We’ve all felt it. The fear and anxiety that come with the word “pandemic.” The word turns our world upside down, and with the turning comes fear. It’s our human response when our safety, the safety of those we love, is threatened. Also the fear of the unknown and whether I can get Clorox wipes and toilet paper at the store. Or even go to the store. And now we’re wearing masks in public. What is happening? The list changes daily—what feels most compromised and uncertain today?
But as this has gone on for weeks now, I’m aware of a different fear. Because in the middle of all the slowing and the stopping and the trauma of these days, I sense an invitation. And I’m afraid I will miss it, afraid we will miss it.
What if something is trying to be born, to be made new, to be healed, and we miss it altogether?
At a time in history when the fragmentation of our world and our fear of the other seemed only to be getting louder and bigger, I’m aware suddenly of how connected we all are. Across the globe we’re sharing a common experience, and only in coming together can we heal. Only in caring compassionately for one another can we find our way to a new normal that honors our shared humanity.
Here, I think, is the invitation: Remember your oneness. Honor your oneness. Because I think, maybe, the union—all the parts joined--is the healing.
Jesus made a big deal about this oneness. It was important to him, the point of the whole thing really. The point of the living and dying and rising.
“Because I live, you also will live. On that day you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you.” (John 14:19-20)
Maybe this day is “that day”—the day we realize this union. It’s the union of branches with a vine (he talks about that next). This connection, this union in Christ, is what yields all life. All the good fruit comes from this oneness.
Somehow we’ve managed to make even this truth, this oneness, divisive. We are one if we agree. We are in, but you are out. I don’t hear this in Jesus’ words. He boils it all down to one word—love.
“This is my command: Love each other.” (John 15:17)
The oneness is rooted in love. The best moments in this pandemic, the ones that take my breath away and make me hard cry, are the moments of love. People reaching through social distance to connect with aging parents and neighbors. People risking their lives to heal and serve others. People, individually and corporately, giving so generously and creatively. People sacrificing personal rights and freedoms to honor the weak and vulnerable. This kind of love is the love that brings us together. And I think this is the invitation. To begin to live together this way, across cultures and dividing lines, in a way that can heal our world.
And this is where I feel the fear. That all the things that separate us will fall easily and conveniently back into place. That we’ll go back to life as usual. Blaming and excluding the other. Living overly full, self-focused, self-interested, self-protected lives. And we’ll miss the invitation.
So I wonder as we move forward toward a new normal, what will I leave behind? What will I pick up? How will I choose to live differently? The questions are the same for individuals and for nations. These are not easy questions. I don’t have answers yet, but I’m pondering them prayerfully. And in the midst of the sadness and loss of these days, I’m feeling strangely hopeful. What if this global stop, this forced shut down, opens space for us to find a new way forward together?