When the pandemic hit us back in March, I saw it not as a punishment God was inflicting on us – history demonstrates that we humans are quite capable of bringing trouble on ourselves – but that the Lord would use this time to teach us something. This has happened on a national level in two main ways: highlighting our huge need to reengage in the old battle against our racist/tribal tendencies, and exposing a lack of leadership in our political arena where a torrent of mixed messages about how to address the challenges of Covid-19 have ushered in a disturbing resurgence of the coronavirus. Though we continue to suffer as a nation, the scourge of these forces augments the divisions we already face, making us even more polarized than ever.
It’s easy to get not just discouraged, but depressed. It’s especially hard when we ask the question: What can I do that will make a difference?
Trying to sort this out in my mind, it occurs to me that I have never before recognized the value of the rituals that have been denied us during this pandemic. Usually we can gather together to observe life’s milestones with graduations, weddings, galas, and even funerals. Typically, these events serve a purpose beyond mere celebrating; they focus us on the meaning of life by honoring our achievements and our relationship building. They recalibrate our expectations and remind us to see life in a larger frame. Without the props of our rituals it is not so easy.
I’ve been very thankful to continue to have some means of regular worship through online services, even doing communion virtually. While most would agree that this makes a meager substitute for our in-person gatherings, it points to something we can still do. During this time of chaos, we can at least renew and refresh our one-to-one relationship with God. But where to begin?
Here’s a suggestion. Cast your mind back to a time or times when you remember distinctly a certainty that you were on the right track: when the signposts were clear, and you experienced the joy of recognizing God’s presence and gifts within. Maybe it was when you decided a career path, or chose your life partner, or became a parent, or, simply felt sure that God was real and loved you. When we reach out to God from this memory of assurance, even if we currently feel at sea about life and our purpose, it helps to clear the static between us and God.
C S Lewis illustrates this well in his Narnian chronicle, The Silver Chair. The great Lion, Aslan, (the Christ figure) confronts the heroine on a mountaintop and charges her with a very specific task, with only four signs to use as guideposts on this adventure. Then, as he sends her on her way, Aslan reminds her:
“Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take care that it does not confuse your mind. And the signs which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look, when you meet them there. That is why it is so important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the signs and believe the signs. Nothing else matters.”
There’s a biblical precedent for this practice as well. Moses, in his final farewell to Israel, preached the importance of memory for coping with life’s challenges: “Place these words (the litany of God’s saving acts and commandments) on your hearts. Get them deep inside you. Tie them on your hands and foreheads as a reminder. Teach them to your children …” (Deuteronomy 11:18-19 The Message).
This a hard time, but God remains present with us even so. In the absence of our usual signposts, we need to remember what we saw when the way was clear. God is trying to remind us: “I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for” (Jeremiah 29:11 The Message).
And the greatest promise: “I’ll be with you day after day after day” (Matthew 28:20 The Message).
Amen.
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