What happens when the institutions that have sustained communities through plagues, wars and social upheaval for centuries are suddenly deemed 'nonessential'? Five years after Nevada's pandemic restrictions on religious gatherings, we're still discovering the answer.  

This month marks the fifth anniversary of when Nevada imposed unprecedented restrictions on houses of worship during the COVID-19 pandemic. As a lawyer and pastor who successfully challenged these restrictions in court, I've reflected deeply on what this experience revealed about our society's understanding of religious communities and their role in times of crisis.  

The pandemic restrictions in Nevada unfolded rapidly. Following Nevada's first COVID-19 case on March 5, 2020, Gov. Steve Sisolak declared a state of emergency on March 12 and ordered nonessential businesses to close. While grocery stores, hardware stores, pharmacies, banks and construction sites were deemed “essential” and allowed to continue operations, houses of worship faced severe restrictions. 

On April 8, 2020, before Passover and Easter, Gov. Sisolak issued an updated executive order prohibiting religious institutions from holding in-person services where ten or more people might gather—even while many other businesses could operate with social distancing protocols. This sparked significant controversy, with debate intensifying why certain businesses, such as casinos, were allowed to reopen while houses of worship remained under stringent limitations, raising questions about what society truly considers ”essential."

I am grateful that, ultimately, the courts concluded that our constitutional rights do not come with a pandemic exception. However, the fundamental question remains relevant today: Are churches and religious communities essential to civil society?

If the answer to this question is “yes,” then the natural follow up question is: What is it that our churches, ministries, and religious communities do that is “essential?”

These are serious questions that demand answers from all of us — faith leaders, laity, the community at large, and government — and, in many ways, transcend the crisis we emerged from.  

Beyond buildings and services

What many people outside faith communities may not fully appreciate is that religious gatherings serve purposes that extend far beyond inspirational messages or musical experiences. For Christians, the physical gathering of believers — what the New Testament refers to as the "ekklesia" or assembly — represents the embodiment of our faith in the community. The gathering of the ekklesia is central to the public expression of our Christian faith and our communal identity. The counterfeit gatherings we were forced to settle for during the pandemic, while some argued were necessary for the health and safety of our community, were not an acceptable substitute for the sacred communal gathering of the Saints. They still aren’t.

Throughout history, religious communities have played vital roles during societal and medical crises. During the Antonine Plague of the 2nd century, Christians distinguished themselves by caring for the sick when many others fled. During the bubonic plague, Martin Luther famously declared that people of faith should not abandon their posts but serve those in need, even at personal risk.

Beyond crisis response, religious institutions have provided the first hospitals, orphanages, and educational systems in many societies. Even in modern societies with robust public institutions, religious communities continue this tradition through numerous essential functions: food pantries, counseling services, addiction recovery programs, support for immigrants and families in need and care for the elderly. Religious nonprofits annually contribute billions of dollars in social services that would otherwise fall to government agencies or simply go unaddressed.

Moreover, religious communities have often served as the conscience of society, providing moral frameworks that have underpinned major social reforms throughout history — from abolition movements to civil rights campaigns to refugee resettlement efforts. This prophetic role has been essential in helping societies recognize human dignity across boundaries of race, class, nationality and circumstance.

The pandemic created what appeared to be a stark choice between religious liberty and public safety. But this framing misses an important truth: religious communities have always balanced their commitment to gathering with their commitment to community welfare.

Critics might point out that some religious institutions did resist even reasonable safety measures, generating headlines that damaged the credibility of all faith communities. While these exceptions existed, they represented a small minority of religious organizations. The overwhelming majority of houses of worship demonstrated they could implement safety protocols responsibly while continuing their essential ministries.

The issue was never about whether churches should follow safety protocols — the vast majority did so voluntarily. Rather, it was about whether governments should single out religious gatherings for especially stringent restrictions while allowing comparable secular activities to continue with safety measures in place.

What we've lost and what we're rebuilding

Five years later, many religious communities are still working to rebuild what was damaged. Attendance patterns have shifted. Some who left never returned. The sense of community that sustained many was fractured in ways that continue to affect mental health, social cohesion and civic engagement.

What became clear through this experience is that religious communities serve as essential infrastructure for social connection, moral formation and crisis response. When they're weakened or restricted, we lose more than just worship services — we lose vital community bonds that hold society together during difficult times.

The essential church in today's fractured society

As we navigate the polarized landscape of 2025, the essential role of religious communities becomes even more apparent. Our society faces multiple crises simultaneously: toxic political discourse, international conflicts, a humanitarian crisis at our borders, technological disruption and deepening tribalism that threatens our shared civic bonds.

In this context, healthy religious communities offer something increasingly rare: spaces where people with differing political views can still gather around shared values, where the dignity of each person is affirmed regardless of their immigration status, economic position or political affiliation. Churches and religious communities model what civil society requires to survive — the ability to disagree while maintaining relationship, to prioritize human needs over ideological purity and to recognize our common humanity across the divisions that threaten to tear us apart.

Consider immigration, one of our most contentious issues. While politicians debate policies, religious communities across the theological and political spectrum are quietly providing shelter, legal aid, language assistance and community integration for immigrants and refugees. These communities draw on their sacred texts and traditions that repeatedly emphasize care for the "stranger in your land" — a moral imperative that transcends partisan positioning.

Similarly, at a time when international conflicts rage and nationalism rises, religious communities can be powerful voices for peace, reconciliation, and human dignity across borders. They remind us that our moral obligations extend beyond national boundaries and tribal affiliations.

Perhaps most essential is the role religious communities can play in restoring civil discourse. In a media and political environment that rewards outrage and demonization of opponents, religious spaces — when true to their highest ideals — model a different approach. They teach forgiveness, humility, listening, and seeing the image of God even in those with whom we profoundly disagree. These countercultural practices are precisely what our democratic society requires to function. 

Religious communities also build bridges across socioeconomic divides, bringing together people who might otherwise never interact in our increasingly stratified society. At a time when Americans increasingly live, work, and socialize only with those like themselves, houses of worship remain among the few places where people across economic, educational and racial lines still regularly gather.

Of course, not all religious communities live up to this ideal. Critics rightly note instances where religious organizations have amplified political divisions rather than transcending them. Religious communities must acknowledge this reality and recommit to creating spaces where diverse perspectives can coexist in respectful dialogue, modeling the very civic virtues our polarized society desperately needs.

Looking forward

As we mark this anniversary, we should acknowledge the genuine public health concerns that motivated pandemic restrictions while also recognizing that relegating religious communities to "nonessential" status revealed a profound misunderstanding of their role in society.

A society that values both religious freedom and civic health should work to understand how religious communities function, the unique role they play in civil society and how they can be partners rather than obstacles during times of crisis — whether those crises be pandemic, political, or social in nature.

Whether or not you consider yourself religious, the health of these communities impacts our shared social fabric. When we face challenges that threaten to divide us, religious communities have the potential to be essential sources of healing, connection and moral clarity.

Five years ago, we debated whether churches were essential during a pandemic. Today, as we confront new forms of social fragmentation and division, perhaps we can recognize that the essential functions of religious communities — building bridges, modeling civil discourse, caring for the vulnerable and reminding us of our common humanity — have never been more necessary.

Jason D. Guinasso is an attorney with Greenman Goldberg Raby & Martinez in Reno and Las Vegas. Licensed in Nevada and California, he is a litigator and trial attorney. He also teaches business law at UNR and is a graduate student in the MALTS program at Regent College in Vancouver, British Columbia. The opinions expressed in this op-ed are those of the author in his personal capacity and do not necessarily reflect the views of his law firm, its clients or any other organization with which the author may be affiliated.

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