Finding God in the Pandemic

Second Sunday of Easter (April 19)

John 20:19-31

The currency of those of us who preach is words. When I had finished my senior year of college, I was invited to be the summer intern in a large church on the east coast of Florida.

I understood my job as working with the youth, doing some preaching, and shadowing a respected pastor. What I wasn't told is that he was going to take a five-week vacation.

Surprise! I was the pastor. I felt fairly comfortable with the preaching since the congregation cut me a lot of sermonic slack.

One day I had a call from a funeral director in town. "We have a family that is Baptist," the funeral director said. "They are not members of any church; their 3-week old baby has died, and we want you to lead the graveside service." That humid summer morning I stood with the parents and two sets of grandparents. I remember reading from the 23^rd Psalm, "The Lord is my shepherd...." Whatever else I said I don't recall. The family stood around the tiny casket. Each of the family, I'm certain, were filled with grief. But no tears, no crying, no evidence on their face of what was happening. The only sound besides my voice was the flapping in the hot summer wind of the funeral tent that stretched over us. As I spoke, the family looked at their shoes. We all left the grave, and I returned to the apartment where I was living. That's when I first struggled with my calling as a minister. Frederick Buechner, that gifted minister and writer, says that all of us who preach have 26 letters in the English alphabet. Ministers try to craft words, but we have just 26 letters.

At the cemetery, we weren't dealing with a virus, but for the family, it felt like the world had ended, which, of course, it had in many ways for these people staring at their shoes.

I sat in the apartment that afternoon wondering if I had really been called to lead a baby's “funeral". Would I be able to cobble my 26 letters of the alphabet into some words that might be hopeful and helpful?

What I really wanted to do, and, obviously, I never could do, was to heal all of the brokenness.

John 20 is a post-Resurrection appearance of Jesus to his disciples. They were gathered in a locked room. They were afraid, as some of us are prone to be when circumstances overwhelm us. In this pandemic, it's necessary to isolate ourselves. But think of the times that we have locked the doors of our lives because we're afraid of our failings and our inadequacies and over our reluctance to use our 26 letters to spell "grace" and "forgiveness".

What does Jesus do? In this time, he uses his alphabet to spell, "Peace be with you". Not once, but 3 times he uses these words, because when we're really afraid, we need to keep saying it in order to hear peace in the deepest places of our lives.

The disciples didn't instantly shed their fear. They didn't even, to our knowledge, change their outlook on things. But now they had a new word - "peace" - because Jesus was present to them.

I wish that I could make everything well for all of us. I learned that summer standing by an infant's grave, I didn't have the power to do that. I can't allay the fears of those disciples in their locked room. What I can say is this. In the midst of a crisis, Jesus is with us. "Peace be with you".

Live simply,

Love generously,

Care deeply,

Speak kindly,

Listen reverently and respectfully,

Pray daily,

And then... leave the rest to God.

Whether you are a layperson or a clergyperson, you may have some thoughts, stories or maybe a passage of scripture that gives you hope in difficult times. If you feel comfortable, please share these with us in the comments below. Who knows? Something that you share may be just the words we need to hear.