste genutzt. Der Saal ist auch als Gemeindemittelpunkt geplant, in dem Chorproben oder Feiern stattfinden.
So haben wir dort, wo wir sonntags gemeinsam beten und singen, im vorletzten Jahr die Weihnachtsfeier der Landfrauen gefeiert. Kaffee und Kuchen gab es an langen Tischen, wo sonst die Stuhlreihen stehen. Geselligkeit im Haus Gottes, woran uns der Altar im vorderen Bereich erinnerte. Und natürlich begannen wir die Feier mit einer kurzen Andacht und endeten mit einem Segen.
Diese Form von Geselligkeit in der Kirchengemeinde liegt vielen Menschen in Deutschland oft näher als der sonntägliche Gottesdienst. Es ist typisch, dass sie die Zugehörigkeit zur Kirchengemeinde spüren. Ihnen ist wichtig, dass ihr Kirchengebäude im Dorf steht, aber den Gottesdienst am Sonntag feiern sie selten mit.
Durch dieses Beispiel möchte ich deutlich machen, dass die Corona-Pandemie in der „Volkskirche“[1] einen doppelten Abbruch bedeutete:
Es entfielen mit dem Lockdown ab Mitte März nicht nur die Gottesdienste und die Feiern der Sakramente[2] Taufe und Abendmahl; es entfielen Bibel- und Jugendgruppen, Chöre und Seniorennachmittage. Es wurde ruhig, zu ruhig, in unseren Kirchengemeinden.
Als Pfarrer war ich zu diesem Zeitpunkt seit fünf Monaten in Hünxe tätig. Ich war also noch recht neu in der Gemeinde, als die Corona-Pandemie begann. Eigentlich war ich noch dabei zu lernen, wie meine neue Gemeinde funktionierte; was ihre Geschichte war, was den Menschen hier wichtig war; was sie sich unter Gemeinschaft vorstellten.
Jetzt ging es aber darum von einem auf den anderen Augenblick gänzlich andere und neue Wege zu finden. Zum Glück habe ich eine wunderbare Kollegin, die mit mir zusammen als Pfarrer*in in der Kirchengemeinde tätig ist:
Wir haben nach einer kurzen Schrecksekunden ziemlich schnell mit der Gemeindeleitung („Presbyterium“) beschlossen: Wir wollen die Menschen nicht aus dem Blick verlieren, die in unserer Gemeinde zu Hause sind, die hier ihre Freizeit verbringen und einbringen und denen diese Kirchengemeinde wichtig ist. Aber wir wollen die neuen Wege auch nutzen Menschen zu erreichen, die bisher nur eine geringe oder gar keine Zugehörigkeit zur Gemeinde/Kirche gespürt haben.
Wir wollen den Menschen auf andere Art und Weise von Gott erzählen und sie einladen, ihre spirituelle Heimat im Christentum und in unserer Kirchengemeinde zu finden.
Und so haben wir uns auf den Weg gemacht. Von diesem Weg möchte ich Euch gerne berichten, davon, was wir gelernt haben, davon, was gut gelaufen ist und davon, was nicht so gut gelaufen ist. Und was das Ganze meiner Ansicht nach für die Zukunft bedeutet.

​I. Digitaler Neuaufbruch
In Abständen von etwa 10 Jahre veröffentlicht die Evangelische Kirche in Deutschland (EKD) sog. „Erhebungen über die Kirchenmitgliedschaft“. In diesen Studien werden Kirchenmitglieder und konfessionslose Menschen nach ihren Prägungen und Haltungen zur Kirche befragt.
Es wird geschaut wie evangelisches Christentum wahrgenommen wird und warum es den Menschen wichtig ist, einer evangelischen Kirchengemeinde anzugehören oder warum sie die Gemeinschaft verlassen haben. Interessant ist dabei die Beobachtung, dass vor allem ältere Menschen sich der Kirche verbunden fühlen und die Kirchenmitgliedschaft als selbstverständlich betrachten. In der Erhebung von 2012 etwa gaben bei den Unter-30-Jährigen 9% an, dass sie sich der Kirche sehr verbunden fühlen, während 23% sagten, dass sie sich der Kirche überhaupt nicht verbunden fühlten.[3] Die Kirche als Institution hat also – trotz sehr guter und erfolgreicher Jugendarbeit – ein Jugendproblem.
Das mag zum einen daran liegen, dass im Zuge des Traditionsabbruchs die Formen Gottesdienst zu feiern als nicht mehr relevant empfunden werden. Das mag zum anderen daran liegen, dass Kirche sich lange auf traditionelle Kommunikationswege verlassen und dabei neues verpasst hat. Ein gern als Karikatur benutztes Zitat lautet: „Das haben wir schon immer so gemacht.“
Seit März ging es aber nicht mehr so, wie immer: Nicht im Gottesdienst, nicht in den Gruppen und Chören, nicht in den Sitzungen der Gemeindeleitung – von einem Tag auf den anderen mussten wir digital sein:
Für Sitzungen und Verwaltung hat das überraschend schnell erschreckend gut geklappt; aber hier soll es ja um die Religionsgemeinschaft gehen und nicht um die Verwaltung. Daher meine erste Beobachtung:
Seit März 2020 stieg die die christlich-kirchliche Präsenz im Internet, besonders bei YouTube und in den SocialMedia sprunghaft an. Es wurden Blogs zu Glaubens- und Lebensfragen geschrieben, Online-Andachten veröffentlicht, Gottesdienste gestreamt oder per Zoom „hybrid“ gefeiert.
Es entstand eine bunte Vielfalt, die einerseits die „vergessene Generation“ der jüngeren Kirchenmitglieder ansprach, andererseits sich weiterhin damit schwer tat Menschen, die sich der Kirche bisher nicht verbunden gefühlt haben, anzusprechen.
Dennoch veränderte sich das Kirchenbild in der Dorf-Öffentlichkeit, da wir den Einstieg in Kommunikationswege fanden, die schon lange selbstverständlich sind:
Ein Profil der Kirchengemeinde, der Jugendleiterin, der Pfarrer bei Facebook und Instagram ist näher am Leben als die Gemeindezeitschrift, die einmal pro Quartal im Briefkasten landet.
Bei Jugendlichen aus unserem Jugendhaus merkte ich, dass sie durch das Abonnieren meiner und anderer Seiten religiöse Themen wahrnahmen;
auch wenn sie nie sonntags analog einen Gottesdienst besuchen würden.
Meine Pfarrergeneration, die den Umgang mit diesen Medien gewohnt ist, tat sich in der Regel leicht mit diesen Veränderungen; älteren Pfarrer*innen fiel und fällt diese Veränderung oft schwer, denn es stellt so manches auf den Kopf, was uns in der deutschen Kirche lieb und teuer war, denn:

1. Digitale Kirche ist nicht an einen Ort gebunden

Die EKD und die römisch-katholische Kirche sind in Deutschland nach dem Wohnortprinzip organisiert. Das bedeutet, dass egal wo ich meinen Wohnort innerhalb Deutschlands habe, ich habe als evangelischer oder katholischer Christ immer eine Gemeinde zu der ich gehöre, weil ich in dem Ort, in der Straße, mit der Hausnummer wohne. Es ist also vollkommen klar, welche Kirche für mich zuständig ist, welcher Pfarrer mein Kind tauft oder welche Pfarrerin die Großmutter beerdigen wird.
Im Internet ist das naturgemäß anders. Menschen haben den Vergleich und suchen sich das, was ihrem persönlichen Geschmack entspricht.
Und so entstehen seelsorgliche, spirituelle und freundschaftliche Kontakte zwischen Menschen, die im analogen Leben nie zusammenkommen würden.
Und das führt zu einem zweiten:

1. Digitale Kirche ist nicht an eine Konfession gebunden

Menschen folgen dem Angebot, dass sie im Internet am meisten anspricht.
Und dieses Angebot muss nicht unbedingt das der eigenen Konfession sein.
Besonders zwischen den „großen Konfessionen“ ist ein beliebiges Hin- und Her-Switchen zu beobachten.
Und auch ich als evangelischer Pfarrer finde: Es gibt großartige katholische und freikirchliche Angebote im Internet. Ich habe z.B. auf diesem Wege katholische Priester kennengelernt, die ich niemals im „real life“ getroffen hätte. Aus diesen Kontakten sind teilweise Freundschaften entstanden und diese Freundschaften bereichern mich nicht nur persönlich, sondern auch spirituell. Der erweiterte Blick, über den Tellerrand der eigenen Konfession heraus, lohnt.
Digitale Kirche hat also maßgeblich das Bild von Kirche in den letzten Monaten geprägt und ich würde gerne anhand von zwei Beispielen deutlich machen,
wie unterschiedlich das aussehen kann:

Ia. Die Kirchengemeinde Hünxe bei YouTube
Seit März vergangenen Jahres hat unsere Kirchengemeinde einen eigenen YouTube-Kanal, den wir auf verschiedene Art und Weise genutzt haben.
Ein Schwerpunkt sind Kurzandachten, die wir im Frühjahr teilweise wöchentlich veröffentlicht haben: eine kurze aktuelle Auslegung eines Bibelverses, ein Musikstück, ein Segen. Durch die Veröffentlichung der Links in den Ortsgruppen bei Facebook waren diese Andachten schnell bekannt.
Im März – kurz vor dem Lockdown – fanden die Wahlen zur Gemeindeleitung (Presbyterium) statt. Die neugewählten Presbyter*innen stellten sich im Frühjahr ebenfalls der Gemeinde mit kurzen Videos über YouTube vor.
Das Krabbelgottesdienst-Team (Gottesdienst für Kinder U3) produzierte kurze Erklärvideos zu religiösen Fragen (z.B. „Warum läuten die Glocken?“) und am Heiligen Abend gab es den Nachtgottesdienst als Livestream.
Unabhängig von religiösen Themen nutzten wir den Kanal auch für den Wettbewerb „Hünxe – Deine Stimme“, der aufgrund der Corona-Schutzbestimmungen nur digital stattfinden konnte. „Hünxe – Deine Stimme“ ist ein Gesangswettbewerb, den die Evangelische Jugend Hünxe seit einigen Jahren ausrichtet.
Wir haben als Kirchengemeinde auf diese Art und Weise versucht Verbundenheit mit der Gemeinschaft vor Ort aufrechten zu erhalten und zu zeigen, dass wir „da sind“

Ib. Instagram
Besonders im Social Network „Instagram“ spielen kirchliche und christliche Themen seit dem ersten Lockdown eine größere Rolle. Eine Vielzahl von Angeboten ist regional und überregional, konfessionell und überkonfessionell entstanden.
Man kann kritisch anfragen, ob diese Angebote von Menschen, die Kirche oder christlichen Gruppen bisher nicht nahestanden, gesehen und angenommen werden.
Sie schaffen aber in der „bubble“ auf jeden Fall einen Zusammenhalt und einen (kritischen) Austausch über Glaubensthemen.
So findet über das Medium „Instagram“ nicht nur Verkündigung oder Gebet statt,
sondern auch die Auseinandersetzung um inhaltliche Themen:
Dazu gehören z.B. die Akzeptanz von LGBTIQ*-Menschen in den Kirchengemeinden, der Klimawandel oder gesellschaftlicher Rassismus.
Im Advent 2020 wurde z.B. auf vielen Profilen eine teils kontroverse Diskussion über christliche Privilegien geführt, wenn der Dezember durch die christlich begründete Vorbereitung auf das Weihnachtsfest geprägt ist, während Feste anderer Religionen im öffentlichen Bewusstsein keine bzw. eine untergeordnete Rolle spielen. Hier kamen im Dialog auch jüdische, muslimische oder atheistische Stimmen zu Wort.
Mit zwei Freundinnen, die beide auch als Pfarrerinnen in der evangelischen Kirche tätig sind, habe auch ich an diesem digitalen Aufbruch teilgenommen.
Seit April 2020 betreiben wir den Instagram-Blog @stadt.land.pfarramt.
Dabei beleuchten wir in jeder Woche ein Thema aus Kirche und Gesellschaft
in drei Perspektiven. Jede*r von uns veröffentlicht dazu ein Foto und einen Text mit den passenden Hashtags. Im Juni haben wir in unserem Account in einer Woche einen schwulen schwarzen Trans-Pfarrer aus den USA zu Wort kommen lassen,
der seine Perspektive auf die Black-Live-Matters-Demonstration schilderte.
Im November haben wir für diese Arbeit sogar den 2. Preis beim Medienpreis der
Ev. Kirche im Rheinland gewonnen und seit neuestem sind wir BasisBibel-Influencer der Deutschen Bibelgesellschaft. D.h. wir machen mit anderen Christ*innen Werbung für eine neue deutsche Bibel-Übersetzung in einer zeitgemäßen Sprache.
Am Beispiel Instagram wird auf diese Art und Weise besonders deutlich, wie sich im vergangenen Jahr der christlich-westeuropäische Blick auf „Religionsgemeinschaft“ verändert hat. Vieles hat sich ins Digitale verlagert; doch meiner Kirchengemeinde Hünxe war auch wichtig darüber das Analoge und die Menschen, die nicht im Internet unterwegs sind, aus dem Blick zu verlieren.

II. In der Krise analog sein
Was ein Glück, dass wir in dieser Pandemie so gut miteinander vernetzt bleiben können. Die moderne Technik ermöglicht uns auf weite Strecken miteinander Kontakt zu halten, sodass trotz Kontakt- und Reisebeschränkungen eine solche Tagung wie JCM stattfinden kann.
Doch bei aller Freude stellten wir immer wieder Fest: „Digitales Miteinander“ stößt auch an seine Grenzen. Bestimmte religiöse/kirchliche Rituale können nicht ausschließlich in einer virtuellen oder hybriden Realität stattfinden. Die Taufe (die Aufnahme in die christliche Kirche) braucht z.B. das Wasser, das dreimal über den Kopf des Taufkindes gegossen wird und die dazugehörigen Worte[4]. Es funktioniert nicht, dass der*die Pfarrer*in an einer Stelle ist und per Zoom zugeschaltet die Worte spricht und ein Elternteil an einer anderen Stelle das Wasser über den Kopf gießt: Zeichen und Handlung im Ritual gehören untrennbar zusammen.[5]
Und auch unabhängig von Ritualen zeichnet Kirche als Religionsgemeinschaft der persönliche Kontakt zwischen Menschen aus.
Darum ist es wichtig, die Menschen im Blick zu behalten, die ohne Familie leben
und/oder die keinen Zugang zu digitalen Medien haben.
Die Kirchengemeinden in Deutschland haben in den letzten Monaten versucht, auch diese Menschen nicht aus dem Blick zu verlieren.
Da überdurchschnittlich viele ältere und alleinstehende Personen die Gottesdienste und geselligen Angebote der Gemeinden wahrnehmen, bricht für diese Menschen besonders viel weg.
In Hünxe haben wir daher z.B. ergänzend zu den Andachten auf YouTube geschriebene Andachten an Menschen aus unserer Gemeinde verschickt. Diese Texte haben wir auch auf unserer Internetseite zugänglich gemacht, damit Familien sie z.B. für die Großmutter zu Hause ausdrucken können.
Andere Gemeinden haben zu den besonderen Feiertagen, wie Ostern oder an Weihnachten Tüten gepackt: Gottesdienst-to-go beinhaltet alles, was man braucht um den Weihnachtsgottesdienst zu Hause zu feiern: Einen kurzen Ablauf, eine Auslegung eines Bibelverses, eine Kerze, ein kleines Kreuz...
Wieder andere Gemeinden bieten Telefongottesdienste an: Wenn man eine bestimmte Telefonnummer anruft, kann man die Predigt des Sonntages mit jedem Telefon/Handy überall abhören.
Überhaupt hat das Telefon hier eine große Bedeutung gewonnen:
Meine Kollegin und ich telefonieren regelmäßig mit Senior*innen aus der Gemeinde,
hören uns Sorgen am Telefon an, beten miteinander.
In meinem Dorf haben wir uns darüber hinaus die Lage unserer Kirche am Marktplatz zu Nutze gemacht. Zwischen dem 20. Dezember und dem 10. Januar hing am Kirchturm ein großes Plakat, für alle sichtbar, auf dem stand: „Die evangelische Kirchengemeinde wünscht frohe Weihnachten und ein gesegnetes neues Jahr.“
Diese und andere Aktionen tun gut. Jedoch ist Kirche nach ihrem eigenen Selbstverständnis nie nur für sich selber da. Uns war es deswegen wichtig, die Menschen im Blick zu behalten, die nicht vor Ort leben, aber dennoch auf unsere Hilfe und Unterstützung angewiesen sind. Normalerweise geschieht dies über Kollekten, d.h. Geldsammlungen im Gottesdienst. Dabei wird nicht nur die eigene Kirchengemeinde bedacht, sondern auch kirchliche und humanitäre Zwecke in aller Welt. Vielen dürfte die Aktion „Brot für die Welt“ der Ev. Kirche in Deutschland ein Begriff sein.
Mein Kirchenkreis Dinslaken, zu dem Hünxe gehört, engagiert sich darüber hinaus besonders in der Hilfe für Flüchtlinge auf der griechischen Insel Lesbos.
Mit dem Lockdown, mit der „Angst“ in den Gottesdienst zu gehen, haben die kirchlichen Hilfswerke eine wesentliche Einnahmequelle für ihre humanitäre Hilfe verloren. An anderer Stelle hat sich aber auch gezeigt, dass die Hilfe gerade in dieser Zeit von unseren Gemeindemitgliedern als wichtig wahrgenommen wird.
Die Unterstützung für „Lesvos Solidarity“ ist im letzten halben Jahr unglaublich gewachsen. Das war großartig zu sehen.
Und auch ein ökumenischer Hilfsfonds zur Unterstützung der Schwesterkirchen in Afrika in der Corona-Krise wurde immer wieder selbstverständlich und großzügig bedacht.
Mir haben diese Erfahrungen Mut gemacht, dass viele Menschen in dieser Krise Gemeinschaft (neu) entdeckt haben.

III. Die Phase der Enttäuschung und Ermüdung
Was ich bisher erzählt habe, klingt sehr positiv. Und auch wenn das Positive überwiegt, möchte ich die Enttäuschungen und Ermüdungen nicht außer Acht lassen.
Auch wir haben erlebt, dass viele Menschen an und mit dem Virus gestorben sind.
Auch wir erleben wie die Bewohner*innen von Altenheimen unter der Einsamkeit leiden.
Auch in unseren Reihen gibt es Menschen, die nicht jede Entscheidung gutheißen und mittragen.
Besonders in der Zeit vor Weihnachten ist dies noch einmal deutlich geworden.
Denn Weihnachten, das Fest der Geburt Jesu Christi, ist ein Fest, das für viele Menschen sehr emotional ist. Auch für mich.
Und der Heilige Abend, der Beginn des Weihnachtsfestes, ist für viele Christ*innen der Tag, an dem sie selbstverständlich einen Gottesdienst besuchen.
Weihnachten 2020 sind sämtliche analoge Gottesdienste in unserer Kirchengemeinde und in den umliegenden Kirchengemeinden ausgefallen.
Das hat viele Menschen enttäuscht; besonders auch Kinder, die den Gottesdienst am Heiligen Abend traditionell mit dem Krippenspiel[6] mitgestalten.
Viele Familien hatten gehofft, dass mit den Weihnachtsgottesdiensten wenigstens ein „Rest Normalität“ in diesem Jahr bleiben könnte. Sie enttäuschen zu müssen, war für uns alle eine große Enttäuschung. Unser Angebot mit Abstand am Heiligen Abend in der Kirche den Tannenbaum zu sehen und eine Kerze anzuzünden, wurde vielleicht deswegen von vielen Menschen genutzt. Alle hielten sich diszipliniert an die Corona-Regeln. Es hat keine Ansteckungen gegeben.
Jetzt nach einem „Corona-Jahr“ und besonders nach dem „Corona-Weihnachten“ merken wir, dass wir müde sind:
müde davon immer wieder umdenken zu müssen;
müde davon immer wieder umplanen zu müssen.
Wir merken, wie sehr wir auch im Neuen das Alte vermissen:
Die Gemeinschaft, das Singen im Gottesdienst, die Tasse Kaffee nach dem Gottesdienst[7], das Lächeln der Anderen.

IV. Fazit
Wie verändert die Zeit der Isolation unsere Vorstellungen von Religionsgemeinschaft?
Unter dieser Fragestellung habe ich als evangelischer Pfarrer das vergangene Jahr, wie ich es erlebt habe, in den Blick genommen.
Wenn ich nun ein Fazit ziehen muss, so kann das nur vorläufig sein.
Denn die Krise wird uns noch weiterhin begleiten und die Fragen, wie sich Gesellschaft und damit auch Religionsgemeinschaften verändern werden, wird die Zukunft zeigen. Viele Entwicklungen – so sagen Soziologen – werden beschleunigt, an anderer Stelle, werden Entwicklungen hinterfragt und neue Ideen miteinander geteilt, wie wir Menschen, denen religiöse Sprache fremd geworden ist, einen Zugang ermöglichen können.
Die Vorstellung von Religionsgemeinschaft hat sich dabei m.E. gar nicht so sehr verändert: Religionsgemeinschaften sind als aktiver Teil der Gesellschaft gefordert, die im Vertrauen auf Gott/das Göttliche Sinn in diese oft sinnlos erscheinende Welt zu bringen und deswegen auch in der Zeit der Pandemie nicht sprachlos zu werden.
Vielen Dank.

[1] = Kirche, die möglichst viele unterschiedliche Menschen ansprechen will
[2] Zeichen der besonderen Gegenwart Gottes.
[3] KMU V, 86.
[4] Die Worte zur Taufe lauten im Deutschen: „Ich taufe dich im Namen Gottes, des Vaters und des Sohnes und des Heiligen Geistes.“
[5] Die meisten christlichen Kirchen kennen die sog. Nottaufe: Das bedeutet, wenn Lebensgefahr für den Täufling besteht, darf jede*r Christ*in taufen. In der Isolation der Pandemie besteht aber nicht zwingend eine Lebensgefahr, sodass in der Regel die Taufe aufgeschoben werden kann.
[6] Das Krippenspiel ist ein kleines Theaterstück im Gottesdienst, in dem die Geschichte der Geburt Jesu, wie sie in der Bibel erzählt wird, dargestellt wird.
[7] Das sog. Kirchencafé, die Tasse Kaffee oder Tee nach dem Gottesdienst, ist in vielen evangelischen Gemeinden ein wichtiger Treffpunkt, der mitunter länger dauert als der eigentliche Gottesdienst.

My name is Mirko Lipski-Reinhardt. I am 32 years old and a Protestant pastor in the Hünxe parish on the Lower Rhine. This year’s JCM topic is incredibly exciting because for the first time in our generation, we are confronted with the phenomenon that the whole of humankind – regardless of location, regardless of religious affiliation – is faced with the same challenge. Since March 2020, the fact that life cannot be controlled has become a global experience, has taken possession of our daily life, including our religious communities. We had to worship differently, we had to spend our feasts differently, we had to live with disappointments. So I want to try to give a Christian response to the question. I want to tell something of my past year as a pastor in a “normal” parish and as pastor in the social media.

From our parish it’s not far to the Ruhr area. Nevertheless, we are more rural. Farmers belong to our parish life, and the parish owns pieces of forest and of arable land that are leased.
The center of our parish life are our two churches:
One of the churches is about 800 years old, older than Martin Luther’s Reformation, which the Hünxe parish joined in 1562.
The other church is a 30-year old parish center. That is to say that the church is not only used for worship. The hall was also planned as a central point for the parish, and choir practices or celebrations take place there. Thus, the year before last we had the rural women’s Christmas celebration in the space where on Sundays we pray and sing together. Coffee and cake were placed on long tables where otherwise there are rows of chairs. Fellowship in the house of God, of which the altar in the front part of the building was a reminder. And of course we began the celebration with a short prayer, and we ended with a blessing.
Many people in Germany often prefer this form of fellowship in the parish to the Sunday church service. It is a typical way in which they feel they belong to the parish. For them, it is important to have the church in the village, but they rarely come to the service on Sunday.
With this example, I want to show that the Covid-pandemic has brought a double break in the “church of the people”.[1]
Not only the church services and the celebration of the sacraments[2] of baptism and the Lord’s Supper were dropped with the lockdown, starting the middle of March; Bible and youth groups, choirs and afternoons for senior citizens were also dropped.
In our parishes it became quiet, too quiet.
At this point in time, I had been involved as pastor in Hünxe for five months. So I was pretty new in the parish when the Covid-pandemic began. In reality, I was still learning how my new parish worked, what its history was, what was important to the people there, what their ideas about community were.
Now, overnight, what was important was to find entirely different and new paths. Fortunately, I have a wonderful woman colleague who is involved with me as pastor of the parish.
After a short moment of shock, we decided together with the parish leadership (the presbyterium):
We don’t want to lose sight of the people who are at home in our parish, who spend free time here and are involved, and for whom the parish is important.
But we also want to use new paths to reach people who until now have felt only to a small extent or not at all that they belong to the parish/Church. We want to tell people in a different way about God, and we want to invite them to find their spiritual home in Christianity and in our parish.
And so we set out on the way. I would like to tell you about this way, about what we learned, about what went well and what didn’t go so well. And what in my opinion all this means for the future.

I. A new digital Beginning
About every ten years, the Protestant Church in Germany (EKD) publishes what is called “Surveys on Church Membership”. In these studies, church members and people with no denomination are asked about what has marked them and their attitudes toward the Church.
The studies look at how Protestant Christianity is perceived and why it is important to people to belong to a Protestant church community or why they have left the community.
It is interesting to note thereby that above all older people feel connected with the Church and take their Church membership for granted. In the 2012 survey, for example, among those who were under the age of 30, 9% indicated that they feel very connected with the Church, whereas 23% said that they don’t feel at all connected with it.[3] In spite of very good and successful youth work, the Church as an institution thus has a problem where young people are concerned.
On the one hand, this could be because in the course of the break with tradition, the forms in which church services are held are no longer felt to be relevant.
On the other hand, it could be because the Church relied for a long time on traditional ways of communication and thereby missed out on new ways. A quotation that is often used as a caricature says: “We’ve always done it this way.”
But since March, it has no longer been as it always was.
Not in the church services, not in the groups and choirs, not in the meetings of the church leadership – overnight we had to become digital.
For meetings and administration, this worked surprisingly quickly; but the point here is the religious community and not administration. Thus my first observation:
Since March 2020, there has been an upward leap in Christian Church presence in the internet, especially in YouTube and in the social media. Blogs are written on questions concerning faith and life, online-prayer services are published, church services are streamed or celebrated on “hybrid” zoom.
A multi-colored diversity has come into being, which on the one hand speaks to the “forgotten generation” of younger Church members; on the other hand, it continues to be difficult to attract people who previously had not felt connected with the Church.
Nevertheless, the idea of Church changed among the village public, since we found ways of entering into communication which have long been taken for granted:
A profile of the parish, of the youth leader, the pastor in facebook and instagram is closer to life than the parish periodical that lands in the mailboxes once every three months.
Among young people, I noticed in our youth house that they take note of religious topics by subscribing to my pages and other ones; even if they would never come to an analogous church service on Sunday.
My generation of pastors, who are used to dealing with these media, generally has no difficulty with these changes; for older pastors this change was and is often difficult, as it turns some things upside down that were dear and cherished to the German Church, for:

1. The digital Church is not bound to one Place

The EKD and the Roman Catholic Church in Germany are organized according to the principle of the place of residence. This means that regardless of where my place of residence is in Germany, as a Protestant or a Catholic Christian I always have a parish to which I belong because I live in this town or city, in this street, with this house number. So it’s perfectly clear which church is responsible for me, which pastor baptizes my child, or which pastor will bury my grandmother.
In the internet, by its very nature this is different. People can compare and look for what corresponds with their own personal taste.
And thus pastoral, spiritual and friendly contacts come about between people who would never get together in an analogous life situation. And this leads to a second reality:

1. The digital Church is not bound to one single Denomination

People accept the offer in the internet that attracts them the most. And this offer doesn’t have to be that of their own denomination. An arbitrary switching back and forth can be observed, especially between the “major denominations”.
And I as a Protestant pastor also discover: There are wonderful Catholic and Evangelical offers in the internet. This way, for example, I got to know Catholic priests whom I would never have met in “real life”. Some of these contacts turned into friendships, and these friendships enrich me not only personally, but also spiritually. The enlarged view over and beyond the boundaries of my own denomination is worthwhile.
So the digital Church has essentially marked the image of Church over the past few months, and by means of two examples, I would like to show how different this can look.
 
Ia. The Hünxe Parish in YouTube
Since March of last year, our parish has its own YouTube channel which we have used in various ways.
One main focus has been short prayer services, which we partly published every week: a short interpretation of a biblical verse that is relevant for the present, a piece of music, a blessing. Because the links were published in the local facebook groups, these services soon became known.
In March – shortly before the lockdown – the elections for the parish leadership (presbyterium) were held. In the spring, the newly elected presbyters – men and women – also introduced themselves to the parish by means of videos in YouTube.
The team for services for small children (Church Service for Children U3) produced short explanatory videos on religious topics (e.g. “Why do the bells ring?, and on Christmas Eve the night service took place livestream.
We also use the channel independently of religious topics for the competition “Hünxe – your Voice”, which could only take place digitally because of Covid security regulations. “Hünxe – your Voice” is a singing competition that has been organized by the Protestant youth of Hünxe over the past few years.
We as a parish have tried to maintain connection with the local community and to show that we “are here”.

Ib. Instagram
Especially in the social network “Instagram”, church and Christian topics have played a larger role since the first lockdown. Many offers came about regionally and supraregionally, within our denomination and supradenominationally. One can ask critically whether these offers are seen and accepted by people who previously were not close to the Church or to Christian groups. But in any case, they create cohesion in the “bubble” and enable a (critical) exchange on faith topics.
Thus not only proclamation or prayer take place by means of the “instagram” medium, but also a debate on contents: the acceptance of LGBTIQ-people in the parishes, climate change, or social racism are among these.
During Advent 2020 for example,  a partly controversial discussion took place in many profiles on Christian privileges when December is marked by the Christian preparation for Christmas. While feasts of other religions play no part or a subordinate one in public awareness. Here, Jewish, Muslim and atheist voices could also be heard.
Together with two women friends who are both also involved as pastors in the Protestant Church, I too took part in this digital new beginning. Since April 2020, we are running the instagram-blog @stadt.land-pfarramt. There, we shed light every week on a topic from the Church and society with three points of view. Each of us publishes a photograph and a text with the appropriate hashtag. One week in June, we had a gay, Black trans-pastor from the USA speak on our account, in which he described his perspective on the Black Lives Matter demonstrations. In November we even won the second prize in the Protestant Church of the Rhineland’s media prize for this work, and most recently we have become BasisBible-Influencers in the German Bible Society. This means that, together with other Christians, we are promoting a new German translation of the Bible into the language of our day.
The example of the instagram shows thus how the Christian-Western European view of “Faith Community” has changed over the past year. Much has moved to the digital; but for my Hünxe parish it was important not to lose sight of what is analogical and of the people who do not work with the internet.

II. Being analogical in the Crisis
How lucky that we can remain so connected in this pandemic. Modern technology makes it possible for us to maintain contact with one another along big stretches, so that in spite of limitations in contact and travel, a conference like JCM can take place.
But with all the happiness, we also observe over and over again that “digital togetherness” reaches its limitations as well. Certain religious/church rituals cannot take place only in a virtual or hybrid reality. Baptism (acceptance into the Christian Church) for example needs the water that is poured three times over the head of the person being baptized and the words that belong with this.[4] It doesn’t work when the pastor, connected by zoom, is in one place and says the words, and one of the parents pours the water in another place; in the ritual, the sign and the deed belong inseparably together.[5]
And what characterizes Church, not only in connection with rituals, is the personal contact between people.
This is why it is important to keep in mind the people who live without family and/or who don’t have access to digital media.
Over the past months, the parishes in Germany have tried not to lose sight of these people.
Since more than the average number of elderly people and people living alone accept the church services and social events in the parishes, these people in particular lose a lot.
In Hünxe, for example, we therefore sent out written prayer services on YouTube to people in our parish as supplements to the prayer services. We also made these texts available in our internet site so that families can for example print them for their grandmother at home.
Other parishes packed bags for special feasts like Easter or Christmas: church-service-to-go contains everything you need to celebrate the Christmas service at home: a short program, an interpretation of a biblical verse, a candle, a small cross…
Other parishes offer church services on the phone. If a person phones a particular number, he or she can listen to the Sunday sermon everywhere on every phone/cell phone.
In general, the phone has gained great significance.
My colleague and I regularly phone senior citizens from the parish, we listen by phone to worries, we pray together.
In addition, in my village we have made use of our church’s location at the market place. Between December 20 and January 10, a large poster hung from the church tower, visible for everyone. On this was written: “The Protestant parish wishes a happy Christmas and a blessed new year.”
These and other activities are good. However, according to its own self-understanding, Church is never there just for itself. Thus it was important to us to keep in mind the people who do not live locally but who still depend on our help and support. Normally, this happens by means of the collections, which is to say, the money collected during the church service. This money is not just for our own parish, but also for church and humanitarian purposes all over the world. Many of you probably know of “Brot für die Welt” (Bread for the World) of the Protestant Church in Germany.
In addition, my church unit Dinslaken, to which Hünxe belongs, is involved especially in helping refugees on the Greek island Lesbos. With the lockdown, with the “fear” of going to church, the church’s aid organizations have lost an essential source of income for the humanitarian help they give. But on the other hand, it has been observed that precisely during this time, our parish members perceive this help as important. Over the past six months, support for “Lesbos Solidarity” has grown incredibly. It was wonderful to see this.
And people also contributed as a matter of course over and over again and generously during the Covid crisis to an ecumenical fund in support of our sister Churches in Africa.
These experiences encouraged me in believing that in this crisis, many people (re-)discovered community.

III. The Phase of Disappointment and Fatigue
What I have said so far sounds very positive. And although the positive has been dominant, I don’t want to ignore the disappointments and fatigue. We too have experienced that many people have died of and with the virus. We too experience how the residents in homes for the elderly suffer from loneliness.
Among our people as well there are those who do not approve and support every decision.
This became obvious especially during the time before Christmas. Because Christmas, the feast of the birth of Jesus Christ, is a feast that is very emotional for many people. For me as well.
And Christmas Eve, the beginning of the Christmas feast, is for many Christians the day on which they take for granted that they go to a church service.
Christmas 2020, all the analogical church services in our parish and in the surrounding parishes were dropped.
This disappointed many people, especially also children who traditionally help to shape the service on Christmas Even with a nativity play.[6]
Many families had hoped that with the Christmas services, at least a “remnant of normality” could be found. For all of us, having to disappoint them was a great disappointment. Perhaps this is why many people made use of our offer to see the Christmas tree in the church on Christmas Eve, while keeping their distance, and to light a candle. Everyone was disciplined in keeping the Covid rules. Nobody was infected.
Now, after a “Covid year” and especially after the “Covid Christmas”, we are noticing that we are tired:
tired of always having to re-think; tired of always having to re-plan. We are noticing how much we miss what is old in the new.
The community, the singing in the church service, the cup of coffee after the service,[7] the others’ smiles.

IV. Conclusion
How does the period of isolation change our ideas of faith community? I looked at this question in the light of how I as a Protestant pastor experienced the past year. If I now have to draw a conclusion, I can only do so provisionally.
Because the crisis is going to continue to accompany us, and the future will show how society and with it also faith communities will change. Sociologists say that many developments will be sped up, and in other areas, developments will be questioned and new ideas shared with one another as to how we can enable people, for whom religious language has become foreign, to get access to a faith community.
I don’t think that the idea of faith community has changed that much: faith communities are necessary as an active part of society, because while trusting in God/the Divine, they bring meaning into this often seemingly meaningless world; they therefore do not become speechless even in the time of pandemic.
Thank you very much.


[1]          = a church that wishes to be attractive to as many different people as possible.
[2]          Signs of God’s special presence.
[3]          KMUV, 86.
[4]          In English, the words for baptism are: “I baptize you in the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”
[5]          Most Christian churches have what is called emergency baptism. This means that when there is life-threatening danger for the person to be baptized, every Christian may baptize. But in the isolation caused by the pandemic, there isn’t necessarily a life-threatening situation, so that generally baptism can be postponed.
[6]          The nativity play is a short piece acted out during the church service; in it, the story of the birth of Jesus as told in the Bible is presented.
[7]          The so-called church café, the cup of coffee or tea after the service, is an important meeting point in many Protestant parishes; at times it lasts longer than the actual church service.

​Nobody would have thought that we would be confronted with a pandemic for the greater part of 2020. Many of us had great plans for the year, and so did I. The Master’s degree study course, new possibility for jobs and the development and unfolding of my personality. Well, one must have dreams.
Then it was suddenly quite close - the Corona Virus. From an epidemic to a pandemic. Suddenly everybody had to stay home. Already after the last JCM in February, I had started to use only the car for transport. Then, I still had my fear under control. 

​On my birthday, I even went to the North Sea. What a beautiful day that was.
On 13th March, the time had come: the first mosques closed their doors due to the virus. In the evening, I was to give a lecture in a youth group, and before that, I was in Halima‘s old flat for to clear out and tidy up. This also suited me quite well because I had thus enough time to get Halima‘s study in shape as well as it could be.
In the following week, I wrote to my former boss asking if it was okay for me to work from home from now on until the situation calms down again. Since I belong to a risk group due to my immunodeficiency, he agreed. Health and safety have priority after all. Did I already mention that I was actually to hand in a term paper until the 31st March 2020?
At some point in the middle of summer, I realised: Corona triggered my fears that I had believed to be overcome.
Ever since my immunodeficiency was diagnosed provisionally with the prospect of a bone marrow transplant, work had always been my coping strategy. At times, I worked in three jobs simultaneously during my Bachelor’s degree course. Crazy? Well, work was something that I could control, the unpredictability of my body wasn’t.
This is how it went from mid-March to ca. the beginning of July and not otherwise.
The whole year was a rollercoaster ride for me: between fear of death, the will to live, self-doubt, self-confidence, relief, frustration, and hope.
How I dealt and still deal with it? Mindfulness. Patience. Slowing down. Instead of swimming against the currant, I gradually learned to allow myself to be carried by it, saving my energy. It was also the exchange with friends that helped me to deal with my situation. It was sometimes good for me to know and to confirm to myself again and again that I am not the only one to whom this happens. Even the exchange with my mother, my boss, and general communication kept me going, gave me strength and new energy. Without my psycho-oncologist, it would have been difficult for me to get through especially the time from April to late September. For me, confronting my fears became a journey to myself, filled with insights, grief, yet ultimately primarily one thing: healing. Faith moves mountains, we say. Yes, it does that. The best way out is through – this motto applies to overcoming my fears and it is a process of learning. Slowing down through the search for insights and the exchange with others made it clear to me how benevolent we actually are most of the time while, however, blocking the way to each other through misunderstandings. Pausing and listening after I have spoken – that was for me one of the best possibilities to accept the rollercoaster of feelings and the chaos in this pandemic and to become calmer. As Dr Alan Watkins says in one of his TED Talks: emotions are energy in motion. Accepting this fact as such helps me until today when I, once more, react out of pure emotionality or overstress rather than pausing and reacting in a level-headed way. If you are in a hurry, then walk slowly, a good friend said to me. I practice and slowly and surely become better.
When the news came of the closure of the mosques on 13th March, I didn’t know how much that would influence my everyday life. For me, the mosque is like another living room – I enter it with a naturalness that I otherwise only have for my own bedroom. Suddenly I was no longer allowed into the mosque. This is something that I never knew before. Later on in the course of the year, it occurred to me that I had a similar experience in Hebron in the beginning of 2020: I had to pass through a security check to be allowed to enter the Cave of the Patriarchs. Only into the part that is a mosque, of course.
So if I was not allowed into the mosque, I just took the mosque to myself. To be precise, many youth groups with whom I’m connected changed to online classes on very different platforms: Zoom, Instagram Live, Skype, Webex, to mention only some of them. Some mosque communities primarily used YouTube and Facebook Live.
The problem seemed to be solved but appearances are deceptive. While I was able to present my lectures and impart knowledge, the exchange was made difficult.
Since many in my surroundings dislike to be in front of the camera or preferred different platforms, I often had to speak in front of my own image or to small black, white, or grey video windows. I was connected and simultaneously separated. It was strange.
Sometimes it was nice to get in touch with other persons in my own safe space. I mean, who doesn’t like to spend an occasional relaxed day in tracksuit bottoms?
Anyway, I thought initially “Alhamdulillah, I can structure myself better.” – But far from it! It soon became too much for me because I suddenly didn’t have a structure at all. My home office is situated next to my bed. How often did I fall out of bed and directly sat down at my laptop without a word? Too often. And even emotionally it became too much for me: I was surrounded by few people (Mum, Dad, sister) but I had to do with far too many people. All were suddenly in my private sphere, my pole of rest. I’m admittedly proud of my bookshelf because it just looks splendid and makes me happy – but both in my studies course, in my voluntary work, and at my job, I always had to deal with people whom I wouldn’t necessarily let into my private sphere.
Going for a walk outside was also somewhat tricky: as a risk patient, a subliminal fear had got hold of me, even small clusters of people stressing me out tremendously so that I hardly left the house. Thus, of course, all kinds of stress factors came together for me: the project for which I worked was supposed to go well; university studies were supposed to continue as usual, or at least the pandemic should not prevent me from writing my term paper in peace and quiet. But far from it, Ms Böler! In retrospect, I am surprised how high my demands to myself in the pandemic were and how stubbornly I clung to them. 2020 needed a considerable number of night shifts just in order to get done. But we never get really “done”, do we?
Setting boundaries was a great topic for me in 2020. Both in the private and in the job sphere. The pandemic has profoundly changed the way I deal with myself and my fellow human beings. Time and self-management are still a challenge but I also realised for myself that I need a personal routine beyond a Miracle Morning, Robin Sharma’s 5 am Club. A routine which supports me in such unusual times. That may be a “relocation” like from the desk into a different corner of the room, or also time slots free of the mobile phone and Internet: the proof of the pudding is the eating. One’s guilty conscience and the inward critic speak with pleasure and especially loudly but even there I noticed: there are worse things in life. And hey – we are in a PANDEMIC.
I also realised through the pandemic that I want to be a little sedentary in the sense of community: as a person who is open for any Muslim community, using mosques and places of prayer accordingly, I became aware that I, nevertheless, wold like to be more connected not only with the space but also with the corresponding community. And not only with a “As-salam alaikum, Sister, how are you?”.
Well, the pandemic is not necessarily the best situation to connect with a community if it is unable to come together. At the same time, it is also a chance to explore a new environment from a protected environment.
But there was already the next obstacle: Where do I find the groups? How do I connect in the World-Wide-Web? To whom can I turn?
It became clear to me that many mosque communities have a great backlog in the field of public relations and visibility. At least, this applies to the communities which I would like to “approach”. If you know someone who knows someone who is in touch with a group, then it is easier to get access. But even “getting in” is not a guarantee for becoming part of a group. However, social networks like Facebook, Instagram, WhatsApp, Telegram are good possibilities for getting in touch.
But even there, a balance was very important for me: suddenly, very many things were accessible and possible, even simultaneously. It was a curse and a blessing at the same time.
Even the manner of communication had changed: through sensory overload of the online networking in study, job, and voluntary work, I soon noticed that my concentration was suffering. My attention span was shorter than I was used to.
New circumstances, new challenges.
This is also the reason why I kept my lecture shorter: sitting together in one room and listening to each other is an experience different from being cooped up by oneself in front of a screen and listening to someone in a large circle.
As for the question of how we can make our religious communities and interfaith and intercultural dialogue sustainable, I personally don’t have an overall solution but I would like to note the following points and invite to an exchange of thoughts and opinions:
1. Despite the pandemic, it is possible to keep in touch. 
2. Many things are possible online, but our presence/offline formats cannot be transferred directly because online formats need other conditions and are simply different.
3. We are able to pray, exchange views, and learn together even online. Here, it is important to check the duration and methods, and courage – be confident to try something new.
4. Digital visibility in the Internet is a must for religious communities. Here, we need to consider: What do we already have and how can we make it visible? Do we want that at all? 
5. Will everything become “normal” again when the pandemic is over? Or are there aspects and tools which we should continue to consider and use?

You might be thinking of this, then, as a day-long analogue of Catholic confession — private, even secret, maybe a little shameful, and really not something you talk about. But this couldn’t be further from my experience. Yom Kippur is social. I spend nearly the whole day in the company of my entire congregation. In fact, there are so many of us that we can’t fit into our regular synagogue building, and so we rent out a local theatre. Now, in my current community, everyone knows me as the rabbi’s husband and wants to say a quick hello, but even in the past, when I travelled to a community where I knew absolutely no one, everyone suddenly became my new friend on Yom Kippur. It’s an experience of collective solidarity. Most of the liturgical confessions we recite are phrased in the first-person plural, and while there are times for private meditation and silent confession, they’re the exception, not the rule. Far more often, we talk together about: ‘The sin we have committed against You by our words, and the sin we have committed against you by our deeds.’ ‘Forgive us, pardon us, grant us atonement.’ There’s even an alphabetical list of all of our failings  - ‘ashamru, bagadnu, etc. etc’ -  all with that -nu ending in Hebrew that translates to ‘We have’ – so a creative translation in the UK Reform Movement’s prayerbook of 1985 begins its rendering of this prayer as:

We have abused
We have betrayed
We have been cruel
We have destroyed
And embittered other people’s lives.

That is an emotionally heavy load. And it’s made heavier by the strict fasting – no food or water from sunset the night before till sunset that evening. You do start to feel quite vulnerable, physically and emotionally. But you look around, and you see everyone else with the same struggle. You hear the rumblings of other stomachs, and notice how even the best readers stumble over their words. The chorus of voices in reading and singing the prayers together, the energy that you get from that community – it lifts you up. Of course, the main source of hope on Yom Kippur is that our God is a loving and forgiving God, who welcomes back wayward sheep year upon year, but almost as helpful is the constant reminder that you are being welcomed as part of a flock. The work of Yom Kippur is not just about me; it is, and has always been, about us.

I wanted to start with my typical experience of Yom Kippur to contrast it with my experience of this year. Of course, because of the pandemic, we could not gather. And so I spent Yom Kippur worship this year on my own, sitting on my sofa, watching the live streamed service on our smart television. I tried to do what I could to transform my living room into a space suitable for prayer. I tidied up, I removed anything that might be distracting, I put on my best suit and kippah, I covered the coffee table with a prayer shawl, and I tried to concentrate. The streaming service was extremely well done (though I admit my biases as rabbi’s husband here) – it was clear, musical, well organised, engaging, and had plenty of pre-recorded contributions from different members of the community, The tech was well handled– that wasn’t the problem. Nevertheless, it was the most draining and difficult Yom Kippur I’ve experienced as an adult. At the end of the day, my wife came home and found me like this:

(Taha Jabir al-Alwani: The Ethics of Disagreement in Islam. Prepared from the original Arabic by AbdulWahid Hamid; Edited by A.S. al Sheikh –Ali; Herndon, Va. USA;IIIT 1994, pp 1-2)

In this statement, al-Alwani is looking at what he terms: ‘The Malaise of Discord’ and he seems to reflect the situation of the contemporary Muslim Society (Ummah) where the question of Solidarity and Dissent have become increasingly challenged! There are so many ‘freelance Islamic Scholars’ to the extent that there is always some form of dissent going on and social cohesion is constantly being called into question! There is this impression created that Muslims are constantly at each other’s throat and that issues of ‘freedom and responsibility’ are foreign to them! There is perception amongst some people that in Islam everyone must conform to a particular ‘set of ways of doing things’ and people have to be brought to order if they decide otherwise, that is if they dissent.

However, as Hassan Al-Anani has argued:

‘…both the Qur’an and the Sunnah agree that Allah has granted man the full ability to choose and follow the path of virtue as well as that of evil, depending solely on how he is inclined or what he is after. Therefore to deny this ability to man is diametrically opposite to what the Qur’an and Hadith-the two prime sources of Islam-prescribe.’

(Freedom and Responsibility in Qur’anic Perspective. Translated by M.S. Kayani. Indianapolis, IN, USA; American Trust Publications, 1990. P 89)

Al-Anani hits the ‘nail on the head’ that the Creator Himself has given  the human being room to either  believe or reject and hence it is against the core teachings of Islam that people are more or less ‘made to conform’! This is primarily the reason why the Qur’an itself makes it absolutely clear that there is no compulsion in matters of faith! (Qur’an 2:256). This is essentially because, as the verse points out, things have been made clear and also that at the end of the day, one is responsible for the choices one makes. The ultimate decision on the Day of Judgment belongs to The Creator Allah alone! (Qur’an 88:21-26).After all, even though the rationale for the creation of humankind was to worship The Creator alone (Qur’an 51:56), we were not created as ‘robots’ but with the freedom to make choices That is why, in Da‘wah (‘Mission’),the core understanding is ‘an invitation’  As soon as an element of force enters the system, it is no more Da‘wah but entirely something else!

The Concept of Unity in Islam:

Having said all that, the concept of unity is fundamental in Islamic Life and Thought. The Qur’an emphatically describes the Creator God, Allah, as ONE and this ONENESS permeates all spheres of life. The technical Arabic word Tawhid is therefore always used to explain the main paradigm on which Muslim ideals are founded. The basic argument is often that: if God is one, then the community (Ummah) has to be one! It follows also that the whole of the human community should be one!

That Muslim Ummah (Community) is described in the Qur’an as a ‘just one’ and meant to be witnesses against humankind (2:143). Again, the Qur’an calls on members if this Ummah (Community) to stand together and hold onto the ‘Rope of Allah’ firmly together and never be divided. (3:103)

From this, solidarity is the key to the survival of the whole of the Community (Ummah) and Dissent is seen as being ‘destructive’ and hence should not be tolerated. When the Prophet Muhammad and the early Muslims moved from Makkah to Madinah at the height of the persecutions, solidarity was crucial and historians often point out that the Prophet was more concerned with the hypocrites (the Munafiqun) than those who were openly hostile to Islam and the Muslims. The analogy of the ‘ant in one’s clothing’ is very relevant here.  We could ask a rhetorical question here: Does that situation still apply? And if so, does it mean that dissent should be classified in the same way as it was in early Madinah?  These are questions that could be debated at length.

Where do I fit in?:

As a Black African Muslim born in Ghana, now British and living and working in Brunei Darussalam, how do I see myself in this ‘debate’?

As an African described by Parrinder and Mbiti as ‘Notoriously and Incurably Religious’, religious consciousness is part and parcel of my DNA so to speak! Religion is like a ‘chip’ in my make-up.  To Mbiti and Parrinder, once you take religion out of the African, he/she becomes dehumanized! Allow me to point out here that this is not unique to the African race. The Qur’an itself suggests that humankind was created with that ‘God-Consciousness’ (See Qur’an 7:172).That is why the Arabic concept for the ‘Unbeliever’ is Kafir - literally one who ‘attempts to cover-up’ or deny this ‘obvious fact’.

As a Muslim growing up in an overwhelmingly Christian context, my personal choices were very essential for the very survival of the minority Muslim Community. Fortunately, in the African Traditional context, there were always people of other persuasions around to literally keep one going. One could be in a family where one might have Christians, Muslims and worshippers of Traditional African Religion as well sometimes under the same roof! One is therefore taught how to make choices that would not necessarily infringe on others’ rights and much so bring society into disrepute. This is because the Traditional African understanding of spirituality is such that religion is meant to help the whole of society grow positively! Yes, there are differences in beliefs and even, sometimes, practices but at the end of the day, the fate of the whole of society is more important than that of the individual. Hence, standing in solidarity with ‘the rest’ is considered a ‘religious duty’! Personal convictions are therefore alright to a point in so far as they do not threaten the ‘survival’ of the community. It is this kind of ‘culture’ that has informed my own upbringing. That does not mean that I have not made choices that might be seen by some as ‘unsavoury’ or ‘not in the interest of the larger community’.

My Schooling was in a multi-religious setting and that also made a lot of impact on the way I see things even when I am making choices. My perception of ‘the other’ is perhaps different from one who has not been in that context and gone through that same situation. At the moment in Ghana, there is a fierce debate on what some people (mainly Muslim) describe as ‘discrimination against Muslims’ in Schools. This concerns School Assembly and Worship which are almost always Christian. The Government has come in to state that any School found discriminating against Muslim students by ‘forcing’ them to attend Christian Worship would be sanctioned. This has more or less infuriated the Christian Council of Ghana, the Bishops Conference, and many other stake holders. The office of the National Chief Imam has issued statements and the waters keep being muddied daily. The whole issue has now become heavily politicized. In my days a student in the Primary and Middle Schools, this was not a problem. In the Secondary School, I had the opportunity to attend a Muslim Secondary School but in the Teacher Training Colleges, I had to be a ‘Methodist’ in the first one and a ‘Presbyterian’ in the other. In the second Training College which was a Specialist College for Science Teachers, I had the experience of asking for permission to be allowed to stay away from Sunday Service even though I had to attend the morning assembly which also involved some form of Christian Worship. After staying away for two weeks, I made a conscious choice to attend the services anyway. First, because I was feeling lonely in the dormitory, and second, it dawned on me that in our context, it was a terrible mistake for not making the effort to understand my Christian friends more. It was an existential question!. It was this that eventually made me become interested in Religious Studies as an academic subject even though I was meant to be a Science Teacher! This sent me to study Comparative Religion specializing in Islamic Studies. It is this that took me to the Selly Oak Colleges, the University of Birmingham, where I then developed deeper interest in Interfaith Relations. To many of my friends, the choices I made were ‘wrong’ but these days, I thank God that I did make those choices after all.

My African background needed that kind of choices to be made and as if it was a ‘prophetic Choice’, what the whole world has been going through surely need people of my Career to try and make a difference especially through education. My hope and Prayer is that I could help in nurturing a few people from around the world to study and research in Interfaith and Inter-civilizational Dialogue which could help turn the tide round to save humanity, so to speak.

Yes, sometimes, our individual cultures might stand in our way but at the end of the day, it is the fate of the whole of humanity that is at stake and that should be our priority. People often make their own choices according to their context: Cultural, Religious or Personal. None of these is wrong per se, once the ultimate goal is to make society as a whole a bit better.

We need to remember always that, we are free to choose either to be in solidarity or dissent but there is accountability at the end of time before whoever brought us here in the first place, and that should be at the back of our mind.

Sometimes, we might need Dissent to make the Right Choices. Solidarity for Solidarity sake might not necessarily always be a good idea.

May the Good Creator Lord, before Whom we will be accountable for our choices, enable us make the Right choices and May He have Mercy on us. Amen.

Peace Be Onto You All.

This is not exactly a subject that I find easy, but I was "volunteered" to give an input today. Just as well - perhaps it is time to take account after some recent changes in my life: for a number of reasons I gave up my work in the Muslim community that I had done for the past twenty years and I am now more involved in interfaith work and teaching.

I did not grow up in a grown Muslim community. For the first 18 years of my life, most of my knowledge about my faith came from second-hand sources like books and articles about Islam. It was only then that I could join the Muslim students' community, a diverse crowd with different nationalities, languages, and cultures and from nearly all Muslim traditions. We did not have access to scholars who were familiar with life in Germany; each practised what they had grown up with. Whenever questions arose - and that was ever so often - there were endless debates, sometimes very controversial due to the different views in the Muslim world about the subject, accompanied by attempts to look up sources in the library that proved equally ambivalent, and well aware that our conclusions might be preliminary and that, in many cases, we just had to agree to disagree, either temporarily for practical reasons, or permanently when it came to different beliefs that were beyond philosophical reasoning. Our points of connection were, of course, the regular prayers in the students' mosque, especially on Fridays and other special occasions, and fasting and breaking the fast together in Ramadan, as well as the fact that all of us were more or less students in the widest sense whose everyday life was determined by worrying about exams and trying to survive on some meagre support from parents and various jobs. In retrospect, I think that our debates, at least as much as the shared situation, were at the bottom of a feeling of mutual trust and connectedness while they enabled us to learn and develop. We were like a group of siblings when the parents are not at home. In those days, I sometimes wondered what would happen when this generation of ours, after graduating, would leave to find jobs in various countries of origin, or the Gulf States, or elsewhere in the world. Well - eventually I left myself for years of studying and travelling, and I discovered that there were many connections that overcame time and space and continued to provide both moral support and constructive criticism. And this is how I came to understand the Arabic word ummah for community that is actually derived from the idea of a group of siblings from the same mother. Siblings wrestle with each other, and siblings celebrate together.

I travelled in Europe and various Asian and African countries in order to learn from scholars, explore books, and sample everyday and spiritual life both in diaspora communities and in countries with a Muslim majority. I have no problem adapting to new routines, kinds of food and clothes, or social conventions as long as there is some kind of "just balance" with regard to the division of obligations and responsibilities and enough space to move. It is quite easy for me to feel comfortable, even "at home", in diverse Muslim groups and even to make a constructive contribution and to keep in touch later, whether people are Sunnis or Shi'ahs from different schools of thought or local traditions or belong to various Sufi orders (the disadvantage is perhaps that, when I move on, I sometimes feel "homesick" for what I left behind). I came to perceive and appreciate those differences like different languages that challenge my creativity and open new insights - and this applies even beyond the boundaries of formal religions.

I do have difficulties with groups that are too monolithic - and with that I mean groups with a "fixed ideology" that immediately condemn unusual questions and ideas, isolate themselves against "Others", or even try to impose their views on the rest of the world. This may have biographical reasons: shocked by the experience of the generation of my parents and grandparents, I developed a kind of allergy against anything that smells like "Gleichschaltung", mental uniform that leaves no space for communication and development, splitting up the world into oversimplified categories of "Us equals good" and "Them equals bad" and creating an illusion of absolutely fixed commands and prohibitions as well as simple goals to be committed to that may make some people feel "secure" but leaves no space for conscience.

I don't think, though, that this makes me a relativist individualist. My philosophy is rather that of "diversity in balance". This is also how I read the corresponding Qur'anic passages: they point out the diversity of interacting species, the differences of human "languages and colours", and even contrasts like day and night or life and death as "signs" of the One Creator. In today's world we become increasingly aware how easily the balance of nature can be upset by interfering with the fabric of interaction, f. ex. by releasing too much carbon dioxide into the atmosphere or destroying the world's rain forests; the results may become apparent in natural disasters or the effects on human health. Here, I think of something like an intellectual and spiritual ecology. Totalitarian and extreme attitudes (and there I not only mean fascism or racism or the like but also egotism and consumerism and even intransigent individualism) would constitute an imbalance that may not only bring about stagnation in human thought but also upset social balance and cause or aggravate conflicts.

While I am advocating "balanced diversity", I am reminded of the tradition that is often used in the context of giving weight to community: "The community is like a body. When one member is ill, the whole body suffers." This may be applied to the particular group that I belong to right now, or to the worldwide Muslim ummah, or to humankind in general - and I am well aware that this understanding of mine is connected with my experience of migration and fluctuation and probably looks completely different in a stable local community where any changes may have gone unnoticed for several generation. Anyway, when the body is suffering, the normal reaction is to look for healing or at least to avoid more pain even if it implies limping or using crutches.

As for pain in a currently relevant context, Muslims in Europe increasingly find themselves between a rock and a hard place. On one hand there are the shameful atrocities committed by certain extremist groups in the name of Islam both in Europe and in Iraq and Syria and the demand to condemn them and to distance oneself from them. How can this be done without exposing oneself to accusations by some other Muslims for "lack of solidarity" and "splitting up the community"? It would be much easier if, on the other hand, there was not the feeling of being the target of a general suspicion against Muslims that recently erupted in PEGIDA rallies, certain discussions on "increased security".

If no speedy relief is in sight, pain may cause anger - at the apparent cause of the pain, at the missing relief, at the lack of sympathy. A frequent reaction, blaming someone for the pain, may give some temporary satisfaction, but it works like a placebo rather than being a meaningful step towards healing. Thus, I find it understandable when Muslims blame colonialism, "the West", or even the devil for the current suffering in the Muslim world, but besides not doing justice to the complexity of world history it does not provide a remedy. Another frequent reaction is the desire to cut off the affected member by "excommunicating" individuals or groups. Thus, I find it understandable when mainstream Muslims passionately state that "militant extremists are not Muslims". But apart from the facts that there is no mechanism for excommunication in Islam, and that militant extremists dissociate themselves from other Muslims in exactly the same way, surgery may get rid of a disease and even save a patient's life but cannot not recreate a healthy body. Ideally, health would be restored by restoring the balance within. This seems already to be indicated in the Arabic word salam for peace that is derived from a root that implies being whole, being complete.

With regard to restoring and preserving balance in the future community and beyond, I would therefore say that it needs a concept of critical solidarity that can help to preserve a healthy dynamics of many perspectives from which something new can grow. Dissent may very well be an expression of solidarity there. There is the story of the Prophet who first modified the pre-Islamic proverb, "Support your brother, right or wrong," by saying, "when he is right". Later on, he quoted the original proverb again and said, when he was asked about it, "Support your brother when he is wrong means to advise him how to do better." We need an ethics of disagreement that enables people to express and accept constructive criticism in an atmosphere of mutual trust and self-confidence. It needs readiness for dialogue especially with those whose ideas are different and difficult. On the whole, whether it is within a relatively small local community or within the worldwide Muslim community or within humankind, we therefore need to educate ourselves for handling our globally diverse reality in a mindful and constructive way. 

I did not grow up in a grown Muslim community. For the first 18 years of my life, most of my knowledge about my faith came from second-hand sources like books and articles about Islam. It was only then that I could join the Muslim students' community, a diverse crowd with different nationalities, languages, and cultures and from nearly all Muslim traditions. We did not have access to scholars who were familiar with life in Germany; each practised what they had grown up with. Whenever questions arose - and that was ever so often - there were endless debates, sometimes very controversial due to the different views in the Muslim world about the subject, accompanied by attempts to look up sources in the library that proved equally ambivalent, and well aware that our conclusions might be preliminary and that, in many cases, we just had to agree to disagree, either temporarily for practical reasons, or permanently when it came to different beliefs that were beyond philosophical reasoning. Our points of connection were, of course, the regular prayers in the students' mosque, especially on Fridays and other special occasions, and fasting and breaking the fast together in Ramadan, as well as the fact that all of us were more or less students in the widest sense whose everyday life was determined by worrying about exams and trying to survive on some meagre support from parents and various jobs. In retrospect, I think that our debates, at least as much as the shared situation, were at the bottom of a feeling of mutual trust and connectedness while they enabled us to learn and develop. We were like a group of siblings when the parents are not at home. In those days, I sometimes wondered what would happen when this generation of ours, after graduating, would leave to find jobs in various countries of origin, or the Gulf States, or elsewhere in the world. Well - eventually I left myself for years of studying and travelling, and I discovered that there were many connections that overcame time and space and continued to provide both moral support and constructive criticism. And this is how I came to understand the Arabic word ummah for community that is actually derived from the idea of a group of siblings from the same mother. Siblings wrestle with each other, and siblings celebrate together.

I travelled in Europe and various Asian and African countries in order to learn from scholars, explore books, and sample everyday and spiritual life both in diaspora communities and in countries with a Muslim majority. I have no problem adapting to new routines, kinds of food and clothes, or social conventions as long as there is some kind of "just balance" with regard to the division of obligations and responsibilities and enough space to move. It is quite easy for me to feel comfortable, even "at home", in diverse Muslim groups and even to make a constructive contribution and to keep in touch later, whether people are Sunnis or Shi'ahs from different schools of thought or local traditions or belong to various Sufi orders (the disadvantage is perhaps that, when I move on, I sometimes feel "homesick" for what I left behind). I came to perceive and appreciate those differences like different languages that challenge my creativity and open new insights - and this applies even beyond the boundaries of formal religions.

I do have difficulties with groups that are too monolithic - and with that I mean groups with a "fixed ideology" that immediately condemn unusual questions and ideas, isolate themselves against "Others", or even try to impose their views on the rest of the world. This may have biographical reasons: shocked by the experience of the generation of my parents and grandparents, I developed a kind of allergy against anything that smells like "Gleichschaltung", mental uniform that leaves no space for communication and development, splitting up the world into oversimplified categories of "Us equals good" and "Them equals bad" and creating an illusion of absolutely fixed commands and prohibitions as well as simple goals to be committed to that may make some people feel "secure" but leaves no space for conscience.

I don't think, though, that this makes me a relativist individualist. My philosophy is rather that of "diversity in balance". This is also how I read the corresponding Qur'anic passages: they point out the diversity of interacting species, the differences of human "languages and colours", and even contrasts like day and night or life and death as "signs" of the One Creator. In today's world we become increasingly aware how easily the balance of nature can be upset by interfering with the fabric of interaction, f. ex. by releasing too much carbon dioxide into the atmosphere or destroying the world's rain forests; the results may become apparent in natural disasters or the effects on human health. Here, I think of something like an intellectual and spiritual ecology. Totalitarian and extreme attitudes (and there I not only mean fascism or racism or the like but also egotism and consumerism and even intransigent individualism) would constitute an imbalance that may not only bring about stagnation in human thought but also upset social balance and cause or aggravate conflicts.

While I am advocating "balanced diversity", I am reminded of the tradition that is often used in the context of giving weight to community: "The community is like a body. When one member is ill, the whole body suffers." This may be applied to the particular group that I belong to right now, or to the worldwide Muslim ummah, or to humankind in general - and I am well aware that this understanding of mine is connected with my experience of migration and fluctuation and probably looks completely different in a stable local community where any changes may have gone unnoticed for several generation. Anyway, when the body is suffering, the normal reaction is to look for healing or at least to avoid more pain even if it implies limping or using crutches.

As for pain in a currently relevant context, Muslims in Europe increasingly find themselves between a rock and a hard place. On one hand there are the shameful atrocities committed by certain extremist groups in the name of Islam both in Europe and in Iraq and Syria and the demand to condemn them and to distance oneself from them. How can this be done without exposing oneself to accusations by some other Muslims for "lack of solidarity" and "splitting up the community"? It would be much easier if, on the other hand, there was not the feeling of being the target of a general suspicion against Muslims that recently erupted in PEGIDA rallies, certain discussions on "increased security".

If no speedy relief is in sight, pain may cause anger - at the apparent cause of the pain, at the missing relief, at the lack of sympathy. A frequent reaction, blaming someone for the pain, may give some temporary satisfaction, but it works like a placebo rather than being a meaningful step towards healing. Thus, I find it understandable when Muslims blame colonialism, "the West", or even the devil for the current suffering in the Muslim world, but besides not doing justice to the complexity of world history it does not provide a remedy. Another frequent reaction is the desire to cut off the affected member by "excommunicating" individuals or groups. Thus, I find it understandable when mainstream Muslims passionately state that "militant extremists are not Muslims". But apart from the facts that there is no mechanism for excommunication in Islam, and that militant extremists dissociate themselves from other Muslims in exactly the same way, surgery may get rid of a disease and even save a patient's life but cannot not recreate a healthy body. Ideally, health would be restored by restoring the balance within. This seems already to be indicated in the Arabic word salam for peace that is derived from a root that implies being whole, being complete.

With regard to restoring and preserving balance in the future community and beyond, I would therefore say that it needs a concept of critical solidarity that can help to preserve a healthy dynamics of many perspectives from which something new can grow. Dissent may very well be an expression of solidarity there. There is the story of the Prophet who first modified the pre-Islamic proverb, "Support your brother, right or wrong," by saying, "when he is right". Later on, he quoted the original proverb again and said, when he was asked about it, "Support your brother when he is wrong means to advise him how to do better." We need an ethics of disagreement that enables people to express and accept constructive criticism in an atmosphere of mutual trust and self-confidence. It needs readiness for dialogue especially with those whose ideas are different and difficult. On the whole, whether it is within a relatively small local community or within the worldwide Muslim community or within humankind, we therefore need to educate ourselves for handling our globally diverse reality in a mindful and constructive way. 

Olympia Fulvia Morata, quoted according to: www.hanna-strack.de, downloaded on November 4, 2012. [1]

In my age group, many studied theology because they were attracted by the Protestant Church's commitment to the peace movement and to the Conciliar Process in the 1980s.

It was similar for me. By way of my work with our school group of amnesty international, my attendance of the Dietrich-Bonhoeffer-Gymnasium, where I learned a lot about the resistance to National Socialism, and my turning away from an evangelical-fundamentalist tinted youth group, I came to my studies. The latter brought me great relief, for I was on the verge of throwing out my interest in religious questions because in those surroundings I felt highly unwell and not understood. In particular regarding their ideas of the role of women.

For I had always been moved by the various paths women took in our society.

Already during my childhood, I was fascinated by women politicians such as Annemarie Renger or Hildegard Hamm-Bücher, whom I saw in news broadcasts that I wasn't really allowed to watch. Later, I was impressed in my German classes by the fact that women such as Bettina von Arnim or Karoline von Günderrode corresponded in their time with great writers.

Of course I had learned in the rural milieu of the 1970s that at the latest aged fifteen, girls have to learn to suppress their joy in reading and to give priority to work on the farm and in the house. I had also learned that men deserve their free evening when they come into the house after doing their work on the farm, but for women the second shift begins then and they have to care for the family. Some of the men in my family liked to quote that “The hands of a woman may never rest”.

But I didn't succeed very well in suppressing my joy in reading. Because for example, in my French classes, we read many texts out of existentialist literature – Simone de Beauvoir and Alice Schwarzer were very present. That awoke my great interest.

Since I grew up in the country, my love of animals and of agricultural work also made things difficult. For I learned fast that women and girls are just as strong and can work just as hard as men, since in agricultural work, we didn't really distinguish much between the genders. So from my youth, I was certainly aware of my physical strengths. And therefore I considered the claim concerning the weak gender to be absurd.

Among three people being examined (along with me two young men had registered that morning), I was the only one to pass the test for a driver's licence for motor cycle and tractor, and that made it possible for me at the age of sixteen to load two horses onto the trailer and to drive to the riding club for training.

Even though at that time I knit children's socks and caps, so executed traditional female handwork in order to sell them for some pocket money, I only really felt free and happy when I could gallop across the fields in through the woods with one of our horses.

My point is not to devalue the caring work that is often done by women. On the contrary, many accomplish top-class things in doing so, without it really being seen and honored. I definitely want to emphasize my esteem! However, I would wish that both genders each do half of this work.

For since my childhood, I have never understood why I, simply because of a biological fact, was supposed to orient my interest towards the household sphere, but as far as possible not develop any interest in the public domain and in scientific work.

Because of the preliminary work of courageous women – and in the Evangelische Kirche im Rheinland, we will celebrate in November forty years of women's ordination – I have been given in my Protestant Church the freedom to study theology and to complete it with full validity. Theoretically, all positions are open to me. But since my studies, I have again and again encountered people who told me, that they find it inappropriate for a woman to practice this profession. Particularly if she is unmarried and has no children and therefore takes on full positions, which many would like to reserve for fathers of families.

My path in the Protestant Church was always also a struggle to belong and to be accepted. Frequently because I am rejected as a single woman.

But my married women colleagues suffer because of various unreasonable demands. These tones have become particularly clear over the past few years: women colleagues who, for example, have applied for part-time positions were given them only if they were married to a man who could show that he had a full position. The reason given by the committees: Then we can cancel your position at any time; after all, you are safeguarded by your husband.

Many congregations as well as Church regions with pastoral positions for a particular task (hospital, prison, etc.) seem to want to make clear through full-time, permanent pastoral positions - and some of them also say this in plain terms: In our milieu, a man should provide for his wife and children.

Beyond all theological issues, it seems that for many this is about defending a way of life which they themselves consider to be the only correct one.

And that perhaps is already no longer being lived by their children.

Which is why the exemplary function of the minister's home becomes ever more important to them. At least there, the world should still be in order.

But since the Enlightenment, the Protestant minister's home represents openness, education and liberal thinking. Moreover, the biblical material in the synoptic gospels reminds us that personal relationships are to be reconsidered ever anew, for example when Jesus of Nazareth asks: “Who is my mother? Who are my siblings?” And comes to the conclusion: “You are my mother and my siblings. Everyone who does the will of God is my brother, my sister, and mother.” (Mark 3:31-35)

Anyone who takes these sentences seriously is immune when it comes to rigid ideas and the glorification of family; and in addition, that person knows that within the family, not only happiness can come forth, but also much pain.

In the 18th century, for example, a young theologian by the name of Friedrich Schleiermacher looked at these issues. As an eager visitor to the Berlin salons and a personal friend of Henriette Herz, he had a lively exchange with women who had access to education and therefore also demanded for themselves more rights and fulfillment in life. A very basic right that they demanded was to choose freely the man at their side.

They proceeded to go their own way and took first steps towards their personal emancipation. With time, many others joined them, they read a lot and cultivated friendships in the literary salons. They exchanged by means of extensive correspondence, they looked critically at their own lives, and in so doing made an inestimably great contribution to the path of women towards their personal freedom.

Some of these women friends freed themselves from husbands in marriages that had been arranged by their parents, and they married men with whom they felt a connection in passionate love (e.g. Brendel Mendelssohn, whose married name had been Veit, Dorothea Schlegel – Friedrich Schlegel).

Of course I am far from being an expert on Berlin's literary salons in the 18th century. But as I see it, from these Jewish women came forth a force of emancipation that in the course of time had a liberating effect on the whole of society and beyond all religions, just as the Enlightenment had intended.

This radiated at least into the Protestant Church, as becomes visible in the person of Friedrich Schleiermacher and his work.

He explicitly supported the liberation of women from their unhappy marriages through divorce, and in his “Vertrauten Briefen über Friedrich Schlegels Lucinde”, [Intimate Letters about Friedrich Schlegels Lucinde] for example, he made a plea in favor of the love relationship.

Thus he contributed towards replacing the economically motivated connection of two influential houses through the children's marriage, and he made it possible for the principle of a love marriage to enter Protestantism.[2] For us today that sounds obvious, but at that time it was disputed.

That is why in my opinion, the women of the Christian majority society cannot thank the Jewish women enough who, stimulated by the ideas of Romanticism, took first courageous steps on this path of emancipation.

It seems to me that both in secular society and in Germany's Protestant Churches, the principle of love as the foundation for a relationship seems to be taken for granted. Including its breakdown.

• That is why many forms of family life have established themselves in our society. First of all, the single parents. Above all women after a separation – or in rare cases after the death of the children's father – continue to bring up their children alone. They are exposed to many burdens and urgently need more support in our society and Church.
  
• Or the patchwork families. In which after a separation or widowhood, these people come together and form a new family distinct from those that already exist. Many children have two mothers and two fathers – both biological and social.
  
• The rainbow families are gaining ground. Lesbian women and gay men at times form a common family network in which together they bring children into the world and bring them up. In some parts of society, they are still struggling for acceptance, and they therefore need the support of all social and Church groups so that as soon as possible all rights enjoyed by heterosexual couples and families will be given to them.
  

For I consider it to be important that all human beings can develop their private life free of every discrimination, that in so doing they are accepted and supported by society and the Church.

The Rat der Evangelischen Kirche in Deutschland [Council of the Protestant Church in Germany] recognized this need, and it thus published the guideline, “Zwischen Autonomie und Angewiesenheit” [Between Autonomy and Dependence].[3] 

This emphasizes that over the centuries, society in its development has brought forth ever new ways of life. Thus in the same way, the latest developments should be given the esteem and acknowledgment that were accorded civil marriage and family, which we have known since the 19th century.

I was only marginally aware of this publication, for I considered its contents to be obvious in the 21st century – both in the religious context and in secular society.

Therefore I was very surprised at the sharpness of the reaction of others. After all, the council of the EKD (Protestant Church in Germany) wanted inclusion and acceptance; with it, debates on exclusion were to be definitively a thing of the past. I had thought that there was a consensus about this in our Church. I had thought that discrimination regarding ways of life had been overcome within our Church.

But: arguments that I thought had long ago gone to the “Past” file were suddenly brought out again.

The small bourgeois family of the last 150 years suddenly became once again the measure of all things.

And all other ways of life were qualified as deficient. In such discourses, unmarried, childless women were easily called selfish, seen as people who thought only of their professional advancement and who refused to contribute to society's reproduction.

But in actual fact, at the latest since Friedrich Schleiermacher, we also know in the Church that romantic love cannot be organized or commanded. It comes and goes, as it likes.

And even in the second half of the 20th century, it seems to come rarely to women who, after completing a university degree, want to share both the care for a household and the public sphere in equal parts with a man whom they love. For particularly this group of women often lives alone in our society and Church.

With astonishment over the never ending discussion at the grass roots level of the Church, I also perceive that the debates about feminist achievements, which should enable women and men to share in equal parts both the housework and the public world, are suddenly again being carried out with a certain bitterness, like old graves opening up, which I thought had long been covered over.

Therefore I shall end here more with a question: I had thought it went without saying that I would work together with a Church for the universal implementation of justice, peace and the preservation of creation, in which everyone is welcome, whatever the lifestyle and experience they might bring with them.

Implementing love of neighbor for me means the same thing as creating space that is free of discrimination – in the Church as well as in society.

Was I naïve, because I thought we had come further? How do people in the other religions see this?

Apparently there is still more to do than I thought until a while ago. Many thanks!

[1] (Ferrara 1526-1555 Heidelberg) Probably in 1554, she held a teaching position in philosophy or Greek and Latin in Heidelberg; cf. Sonja Domröse, Frauen der Reformation. Gelehrt, mutig, glaubensfest, Göttingen 2010.
[2] Carola Stern, Ich möchte mir Flügel wünschen. Das Leben der Dorothea Schlegel, Hamburg 1996.
The same: Der Text meines Herzens. Das Leben der Rahel Varnhagen, Hamburg 1996.
[3] Zwischen Autonomie und Angewiesenheit. Familie als verlässliche Gemeinschaft stärken. Eine Orientierungshilfe des Rates der Evangelischen Kirche in Deutschland, Gütersloh 2013.