Eleven days ago, our world came to a screeching halt. Not just the American nation I call home, which suddenly saw millions filing for unemployment. Not only the places and spaces of worship and community caused to close, schools forced to shut down, or restaurants required to lay off workers. Not just the gyms indefinitely closed, bars required to shut their doors, or even the parks which had become forbidden overnight. The world at large has been greatly altered by the global pandemic known as COVID- 19. Yet, this is not just an international shut down. This one is personal.
As Winter 2020 rolled into early Spring, we saw the world as we know it grind to a halt. The deadly virus known as COVID-19 caught our collective attention, worldwide. What nothing else could do, the virus which quickly became infamous for “taking our breath away” rendered even the most powerful of society anxious at its reported symptoms of “shortness of breath, pneumonia, and organ failure.”
Wall Street ground to a close as society realized that money couldn’t keep this problem at bay. Tech giants and white-collar companies advised employees to work from home, and entire states went into government enforced lock-down. All businesses deemed non-essential, essentially shut down.
As the world was forced to grapple with what many would say is our greatest fear---our mortality---coupled with the unthinkable reality of many dying alone, we found ourselves faced with concern, fear for our selves and our loved ones, and the anxiety brought on by the realization that no checkbook, social status, or gated neighborhood has the power to send this life-threatening problem away. Anxiety, for many of us, is the kicker. The one which really gets our heart going.
Forced to endure days of solitude (for those who live alone), extroverted individuals have found their anxiety rising as they near the two-week mark of having not been touched by another human being. Essential employees and first responders find themselves having to return home to their families amidst fears of being asymptomatic carriers of the disease. The elderly, perhaps those most at risk, send their children to the grocery store on their behalf and wipe down the groceries, waving thanks to those who love them enough to risk themselves. Gone are the days of good, deep hugs from those with whom we share love but perhaps not a household. We miss each other, and long for the days we can be reunited with those we care for, those we may not have even realized we love.
I did not grow up celebrating Lent but learned about the observation in my early thirties when I moved to that most “grungy” and “liberal” of cities, Seattle, for graduate school. In that gorgeous, turbulent city, I would come to understand Lent to be a season of reflection and preparation before the celebrations of Easter. “By observing the 40 days of Lent, Christians replicate Jesus Christ's sacrifice and withdrawal into the desert for 40 days. Lent is marked by fasting, both from food and festivities.” This period of fasting typically begins on Ash Wednesday and continues for 40 consecutive days. Ash Wednesday 2020 began on February 26… in the midst of the worldwide Coronavirus outbreak.
Dave Lomas, a pastor in San Francisco, phrased it this way: “The kindest thing we can do for ourselves, our families, and our neighbors is to fast them during this time.” As we practice “social distancing” in order to keep ourselves and those around us safe, as we quarantine and isolate within our apartments, dorms, and homes, in some senses, we are fasting each other. Not out of fear, though there is some of that; but out of love and care for one another. We are choosing not to overwhelm our health care system, its brave and courageous workers, the systems set in place for our communities to thrive, by retracting from community, for a time.
Where then, do we get our communion? What do we do with the boredom, the anxiety, the fear? The excess energy of our kids, and ourselves? The desire to go for a swim again, to kiss our boyfriend who lives far away? What do those who live alone and find themselves working from home, do? What do we do with our hope deferred, our disappointment realized, and our desire disengaged? When we find ourselves home, alone, bored, and afraid, what do we do?
It could be time to get still.
I challenge you to focus in on two words in that sentence:
TIME.
STILL.
There is so much in this world that keeps us constantly running and going and striving and achieving. I know, because I am one of the strivers and achievers. Since a young age I have been tenacious, a go-getter. As God gives me life and breath and heartbeats, I run after what I want. If I want to live in New York City, I make it happen. If I want to move to Seattle for graduate school, I check that off the list. Even as a single woman of color, one is discriminated against for both her gender and her race, in the light of this epidemic, I’ve realized that I too, am privileged. To be able bodied, determined, and able to live and move and choose to do what I want when I want is such a privilege. But who am I now, that the world as I know it has come to a standstill? Who am I, when I can’t do any and everything I want, when I want, how I want? Who am I, when my only abundant resource is time? When my only livelihood is the breath Yahweh chooses to give me? Who am I when I am forced, along with the rest of the world, to be still?
I believe that a call extended to us, during this time, is this: To rest in the stillness, in the quiet, in the awareness that we are not in control of this, but there is One who is. And perhaps, if we are still, if we allow ourselves to get quiet, to listen, to lean in, we will begin to hear that still, small voice. That one we so often shove aside to text that colleague back or swipe left on that girl who doesn’t fulfill our every fantasy or plan that next vacation or stack up that next hundred-dollar bill. Perhaps, if we allow ourselves to get quiet, to get still, we will begin to hear that still, small voice again, and realize that we are actually not alone in this, even if we aren’t in control of it. That we are here to serve more than just ourselves.
Maybe, if we allow stillness to enter into the places of fear and concern and anxiety, we will realize the breath we claim as our own is to be given and received. As we embrace the stillness, may we come close enough to feel the Spirit’s heartbeat as close to ours as the rays of sun warming our skin. May we come to understand that we are more beloved than we realize, for even amidst chaos and death, we are still here. We are still breathing. We are daily handed this breath, and it is up to us to receive it. We have the gift of time to get with God, and to be still. May we be able to stand still, and receive what we are called to, for such a time as this.