Monthly Archives: April 2020

Living Among Those Most At Risk of COV-19

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The devastation of COVID-19 moved close to home this week. I am across the street from one of the “hot spots” in South Carolina.

I live in a continuing care community. It was announced that 32 residents and two staff members in the healthcare facility have tested positive for the virus. They are housed only a few hundred yards from where I am “sheltered in place.”

I watch as staff members occasionally come outside for a break. A few times, I’ve spotted a family member appearing outside the window, attempting to provide support and comfort.

And, my daughter is the director of social services in a nearby long-term care facility. Although her facility has no cases, at least yet, the building is in lock-down; and she worries about either unknowingly bringing the virus in or taking it home to her family.

Those across the street are my close neighbors. Many of the staff members are friends. I have worshiped with them, joked with them, shared ministry with them.  Now they are putting their lives on the line.

I feel powerless to respond! I can’t visit. Even notes and cards from the outside are forbidden. The campus chaplain is there for spiritual support. She is marvelous! Sensitive! Compassionate!

I can and do pray for them. But, are there ways I can provide concrete answers to those prayers?

It is a small thing, but I’m going to get more flowers for my backyard since the residents can look down from their rooms. We all need beauty, especially when surrounded by grief and potential death.

I’ll be intentional in providing words of support for the staff, and I’ll be patient if I have needs that aren’t met quickly or efficiently.

I will also abide by the CDC guidelines and protect myself against the virus and avoid carrying the virus to others.  I’ve added those practices as “spiritual disciplines” and acts of love. I’ll wear a mask in public out of respect for the health of others.

I will also advocate for the most vulnerable and those on the frontlines of care. That means insisting that policies in response to the pandemic be based on science and facts, not on political expediency and selfish advantage.

There is a lot of dangerous religious nonsense circulating with the pandemic. Claiming that the virus is God’s punishment only adds to the suffering and totally mischaracterizes the nature and action of God.

The notion that God is inflicting the virus on my neighbors across the street is blatant blasphemy; and any who suggests such are insulting God and my neighbors.

God is present amid the pandemic, suffering with those most at risk and sustaining those who care for them. God is also present in those researchers and practitioners who are diligently seeking therapies and vaccines.

As I sit in my sunroom and look across the street where several neighbors live with COVID-19, I sense that life will never be the same for them or us.

I pray that we will so live among those most at risk that we will emerge from the pandemic a more compassionate people.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

God Redeems the Silent and Dark Places

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As a pastor, I largely overlooked Holy Saturday as an essential part of the divine drama of Holy Week. It was a welcomed day of rest after the intensity of Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, and Good Friday.

Not this year! This year the silence and darkness between Friday’s crucifixion and Sunday’s resurrection speaks poignantly to where I am.

Within the last six months I’ve lost my wife of 58 years and an older brother, plus a beloved bishop friend, and two colleague/mentors. Treasured voices have been silenced and the places they occupied have become a dark void.

Added to the void is the isolation of a global pandemic. The wait for release from imposed aloneness is more than three days! We don’t know when it will end. When it does end, life will be different; but the shape of that difference remains unknown.

So, I identify more closely with the disciples on that first Holy Saturday. They were locked behind closed doors. Grieving! Afraid! Lonely! Confused! Apprehensive! Waiting!

Death creates silent and dark places for all of us. All losses are accompanied by silence and darkness.

Life itself is filled with unanswered questions, unfulfilled dreams, unwelcomed loneliness.

It is into all those silent and dark places that Christ enters on Holy Saturday. The ancient creed affirms that Jesus “descended to the dead” and “the gospel was proclaimed even to the dead” (1 Peter 4:6).

In the death of Jesus, God has claimed even the silent and dark places as realms of divine love and promise.

On that first Holy Saturday, the disciples were together in their silence and darkness.

We, too, are together emotionally even though physically separated. It is in our togetherness that God comes in our silent and dark places.

The author of 1 Peter offered this word of encouragement as we wait in silence and darkness: “Above all, maintain constant love for one another.”

Love speaks in the silence and shines light in the darkness!

 

 

 

 

 

Good Friday Prayer

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Gary Phillips, the pastor of Salem United Methodist Church where our family participates, has invited members of the congregation to offer daily prayers during April as part of the church website. I was asked to offer the prayer on this Good Friday. You may access the video of the prayer here: http://www.salemumcsc.com/

I offer the printed prayer as follows:

Loving and Eternal God, in the Crucified Jesus, you entered the depth and breadth of the world’s suffering and brokenness and into humanity’s sin and frailty. On the cross, you took on the principalities and powers of sin and death with courage, humility, and boundless love.

You responded to hatred, violence, and bigotry with compassion and forgiveness. You met the abuse of power by religious and political leaders with the power of love. Amid the anguish and pain, you reached out to a dying malefactor with the promise of paradise; you cared for your grieving mother; and you endured abuse and cruelty with magnanimity.

O Crucified Christ, remind us

  • that no suffering is so traumatic that it cannot be redeemed
  • that our deepest loneliness is known by you
  • that no sin is so horrible but that you can forgive
  • that our death has been swallowed up in your victory
  • that you are with us through the dark valley of grief and loss

We praise you, O God, that in Christ Jesus you have defeated the powers of sin and death and opened to us a new future

  • where love reigns supreme,
  • justice and truth prevail,
  • hope vanishes despair and,
  • life outlasts death.

Through the presence and power of your Holy Spirit, create in us the mind that was in Christ Jesus and enable us to follow him with devotion and faithfulness.

In his name we offer our prayer. Amen

 

Grieving in Isolation

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The COVID-19 pandemic compounds and complicates the grief process. It’s as though the whole world is in mourning.

Many are dying alone in hospitals and healthcare facilities cutoff from families.  Funeral services and comforting embraces are limited.

There is a solitude inherit in grief itself. Others may empathetically bear some of sorrow’s weight; but the deepest pain is privately borne.

Yet, we need the comfort that comes from physically connecting with one another — warm embraces, a clasp of the hand, a smile on the lips, or tears in the eyes.

Friday will mark six months since Linda’s death. The intensity of the sadness has subsided and the waves of sorrow wash over me less often. Adjusting to life without her presence remains a daily challenge.

The “social distancing” and isolation are having an impact on my own grieving.  I grieve for and with those who are infected with the COVID-19 virus and their families. The sheer number of casualties is breathtaking.  But they are more than numbers; they are mothers, fathers, spouses, children, friends, colleagues, family.

I feel a certain kinship with them, a solidarity that is deepened by my own loss. There is a strange comfort in such solidarity, a sense of connection with others who grieve. I understand more fully the Beatitude, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

The isolation is forcing me to revisit and work through painful memories. Prior to the onset of the pandemic, my busyness had enabled me to avoid fully coming to grips with some guilt, regrets, and other negative components of grieving.

Now I can’t escape them. The long hours of solitude and silence bring buried thoughts and  emotions to the surface. I’m naming them as they arise, reflecting prayerfully, and sharing them in telephone conversations and messages with family and close friends.

Although I am alone most of the time, I’m not really isolated in my grieving. I remain connected in multiple bonds of love and friendship. And, I’ve committed to reaching out to others who are grieving. With the pandemic, “others” includes almost everyone.

A hymn we sing often at Bethany, the memory care facility where I serve as volunteer chaplain, is “Blest be the Tie That Binds.” We always include this verse:

We share each other’s woes,

our mutual burdens bear;

and often for each other flows,

the sympathizing tear.

Let us find ways of sharing our grief even in this time of isolation. In so doing, we may come to know “the peace that passes understanding.”