Peace Over Panic: A Blessing During the Corona Epidemic
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
I’m not really thinking about the corona virus right now. Not actively anyway. Some other aspect of my life has taken the forefront of my thoughts and feelings the past few days, yet, here I am, just like you, endlessly scrolling through social, through Netflix, through YouTube, through news feeds, through anything to distract myself.
It is crazy how quickly something outside of our control upends our life. And this time, it’s not just my life or just your life. It’s all of us.
COVID-19 is hitting everyone. Even the ones who already had it, even the ones who it wouldn’t be fatal to, even the ones who have it right now and are recovering. And, still, it is hitting people who have it and who it will take, it will hit people who haven’t had it yet, and it will hit people who we aren’t sure will recover from it or not.
The world is not as it should be. There’s still disease and viruses, cancers and illnesses. Of this the world is bearing witness to now. Yet, even before then, and after it too, there are so many things that aren’t “right” on our planet. War continues to pollute several regions of the world and create thousands of refugees. Economic inequality is rampant in every part of the globe. The globe’s weather still trends too hot. Sexism harms the integrity of both genders, but women in particular. Yet for some of us things are getting better. Ceasefire and an end to violence is on the horizon. Fairer economic distribution may be imminent or already is for many nations. Awareness around climate issues is rising. And women just received a symbolic victory with the jailing of a high-profile predator.
Still, many more things will keep going wrong. Things will continue to not be as they should be. A heaviness is apparent to all of us, if in varying intensity. So many people are scared. Uncertainty is the new certainty, even in the privileged and instantly gratified western world.
If all of these things are true, if we are not sure whether today we are healthy and tomorrow we are hospital bound, what can we hope for? Live for while we wait? Long for while crippling existential dread takes hold?
I was driving home from a sick day at work. And no, it was not corona. After buying necessary care package material from the grocery store, I headed home, in a physical and emotional haze. What people often forget is that physical illness also couples with emotional ambiguity. There are some folks sick with corona right now who are full of joy. They believe they will overcome the virus. They are the ones assuring their nearby anxious loved ones that everything will be alright. The inverse is also true. There are many who are sick and scared to death of dying. They are panicked, and their physical symptoms only exacerbate the problem. It is their loved ones, along with the brave warriors in the medical field, encouraging them and serving them while the confusing interior world is battered by bodily attack.
I was on Woodstock Boulevard, maybe three minutes from home. A truck swerved ahead of me, turning left onto the street. Due to the sharpness of the turn, I honked at the driver, concerned we would hit each other. I was wrong though, because he only intended to go into the middle yellow lane then merge behind me. Through some colorful exchanges, perhaps an eye roll from this guy, the other driver was not amused at my safety precaution. Yet, life goes on, pissed off truck drivers or not. Or so I thought.
He was right on my bumper, what felt like inches, continuing those same spicy hand signals adults mainly do inside of automobiles. I paid it no mind. I was sick as a dog. I needed to go home, binge watch Netflix, curb existential dread, rinse, repeat. But when I turned right onto 52nd, he turned right on 52nd. Bizarre. I turned into my apartment complex. He, too, turned into my complex.
I was confused, a little worried, and altogether blurry. What was this guy doing? Did he want to continue to tell me off?
I remained in my car, slowly grabbing things, assuming he would say a lot of four letter or seven letter words. But when I reached for the door, he was standing there, maybe a foot from my car window.
He gestured aggressively, and asked rather impolitely, “do you want to go?”
At the best of my “broody” times, I’m like a kinder Severus Snape. Generally speaking I’d say I’m a sassier Mr. Rogers. But this kind Snape and sassy Rogers needed to unplug from the world. I had no desire to “go,” and so I merely shook my head and said “I’m good.”
This didn’t work. The four letter and seven letter words were flinging from his mouth like a machine gun. He really did want to throw down. He really was mad and upset about something I did. But not quite at me.
I didn’t respond. I froze. Again, terribly sick. Again, hippie (but still born-again) pacifist. Again, a stereotypical “nice guy.” The only time I’ve postured in a protective, fist-clenching form has been on the behest of others, particularly with my little guys when wayfarers creep near the playground. But this was just me. I didn’t know what to do.
And then he punched my car window. Not a mild love tap. Not an irritated wrist slap like my kids love to do. This was a full on Rocky Balboa haymaker. Thanks to German engineering, even to this day there is no dent. But seeing the fist come in was heavy. My heart pounded so very fast. Still, I didn’t know what to do.
But the guy was still looking for a K.O. on my car window. Punch two came in, just as aggressive, just as wild, just as “holy crap, I am so wildly unprepared for this situation.”
And then I did a thing you usually see in a cheesy Christian movie. To be honest, I feel silly sharing it. But the truth is the truth is the truth. Please don’t think of me as one of “those” Jesus people after hearing it, though.
I prayed for this guy. I shut my eyes and said something about his anger. That it would be soothed. That somehow, someway, this guy would experience the peace of Christ like I just did.
A few moments later, some electricians walked by and saw him rear back for a third punch. The four letter and seven letter words were still flowing, but he ran out of magazines. He walked away, got in his car, and left. I peered, waited for the truck to be completely out of sight, and walked up to my apartment complex. I called the police. Twas a very strange incident to describe. Yet, still, the prayer stuck with me. For some reason, I cared about this guy now. Weird, but I knew it wasn’t me he was punching. It wasn’t poor Neo (my 08 Volkswagen Rabbit) who was receiving the brunt of hurt. Not to mention, his fists were sure to ache after the failed haymakers.
No, his interior world was a mess. And I prayed that he would find peace in the midst of his chaos. In the midst of the chaos he brought into mine. In the midst of the chaos at hand in this world that we all experience everyday, with or without the pandemonium of a corona virus.
Recently, I’ve liked the Bible more. Weird as I just describe the victorious Christian living scenario from above, but let me explain.
I am reading the Bible just to read it. I’m not looking to be guilted like no tomorrow. I’m not looking to prove my theological genius. I’m not even looking, per se, to be comforted. I am reading it as if it were a story. Which the book of Acts is, in fact.
The story of Stephen was not discussed much in my church growing up. It made sense, to be honest. America is still a Christian country, if slowly becoming less so. We don’t have fear of persecution or famine or death. Well, maybe a little bit now. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Although a certain kind of cultural war rages on, a physical war will never be waged for being born-again in the states.
I remember my subtly rolling my eyes when considering how Stephen was happy while he was dying. It seemed ridiculous, especially considering the intensity of his execution. How could he possibly look into Heaven and see Jesus while stones were piercing his body? Further, the icing on the cake that he prayed, before uttering his last breath, that God would not hold the mob’s very murder against them.
Even for the most “zen” zen buddhist, even for the most radically nonviolent social justice groups, this seems practically unheard of.
What could possibly compel him to think such a thing? How did he see Heaven open up while stones killed him? Why was he filled with joy while those around him were filled with rage?
Stephen was assured of Jesus. Assured of who He was, assured that He came and died and rose again. Yet the biggest thing Stephen was assured of, I’d argue, in those moments? In the midst of his own death?
Jesus’ presence with him. Stephen knew that though his body was about to perish, Jesus was with him in his body. So too, with his spirit and soul too.
As the corona comes and gets worse, as the 24/7 cycle of news ratings improve preying on the fear of good people, and as we all work together by staying apart, we must not and will not be convinced Christ has left. We can’t accept the present panic and forego the peace which surpasses all understanding.
The early Christians knew adversity well. We know how Stephen’s life ended. All other of the twelve apostles, save for John, also died in brutal fashion. And then there are thousands of Christians alongside them who perished by being eaten by lions, by being slaughtered in the streets, by illnesses similar to the corona that we experience now.
How’d they manage when huddled and in hiding? What kept their hope while all around them was despair? What made their voices sing even as their bodies perished from violence and by illness?
Christ, and Christ crucified. Prayers and supplications, as often as their very breathing. The memory and reading of the words of Scripture, recited and remembered and recalled, with joy. The hearts and faces and voices and tears and laughter of their brothers and sisters who have seen them through their best and through their worst.
Yes, with wisdom and love we now limit our interactions with one another. Yes, with awareness and insight we wash our hands (a lot). And yes, with empathy and understanding we give counsel and comfort to those awash in illness, fear of illness, or those whose loved ones are ill.
And yet, we still need to sing. We still need to read. We still need to pray. We still need to love.
This we do over digital means now, a gift we can now see the Spirit of God using to keep us bound and tethered to His love, His calling, His will.
By doing these things, and doing these things often during the yet to be determined duration of social distancing, isolation, and quarantining, we remain unified in Christ. And His peace, a peace that the apostle stated plainly surpasses all understanding, will guard our hearts and minds as our bodies fight and scrap to stay healthy and as those of us who are physically fine become mentally and emotionally unwound.
We believe in healing, we believe in miracles, we believe in life. And we believe that in Christ, we will come out of this madness stronger than ever. Kinder than ever. More loving than ever. And even more convinced that Jesus is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the Savior of the world and the Son of Man.