Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time, August 9, 2020      (today’s lectionary)
The Church of Our Own Roaring Twenties
Elijah waited till he heard the “sound” of silence before he ventured from his cave. I wonder what will it be like when we venture out of ours. I remember old movies, often silent but evoking sounds inside my head of honkytonk and wild jazz, the shortest dresses ever, illegal alcohol and everyone dancing, dancing, dancing. These were the Roaring Twenties, which came right on the heels of the 1918 flu pandemic. In 1919 the flu finally wore itself out. We came out from behind our doors and masks and fairly bled into each other, desperate to be touched. Our very skin cried out.
Churches and schools had been closed. Sports were non-existent, events of every kind were cancelled. Now all that is happening again. Our church has opened back up, but we haven’t attended in person. Margaret and I watch online without masks and singing, sitting side by side on our couch. Many live alone, of course, and cannot sit side by side. If I lived alone, I believe I would go and sit together at our church, even if we’re six feet apart and wearing masks. I think I would recognize everyone.
Great revivals accompany roaring parties, when the doors finally burst back open. Quarantine evolved from the Latin word for 40. Quarantines might last 14 days or 40, but not forever. I reflect on that, sitting at home on my couch without a mask, singing.
The Lord was not in the wind.
The Lord was not in the earthquake.
The Lord was not in the fire.
Then a tiny whispering sound, a still, small voice, the sound of silence awoke Elijah.
He hid his face and went to the entrance of the cave.
Issue 135 of Christian History Magazine details plagues and epidemics throughout recorded history. “Efforts by the church to diagnose and treat supposed moral or spiritual causes sometimes conflicted with medical advice and civic containment efforts” (page 7).
Lord let us see your kindness and grant us your salvation.
Kindness and truth shall meet; justice and peace shall kiss.
“Popular reactions to the Black Death and subsequent scourges ranged from calls to repentance to a sometimes cavalier and despairing licentiousness” (page 7 again).
Eat, drink and be merry for tomorrow, or sooner, we die. Kiss me, and carry me away. Hold me close. Pray for me.
The Lord himself will give his benefits.
Over the years many Christians came to the aid of plague victims, although many others fled.
I could wish that I myself were accursed and cut off from Christ
For the sake of my own people,
My kindred according to the flesh.
What am I doing? I trust the Rescue to authorities and the powers that be. Not always, Paul says, is this the best idea. But while I was with Marc in the hospital I walked by three ventilators, lined up and ready to go. The precautions taken by the hospital were stringent and enforced. The health of the world we inhabit in Champaign-Urbana depends more on hospitals than individual Christians. Far more. Probably not the best idea?
He saw how strong the wind was and he became frightened.
Peter began to sink.
Jesus drew Peter’s panic into his own infinitely loving heart.
Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter.
Italian hospitals often include the word “Misericordia” in their names. The word means mercy. It is a combination of “misery” and “heart.” God draws our misery into His own infinitely loving heart. This is mercy: not that we loved God but that He loved us …
I know we live in a global military-industrial-religious-medical-governmental complex. Anonymous, inexplicably linked authorities everywhere tell us how to live. They are amorphous and seem to be untouchable. On the other hand, God draws our misery into his own infinitely loving heart.
The chasm is vast between our experiences of the two. I am going to focus on the second one, and pray my heart up toward God’s mercy.
           (1 Kings 19, Psalm 85, Romans 9, Psalm 130, Matthew 14)
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