Will Faith See Us Through?

A friend, aware of our present situation, wrote recently, “I’m thinking your faith is helping you through.” I immediately thought of Ray Price’s song, “Faith,” which I’ve been listening to for over 60 years: 

“You must have faith/In everything you do/Faith will help you find the way/Faith will see you through/Faith can move mountains/And change the tides of the sea/You can follow this guiding light/Wherever you may be/Like the darkness that comes at the end of the day/There must be an end to the night/And from the depths of your darkest moment/Faith will show you the light/Yes, you must have faith/In everything you do/Faith will help you find the way/Faith will see you through.”

“Yes,” I responded, “Our faith is a strength and a comfort for us.  We know that we are in the company of Another who will never forsake or leave us, who is with us in this time as in all other times to carry us through.  Yes, our faith is helping us through.”

Sometimes we have faith and sometimes we don’t.  Sometimes we sense God is present and Love is at the heart of all things.  Then something catastrophic comes along, or some grim fact of life comes knocking at our door, and this faith of ours wilts and withers like a wild flower cut from its roots.  The dark clouds blanket our bewildered and frightened minds and we can’t think, or feel, or see Love anywhere.  Life’s perplexities and our frustration with them cause us to scapegoat this Love at the heart of things as being the culprit, the one who has ordained the calamities.  If there is a God, if Love is there, how can this stuff be happening in our world and in our lives?

In our hurt, sadness, and utter frustration we rail against these ills of life, and against Love’s mismanagement of things.  We sometimes even suggest that all this silliness about Love at the heart of things should be abandoned as a wasteful quest.  Perhaps, we even say, it would be better to go it on our own than spend our time waiting around for Love to Love.

We forget, as life tumbles in on us, that Love by its very nature, does not coerce.  Love does not bully.  Love does not control or make things go its way.  Love loves irrespective of merit.  If Love is at the heart of all things, and Love is God, then we have painted an erroneous image of God as One who steps in to give or to remove our suffering, who steps in to give or to take away our hurt and distress.  Such control, coercion, and domination would take away our humanness, our freedom—and I just don’t believe that is what Love is.

Love does not force things upon us.  Love does not bring viruses, or disease, or suffering, nor does Love take these things away from some and not from others.  Love does not abandon us and does not remain aloof in our anguish and perplexities.  Love, rather, sits with us and feels what we feel.  Love wraps us in an embrace and holds us and weeps and hurts with us.  Love shares our burdens and calls us to love others like that too.  Yes, faith—faith in the Love at the heart of things—will see us through.

"Caring is the best thing in the world;
Caring is all that matters;
Christianity taught us to care."
(von Hugel)

“Where Do We Go From Here”

We are probably all asking the question in these stay-at-home and social distancing days, “Where do we go from here.”  NY Governor Cuomo says we can’t  go back to where or how we were.  We must reimagine the world and make it a new and better one based on what we’ve learned in this terrible pandemic.  President Trump says we will go back to where we were and it will be even better and greater than it was before.  Where do we go from here?

The question is always there, lurking in the deep caverns of our minds. It emerges whenever times get tough, when life tumbles in on us in all its myriad ways.  The loss of a loved one begs the question.  The sudden diagnosis of cancer, or Parkinson or Alzheimer’s disease will bring it forth.  Where do we go from here?  

Jim Reeves sang:  “Where do I go from here? / What fate is drawing near?”  The first question leads into the second question, into the unknown, into the tomorrows we cannot yet see, into whatever will be will be: “What fate is drawing near?” Reeves’ sings on,  “Through the grace of God alone / I’ll cast aside these fears I’ve known / And lift myself from / The depths of deep despair.” / … / Give me strength that I might find / Abiding faith and peace of mind / And I won’t ask / Where do I go from here?” We all yearn for that grace, for that strength, for that abiding faith and peace of mind so we won’t have to ask ever again, “Where do I go from here?”  But the question never seems to go away for the “here,” the “moment,” the “situation” reappears with each new and passing day.

Disney’s Pocahontas sings, “So many voices ringing in my ear / Which is the voice that I was meant to hear? / How will I know? / Where do I go from here? / … / The path ahead’s so hard to see / It winds and bends but where it ends / Depends on only me.”  It does, in fact, depend largely upon us as to where we will go from here.  The choice is always ours.  It is our responsibility to sort out the many voices ringing in our ears and find the Voice we are meant to hear.

Elvis Presley adds to the chorus and asks the same question in his song:  “Tell me where, where does a fool go when he knows there’s something missing / Tell me where, where will I go from here / Where will I go from here.”

Another group joins in:  “Where do I go? / Every direction seems to be against the flow/ … / Lost in confusion  / I feel like I’m losing it all / Where do I go from here? /… / Nothing is clear / Where do I go from here?”

Where do I go from here?  Where do we go from here?  It’s a big question yet to be answered.  Thus, as Rilke reminds us, “Live the questions now.  Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”

“In the days ahead we must not consider it unpatriotic

 to raise certain basic questions about our national character.”

 (Martin Luther King Jr., Where Do We Go from Here: Chaos or Community?)

"My Way"

Fifty years ago (1969) Frank Sinatra first sang “My Way.”   Paul Anka wrote the lyrics and he wrote them for his “hero,” Francis Albert Sinatra.  The song represents a particular idea of American individualism—it’s all about me, me, me, and me!  The song was played at the inaugural ball for President Trump and has become in some ways a “chest-thumping” American anthem.  Even Sinatra found the song a little much; too much, he said, about me, me, me, and me.  I’ve teasingly suggested to my wife that the song be played at my funeral.  After all, according to a poll of funeral directors, the song was named the most-played song at funerals a few years ago.

The song portrays an aging protagonist (Sinatra had been around for a long time in 1969) reflecting on his life and its achievements:

 “I’ll state my case, of which I am certain/I’ve lived a life that’s full/I traveled each and every highway/And more, much more/I did it, I did it my way/Regrets, I’ve had a few/But then again, too few to mention/I did what I had to do/And saw it through without exemption/I planned each charted course/Each careful step along the byway/And more, much, much more/I did it, I did it my way/Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew/When I bit off more than I could chew/And through it all, whenever there was doubt/I ate it up and spit it out/I faced it all and I stood tall/And did it, did it my way/I’ve loved, laughed and cried/I’ve had my fill my share of losing/And now, as tears subside/I find that it’s all so amusing/And to think I did all that/And may I say not in a shy way/No, no, not me/I did it my way/For what is a man, what has he got/If not himself, then he has naught/Not to say the things that he truly feels/And not the words of someone who kneels/The record shows I took all the blows/And did it my way.”

Last April, circumstances were such that I was unable to do the annual mulching of my flowerbeds.  So I hired a couple of fellows to do it for me.  Before they even began the work, one of them told me, “Now remember, we probably won’t do it the way you would do it.”  He was right—they didn’t do it my way—even though they did a decent and acceptable job.

This spring, in the midst of the coronavirus pandemic and the stay-at-home requirements, I was able to do the mulching my way.  Three loads of mulch were delivered following social distancing guidelines.  The flowerbeds were carefully edged and prepared my way, and the three loads of mulch were distributed my way, and the task was completed yesterday my way.

This morning this protagonist looks out the window upon his finished work.  The sore muscles, the aching back now forgotten, and sings….   

“Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew…

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it, I did it my way.”

"There isn't a parallel of latitude but thinks it
would have been the equator if it had had
its rights." (Mark Twain)

A New Way to Coddiwomple

Odysseus (our mini-motor home, still winterized) is parked in our driveway—probably wondering why we aren’t “on the road again.”  After all, it is April.  The reason, of course, is that we are in a “stay-at-home” mode to curb the spread of the coronavirus. I see myself as a “Coddiwompler,” a gypsy, a pilgrim, a wanderer, forever yearning to be like Willie Nelson—“On the Road Again.”  “Coddiwomple, (v) means to travel in a purposeful manner towards a vague destination.”  Can I coddiwomple in some other way in this “stay-at-home” time?  This morning I reviewed our travel journals and how we have lived out the month of April over the past ten years.  What a trip it has been!

In April 2010 we made a cross-country trip in Odysseus going south to Florida and then westward (visiting Big Bend, Grand Canyon, Bryce, Zion, and Mesa Verde National Parks) to Monterey, CA, enjoying visits with family and friends all along the way.

April 2011 we were on the road—traveling across country via another and different route to Monterey, CA.  (We visited Joshua Tree, Carlsbad, Petrified Forest, Montezuma, Death Valley National Parks, Sedona, and the Hoover Dam).

In April 2012 we were on the road in Odysseus, visiting my mother and enjoying some time with family in NJ.  (We did an earlier cross-country trek in February and March 2012 to California).

The first two weeks of April 2013 were spent in The Netherlands and Belgium and later in that same month a visit with my mother in NJ.  

April 2014 we visited our granddaughter, Katie, in Grenoble, France, visiting Geneva, Nice, the French Riviera, Monaco, Lyon, all under the magnificent shadow of the French Alps.

Then, in April 2015 we were again with Katie, but this time in Bangor, Wales, and in Yorkshire, England.  We attended Easter worship at YorkMinster.  What a treat that was!  After leaving Katie we cruised the Elbe River in Germany.

In April 2016 Odysseus took us on another cross-country trip, which included Pigeon Forge, Nashville, and Memphis, TN, Monument Valley, the Valley of the Gods, and so many other wonderful places between home and Monterey, CA.

April 2017 we went on a journey to the Greek Isles with my brother and sister and their spouses.  We missed a “coddiwopple” in  April 2018—but in June we visited our Katie and Liam in the UK and then took a cruise on the Baltic Sea. (My brother and his wife joining us).

Last year, April 2019, we took a spring jaunt to New York (West Point Academy, Hyde Park) and visited with family in New Jersey.  

This year, April 2020, we coddiwomple still—through the  cherished memories of April trips of the past,  and a visit, just yesterday via FaceTime, with our granddaughter Katie, her husband, Liam, and our great granddaughter, Elodie, in the UK, and on Easter Sunday we visited Luke, Kim, Ethan and Elenie in Flagstaff, AZ in the same way.  A new way to coddiwomple in this “stay-at-home” time.

“Join In the Battle for Truth,” Part II

Yesterday I wrote about the hymn, “Give of Your Best to the Master,” and how the song helped shape much of my early understanding of what the Christian life was all about.  For me, in those early days, it was about giving my best and being engaged in the battle for truth.  But at that time, in those formative years,  I thought I had a good piece of the truth  already in my hands and had tucked away a good bit of the truth in my head.  Isn’t that the arrogance of youth?  Knowing it all or at least thinking they do!  I would learn, as most young people do eventually,  that the battle for truth is not something you have and hold, but rather something that you struggle to find, something that you search for and work toward  your whole life through.  Truth is not something already grasped or known, but something bigger and greater than perhaps any of us can grasp, know, or hold.  

With the song, “Give of Your Best to the Master,” in my heart, and with the arrogance of youth in my head, I continued my education and life experience.  It began to dawn on me that  everything was becoming a question rather than an answer.  Truth was not as readily available as I had thought—and the truth I thought I had a hold on and had tucked away in my head became suspect.

Dr. Smith (along with others) rocked my boat.  He punched holes in my life preserver.  He created turmoil in the sea of my mind.  He challenged the religious faith in which I had been immersed since childhood.  He tore my interpretation of the Book (Bible) to shreds.  I shall never forget his unrelenting assault upon my presumptions and ignorance during my first year in seminary.  Today, I am so grateful for his persistence in forcing me to seek truth rather than falsehood; to deal with  objective fact rather than simply subjective feeling.   He freed my mind from bondage—bondage to lies, falsehood, fiction—and set me free to think, to study, to delve into what is true and what is false, and not to settle for anything less, both in my spiritual life and life in general.  

Adolph Hitler believed and stated (and a bunch of other people apparently believe it, too), that “If you tell a big enough lie and tell it frequently enough, it will be believed.  Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it, and eventually they will believe it.”  This ploy is being used on us right now and every day!  Join in the battle for truth.  Don’t let anyone put you in bondage through lies, falsehood, or fiction—think, study, delve into, and find out what is true and what is false, and don’t settle for anything less if you want to “Give of Your Best to the Master.”

“There is beauty in truth, even if it's painful. Those who lie, twist life so that it looks tasty to the lazy, brilliant to the ignorant, and powerful to the weak. But lies only strengthen our defects. They don't teach anything, help anything, fix anything or cure anything. Nor do they develop one's character, one's mind, one's heart or one's soul.”  (Jose N. Harris)

“Join In the Battle for Truth”

I can still hear Mrs. S leading our Sunday school in singing “Give of Your Best to the Master.”  The hymn was written by Baptist minister and history professor, Howard B. Grose  (1851-1939).  Here are the first two verses and the refrain: 

Give of your best to the Master; Give of the strength of your youth; Throw your soul’s fresh, glowing ardor into the battle for truth. Jesus has set the example, Dauntless was he, young and brave; Give him your loyal devotion; Give him the best that you have.

Give of your best to the Master; Give him first place in your heart; Give him first place in your service; Consecrate every part. Give and to you will be given; God, his beloved son gave; Gratefully seeking to serve him, Give him the best that you have.

Refrain:  Give of your best to the Master/Give of the strength of your youth/Clad in salvation’s full armor/Join in the battle for truth.

This hymn helped to shape much of my early understanding of what the Christian faith is all about and even though I can no longer “give of the strength of my youth,” or “throw my soul’s fresh, glowing ardor” into the battle, I can still give “the best that I have" left within me into the the battle for truth.

The battle for truth is just that—a struggle, a conflict, a search—not necessarily something already grasped or known. “Cherish those who seek the truth,” wrote Voltaire, “but beware of those who find it.” Truth isn’t easily come by these days and I don’t suppose it ever has been.  Perhaps that is why Pilate asked Jesus the question:  “What is truth?”  Whatever Truth is, we must join in the battle to find it, for it once was said, “The truth shall set you free (John 8:31).”

“Life is a crusade in the service of God. 

Whether we wished to or not, 

we set out as crusaders to free

—not the Holy Sepulcher—

but that of God buried in matter and in our souls.”  

(Nikos Kazantzakis)

“Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered am I”

Ella Fitzgerald, Barbara Streisand, and Rod Stewart all sang the song from which these words come.  Why do these particular words drum their way into my head this morning?  What do these particular words mean?  

“To bewitch” is to cast a spell on someone or to capture their attention in some other way.  “To be bewitched is to be controlled or affected by or as if by a magic spell.  If something (or someone) bewitches you, you are so affected or attracted to it or them that you cannot think about anything else.  Synonyms for bewitched include words like beguiled, captivated, and hypnotized.

To be “bothered” is also best defined by its various synonyms:  irked, disturbed, troubled, tormented, annoyed, and vexed.

“Bewildered,” too, is best defined by its synonyms:  befuddled, confounded, worried, perplexed, confused, and baffled.

So, having done my little word study,  I discover that I am truly bewitched—hypnotized and captivated—by this unprecedented coronavirus pandemic.  Aren’t you?  I am controlled and affected by it.  It holds both me, you, and the world captive.  It is a “spell” cast over us, a shadow that hovers, a disaster that has taken 178,000 lives globally, a pathogen that we do not yet know very much about.

I am bothered, annoyed, disturbed, and troubled, not only by those who would ignore the facts and scientific data with reference to Covid-19, but also by the superficial reactions to it from some political  and religious folk.   I wrote a few years ago about “a pastor who sent a message to his congregation asking them to please pray for God to heal him.  He had a toothache!  In the midst of all the suffering, pain, and problems that no doubt plague his people, and most certainly exist in this world of ours, he asks his troubled people to pray for the healing of a toothache?  Such antics give me a headache.  I’m not asking you to pray for God to heal my headache, but I would suggest that if you are going to pray, pray for something more critical than either a toothache or a headache.” (In Matthew’s gospel, Jesus says something bigger is here—something bigger than the temple, bigger than Jonah, bigger than Solomon).  It is a mistake to make small what is big.

Baffled I am, confused and perplexed, worried and befuddled, by the misinformation, disinformation, double-talk, partisanship, falsehoods, and conspiracy theories running rampant on social media and elsewhere.  This is a time for rational thinking, even thinking outside the boxes that hold us captive.  We must use our heads—even when we are “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.”

The Travail of Mark Twain

As the twentieth century dawned, Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), saw the world “darkened by military actions of the so-called Christian powers; nation preyed upon nation, the strong upon the weak.”  “The time is grave,” he wrote.  “The future is blacker than has been any future which any person now living has tried to peer into.”

The world always looks and feels “blacker” when your own personal life seems to be a living nightmare.  Life tumbled in on Mark Twain.  In the 1890’s he was overwhelmed by the death of his daughter, Suzy.  In the same period his  other daughter, Jean, was suffering with epilepsy.   Even his financial situation was “black”—he went bankrupt! His wife, Olivia, who had never been really well, continued to suffer illness after illness.  There is little doubt in my mind that Twain prayed in his sorrow and pain (as we all do):  “Let this cup pass from me!”  But it didn’t! I suspect he prayed more than three times and asked God, like the Apostle Paul did,  “to take it away from me.”  But it wasn’t taken away!

Isn’t it natural that Clemons would wonder if God really is “our loving father?”  He wrote a number of scathing satires (a direct cry of his own heart—of his doubt, his pain, loss and suffering) titled, “The Victims,” “In My Bitterness,” “The Myth of Providence,” and others.  He castigated the “middle-class church” for its selfishness and the ways in which alleged Christians  practiced prayer.  In the satire of “The Lost Ear-ring” he wrote about the great concern over a young lady’s loss of an earring of no real value, and  how she prayed and how God’s providence got the credit for restoring it to her when it was discovered that the trinket has fallen into her apron pocket.  Is an earring more significant to God than a daughter’s life?  In his satire of “The Holy Children” he wrote, “Unbelievers had scoffed when prayers are offered up for better weather, and for the healing of the sick, and the staying of epidemics, and the averting of war—prayers which no living man had ever seen answered.” But the Holy Children claimed that “special providences were at the bidding of the prayers of the perfect.” Since Twain knew he wasn’t perfect, this, then, must be the reason his fervent prayers for “special providence” on behalf of his loved ones were never answered.  

Someone said that their prayer for a Covid-19 patient was answered and the one for whom they prayed survived.  Did they pray for only that one?  Does God only respond when we happen to pray? Does that mean that our prayers determine who survives and who does not?  There are many Mark Twains in our midst crying out right now and wondering.  Socrates said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”  Mark Twain says, “The unexamined Christian life is not worth living.”

Do You Like Me, Too?

According to statistics posted by Johns Hopkins University this week, the bump in coronavirus cases has been most pronounced in states without stay-at-home orders.  Oklahoma had a 53% increase this week.  Arkansas had a 60% spike.  Nebraska had a 74% increase.  Iowa had an 82% jump and South Dakota had a whopping 205% jump—this week!  Wyoming, Utah, and North Dakota also had increases.  I’m not a health professional, statistician, economist, governor,  or scientist, but these facts, numbers, data and projections tell me that this terrible virus ain’t over yet!  Statistics also tell me that stay-at-home restrictions have been crucial in lowering the spread. According to one poll, 66% of the American public is as concerned as I am about lifting the stay-at-home restrictions too soon.  But that leaves another 44% of the public who believe that the restrictions won’t be lifted soon enough to save the economy, or that the restrictions are too strict and intrude upon our individual liberties guaranteed by the Constitution.  

Michigan Governor Gretchen Whitmer has become “a lightening rod” for this latter group given her stringent stay-at-home directives.  This week (in spite of the “bump” in coronavirus cases in states without stay-at-home directives)  three to four thousand people gathered outside Michigan’s capital to protest  Whitmer’s stay-at home directives.  Now it has been reported that some wore MAGA hats, that “lock her up” was a persistent chant, that some carried weapons, that some violated the governor’s guidelines by getting out of their cars without face masks and without regard to social distancing.  I wasn’t there, but I did view a video of the event. Governor Whitmer, already struggling against a GOP legislature attempting to override her directives, said of the protestors “that’s their right.  The sad part is, though, that the more they are out and about, the more likely they are to spread Covid-19 and the more likely we are going to have take this posture for a longer period of time.”  Michigan has lost 2,200 residents to Covid-19.

That same day, Mr. Trump tweeted his take on the protest:  “Liberate Michigan.”  Is he egging-on protestors to violate not just Governor Whitmer’s policies, but his own?  He has told governors to “call your own shots.”  What is he saying?   He followed up his tweet in his daily press briefing, saying, “they seem to be protestors that like me…”. The question is not whether or not the protestors like Mr. Trump—the question is do they like the rest of us—the 66% who are concerned that stay-at-home directives may be lifted too quickly?  

Divisiveness is a reality, we all know that.  So is public safety a reality, and we all know that.  We are polarized, and we all know that.  This is certainly not the time for rhetoric that encourages an already polarized nation to split even more—especially over something as important as public health.  

The Irreparable Loss

Today there are 2,181,508 confirmed cases of the coronavirus worldwide; 147,337 have died; 554,899 have recovered.  Here in the U.S. we have 671,493 confirmed cases; 33,288 deaths, and 56,236 recovered.  China has revised the Wuhan death toll upward by 50%.  This is a pandemic the likes of which we have never experienced before.  Hopeful signs exist as the so-called “spread” or “curve” has leveled out in some areas, but the virus is still in charge and still causing irreparable loss for families around the globe.  The virus is still in charge and has decimated the world’s economy.  

Is it irreparable?  For the families who have lost loved ones it is irreparable and I wonder every morning if we (all of us, everywhere) really feel their loss (for it is our loss, as well).  I think it is very important that we “feel” and “take-in” the sorrow.  I am not being morbid—I am trying to be human.  I am not being a voice of despair—I am trying to be realistic.  Do we “feel?”  “Where is your brother?  Where is your sister? These are not ancient questions reserved only  of Cain.  They are questions being asked of us in this time.

Everybody is all worked up about the economy.  Everyone is eager for normalcy to return. All of us complain and protest against the “stay-at-home” guidelines.  “Let’s go back,” we shout,  “to the way it was.”  It never will be what it was “once upon a time” for those who grieve the lives of those taken by Covid-19.  Tennyson’s poem, “Break, Break, Break” says it in a way that I cannot.

“Break, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!

And  I would that my tongue could utter

The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman’s boy

That he shouts with his sister at play!

O well for the sailor lad,

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

To their haven under the hill:

But O for the touch a vanish’d hand,

And the sound of a voice that is still!”

And then Tennyson pours out a flood of feeling and speaks for those who have suffered irreparable loss with the lines:

“But the tender grace of a day that is dead

Will never come back to me.”

Let not cold statistics rule our minds and hearts and cause them to become numb, without feeling, without care.  Let not our selfish and arrogant desire for normalcy allow us to ignore those who have experienced irreparable loss.  Let us do everything we can, from washing our hands, staying home, and wearing a mask when we go out,  to help prevent any more irreparable losses for our brothers and sisters around the world.  

Facts, Data, Numbers and Projections

New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo said on March 27, “I operate on facts….Everybody’s entitled to their own opinion, but I don’t operate here (in the midst of a pandemic) on opinion.  I operate on facts and on data and on numbers and on projections.”  A “Fact” is defined as “something that is known to have happened or exist, especially something for which proof exists, or about which there is information.”  Mr. Cuomo’s facts (at that time) were based on projections from Weill Cornell Medicine, the CDC and McKinsey (a global management consulting company) which suggested that thousands more ventilators would be needed in New York to combat the ever-growing number of Covid-19 patients.

Mr. Trump, said Cuomo, was operating on “opinion” when he spoke to Sean Hannity of Fox News and said that he didn’t really think all those ventilators were needed in New York. “I don’t believe you need 40,000 o 30,000 ventilators.  You know, you go into major hospitals, sometimes they’ll have two ventilators.  And now all of a sudden they’re saying, ‘Can we order 30,000 ventilators?’” And as it turns out, thankfully,  New York did not need all those ventilators.  Opinion vs. Fact.  Would New York have needed those ventilators if social distancing and other drastic measures had not been put in place to change the course of the information and data Cuomo had at his disposal at the time of his request?  

Will we “operate on “facts” or “opinion?”  Will we follow the dictates of science and rationality?  (Rationality is defined as acting “in accordance with reason or logic”).  Or will we succumb to opinion, which is defined as “a view or judgment formed about something, not necessarily based on fact or knowledge?”

Deborah Jane Orr wrote in the Guardian back in 2017:  “Humans like to think we are rational.  Some of us are more rational than others.  But, essentially we are all slaves to our feelings and emotions.”  We think it is our right to make half-formed judgements, based on little more than how we feel or based on our political or religious biases.  Can people be relied upon to make rational choices is a big question right now.   So many opinions are out there, in print and online, that have caused us to think that experts are overrated, data is unreliable, science is suspect, and anything that we don’t particularly like is “fake news.”  We are all part of the problem.

We are living in the midst of a global pandemic.  Current data indicates 2 million confirmed cases today and 138,000 deaths worldwide (this is not a projection—this is a fact). I don’t like the data, but that doesn’t mean it is fake news.  I don’t like the social distancing that has been imposed, but data shows that it has had an effect on the spread.  I am trying to operate, with Cuomo, on facts based on reliable data provided by experts and health professionals.  How about you?

Dr. WHO?

As of yesterday, there were 1,878,489 confirmed cases of the Coronavirus in 213 countries. Nearly 120,000 people have died worldwide.  As of 12 April, there were 578,268 confirmed cases of the Coronavirus in the U.S. with a death toll of 23,476.  For those who want always to hear the “positive” there are currently 1,758,489 persons who have survived the virus.  (W.H.O)

The above statistics indicate that the Coronavirus is a worldwide pandemic involving 213 countries.  It is not just an American problem or crisis—it is a global crisis!  The virus is no respecter of nationality, race, age, or religion.  It does not discriminate (though the disparities among some groups is becoming more evident).  The death of a person in Italy, China, Spain or the U.K. is  just as devastating and heart-breaking as the death of a person in the U.S.A.  No nation is entire unto itself—it is a part of the main—and what happens here or there is what is happening everywhere.  The social distancing, the economic catastrophe, the loss of jobs and income, the frustration and inherent fear of what will be is not just the  American peoples burden—it is one shared with 212 other countries.

This is not the time, in the midst of all that we as a global community are facing, to play the “blame game.”  It is not the time to project on others that which we are unwilling to face within ourselves. Every nation, every national leader, every governor and mayor, every government, every health organization, every person, if honest, will say, “We should have done it better and sooner.  We should have been more prepared.  We should have seen it coming.”  But, rather than face our own short-comings, we tend to cast the blame on China or the World Health Organization, the media, the president, the congress,  the prime minister, or whoever else we can find who didn’t quite meet the challenge the way we think it should have been met.  This is not the time to be playing games of blame or any other kind of game at all! 

It is time to be cooperative, to share the burden and even the blame (if blame there has to be), to put our best scientific minds to work, to mourn together, to be a team together, to share our common sorrow, to do what has to be done, not as one people in one particular place, but as a global community.  

A vaccine may not come from an American scientist or the CDC.  It may come from some obscure health lab in Burundi, or Ghana, or Nigeria, or perhaps Brazil, Zimbabwe, Iran, China or Egypt. It is not wise to blame  Doctor WHO.  Doctor WHO may not be the problem; Doctor WHO may be our hope and our salvation.

Living In The Moment

Has there ever been a “time” like this time?  Not really.  While history may repeat itself on occasion, it never repeats itself in the same time period.  Nor does it precisely replicate one historical event in quite the same way as it did the first-time around.  Famines, plagues, economic disasters, even “stay-at-home” quarantines have been experienced before our time, and there is little doubt that such things will occur in another time long after this time has passed.

The Plague of Athens (circa. 429 BC), probably Typhus or Typhoid Fever, took 100,000 lives.  The Antonine Plague in the Roman Empire (circa. 165), probably Smallpox, took an estimated 5 to 10 million lives.  Over 75 million lives (60% of the population of Europe) were lost in what is now called the Black Plague in 1331-1353.  Ebola, measles, influenza, bubonic plague, H1N1, Yellow Fever, Cholera and many other epidemics have had their day—and now, Covid-19—a worldwide pandemic, has taken over 120,500 lives (as of April 14, 2020).

I remember a summer in the early 1950’s when infantile paralyses (polio) was rampant in our community.  The doctor who brought me into this world lost his eldest son that year to the disease.   I can remember my mother’s fear for us. We weren’t allowed to go swimming in the brook and our contact with other children was limited.  The first  U.S. polio epidemic occurred in 1894.  Salk’s vaccine didn’t arrive on the scene until 1953.  

Yes, there have been times like this time before, but none were quite the same as this time.  The historical perspective doesn’t make it any easier for us, but it ought to give us hope, and it ought to help us do what needs to be done right now.  

In 1928, prosperity (for the privileged) was not just an economic condition; it was a state of mind.  Everything was “great, terrific, incredible,” etc.  Then suddenly, on October 24, 1929, the economic world crashed with a sudden and brutal shattering of hope.  People found themselves in an altered world of joblessness and poverty.  My father’s family was not part of that prosperity, but  were deeply affected by what we now call “The Great Depression.”  My Dad was 11 or 12 years old in October 1929.  He made it through, though not without great difficulties, and lived for another 70 years.  When I look at the photograph of him taken in 1929, it is apparent that “The Great Depression” was not about to do him in.  Nor will the present pandemic and the economic downturn of the present moment do us in.  We, too, will live through it, but only if we do what needs to be done right now.

Dad and his younger brother (my name sake) Harold
in 1929

“Time” in this Time

There is the precious gift of “time” in this “stay-at-home” time.  Time to catch up on what needs to be caught up. Time to think.  Time to remember.  Time to reflect. Time to read.  Time to listen.  Time to question.  Time to do.  Time to cry. Time to pray. Time to ponder. Time to love.  Time to care. How are you doing with your “time” in this staying at home time?  William Penn’s epigram about “time” from his book “Some Fruits of Solitude,” written in 1682 come to mind:  “Time is what we want most, but what we use worst.”  

I’ve wanted “time” for a long time to do “this" or to do “that”.  I should, for example, take time in this “time” to read that little book of Penn’s again.  I can remember saying in another time and place,  “When I retire and have the “time” I want to read this or that book again.”  Well, the time has come, lots of time, without any disturbance or interruption.  The books await me.  

I read again over the weekend Mitch Albom’s wonderful book, “Tuesdays With Morrie”.   The reading prompted memories of George, just one such Morrie in my journey.  How fortunate I feel and how grateful I am for the gift of so many Morries!

George and I met in 1968.  I was 25 years old; George was 56 years old.  He was a retired school teacher and columnist for the local newspaper; I was just starting out.  Our relationship spanned nearly a half century (George died in 2007).  

“Yes, time is precious,” George wrote me from his assisted living home.  “I have been blessed by being given some extra time.  I hope I have used and am using it wisely and what little I do has some worthwhile effect on the people around me.”  

“Ninety-one is just about the same as ninety,” George wrote, “though there are semblances of additional barnacles—like chronic ache in the back and frequent instances of insomnia.  I feel pretty much alive at the moment…My cardiologist examined me yesterday and suggested that I am good for a few more years.  I will try to oblige him—reinforce his considered opinion. We shall see.”

On the occasion of my father’s death, George wrote:  “I think of my father everyday and sometimes many times during that day.  He will have been dead 58 years tomorrow.  He was 80 years old plus exactly six months.  I experience the same feelings as those that you do.”  I know I have given this to you before, but here goes”

“When Father took my by the hand,

I had no thought of fear;

And even now, when trials come,

I feel his presence near.

Time! Precious time! Special people within time.  Memories that hold time.  “Time is what we want most…” We have been given the gift of “time” within this time.

Good Friday Long Ago

The year was 1962—58 years ago—I was 19 years old.  The place was the Island of Crete.  The day was Good Friday.  A Greek friend invited me to attend the Orthodox Good Friday service.  The women of the church create the Epitaphios (the tomb of Christ) decorated with fresh flowers which is placed in the front of the church.   In the center of the Epitaphios is an elaborately embroidered cloth with the image of Christ on it.  The icon of Jesus is removed from the cross and wrapped in linen and put in the Epitaph (the tomb).

At the close of the worship service, the Epitaph is carried out of the church and into the streets of the village followed by the faithful worshippers with lighted candles.  The Church bells peal slow, deep funeral tones, the priests chant, incense is burned, and the people sing solemn hymns.  Eventually the procession makes its way to the local cemetery where the women begin to cry and wail for those whom they have lost in death, and a funeral service is conducted for Jesus in the present tense.   

That’s what I remember. The experience took root in my consciousness and has remained there ever since.  The experience made me aware of the power of death. This power of death takes many forms.  It exists everywhere.  It is any power that denigrates our humanity, any power that makes us less than what we are, any power that takes life (our humanity) away from us, including the worldwide Coronavirus pandemic that presently envelops us. 

Contrary to the way many Christians interpret the Bible, the Bible itself concentrates upon events as they happen in this world as it is.  The Bible focuses upon societal realities of every description as they exist in time.  Biblical faith is concerned with this world. Biblical faith is lived out within the human situation as human beings experience it.  And what this faith affirms is that this time and this place and all experience in this world, fallen as it is, is the subject of God’s concern and incessant love and action—“For I have seen the affliction of my people in Egypt…I have heard their cries…I have taken heed of their sufferings (Exodus 3:7).”  In that cemetery long ago, I sensed God’s presence.  I felt God heard the chanting of the priests, the solemn hymns of the people, the pealing of the Church bells, the crying of the women and even smelled the burning incense.  I sensed God felt the sorrow they expressed in their mourning.  It seemed to me that I  heard God crying with them, expressing his own deep sorrow for the death of their beloved and his own.  Easter happened that night because God was there.  Easter happens because God is here, and there, and everywhere, suffering in, and at the same time transfiguring and redeeming what is.

A Season of Lament

The number of victims multiply and the coronavirus spreads.  The largest single-day increase of new coronavirus cases worldwide occurred yesterday.  The number of cases worldwide has now exceeded 1 million.  The U.S. is the new epicenter with over 245,000 cases (more than any other of the 171 countries inflicted with the virus).  Over 6,000 Americans have died from COVID-19.  This is the new reality.  It cannot be swept under the rug.

Public health experts, including Dr. Anthony Fauci, say the only way to lower the spread is through social distancing and staying at home.  “If you back off, and you don’t mitigate,” Fauci told CNN, “there is a possibility that number (of deaths) will go up…And that is the worst possible thing in the world you want to see.  And that’s the reason why I am so adamant about when we say we have got to follow those guidelines, you really got to take it seriously.”  

Some governors have been reluctant to order “shut downs” and remain reluctant to take the virus seriously.  At the national level, though we are willing to “shut down” the government over some political or partisan divide, we seem unwilling to “shut down” in the midst of a pandemic.  If we see the present challenge as “a war” then let us declare war and put the whole of the country on a wartime alert (a complete and national shutdown).   Some churches refuse to close their doors, even while being told that religious gatherings are proven hotbeds for the virus.  Some people refuse to stay at home.  To really  “Love One Another” right now is a matter of keeping our distance from one another!

We want it to be over.  We want an explanation.  We pray to the One who calmed the wind and the sea.  We want relief.  But, N.T. Wright suggests, that  what we might need more is to recover the biblical tradition of lament.  “Lament,” Wright says, “is what happens when people ask, ‘Why?’ and don’t get an answer. It’s where we get to when we move beyond our self-centered worry about our sins and failings and look more broadly at the suffering of the world.”