Four years ago

This whole week I have been remembering how the world shut down four years ago. I remember talking with the staff at church how I thought it would be a week or two before the pandemic hit the Midwest. I had met with one the church committees earlier in the week and of course the topic ended up being focused on this new virus. One of the members on the committee said in effect, “Well, if they don’t shut down sports, it can’t be that bad.” Then, the unthinkable happened. The National Basketball Association (NBA) canceled the Oklahoma City Thunder versus the Utah Jazz just moments before the game started. The NCAA canceled games and tournaments.

Still, with input from staff and leadership, I sent an email to the congregation about what we knew (very little) about this coronavirus. I emphasized we were paying attention and would keep people updated as we have more information. How little I knew, we knew and how wrong I was about how fast the virus was capable of spreading. I decided to keep my plans to head out to a mission trip to Heifer Ranch in Arkansas.

We left Thursday EARLY morning and I drove back on Friday afternoon. In less than 24 hours the world shut down. Our Kansas governor was one of the first to shut down schools. The City of Wichita asked that all groups over 250 people be canceled. After multiple phone conversations, I sent another email to the congregation that all in person worship and events had been canceled at the church (this is a copy from the church’s facebook page.)

Within days, the City of Wichita moved from 250 in a gathering, to 50, to ten or less. The world frightened and anxious. Truthfully, so was I. No one had a memory of a pandemic in modern times. In the United States alone, over a million died over the next couple of years. Many people are still living with the affects of long Covid. Four years later, we have vaccines and treatments. Now the CDC (Center for Disease Control) no longer recommendations isolation. Like influenza, once the fever is gone for 24 hours, one can return to work.

In hindsight, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Hindsight is so easy to use as a weapon to put down the choices that have been made. I believe everyone did the best they could living with a new disease. There were scary moments: shortages as people hoarded things and real concern about how to live when one could not earn a paycheck. In the midst, there were also gifts: time to read, to play games, to reinvest in the relationships closest to us. People created memes that we might remember that this was a time to rest, renew and remember what is most important in life.

If I have a regret, it is that we did not learn how to be more understanding and kinder with the time we had in the midst of the fear and uncertainty. Rather than learning to live differently, more intentionally, more lovingly, it feels like anger has been more pronounced and we are less likely to give one another the benefit of the doubt. I have seen we are more likely to mock those who choose to wear a mask in public, rather than be gentle with their health concerns.

We as human beings have a tendency to draw lines in the sand. Perhaps I am more aware than I used to be, but it appears to me that are lines have become chasms. Rather than lines, we have deep ravines with no bridges to the other side. I don’t want to live like that. Life is precious and time is shorter than we realize.

Out of the pandemic, I continue to search for ways to live deeply and intentionally. Rather than rushing from one thing to the next, I intend to savor the moments. I want to explore ways to erase lines and build bridges. I do not forget what it was like four years ago, nor how we struggled to find ways to reengage in safe and healthy ways. While I do not want to forget the craziness of what happened, I also don’t want to forget the gift of time that was given. I want to remember the facetimes, the zoom meetings and gatherings and how we creatively worked to be in community when we could not physically be together.

My prayer continues to be focused on community, relationships and how we can find new ways to love another and be a light to the world. May it be so.

Sunday Reflections

A group I belong to of “blogging” clergy women have a daily “prompt.” It is one of the ways we are encouraged to blog each day during November. So far, not one of the prompts have caused me to blog. Today is not different, well, maybe it is close.

Today the prompt was to share a verse from a favorite hymn. That’s like asking me to choose a favorite church over the years, or a favorite child or grandchild or a favorite parishioner or friend.

Music is the window into my soul. I was raised listening to music all the time. Depending on my mood and the season, my favorite hymns change. I might never be able to help plan my own funeral service, folks would be there HOURS with all the music that would “soundtrack” my life.

My youtube has some interesting music. Some of it traditional church music, some more contemporary church music. There is pop songs, songs from musical and movies and few movie clips.

The church I am privileged to serve, says or sings the Lord’s Prayer almost every Sunday. There maybe two or three a year that we do not share that prayer together. When I arrived almost nine and a half years ago, they rotated saying the tradition United Methodist version with singing a version from the Rejoice Mass. Occasionally they would sing a call and response version from the hymnal supplement The Faith We Sing.  We added a version about three years ago that sounds quite ancient, but is a modern version that sounds like a chant. Currently we have added a very new version by Mark Miller that is in the hymnal supplement Worship and Song. I love all the sung versions, again, music speaks to my soul.

At night, though, when I am alone, I listen to a version that is like nothing I had heard before. It is sung in Aramaic, the language Jesus spoke. It is hauntingly beautiful.  “Abwoon D’Bashmaya” is worth listening to more than once. This Lord’s Prayer calms my spirit, speaks to my heart and mind and helps me rest in the love and grace of God. Abwoon D’Bashmaya reminds me that the prayer Jesus taught me calls me out of myself and into community, because the word “I” is never used, only “our” and “we”.

This picture may say it all:

It’s how I feel when listening to this Lord’s prayer. On this Sunday, I reflect on this lovely prayer for me, for Christians throughout the ages. Blessings.