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“For the body does not consist of one member but of many. If the foot should say, ‘Because I am not a hand, I do not belong to the body,’ that would not make it any less a part of the body. And if the ear should say, ‘Because I am not an eye, I do not belong to the body,’ that would not make it any less a part of the body. If the whole body were an eye, where would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear, where would be the sense of smell? But as it is, God arranged the members in the body, each one of them, as he chose. If all were a single member, where would the body be? As it is, there are many parts, yet one body. The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you’… [Let there] be no division in the body, but that the members may have the same care for one another. If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together.” (1 Corinthians 12:14-21, 25-26)
It has been two years to the Sunday since a novel coronavirus known as Covid-19 first shut down American society and so greatly impacted our lives. In a spirit of generous listening, Elim’s leadership core is preparing this month to tell their stories of the last two years. I am going to use the opportunity of this anniversary to tell mine.
I was not with Elim back when all this started in March 2020. We were living in California at the time and I was serving at a church in Sacramento. As the pandemic broke my instinct was to run toward the hurting, the nervous, the scared, but public health officials advised that that might do more harm than good so out of love and a desire to seek our neighbors’ welfare we adapted.
I wasn’t thrilled when public health orders told us to close our doors because I knew folks would be suffering alone, but we learned new ways to forge community in digital spaces and in fresh, embodied ways. We tried to learn how to be God’s church for the moment. We did it imperfectly, but we kept putting one foot in front of the other. I do have sweet memories of a summer spent under the stars in Sacramento studying the Book of Daniel with a group of men in my buddy’s backyard.
When we came back together, we were asked to wear masks. Not everyone saw eye-to-eye on their effectiveness or value, not everyone agreed on the appropriateness of government dictates in religious spaces, but I was willing to voluntarily submit to those community leaders in authority over me because I saw that their ask was within human government’s biblical mandate to restrain evil, albeit in this case a natural evil in the form of a disease. Moreover, I was eager to be the blessing of Christ for my community and if wearing this annoying piece of cloth over my face could help preserve the lives of the vulnerable or lower the strain on an overtaxed medical system, it felt worth it.
We have now entered a new chapter in this journey. Public health officials and epidemiologists tells us we are transitioning from “pandemic” to “endemic.” That doesn’t mean we are at the end; it means Covid has taken root and is here to stay. It calls for new strategies and adjustments. As such, the guidance has changed. As you know as of yesterday, we have been told is reasonable for most of us to unmask in most settings. For some this is cause for celebration, for others trepidation. And I am reminded once again that we are one body and we have a primary calling to love God with all our being and love our neighbor as our self.
As I look back, I have two great regrets with how we navigated this season of pandemic. The first is the lack of grace, listening, and love we showed to one another. It says in Ephesians 4:29-32, “Let no corrupting talk come out of your mouths, but only such as is good for building up, as fits the occasion, that it may give grace to those who hear. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, by whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” I don’t feel like this always characterized life in the family of God their past two years. Indeed we splintered and tribalized. At times we were harsh, uncharitable, and selfish. We interpreted difference as betrayal and held onto bitterness and rage. We refused to see life from one another’s perspective. In isolation, we stopped talking, stopped forgiving, stopped reconciling. Instead of being tender-hearted, we became calloused towards one another and I feel God’s Spirit needs to once again take away our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh.
My second big regret was that it proved so hard for us to remember. It says in Hebrews 13:1-3, “Let brotherly love continue. Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body.”
There are some in our body that felt like they have been in prison these past two years and forgotten. From some, this was due to the fact that they were medically vulnerable and even now may have a different risk calculus that you or I. For some, it was because they live with or work in close quarters with those whom are at higher risk, with those for whom infection means a much higher possibility of hospitalization and death. Others were in prisons of grief or sustained trauma. I haven’t lost anyone directly in these past two years as many of you have. I also don’t what it is like for someone like my wife Brianna who was a Covid nurse at several of the peaks in this pandemic, witnessing tragedy after tragedy every time she clocked in. Others have been trapped in a prison of isolation, mourning the loss of community. It is not just the medical risks and the people who’ve passed. In this season, there is has been lots of moving—moving cities, moving states, moving churches.
Guys, it is so easy to forget those whose circumstances are different from our own. At the beginning of this journey, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, eager to remember and connect, eager to find creative ways to engage with others, to grant others access, but as the months ground on and fatigue set in, I confess that beloved brothers and sisters fell through the cracks and for that I am sorry.
Now today is a new day and Christ as always calls us to a lifestyle of repentance. How will we navigate this next season with love, grace, and remembrance?
- We need to give one another respect and acceptance in our difference. Some of us will continue to mask. I don’t want to hear any talk of “faith over fear,” “lions not sheep,” or any of that. We all have different risk calculuses. We all move in different circles. We are all discerning how to best love God, our neighbor, and the vulnerable among us. Some of us will start to unmask in different settings. I don’t want to hear “you are choosing to kill my grandma” or “you are sacrificing the weak on the altar of the comfortable.” That is not say that there were never times in these past two years where we did not selfishly choose our rights or our interests at another’s expense. I know in moments I did and for that I repent. But let us give one another the benefit of the doubt and not demonize, trusting that we are all discerning how to best love God, our neighbor, and the vulnerable among us.
- We need to remember—re-member (bring back in connection with the body)—those who are still in prisons of isolation due to medical vulnerability, grief, or alienation. We don’t have all the answers, but I am eager to make a fresh start. If it is a blessing to have a medically vulnerable section in our sanctuary, we are open to that idea. If it would be a blessing have house-church-style gatherings for those who have to stay more careful, we would open to facilitating that. I continue to be open to masking when in close quarters with the medically vulnerable and throwing on mask on when I wake up with a case of sniffles because I now know significant even cold can be for those whose health is fragile. If you need support navigating grief or reconciling with family, we want to come alongside you. Be partners with us in our remembrance.
- We need to heal. We carry wounds and bitterness from these last two years. Moving forward, we need to take that pain to Jesus. We need to do the hard work of forgiveness in His presence. But it doesn’t stop there, we need to start reconciling. I believe this begins with generous listening and allowing others the space to share their story of the past two years without interruption, defensiveness, or accusation. It will mean refraining from name-calling or speculating upon each other’s motives. It will mean giving one another the gifts of respect and grace. Don’t forget what grace is—it’s receiving what we don’t deserve and finding healing in our brokenness. Let’s start down this path together. Holy Spirit, unify this church!
Thank you for your generous listening this morning. Now allow me pray as we continue our worship: God, you are able to make all grace abound to us. May we experience your all-sufficiency in all things at all times, that we may abound in love and every good work. Amen. [prayer adapted from 2 Corinthians 9:8]
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