Reflecting on the Pandemic
By Brother Christopher
Given that March 11th has recently passed—the “anniversary” of Covid-19 being called a pandemic—perhaps it is not surprising that my thoughts would be turned toward the topic of death; 530,000 victims over the past year in this country alone will do that. Add to this the arrival of Great Lent, however, and I believe there is much to reflect on about ultimate issues and how we might use the experience of this past year constructively. Might this be an opportunity for growth instead of despair and cynicism, of staying in touch with reality instead of wallowing in distraction? While it is understandable that people instinctively try to change the subject whenever having to face the reality of death, this past year it has been unavoidable: its reality has literally been shoved in our faces every day on TV and in the news. Most of us know people who have died because of Covid, some of us may have even had it, and all of us have had to live with the disruption it has caused in our everyday lives. The temptation for many has been to live in denial, to pretend that all the warnings have been overblown, that a sizeable number of those who died this past year didn’t actually die of Covid. This evening I saw a crowded beach of students on spring break: “Enough already, let’s get back to normal!” I can only wonder what an overly stressed ICU nurse must be thinking as her unit is still running at full capacity, who has witnessed more death this past year than she could have ever imagined. Reality is a relentless instructor.
Yet, the lesson is perennial, even if it has been on steroids these past months: Every living thing is part of a cycle that ends in death. Each one of us will die, and as we steadily grow older we notice that the number of those we’ve known and loved who have died grows steadily. This easily brings forth uncomfortable questions: Is this all there is, or are the various faith traditions actually right in suggesting that there really is an afterlife, one that transcends anything we might be able to imagine about it? To be honest, it would take faith that I don’t have to believe that life was just one big cosmic fluke that arose out of nothing, that there isn’t a Creator who set this incredible universe into being. But regardless, the pandemic has reminded us that life is fragile—that every day is a gift, and that we have the opportunity of giving our best as a sign of our gratitude. No doubt this is why monastics for centuries have lived by an aphorism of the early desert fathers and mothers: to keep death daily before our eyes. There is nothing morbid or depressing in this. Rather, it is a healthy reminder that our time on earth is finite and that we do well to make the most of the time we are given. We honor life by giving our best, and we have seen so many inspiring stories this past year of people doing just that in the face of remarkable adversity. There has been so much goodness and generosity.
In a similar vein, it is precisely the tragedy of the past year that has unleashed a renewed opportunity to focus on real problems that can too easily be overlooked in good times: poverty and hunger, health care, the education of our young, and any number of social justice issues. These are important issues, to be sure, and it is hard to deny that our collective consciousness has been raised in part because of the pandemic. Good! At the same time I’m reminded of a passage from St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians where he says, “If our hope in Christ has been for this life only, we are of all people the most pitiable.” (15:19) That, too, is a key component of reality, one whose foundation is not built on sand. Believing that physical death is not the last word, that an afterlife really does exist, gives us a hope that energizes, that can face down any temptation to despair. Faith is not a narcotic to blunt the pain of reality. It is the inner élan that moves us forward, that allows us to hear the triumphant word of the angel at the resurrection: “Why look among the dead for someone who is alive? He is not here, he has risen.” (Lk 24:5,6) Because Christ lives, the sorrow and anguish of the pandemic—all those we have lost—ultimately are transformed in glory. As we move through Lent toward the miracle of Pascha, let us take this time as an opportunity to hear again the message of the good news and the hope it fosters.
Given that March 11th has recently passed—the “anniversary” of Covid-19 being called a pandemic—perhaps it is not surprising that my thoughts would be turned toward the topic of death; 530,000 victims over the past year in this country alone will do that. Add to this the arrival of Great Lent, however, and I believe there is much to reflect on about ultimate issues and how we might use the experience of this past year constructively. Might this be an opportunity for growth instead of despair and cynicism, of staying in touch with reality instead of wallowing in distraction? While it is understandable that people instinctively try to change the subject whenever having to face the reality of death, this past year it has been unavoidable: its reality has literally been shoved in our faces every day on TV and in the news. Most of us know people who have died because of Covid, some of us may have even had it, and all of us have had to live with the disruption it has caused in our everyday lives. The temptation for many has been to live in denial, to pretend that all the warnings have been overblown, that a sizeable number of those who died this past year didn’t actually die of Covid. This evening I saw a crowded beach of students on spring break: “Enough already, let’s get back to normal!” I can only wonder what an overly stressed ICU nurse must be thinking as her unit is still running at full capacity, who has witnessed more death this past year than she could have ever imagined. Reality is a relentless instructor.
Yet, the lesson is perennial, even if it has been on steroids these past months: Every living thing is part of a cycle that ends in death. Each one of us will die, and as we steadily grow older we notice that the number of those we’ve known and loved who have died grows steadily. This easily brings forth uncomfortable questions: Is this all there is, or are the various faith traditions actually right in suggesting that there really is an afterlife, one that transcends anything we might be able to imagine about it? To be honest, it would take faith that I don’t have to believe that life was just one big cosmic fluke that arose out of nothing, that there isn’t a Creator who set this incredible universe into being. But regardless, the pandemic has reminded us that life is fragile—that every day is a gift, and that we have the opportunity of giving our best as a sign of our gratitude. No doubt this is why monastics for centuries have lived by an aphorism of the early desert fathers and mothers: to keep death daily before our eyes. There is nothing morbid or depressing in this. Rather, it is a healthy reminder that our time on earth is finite and that we do well to make the most of the time we are given. We honor life by giving our best, and we have seen so many inspiring stories this past year of people doing just that in the face of remarkable adversity. There has been so much goodness and generosity.
In a similar vein, it is precisely the tragedy of the past year that has unleashed a renewed opportunity to focus on real problems that can too easily be overlooked in good times: poverty and hunger, health care, the education of our young, and any number of social justice issues. These are important issues, to be sure, and it is hard to deny that our collective consciousness has been raised in part because of the pandemic. Good! At the same time I’m reminded of a passage from St Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians where he says, “If our hope in Christ has been for this life only, we are of all people the most pitiable.” (15:19) That, too, is a key component of reality, one whose foundation is not built on sand. Believing that physical death is not the last word, that an afterlife really does exist, gives us a hope that energizes, that can face down any temptation to despair. Faith is not a narcotic to blunt the pain of reality. It is the inner élan that moves us forward, that allows us to hear the triumphant word of the angel at the resurrection: “Why look among the dead for someone who is alive? He is not here, he has risen.” (Lk 24:5,6) Because Christ lives, the sorrow and anguish of the pandemic—all those we have lost—ultimately are transformed in glory. As we move through Lent toward the miracle of Pascha, let us take this time as an opportunity to hear again the message of the good news and the hope it fosters.
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