At this point it seems difficult to say anything new about the COVID-19 crisis. We’ve been adjusting to this new reality for well over two months now, and this ‘novel coronavirus’ doesn’t feel so novel anymore. Regardless of one’s political views, I think it’s safe to say that we all
feel
ready to get back to normal, while still recognizing that precautions need to be observed. Even as St. Louis plans to begin a gradual reopening on Monday, most of us are well aware that things won’t feel normal for quite some time.
In hindsight, I can see how gradual my own realization has been. Back in March, I couldn’t believe it when I read the headline that Harvard had canceled in-person classes through the end of the semester. I thought I must have been dreaming when all major league sports suspended their seasons. I was stunned when the bishop announced that public worship had been suspended for several weeks. I couldn’t imagine a Holy Week and Easter Sunday with empty pews. I have never doubted the seriousness of this pandemic, nor have I questioned the need for social distancing measures and shelter-in-place orders. But that didn’t the make the news any easier to swallow. With each passing day, it seemed that a new layer was added to the strangeness of the situation. Life-as-we-know-it was being chipped away by the chisel of COVID-19.
I remember chatting (online, of course) with a few of my clergy friends about keeping up morale during these dark times. While we were grieving the cancelation of Easter services, someone remarked, “Remember, every Sunday is a celebration of the resurrection. When this is all over, we’re going to have the most glorious ‘Easter’ celebration anyone can imagine! We’re going to pull out all the stops!” That gave us something to hold onto. I envisioned our first Sunday back in church with packed pews, bountiful flower arrangements, a full choir, and perhaps a brass ensemble to accompany the organ.
By now, I think we’ve all realized that we’re going to get out of this pandemic just as gradually as we entered into it—perhaps even more gradually. It will certainly be a happy day when we can resume public worship, but it will still be measured. We won’t have a choir, for example, and even congregational hymn-singing presents a significant health risk. Administration of the Eucharist also presents a health risk, so this significant source of spiritual nourishment will be withheld indefinitely. And the pews won’t be as full, either. Those who belong to higher-risk groups will need to continue worshiping at home until it is prudent to do otherwise, and those who are able to make it to church will still need to sit far apart from one another.
As I’ve slowly come to terms with this reality, I keep thinking about the early Christians and their experience of Jesus’ resurrection. It’s a fitting time for such reflection, as we find ourselves at the juxtaposition of Eastertide and ‘coronatide.’ We may struggle to remember that we’re in the midst of a joyous season, this Great Fifty Days, when we look at everything happening around us. But the fact is that Christ is risen. I imagine that Jesus’ followers also struggled to remember this fact at times. After receiving the most wonderful news they could possibly imagine—that Jesus had been raised from the dead—they probably expected things to get a lot better, quickly. Where was that Kingdom that Jesus was always talking about?
As much as I wish we could have a grand re-opening, both in our churches and in society at large, it looks like we’re going to have to do this gradually. It may be so gradual that there won’t be a moment when we realize that things are back to normal. But then again, that may be because things will never be the same. This doesn’t have to be frightening; it can instead be a source of hope. In fact, it sounds a lot like the arrival of God’s Kingdom.
Jesus’ followers came to realize that there wasn’t a moment when the Kingdom had fully arrived, and Christians have learned this lesson many times throughout history. The kingdom is here, but it’s not complete. It would be nice to have the satisfaction of a triumphal inauguration. That’s not how God’s timing works, but we can be certain that
God is at work
among us. God has chosen each of us at The Church of St. Michael & St. George to be the building blocks of the Kingdom. It’s going to take some time. We must not grow weary or impatient. But we can rest in the knowledge that’s death’s reign has ultimately been conquered. The Lord is risen indeed!
Blessings,
Fr. Stewart
