Pandemic Grief

 Jessica Wrobelski speaks graciously regarding the grief connected to this pandemic in her article, “Jesus Wept: Pandemic Grief and the Fifth Sunday of Lent.” She notes that, while we in the United States are likely facing more suffering here on account of illness and death from COVID-19,

“we are nevertheless collectively experiencing a kind of grief right now due to the practice of social distancing and other early impacts of the pandemic on our lives. The loss of daily interaction with friends and coworkers, the cancellation of travel plans and events that we have looked forward to, the economic losses, and our inability to gather as communities of faith—these losses are real, and so is our grief.”

Wrobelski highlights that the gospel for the fifth Sunday of Lent, the story of Lazarus’s death, presents Jesus’ own grief in light of loss. She highlights that Jesus does not “‘skip over’ the experience of human grief.” Recognizing this “should free us to acknowledge our own grief—to experience all the emotions of sadness and anger and disappointment and frustration that come with real losses—even if we ultimately have faith and hope in God’s promise to bring life from death.”

She concludes by encouraging as “to allow ourselves time and space to grieve, to name our sorrows and losses and even to bring our accusations before God. Faith in these times does not mean stoically denying our human emotions, but trusting that God is present in and through all of it.”

originally published at the Campus Edge blog

Finding words for the sadness

I know I am not the only one who has been crying in the middle of the coronavirus pandemic. Finding words to describe the sadness has been hard, though, as there are so many emotions present right now as we experience the chaos and challenges brought about through COVID-19. Emily Newton at the Mockingbird gives words to some of the many reasons we are crying:

We cry for the changes to our immediate daily lives and the growing pains that have come as a result. We cry because we are limited. We cry for the uncertainty, the fear, the anxiety present in our spaces, the isolation. We also cry for our world, healthcare workers, and the hospitalizations and deaths that have come and will continue to come, both afar and close to home.

We also cry because this crisis has brought about unexpected gifts: a recognition of the friendships and community I have, the joy brought to us from our small child (and my joy in hearing her interact with Matthijs), and the sense that I am using my gifts to pastor well and bring hope and comfort to people's lives. But all of these gifts do not erase the hardness of having normal life upended, being physically separated from others, or the loss of life that this illness has already brought and looks to be coming to people closer to me.

O Lord, how long will you forget [us]? Forever?
How long will you look the other way?
How long must I struggle with anguish in my soul,
with sorrow in my heart every day?

But I trust in your unfailing love.

Excerpts from Psalm 13 (NLT)

Remember you are dust

Once again I heard the words, "remember you are dust," when I received the ashes on Ash Wednesday. And then I witnessed our small daughter also receive ashes and hear the words that she is dust. She is now old enough to realize that this experience was unusual. As we returned to our pew, she kept looking at her father's forehead and mine, noticing the dark cross on them. She was clearly wondering and trying to figure out what was going on. To explain it to her, I told her that this cross means that we belong to Jesus. 

To be reminded that we are dust is to me a reminder that we belong to Jesus - and that our time together also belongs to God. My time on earth and her father's time on earth and even her time on earth is limited. No matter how hard I strive, how careful we all are, or no matter how much I wish it were otherwise, I cannot prevent us from being hurt or any of us from experiencing loss. That is a sobering thought: a humbling realization of my own human mortality. I'd rather live in denial. Yet, in remembering that we are dust, I am also pushed into recognizing how thankful I am for my life (and loved ones) and remembering how much I need to trust Jesus and take comfort in knowing that we do belong to Jesus.