Here we are, roughly two weeks into an indeterminate period of what’s being called “social distancing,” staying home as much as possible, staying away from those outside our immediate households, maintaining at least six feet of personal space when we do venture out. We’ve quickly gone from no large gatherings, to no gatherings of more than ten people, to no gatherings at all, public or private. It’s dizzying, what we’re being asked to sacrifice as a fundamentally social species, for the sake of benefits that will take weeks or months to reveal themselves.
I believe this is worth it. It’s actually a great gift that we are even able to identify this invisible, silent killer spreading among us. Though our country clearly came into this crisis bafflingly unprepared, despite months of advance warning, folks are rising to the occasion in all sorts of ways. Some of those are due to the marvels of modern microbiology and medicine. Some are due to the commitments made by health care workers, grocery store owners and workers, truckers and other folks along the supply chain, and many others whose work has been deemed “essential.” Some are simply ordinary folks like you and me finding ways to show kindness to others in safe and sanitary ways: a card, a note, a grocery run, a phone call, a socially distant wave, smile or nod.
But an essential piece of work for each of us right now is simply being honest with ourselves about the losses we’ve already experienced, and the losses that are yet to come. The sacrifices we are making now are to try to prevent tens of thousands if not millions of deaths, which would result in an unimaginable outpouring of grief. And yet there is still grief and mourning, plenty already lost, though some of it perhaps trivial in the face of such unspeakable loss. Yet our instinct to grit our teeth and push through is probably not the healthiest. Grief, if not dealt with forthrightly, in my experience nearly always comes out sideways.
I’m not an expert on grief, even though I guide people through it all the time. There’s at least two kinds right now: anticipatory grief, and unexpected or traumatic grief. The former is linked to the sense of dread that many of us are experiencing right now, which has expressed itself in fitful, mostly pitiful attempts at reasserting control in the face of events and risks we can’t control. The latter explains why our graduating seniors, especially, are unmoored right now: canceled sports seasons, proms, graduation ceremonies and more--all the fun stuff they’ve been looking forward to for months or years--but still the prospect of classwork and exams, only now with the added twist of unfamiliar distance learning. Pray for our students, especially our graduating seniors.
But it’s okay to grieve otherwise seemingly trivial losses, including losses yet to come: upcoming vacations, gatherings of extended family, and more. I find it’s best to name them and acknowledge the losses. Name your fears for the future. Pray to God in sadness or anger. Confess how silly it feels to mourn some of these things, and share with God your darker, more desperate fears for the future. And maybe find someone else you trust to share these things with. It’s too great a burden to bear alone.
“There is nothing new under the sun…” declares the wise Teacher of Ecclesiastes. Indeed, the human race has survived pandemics before--even the widespread closure of church buildings is not unprecedented, as archived newspapers from the 1918 flu pandemic prove. God has carried God’s people through these before, though none of us were alive to remember it. The Teacher also tells us that even as there is a time for weeping and mourning, there will also be a time for laughing and dancing; though for now we are called to refrain from embracing, we long for the day when we may embrace one another safely again.
Pastor Jon
