random thoughts as we move beyond the lockdowns...

Yesterday I stopped by our local nursery to get some annuals and a chili pepper

plant. It is one of my small joys to wander around the green houses, marvel at all the new life being displayed with beauty, and maybe bring part of creation home to my garden. On my way back to the car, an elderly woman (NOTE: this is all relative, mind you, given my age; still, I would guess she was in her early 80's) who asked me, "Should we still be wearing masks?" I, of course, was masked even though our strict regulations have been lifted. For my own well-being as well as an act of visible solidarity, however, I mask in small public places. I replied, "Well, now it's a matter of personal discernment, ma'am. We are no longer required to mask - with a few exceptions - like flying, in hospitals, or in places where you feel uncertain." She nodded and smiled saying, "Maybe I will just carry one with me" to which I replied, "That's what I'm doing these days. When in doubt, I choose to wear a mask." 

The uncertainty of these days is palpable. I experienced a quiet jubilation a few weeks ago walking the streets of North Beach and taking in street culture again without a mask; and, I was equally at peace flying home in a plane where masking was mandatory. Thankfully there were no surly, anti-vaxxer, insurrectionists aboard my flight. (Although my seat mates did say to me that while they were inoculated, they were certain that the government put some kind of chip in their arms! "After my  shot," the female companion confessed, "I put a magnet against my arm - and it stuck!" What do you even say to such madness!?) The crude cruelties I've seen on some newscasts where self-centered Americans spit, slap, or punch agents of public hospitality are disturbing. (NOTE: yet another reason I limit my TV intact of news to one hour on PBS.) We're going to join friends we haven't seen in over a year this weekend for a meal out: it will be part celebration of our new reality and part planning session for a fall concert. And while I am excited to reconnect, I would be dishonest if I didn't note some anxieties, too. Not with our friends. Just stepping back out in public after such a grueling season of self-isolation.

This is not unique. Last week I read a commencement address David Brooks of the NY Times gave at Boston College. (NOTE: I'm a BIG Brooks fan. He is not a part of the progressive political vanguard - and that's one reason I appreciate his commentary. I, too, practice discernment and patience. But what I admire is his willingness to publicly own his mistakes - and atone for them.) Speaking to the class of 2021 and their families in a football stadium on a warm day in May, Brooks reminded his audience:

We are all coming out of something hard. For many of us there has been grief and loss, and fear and dread. For almost all of us there was exhaustion, stress and memory loss. I don’t know about you, but during the peak of Covid, I’d wander into rooms wondering why I went there. I spent an awesome amount of time wondering where my ear buds were. I became more touchy, fragile, vulnerable doing all of this. I think it was because of all the emotional nourishment that we missed - dance parties, spring break, sitting around a bar late at night and laughing. Before Covid, 25% of Americans said they were lonely. Now it’s 35% and 61% of young people.

These happenings ring true for me: I find that I am worn-out after venturing outside our garden sanctuary. My ability to multi-task has been buried (gratefully!) And my interest in re-engaging in previous commitments nearly atrophied. The church historian, Diana Butler Bass, put it like this in her recent on-line newsletter: "In recent days, I’m struck by how anxious I feel - far more anxious than any time in the pandemic except at the very beginning. I hate the masks, yet I find myself hiding behind it still. I dislike the distance, and I hold myself at length from others. I question those around me. Is this person safe? Have they been vaccinated? What invisible threat might those bodies harbor? Then she adds:

The pandemic forced us into new habits. Not running to the store. Not gathering in big groups. Wearing masks. Creative celebration instead of accepted rituals. Ordering online. Sharing space in our homes for multiple workers and students. Think of all the things we did differently in the before-times. Now, think of all we’ve learned. The patterns and structures of daily life have been transformed. Several months into the pandemic, I heard Bill Gates remark in an interview that many Americans had gone through some twelve to fifteen years of technological adaptation in three months. We zoomed our way into the future, taking on a dizzying array of new habits and practices on the journey.

People talk about “return to normal” or wanting our “old lives” back. I think my recent struggle with anxiety relates to that. I’m wondering what I want back. And what habits I’d like to keep from these months. I was going to go on a trip to Arizona, partly because I felt I “should” get back on an airplane. But only days before, I cancelled it. I find myself in no rush to return, savoring instead the comfortable practices of home and garden. In the last year, I’ve learned to view the world in far more intimate ways - instead of my usual view from 35,000 feet in an airplane. I’ve discovered I like being grounded, the learned steps of walking my neighborhood, the familiar rhythms of my mundane suburb. I felt this nearly holy homeyness a treasured sort of secret, that the on-the-run-busy-extroverted-writer-Diana found herself being quiet and introverted and liked it.

I understand and accept that mine is a privileged solitude. Most of the residents upon Mother Earth do not have the luxury or choice to retreat into the quiet safety of gardens like my own. As a physician from India recently reminded us all on FB:

Social distancing is a privilege: it means you live in a house large enough to practice it. Hand washing is a privilege, too: it means you have access to running water. Hand sanitizers are a privilege: it means you have the resources to buy them. Lockdowns, too document the wealth to own your own dwelling. What we are fighting right now in India is a disease spread by the rich as they flew all over the globe that is now killing millions of the poor.

Those to whom life has given much, requires much: in the emerging culture of a post-COVID world, the sacred has issued a mandate to integrate compassion, justice, and solidarity into our contemplation. In the US we are encountering a renewed assault upon democracy, an escalation of hate crimes against Jews and people of color, and a clear war against women and the LGBTQ community. Sadly, this is not the first time freedom has been under attack - and it won't be the last. One of the consequences of 14 months of solitude is that I have embraced a truly long view of history: the world has always been a mess and will continue to be so. Simultaneously though, it has always been sacred, beautiful, and filled with promise. Fr. Richard Rohr recently wrote about "foundational hope" and quoted an Episcopal Bishop, a First Nations Choctaw, Stephen Charleston, who articulates a vision that nourishes me:

The signs are all around us. We can see them springing up like wildflowers after the prairie rain. People who had fallen asleep are waking up. People who had been content to watch are wanting to join. People who never said a word are speaking out. The tipping point of faith is the threshold of spiritual energy, where what we believe becomes what we do. When that power is released, there is no stopping it, for love is a force that cannot be contained. Look and see the thousands of new faces gathering from every direction. There is the sign of hope for which you have been waiting...

Hope lets us literally see the presence and action of the holy in our everyday lives. This is not an imaginary desire viewed through rose-colored glasses. It is the solid evidence of the power of love made visible in abundance. Sometimes, in this troubled world of ours, we forget that love is all around us. We imagine the worst of other people and withdraw into our own shells. But try this simple test: Stand still in any crowded place and watch the people around you. Within a very short time, you will begin to see love, and you will see it over and over and over. A young mother talking to her child, a couple laughing together as they walk by, an older man holding the door for a stranger—small signs of love are everywhere. The more you look, the more you will see. Love is literally everywhere. We are surrounded by love. 

Fr. Rohr adds: This is such a powerful reminder to use a contemplative gaze to look at the world around us. Signs of love abound, reminding us of God’s essential nature. I concur: we ARE surrounded by love if we have eyes to see and ears to hear. This is the heart of what a new way of being encourages: trust in the omnipresence of God's love.