08/07/2026
From your tech team
FROM THE TECH TEAM
We have been inundated by letter from Mrs Trellis of Welsh St, Havnot. She wants to understand why churches these days need so much 'technical garbage' (her phrase) when we managed so well for so long without any of it.
Dear Mrs Trellis, and others who have shouted “WE CAN’T HEAR YOU” at a screen with the confidence of people who believe volume is a two-way system,
We, the Tech Team of St Faithful’s, have been asked to reflect on our experiences of technology in church. This is a request we meet with joy, trembling, and a faint ringing in the ears that never quite goes away.
Let us begin with microphones. The microphone is not a holy relic. It does not require kissing, tapping, blowing into, or asking “Is this on?” while it is very much on. Nor is it improved by being held at navel height, pointed at the chest, or swung gently like a censer in time with the sermon. The microphone works best when it is approximately one fist away from the mouth. This has been demonstrated repeatedly, verbally, diagrammatically, and once through interpretive dance.
Yet still, the mic is lowered for prayers (presumably out of reverence), raised suddenly for the word Amen (terrifying the livestream congregation), and occasionally placed directly in front of the nose, producing a sound best described as “the wind tunnel at Heathrow”.
Headsets, meanwhile, are adjusted mid-sentence, removed during hymns, and sometimes switched off entirely “to save battery”, despite the service having another 47 minutes to run.
Which brings us neatly to batteries.
If you take a microphone battery and place it in a charger, you must pause — just briefly — to see whether the red light has come on. This is not optional. The red light is not decorative. It is not a mood indicator. It is not “suggestive”. It is, in fact, the only sign that the battery is charging. Placing a battery into a charger and walking away in faith is not an act of trust in God. It is tempting providence.
Wires, too, deserve a mention. Cables are not spaghetti. They do not benefit from being folded into tight, angry knots and forced into drawers. Nor should they be wound lovingly around the elbow and hand like a Christmas garland, no matter how satisfying that feels. Cables have a way they wish to be coiled. They have opinions. Ignore these opinions, and they will exact revenge during the Notices.
We are also aware that many well-educated, articulate, deeply capable parishioners become utterly disoriented when faced with a Tablet.
“I’ve lost the church,” they say, staring at a live stream of the choir, having apparently wandered into YouTube, Facebook, and possibly the Vatican en route.
“The sound’s gone,” they add, while the mute icon glares at them with all the subtlety of a road sign. We sympathise. We really do. But shouting at the Tablet does not help. Nor does repeatedly pressing the home button and then expressing surprise at the weather forecast.
Finally, a word about “helpful” volunteers.
We are grateful for you. Truly. But if a Tech Team member is actively adjusting something, please do not assist by also adjusting it — usually in the opposite direction — while saying, “I’m sure it’s this.” It is never this.
And yet. Despite all this — the feedback, the flat batteries, the tangled leads, the mysteriously vanished livestream — we persist. Because when technology works, even briefly, even imperfectly, something rather lovely happens.
Someone housebound joins in worship.
A grandchild sees their nan read a lesson. A grandpa watches his grandson lead prayers. A sermon reaches beyond the building. A hymn travels further than the nave.
Technology, for all its quirks, is not the enemy of the Kingdom. It is simply another set of loaves and fishes — easily dropped, frequently misunderstood, but capable, in the right hands, of feeding more than we expect.
Now please excuse us. Someone has just turned off the sound “to be helpful”.
THE TECH TEAM
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This is an archive story, re-presented (and slightly updated) for newer members of The Faithful.
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Enjoyed your visit to Havnot?
St Faithful’s is fictional. The affection is real. The meetings, regrettably, are plausible.
If you would like more parish life, more Horse, more Dobbs, more theology smuggled in under nonsense, more books, more chaos, or a mug that quietly suggests you have survived a PCC meeting, everything begins here:
https://www.tomkennar.com
That link will take you to Canon Tom’s books, e-books, audiobook, merchandise and Substack, all gathered together in one alarming but useful place. This includes Volume 7 of The Parish Life, which has recently been released on an unsuspecting world.
Print books are also available — in person only — from St Faith’s Charity Shop, 4 North Street, Havant.
A note on AI: ChatGPT — known in Havnot as Artie Fischal — is often deployed to help shape, sharpen and illustrate these posts. The drafting, judgement, occasionally smuggled theology, bad parish memories, and publishing responsibility remain entirely human.
