Since its inception in 1929, the Academy Award for Best Picture has blessed films such as Gladiator (2000), Titanic (1997), and Slumdog Millionaire (2008) with matchless prestige. And with great honour, it brought great fortune. Indeed, the last-mentioned melodrama underwent economic salvation as it amassed 68.4% of its total gross after its ten Oscar nominations. In contrast to the heritage, however, Nomadland (2021), despite its pioneering success in the so-called Big Five, yielded anticlimactic rewards at the box office. The villain of the tragedy was an epidemic cliché; COVID-19 and the ensuing shutdown.

The religious sphere was no different to the cinematic universe, and the parallel between the two is no novelty. Both feature rows and stories, while earlier theatre complexes even had Biblical labels. The gasconade of visual technologies such as IMAX resembles the prismatic reredos that have illustrated churches over the centuries. In eras when the majority of the public was illiterate, the glassware would have supported disciples to fathom theological narratives as a visual medium. Most importantly, houses of worship too await a structural reform amid the plights of the plague.

The film industry recently marketised an innovative solution to its sectoral downturn: safe seating. The Sequel Seat by Layer offers multifaceted antibacterial and social-distancing features to encourage hesitant moviegoers back to the cinema.

Likewise, architects are already proposing design revisions to better adapt our sacred spaces against current circumstances and a post-pandemic future, with particular emphasis on ventilation and open floor plans. For example, an introduction of flex space in churches allows for remote worship and vacates the sanctuary with overflow to accommodate the visitants. The customisability of seating in such a system also facilitates social distancing. But for buildings of vicennial age or older, a spatial overhaul is far-fetched.

An emerging alternative is a “virtual chapel.” Chaplains, destitute of pastoral contact during the U.K.’s lockdown, debuted themselves on digital platforms such as Facebook. In the U.S., the majority of churchgoers are said to have streamed religious services on-screen instead of attending in person. A recent study discerns that less than half of the surveyed 1,000 pious Christians in the U.S. wanted to return exclusively to in-person worship, which signals that online liturgy has effectively deputised itself as an interim. Moreover, a quarter of the transatlantic adults noted that their creed had strengthened because of the recent crisis. “We are now reaching people that we couldn’t reach before. I think it’s the new front door,” adds Mr Fuhrman–the senior pastor of Shelter Rock Church in Nassau County, New York–edified by the expansion of his church’s membership.

On the other hand, dissenters of this new regime inveigh against its potential long-term prevalence. They often highlight that wired worship intrudes on the expectations composed in Acts 2:42 and 46: the physical convention of disciples for the sake of learning, to make prayers, break bread, and indulge in the fellowship of one another. In addition, the preceding research further identified that many American Evangelicals used the neoteric opportunity to visit, although virtually, different churches. Whether they will become ecclesiastical nomads who solely seek new experiences rather than integrating into a single community is a concern among pastors.

Archaic architecture and striking iconography are not the only features lost in the midst of the outbreak. The sound of religion also experienced a backdrop during such a period: the elfin vocals of sopranos and resonant voices of prayers have ceased in mosques and temples.

However, a collaboration between Michigan State University and The Ohio State University evinced that the pandemic presents a chance to examine theological diversity. Using the acoustic recordings that the team has collected over six years, they tuned into the actions of a polymorphic religious population, in contrast to previous scholarly projects that focus on people’s doctrines. The catalogue includes both formal and mundane moments of practice, from conversations between cooks preparing for an established festival to the noises when removing footwear before entering a holy house. One of the tapes is of a family attending a protestant service via Zoom. The audio includes the ambient vocalisations of their autistic son; those who find attendance in propria persona physically difficult can reap the fruits of a more accessible ritual that an online offering proffers.

As aforementioned, the viral trend of virtually visiting different churches is a potential problem for priests. Nonetheless, transferring the entire service experience onto the web benefitted religionists: for example, those who have been yearning to present themselves at a particular worship space in their tradition, such as Episcopalians at the Washington National Cathedral’s Lenten service. A post-pandemic continuation of such innovative and adaptive practices would enshrine the concept of inclusivity in the religious domain. The removal of physical barriers also enables individuals to diversify their own experiences of divinity, as well as globalising the most renowned ceremonials for followers across the world to unite under.

Furthermore, listening for the diverse sounds of worship suggests that religious ceremony is subjective and fashioned by its contributors. For instance, a hospital chaplain in Quincy, Illinois, supplanted the Christian Maundy Thursday feet-cleansing ritual with a routine washing of hands in a healthcare context. Accordingly, we ought to consider religiosity beyond the conventional realm of faith.

Interestingly, studies concur that houses of worship won’t become redundant, notwithstanding the foregoing. Only 2% of the congregational stalwarts in America “anticipate watching more services remotely, attending less in person” post-pandemic. An explanation for such behaviour of the worshippers could be that the social significance of churches, mosques, and synagogues is not confined to canticles or invocations.

The British philosopher Alain de Botton previously remarked that “it is when we satiate our bodily hunger that we are often readiest to direct our minds to the needs of others.” Formal repast, a paradigmatic illustration of religious manifestation, champions dialogue between strangers and conviviality that general urban settings are bereft of. “It is a gateway to friendship as much as occasions for pure sensory enjoyment,” wrote the Swiss-born scholar on the purpose of a communal feast. People acknowledge such conception, hence embracing physical spaces and gathering as part of their spiritual journey and hunger for a return to the norm.

Can the church ever leave its hollow building? Delving into the amendments as to how we practice religion in the face of a pandemic has led us to underscore the import of “horizontal” religiosity–the sense of community–and implies the perpetuation of concrete chapels. Ultimately, what defines churches is not its lavish exterior nor the time-honoured orisons. In fact, there is no single aspect that represents our sacred places. Rather, it is the connection between an individual, the holy, and everything and everyone that constitutes a sanctuary.