What will we learn?

In September 2001, I was a tenth grader. I remember wearing my black and silver jersey, shiny black jeans, Raiders hat and And1 Moneys. I sat in the back row of French class and remember thinking this is the bluest sky I’d ever seen. Completely cloudless. A few minutes into class I remember the confusion of looking at that blue sky and hearing the worst thunder I’d ever heard.

Once we returned to school, my French teacher began to teach us about surrealism. We read French writers wrestle with this dream like state where the mind protects the body from reality. As we are in another reality altering event, I want us to take care in the lessons we learn from this. In 2001, we had an opportunity to learn about the love of our neighbor. We had moments where our smallness taught us about God’s bigness. Those lessons were momentary and faded in comparison to the ingrained lessons we kept. We kept the lesson that assured us that security is more important than privacy. We kept the lesson of fear. We kept the lesson that encouraged us to view the world through a lens of mistrust.

With this crisis we have an opportunity to love in a timely way. We can get closer even as we are social distancing. Let’s write to each other, send each other playlists, and create tournaments in video games. Let’s call our elders and make sure they are alright. Check on those of us who are always isolated. Let’s learn love.

Fight or Flight

Hearing about COVID-19 is like hearing about a tormentor’s return. It’s knowing you shot Michael Myers but not knowing where the body is. Or refusing to say Candyman. 

This week my sympathy for what was happening around the world became preparation. I wrestle with my fear, read Psalm 91 religiously and wash my hands even more. On Friday I could not place my feelings. This isn’t the sense of accomplishment and fulfillment that the last day of school normally brings. It feels so indefinite. A collective interruption that holds us all in suspense. It hit me during an assembly. The feelings were so strong I wondered if it were psychosomatic. I felt my chest tightening during the assembly. I tried to calm myself down but eventually had to go to my classroom early and just pray. This episode and the exhaustion I feel tell me how unwilling my body is to have another dance with the devil.

Since 2011, I have had pneumonia five times. All of my episodes of pneumonia are connected to complications from Lupus. I am too familiar with how exhausting those fevers are, how labored the breathing is, the terrible effects of the antibiotics, and the permanent damage it inflicts on your lung capacity. I often think of my lungs as a building and that pneumonia has rendered rooms in that building uninhabitable. 

I texted with the pastor whose church I am visiting and am grateful that he understood why he would not be seeing me until this situation is under control. I wrestled this week. Were my precautions an example of anemic faith? Does trusting God mean that I keep going to church and step boldly as if there is no crisis afoot? I’ve arrived at the theological juncture that informs me to demonstrate my faith through wisdom. The Lord brought the episode in the gospels where Satan tempts Jesus to mind.

In Matthew 4, the devil brings Jesus to the “pinnacle of the temple and said to Him, “If You are the Son of God, throw Yourself down. For it is written: ‘He shall give His angels charge over you,’ and, ‘In their hands they shall bear you up, Lest you dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus said to him, “It is written again, ‘You shall not [a]tempt the Lord your God.’” 

It is not an act of courage, bravery or faith to go out and about during this time of social distancing. It is selfish and foolhardy. It is best to demonstrate your faith and trust in God by taking care of the most vulnerable among us. You may have the health to overcome COVID-19 but consider those of us for whom contracting the virus would mean increased hardship, or even death. I am trusting in the Lord and believing that God will grant us a hedge of protection. I believe that we can participate in God’s good work by being that hedge for our most vulnerable neighbors. It is what’s best. So, you won’t see me out and about for the foreseeable future but I am confident that this too will pass. God bless you and keep you, my friends. Stay safe.