Reflection by Sara Lillian
On March 12, I grasped my classmates’ hands firmly inside Stateville. “I’ll see you next week.” It was a prayer, more than a promise. That was over 3 weeks ago.
I came from the outside. Did my handshake, intended to bring encouragement and life, bring death? We’ve heard alarming reports from inside- one man has died, several in the hospital, everyone in the truest of lockdowns. My friends are trapped in their cells, not getting the care they need, not being given basic necessities like soap. They are never far from my mind these days.
I walked into Target on the first Friday that real fear had hit Chicago. While no face betrayed the emotion, you could taste it in the air and see it in the vacant shelves. I had to convince myself that we had plenty of toilet paper and paper towels at home. I had to talk myself out of the panic. I got in the car and wept for the fear hovering over all of us. I didn’t yet know how desperate things would become.
“Perfect love casts out fear…anyone who fears has not been made perfect in love.” Fear tells me to contract. It demands preservation. Like a turtle, it coaxes me to withdraw into my shell until it is safe to come out again. Fear kills hope. I end up like Theoden on the third day of Helm’s Deep. “So much death. What can men do in the face of such reckless hate?” Fear, like hate, obliterates and dissolves into nothing.
Love invites me to expand. It says my welfare is found in the welfare of the city in which I live. It reminds me that I am pressed, but not crushed. Love is Aragorn responding to Theoden, “Ride out with us, and meet it.” Where fear paralyzes, love moves. Love calls out our name, and thus gives form where previously there was void.
“And who is my neighbor?” Sometimes I wonder if the rich man asked that because when he looked around, he didn’t see the immediate need. From his comfortable position of wealth and privilege, surrounded by other wealthy people who could afford to mask their unwellness, did he not hear the groan of creation, humming beneath the surface? In the midst of this pandemic, I wonder that much of the suffering was not brought by COVID-19, but instead has been exposed by it. How many of our neighbors have been suffering silently, with inward groans? Now the weight has become too much to bear and the low hum has become a loud roar. If the rich man in this story was around today, would he understand who his neighbor is? Would his vision function properly to be attuned to the need?
How would Jesus bring healing touch in the midst of a pandemic where your touch could kill? How would he advise us to be good neighbors when we must stay away from them? In the midst of these questions, I feel very small.
So I pray. I pray that God would be using this to allow for real systemic change moving forward, as we see in fresh ways how these systems have failed the vulnerable and marginalized. I pray for protection for people in hospitals. I pray that Jesus would be enough to bear the weight of suffering. I pray for wisdom in what to do, and for love to spur me to action out of my fearful paralysis. I pray for things I’m not even sure I have enough faith are possible, but maybe God does. I was driving home today listening to NPR’s latest updates when I finally yelled at God, “You’re doing something about all this, right?? Have you seen all this? Tell me you’re on it! You have to help! We’re a mess!”
My prayer brings me back slowly to gratitude. I am thankful for technology that allows us to connect. I am thankful for my husband and his level-headedness that even a global pandemic can’t seem to shake. I am thankful for a brain that comes up with words that can try to make sense of this. I am thankful for the model of lament and praise walking hand in hand in the Psalms. I am thankful for homemade focaccia bread. I am thankful for a body that can exercise, so all this anxiety has somewhere to go. I am thankful for people rising up and giving out of their abundance, trusting that they have enough. I am thankful for everyone who has committed to writing letters to my friends at Stateville, that they might feel a little less alone.
I’m not sure I can speculate on Noah’s inner life as he found himself trapped on a boat with all manner of animals and only a handful of other humans. But in the current storm, I feel a certain kinship with him. Did the storm seem endless, only to be met with endless open water after the rains? How much uncertainty and despair did he have to overcome to not throw himself into the waves? I look expectantly for the day when we send out our contemporary dove and it comes back with proof of land. While I don’t know if it will be in 4 weeks or 4 months, I look forward to grasping my classmates’ hands with fresh confidence that life is being passed between us.