hold on just a little while longer...

This past week we visited IN PERSON with part of our family. It was glorious - the first time in over five months - and while there is more of the family still to be held close and listened to deeply, this reunion was holy ground. Three full days of soul food. Given the constraints of the pandemic, it wasn't extraordinary or filled with special activities. That was an unintended blessing because mostly we simply ate, walked around the garden, played freeze-tag on the lawn, and talked and talked and talked together: with the little ones - and their special insights and questions - and with the adults and all our well-moderated grief and gratitude.

When the party was over and the crew left for their Brooklyn home, we wept. Holding on to my adult daughter for life itself as we both quietly sobbed, I heard myself whisper, "We'll get through this, ok?" I guess there is no good way to hold down these parental sensibilities as they rise to the surface without any warning. Still, my words startled me. What do I know about what's going to happen next, right? I have no wisdom or experience with such things. How could I mumble such a thing? But it wasn't hubris talking. In that moment, it was pure love between a father and his oldest daughter. And when that moment passed, and we wiped away our tears and nodded our assent, did we both inwardly wonder, "I want to believe this even if I don't know how?" I know I did. There are challenges and fears this woman faces in just the next month that I cannot comprehend. As a middle school teacher in NYC, we still don't know what will be demanded of her physically or professionally as politicians, parents and front line teachers wrestle with the coming school year. What will those demands mean for her young family? For her own health? God only knows...

When I began this morning's guided meditation on a story from St. Matthew's gospel about Jesus going into the mountains at night to pray in solitude, I wasn't consciously fretting about all of this. I've heard it so many times before, and even with the sacred, familiarity can breed contempt Or at least inattention. As the narrative deepens, we're told that Christ's disciples took a boat across the lake as the night descends. A storm arises and those in the boat are filled with terror when they see Jesus walking towards them on the water. I was not prepared for the meditation leader to ask, "What storms are facing you right now?" In my silence, nothing bubbled to the surface, so I made the sign of the cross, prayed the Gloria, and brought my prayers to a close.

Listening to Krista Tippet's interview with Pauline Boss a little later, however, pushed that meditation straight into my heart. Together they spoke about our losses, both small and large, as we really start to settle in now. "We're going through a global, civilizational moment of ambiguous loss at a societal level," Tippet said.

Boss: Yes. We have lost. Indeed, we have lost our freedom to go about our day as we always have. We have lost our freedom to visit with our loved ones or to have lunch with dear friends. And, I must say again, because the school thing is coming up, the young people have lost, not only a year, it may be two years, of what they usually do: go to school in the usual manner; make friends; socialize; learn; learn. And that generation will have to carry that the rest of their lives.

Tippett:I ’m finding, personally, and picking up in others — obviously, this is not a scientific study I’ve done — but it feels to me, in myself and in others, that I’ve hit this moment. I don’t know how many months we are on now, from March …

Boss: Too many.

Tippett: Yes, certainly. But certainly, in March and April and May, there was a sense that this will end; that this is something we have to do so that we can get through this. And even things that got cancelled got rescheduled for, first, July, and then September, October. And I feel like it’s really settling in now, the losses. And they’re large and small, as you say. People have lost loved ones. But there’s also this loss of going to the office; of certainty, like that your kids will go to school.

These two wise and vulnerable women then spoke of grief - how exhausting it is, how it sneaks up on you when you least expect it, how it continues to wear us down individually and collectively - and how the only way through it is with rest, honesty, meaning-filled rituals and connecting with the people we love. That's when my tears returned. They're flowing still as I take stock of all our losses both great and small. As the conversation moved towards conclusion, Ms. Boss said something clarifying for me:

Gradually, working with the people who are suffering from ambiguous loss all these years — I’ve learned from them that you can live with it. You can, eventually, not embrace it and maybe not even accept it, but you can decide to live with it. You can decide to accept it. “Decide” is the main word there. And then you can live well, nevertheless. I think none of us should feel helpless. And we do now, in many ways. So we have to decide how to cope with it, have some things you can control, because you certainly can’t control the virus, yet... That’s why everybody’s baking bread or cleaning a cupboard, whatever, and maybe doing more physical exercise. Those are good things, because you can control that. And you have to have that, because we’re going to have a year of not being in control of the virus, so you’ve got to have something you’re in control over. I love to see that so many people are cooking and baking. I think that’s just lovely.

One of the things I committed to doing at the start of the pandemic was crafting a weekly spiritual reflection for my friends via Face Book live-streaming. At first it included a professional aspect. Before the lock down, I had been contracted to lead worship at a local congregation in search of an interim pastor so we figured how to do worship virtually together. After two weeks though, I kept at it. It became a way for me to give shape and form to my concerns as well as a means of staying in touch with people I care about deeply. Prayerfully reflecting on the movement of the Spirit at this moment in time not only keeps me grounded in a love greater than my grief, but keeps me connected to real, live human beings in this season of self-quarantine. It's not a perfect medium, of course, but it is far better than secluding in total isolation. Without these connections I fear my grief would be crushing.

Taking stock of the losses within my little world, intuitively I reclaimed some small rituals - including the new practice of live streaming - so that I might settle in to this moment. These practices awaken me to reality and nudge me towards the unspoken truth that God's presence abides even in this whirlwind. I am starting to relearn how to pray the monastic hours. I have removed The Guardian app from my phone and computer so that I can't compulsively check in on the latest catastrophe in our so-called news cycles. Di and I are finding time to sit together in the cool of each evening surrounded by the beauty of the wetlands as it shimmers through the mystery of our fairy lights. Like the poet, Brad Aaron Modlin, said in "What You Missed That Day in Fourth Grade" for a moment, we can simply be:

... Mrs. Nelson drew a chalkboard diagram detailing
how to chant the Psalms during cigarette breaks,

and how not to squirm for sound when your own thoughts
are all you hear; also, that you have enough.

The English lesson was that I am
is a complete sentence.

In between placing our online grocery order, going to the hardware store for a board to repair yet one more worn-out portion of the deck, and gathering up cheap cleanser and household goods at Wal-Mart, I read the monthly letter from 

Diana Butler Bass. It was a quiet confession that she, too, is reclaiming some new/old rituals as she, too settles into the reality of spending the rest of this year in solitude: 

In recent days I’ve found myself less anxious than in the past, as I’ve leaned on these words from the late Marcus Borg’s final book,

Convictions: “Centering in God transforms us. It changes us. It produces what Paul called ‘the fruit of the Spirit’ and ‘the gifts of the Spirit.’ It is what Jesus meant when he said, ‘You will know them by their fruits.’ The fruits of centering in God are many and intertwined, but the most important are compassion, freedom and courage, and gratitude. Sequencing them is thus not about their relative importance; they all go together.” Cultivating the fruits of compassion, freedom and courage, and gratitude seem just right at this moment. Compassion is neighbor-directed love; freedom and courage are the power to resist anxiety and fear; and gratitude awakens our senses to gift and wonder. I can’t think of any four things I long for – that I need – that we need – more right now.

 

There clearly IS a storm rising within and among us - and it is going to be so for a whole lot longer. In order to stay grounded in love and not get swept away in the wreckage, I need these new/old rituals - including the incomplete contact of the virtual world - to keep me connected to all I hold dear. "Hold on, just a little while longer" the gospel singers tell us, "everything gonna be alright." I believe, I believe, Lord, help my unbelief."