connecting the dots as through a glass darkly...

As we begin to make peace with living into this in-between time of hazy ambiguity and uncertainty - a season of silence and anxiety, a compassion of solitude amidst Passover and Holy Week - it would seem that enough time has passed to notice three developments in the wider culture. First, the inevitable trolls are back to sowing seeds of disinformation and fear. Two, small signs of hope are recognizable as this phase of the pandemic starts to plateau. And three, a few clear-headed and thoughtful thinkers are knitting together a critique of that lays blame where it should be even while raising up a vision of renewal.

One appeared five days ago in the Financial Times where author Arundhati Roy made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. (read the entire "The pandemic is a portal" article here @ https://www.ft.com/content/10d8f5e8-74eb-11ea-95fe-fcd274e920ca ) His conclusion  is critical:   

What is this thing that has happened to us? It’s a virus, yes. In and of itself it holds no moral brief. But it is definitely more than a virus. Some believe it’s God’s way of bringing us to our senses. Others that it’s a Chinese conspiracy to take over the world. Whatever it is, coronavirus has made the mighty kneel and brought the world to a halt like nothing else could. Our minds are still racing back and forth, longing for a return to “normality”, trying to stitch our future to our past and refusing to acknowledge the rupture. But the rupture exists. And in the midst of this terrible despair, it offers us a chance to rethink the doomsday machine we have built for ourselves. Nothing could be worse than a return to normality. Historically, pandemics have forced humans to break with the past and imagine their world anew. This one is no different. It is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next. We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.

Jim Wallis of the Sojourner's Community has connected some of the dots, too in his searing jeremiad, "Staggering." (Read it @ https://sojo.net/articles/staggering) His closing words are as trenchant as Roy's:

Using these days to make the best use of our time — for doing good — will become more and more necessary as we see people die in such unprecedented numbers. Many are saying that the coronavirus doesn’t “discriminate” and will be contracted by people who are politically red and blue, rich and poor, and of every race and ethnicity. Yes, that is medically true, but where people live and whether they have access to safe homes, steady incomes, plenty of food and supplies, medical advice and care, and the ability to do social distancing, will all contribute to the contagiousness and lethality of the disease. We already know that these factors are profoundly affected by structural racism in the United States, and the growth of COVID-19 “hot spots” in heavily black cities like Detroit and New Orleans is further evidence of the way these factors are so deeply and tragically interconnected. I end this column posing the questions: What would it mean to make COVID-19 a Matthew 25 moment? What if the condition of those Jesus calls “the least of these” was at the forefront of our minds and decisions — and where would we, as a nation and as a society, emerge on the other side? As we love and care for our own families, let us recall the words of Jesus in that Gospel text when he says that the least of these are “part of my family.”

NY Times columnist, Charles Blow, removed any illusions when he wrote, "Social Distancing is a Privilege," on Palm Sunday. (Take time to read his insights @ https://www.nytimes.com/2020/04/05/opinion/ coronavirus-social-distancing .html?auth=login-google) He starts out, "People like to say that the coronavirus is no respecter of race, class or country, that the disease Covid-19 is mindless and will infect anybody it can." Then he cuts to the chase:

In theory, that is true. But, in practice, in the real world, this virus behaves like others, screeching like a heat-seeking missile toward the most vulnerable in society. And this happens not because it prefers them, but because they are more exposed, more fragile and more ill. What the vulnerable portion of society looks like varies from country to country, but in America, that vulnerability is highly intersected with race and poverty. Early evidence from cities and states already shows that black people are disproportionately affected by the virus in devastating ways. As ProPublica reported, in Milwaukee County, Wis., as of Friday morning, 81 percent of the deaths were black people. Black people make up only 26 percent of that county.

And Rebbeca Solint in The Guardian is equally prophetic: "In the midst of fear and isolation we are learning that profound social change is possible." (Read her essay @ https://www.theguardian.com/ bworld/2020/apr/07/what-coronavirus-can-teach-us-about-hope-rebecca-solnit) "We have reached a crossroads, we have emerged from what we assumed was normality, things have suddenly overturned. One of our main tasks now – especially those of us who are not sick, are not frontline workers, and are not dealing with other economic or housing difficulties – is to understand this moment, what it might require of us, and what it might make possible." Her conclusion - and deep analysis - is worth every minute it takes to digest:

The sadness in the depths and the fury that burns above are not incompatible with hope, because we are complex creatures, because hope is not optimism that everything will be fine regardless. Hope offers us clarity that, amid the uncertainty ahead, there will be conflicts worth joining and the possibility of winning some of them. And one of the things most dangerous to this hope is the lapse into believing that everything was fine before disaster struck, and that all we need to do is return to things as they were. Ordinary life before the pandemic was already a catastrophe of desperation and exclusion for too many human beings, an environmental and climate catastrophe, an obscenity of inequality. It is too soon to know what will emerge from this emergency, but not too soon to start looking for chances to help decide it. It is, I believe, what many of us are preparing to do.

Today I cleaned the house and scrubbed the floors. Tomorrow I will join my Brooklyn family at 11 am to celebrate a wee foot washing ceremony via Skype. Then I will spend the rest of the day crafting a simple Easter homily for my live-streaming gig. On Friday I will play a Taize chant on Zoom with my L'Arche Ottawa community. And probably watch Good Friday prayers online from Trinity Church in Manhattan. As Fr. Richard Rohr continues to say: this is a global initiation into the Paschal Mystery wherein we learn about radical trust through our emptiness and loss. I give thanks this day for those who help me see even as through a glass darkly. My love and prayers are with my rabbi friends tonight as they celebrate the Passover Seder on Zoom tonight. May those of us who observe Holy Week make the most of it.

credits:

+ https://www.flickr.com/photos/fredmikerudy/7524556958
+ https://www.textileartist.org/michael-james-interview-visceral-connection-textiles/for-now-we-see-through-a-glass-darkly_1024dpi
+ https://www.textileartist.org/michael-james-interview-visceral-connection-textiles/for-now-we-see-through-a-glass-darkly_1024dpi
+ http://mookseandgripes.com/reviews/2014/01/01/ingmar-bergman-through-a-glass-darkly/