In 1993, I was living in South Carolina when my family in Chattanooga got hammered by a freak snowstorm. Over 20″ fell and paralyzed the streets. The only exit from Mom and Dad’s home was up a long, ice-covered hill, so they (along with my brother, Preston) were stuck. They told terrifying stories about how they survived five straight days in near-total isolation, unable to leave the house.
I used to think that was a long time.
I am now in week #4 of my COVID-19 lockdown. The more optimistic talking heads tell me to expect another 2 weeks. The pessimistic ones just saw their shadows and are predicting 6 more weeks of shelter.
I am blessed to have a job four days per week, which is more than millions of Americans. I hold onto every ritual possible from the good-old-days when I could go into the office. Each morning, I get up, make coffee, read my Bible, have breakfast, shower and tell Kim goodbye before making my 12-second commute to the converted guest room that is now my office. At five o’clock, I walk to the front door, open it then shut it loudly and say “Kim, I’m home!” As far as work is concerned, I am holding onto the illusion that life is continuing as normal.
Non-working hours are another story. Kim and I binge-watched 40 episodes of Parks and Recreation on Netflix before I had to cut back because I started looking forward to them coming over to visit and hated it when they had to leave so soon. During especially slow times each day, I call the kids to ask them the world’s stupidest question, “Whatcha doin’?” Our highlight of the evening is sitting on the front patio hoping someone will walk their dog past our house. For distraction, I’ve started digging out a large stump in the back yard.
By the time this lockdown is over, I may never be the same.
On the flip side of the coin, I don’t know if I want to go back. This disaster has forced me to face realities that were previously easy to ignore. If going back means erasing my footsteps, then count me out.
Although I am gradually settling down and accepting my situation, I have been frustrated during The Great Isolation. I like my life the way I had it and have been agitated that somebody moved my cheese. I want to sit in my favorite booth at Chili’s on Friday nights. Small-group on the small screen is a lousy substitute for the real deal. People who play frisbee on the beach while I cut roots for fun are goobers. I hate wearing face masks that make my glasses steam up. There’s a long list of things that get on my nerves.
I had not previously noticed how frequently I get out of the house to interact with people, but I miss those chances now that they are gone. The office, church, and volunteer workdays are the most obvious, but even chatting with the checkout people at Walmart or my waiter at dinner. I miss the people and wish they were back. The more items the governor and local judges rule out, the more I feel that I have lost control.
I know that God is in control, but I’m not happy with it. I have twisted and squirmed and tried to escape like our dog, Tarzan, when we cut his toenails. No matter how hard I try to relax and be satisfied, I keep wishing for things to change.
One of the most quoted verses in the New Testament is Phillipians 4:13. It is often used in a different context from what Paul was saying, and it is better thought of as The Official Verse of Shelter-In-Place.
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”
This famous line is normally used to claim victory before meeting a challenge head-on. That is a great application, it’s just not what Paul was talking about when he said it first.
Paul wrote this verse while he was social distancing. He was in the ultimate lockdown – prison. His friends at the church in Phillippi missed him and were worried about him. Instead of a pandemic, a great distance prevented them from seeing him, but the effect was the same. Their high-energy friend who never seemed to stop was suddenly shut down. Out of compassion for a friend suffering from loneliness, they sent him gifts and a message of encouragement.
Paul wrote his thank-you note to the Phillippians for their generosity and their concern for him. But he told them not to worry about him, that he would be all right.
I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” (Phi 4:12)
Paul never wanted to be on lockdown and he didn’t pretend that it was ideal. He missed seeing his friends, going out for great Italian food on a weeknight, and shopping for Birkenstocks at the mall.
Being isolated wasn’t his preference, but he told them not to worry because he was at peace. He was reassuring them “I can do this.” and reminded them that he was never alone because his Savior was with him, comforting and strengthening him even when he was otherwise completely alone.
Thirty years passed between Paul falling on the road to Damascus as a bright light surrounded him and when he woke up in prison and decided to write his friends a letter. Early on, I expect that he was just like me – impatient, frustrated, twisting to get away. But one day at a time, Jesus changed him. Gradually, his heart became content in every situation. As he approached the end of his life he could look up from his shelter-in-place and say “It’s OK. I got this. Jesus is with me.”
Unlike me when I tell people “God is in control, we are doing well.”, I believe that Paul was legitimately content in conditions much worse than mine. I hope to get that mindset too.
I hope the pandemic gives God the chance to soften my heart and teach me to slow down and to be happy with what I am given. One day at a time, I hope to discover Paul’s place of contentment.
Progress is slow, but it looks like I have lots of time.
Why is Palm Sunday relevant? If you Google “What is the significance of Palm Sunday?”, the first hit is one of the most common answers. According to Wikipedia, “It thus marks the beginning of Holy Week, the final week of Lent.”
To me, it is about challenging the expectations we have of Jesus. When Jesus made his triumphant entry into Jerusalem, everyone placed their expectations on him.
Imagine being a Jew at the time. The Roman government saw themselves as guarantors of freedom. No wars. Roads that allowed travel throughout the world. Laws that ensured citizens were treated fairly. But to a Jew, they were the opposite. Romans disregarded their holy law. Their taxes were crushing. If you fell out of line, their response was swift and brutal.
For the Jewish people, it was reminiscent of the oppression of the Egyptians. In that time, Moses was raised up to deliver them from bondage. The Jews throwing palm branches on the road knew the similarities to the man riding in.
Jesus was ordered to be murdered at birth, just like Moses. Both of their very lives stood in defiance of an empire. Moses recorded the law and Jesus unlocked its secrets. Moses called down manna from heaven when people needed food. Jesus miraculously fed thousands who came to hear him. While Moses guided people to the Promised Land, Jesus spoke of bringing the Kingdom of Heaven to earth.
To those lining the road, Jesus was the reincarnation of their greatest prophet.
National pride always ran high on Passover week. The Passover marked the last and greatest of the plagues – the death of each firstborn son that came to every family that dismissed God as irrelevant. It was a reminder that they were a chosen people and no nation was stronger than the God who defended them.
The Passover celebration was centered in Jerusalem. David established his throne in that same city after he conquered the ungodly inhabitants through an impossible victory. His reign was the greatest period in Jewish history. No one could stand against their armies, riches were pouring into the kingdom, and their ruler was a man after God’s own heart.
Jesus rode into town as the next David. He was a direct descendant with the same, royal blood flowing through his veins. Too many generations had passed without a true heir ascending to the throne, and the crowds wanted to crown this son of David, restoring God’s rule to a nation.
While David had been a shepherd in his youth, Jesus evoked comparisons by proclaiming that he was the Good Shepherd. David designed the temple and Jesus restored his vision, sweeping away the corruption that had settled into it. David faced down the giant who mocked them, and Jesus stood up to the Pharisees who condemned them.
Everyone singing “Hosanna! Blessed is the king of Israel!” expected that Jesus was David, come to restore the Holy Land.
Jesus would be an unstoppable leader. He had a legitimate claim to the throne. Crowds followed him, listening to every word he spoke. He could command armies, delivering miraculous victories and even raising any fallen heroes from the dead. The day of the Messiah had come.
Jesus was all of those things, but his ambitions were not. Instead of seeking to know him, the crowds placed their expectations upon him. Their disappointment was imminent as they tried to control their deliverer. In less than a week, their rising star would be crucified and their dreams shattered.
So much has changed over two thousand years, but not the human heart.
My prayers often reflect the thoughts of the people at that Passover. Give us a miracle, deliver me from evil, restore us to greatness. I pray for him to grant my wishes instead of asking him to reveal the Father’s love. If I embrace my vision of who he should be, I will see his death where I should witness my deliverance.
This week, I need to learn from the tale of the people at Passover. Am I placing expectations on my Savior, or listening to what he has to say? Am I asking him to deliver me from my situation, or placing my trust in whatever he brings? Will I accept what he offers, or ask for something better?
It has been two weeks since my last post, “Be Still or Prep?” I was true to my word, waiting and listening. The more that I saw people rushing frantically, worried about their situation, the more my answer was revealed. The familiar call to action never came. Instead, a sense of peace settled over me.
It was as if God was saying, “I got this. Relax.” So I determined that this season would not be about me. As the whole world seemed to catch on fire, my heart went out to those who are least able to defend themselves from the disease and chaos.
Dark forces retaliated quickly, unwilling to release their hold on my attention.
I made a phone call to a woman that is a friend to Kim and me. She is over seventy, on dialysis, and lives alone. She is the most vulnerable demographic for COVID-19. When she answered her phone, I asked her if there was anything I could help her with. Her answer hit at the heart of whether or not I was willing to have faith in God to provide for me.
She said, “I’m doing pretty well, but I sure do need some toilet paper.”
There was no toilet paper in any store in the state. All I could do was give her a significant portion of what we had. Trusting God with my toilet paper was never a thought that had crossed my mind, but confronted me now.
God asked me, “Do you trust me to provide?”
Along with most of the city, I am now working from home. I miss my friends at work and the energy and excitement we share. My nice office has been replaced by a roughly converted extra space at the house. I am isolated and the chair makes my butt hurt.
And He asked, “Am I enough?”
Shortly after, a criminal gained access to Kim’s name, phone number, social security number, bank user name, and bank password. Suddenly, I was unable to fall back on my faith in my finances. We responded quickly and shut everything down, but it left us without checks, debit cards, or credit cards. For more than a week, we had money, but no access.
God asked, “Do you trust me more than your bank accounts?”
Two days later, we awoke to a text message from James. He was a little more than an hour away in Waxahachie, TX at the Emergency Room. He had severe abdominal and lower back pain accompanied by blood in his urine. We raced to get ready and drive to the hospital. As we pulled into the hospital parking lot, he texted us again to advise that he had his first kidney stone.
Almost before we could work through James’s situation, Erin called crying because she felt so sick. Two hours later, she was at RapidMed being treated for an upper respiratory infection. She was placed under strict quarantine. With compromised lung function, she was suddenly a high-risk candidate if she became infected with COVID-19.
“Do you trust me with your health and family?”
The next day, Kim’s boss called to tell her that her last day of employment would be the end of the week.
“Do you trust me?”
Almost to my own surprise, I do trust Him. Not just in that way you say out loud hoping it will be true, but I am genuinely at peace. He’s got this. Come what may, I would rather have God than my stuff, my money, my health, or my income. I am thankful that he took the time to let me see that.
My thoughts are now turning to my community. Friends are losing their jobs quickly. This past week saw the highest number of jobless claims in U.S. history. It is hard to fathom 3,300,000 Americans filing an initial claim in a single week when previous disasters saw one-fifth of that. The pending economic challenges are real, and they are going to be with us for a while.
No stimulus package alone will meet the needs in my community. God is giving us a chance to stand together, helping each other. A time that has been marked by divisiveness can become a season of unity as we realize that our spiritual gifts and material blessings were meant to be shared. I need to give to and receive from my neighbors.
In January, I posted that I would not make a budget, and I haven’t (click here to read) Without a clear calling, I have waited for God to speak life into my year. He has spoken now. The call for social distancing is an equal call for hearts to come together. I have a chance. We all have a chance.
For the first time in months, I sat down and started the familiar exercises, running spreadsheets, organizing my spending, looking for ways to set aside money in pursuit of my dream. I want to love my neighbor by using what I have been given to meet their needs.
I have chosen to partner with the Salvation Army. Their battle is for the soul, providing relief without discrimination. My friends serve there and I am connected to their ministry.
When they serve lunch to the community with people standing six feet apart in lines that extend around the block, I will stand by their side spiritually when I cannot physically. My savior says that the actions for the most vulnerable were actually done for him, I will race to meet His need.
I asked for 2020 to have a purpose. I have received my answer. It is time to make a difference.
God, please guard my heart. Continue to ask me, “Do you trust me?” Strengthen me when I am weak, and may the light of your love shine brightly in my path.
The past few days have been crazy. COVID-19, the Coronavirus, has taken over the country. Current confirmed cases stand at 2,345, or .0007% of us, with an apparent exponential growth curve.
There is no real way to know what havoc the disease will wreak, but the early response from the healthy folks has been chaotic. Toilet paper disappeared first and everything from dry foods to bottled water is in short supply. The government has all but shut our borders down, and companies everywhere sending their employees out of the office to work from home.
How should I respond? Prep or be still?
Joseph was the ultimate prepper. God appointed him to prepare for an upcoming drought of disastrous proportions. As God’s spirit rested on him, Joseph immediately imposed a 20% tax on all agriculture (Gen 41:34-38), then as the crisis continued, he assumed government control of all the money, livestock, and land in the entire country before imposing a mandatory relocation of all people from their homes into the cities (Gen 47:14-21).
It is hard to imagine a response like that, but it was God’s will for Joseph to take quick, decisive action to prepare.
On the other hand, Elijah did absolutely nothing in response to the same situation. When God withheld all rain and dew for three and a half years, Elijah was directed to live by a stream and await birds to bring each meal to him (1 Kings 17:1-4). When the stream eventually ran dry, he moved in with a widow who had nothing to eat but a handful of flour and a bit of oil. God provided only what was needed for him and her household.
Elijah embodied the psalm, “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psa 46:10)
No drought is facing us today, but according to models run by the Center for Disease Control, this plague could claim the lives of as many as one million people in this country over the coming year. With grocery shelves emptying and panic setting in, should I be still or prep?
I’m not doing either.
I’m going to follow the common theme between Joseph and Elijah. Both were able to respond with clarity because they each listened carefully. Although God’s instruction was radically different in the two situations, their obedience to the message was the same.
Before I do anything, I will wait and listen.
He has told me that he will provide for me (Phil 4:19). He has promised that if I call him then he will answer (Jer 33:3). In this time, he is testing whether or not his voice is the most important thing to me. If I place it above the certainty of a full pantry or even my own health, my reward will come.
I have already been blessed. I am reminded that I am part of a community of hope carriers. Amidst speculation of doom, we speak of the one who is in control. While the whole world goes crazy, we pray for peace.
As a tiny virus separates us, may a big God bring us together.
A few days ago I had breakfast with a few friends. After we finished eating, we stuck around the table for a bit continuing the small talk that is the real reason for such gatherings. Out of nowhere, one of the guys made a stray comment to the effect of “You know what it’s like to get fired?”
It got quiet fast. There is an unspoken guy code that prohibits exposing weakness in a group setting. I don’t know what thoughts crossed my friends’ minds, but I was surprised and instinctively tried to disappear into the background.
I watched each response around the table and saw a reflection of my defense mechanisms. One guy sat quietly as if he hadn’t heard the question. Another nodded and sat tight-lipped. The third said that he had lost his job once, but immediately told a story about how it was actually a victory. Four guys and all seemed uneasy as if a previous defeat meant they were somehow compromised.
The topic changed as quickly as someone saw the first chance and we resumed our innocent pleasantries. It wasn’t until later that I had a chance to reflect on that awkward moment.
In a safe space, why had I worried that people find out I have failed? The unfortunate reality slowly sank in. If people find out that I was weak then, they may see me as weak now. Memories of my early failures are clear in my mind but have been kept hidden from the world, until now. It is time for me to be honest with myself and everybody else.
When I was nineteen and a sophomore in college, the fall semester was really hard for me. I had signed up for a series of difficult courses and been assigned to some notoriously hard-grading professors. My personal life was a mess and made it hard to focus. Throughout the semester, I just couldn’t get it together. When I first saw my grades, the 1.9 GPA hit me like a punch in the stomach.
It took a couple of days to work up the courage to tell my parents. Eventually, I handed the printout of my grades to my dad. He quietly and thoroughly read through every line on the page. I wanted to shrink and vanish, scared that he would look up from the paper and see an ungrateful child who was squandering opportunities and disrespecting what he had been given. On some level, that is what I felt I deserved.
My poor results placed me on academic review and required me to get my counselor’s signature to sign up for classes. At our meeting, Dr. Pitts looked at my grades and sighed. He told me that he did not believe I would make it as an engineer. He begrudgingly signed my class sheet and handed it back to me. Without a word, he turned back around to resume his day and left me to see myself out. I walked out of his office angry at his lack of compassion, but afraid that he was right.
For two and a half more years, I stayed in engineering and did my best. Throughout my senior year, I camped out at the Career Center, trying to convert a degree into a job. Time after time, I didn’t make the cut. When my friends excitedly talked about who was recruiting them, I tried to change the subject before it turned to me. No one would take a chance on me. I felt alone.
With no job prospects, I enrolled in graduate school, moving to South Carolina because I was afraid that another degree from the same university would end up with more rejection. In the next two more years, I worked hard. However, after my last class and final exam were over, my job search was fruitless. I was running out of options and scared of the future.
One year later, I was working in the only job I could find. My boss called me into his office one Friday afternoon and put me on final notice for performance. He told me that we would get back together in three weeks to decide if I would continue to work there or not. From the look in his eyes, he had made up his mind, and I resigned the following Monday.
At twenty-four years old, I was unemployed. Dr. Pitts’s prophecy from six years earlier had been fully realized. I hadn’t made it. I had done the best I could but had failed. Fear gripped me and didn’t let go.
A casual comment over breakfast made me realize that the fear was still alive inside me. If I have avoided facing it all these years, imagine the freedom I sacrificed, worrying a thousand times for no reason. God was always in control. How many times have I subconsciously strayed from his chosen path because I avoided defeats along the way?
Our memories are a minefield of past hurts. Part of growing as a Christian is facing down the ghosts of past giants and ignoring the roar of a toothless lion as we acknowledge that Jesus has already defeated each of them. Nothing can be taken from us that doesn’t already belong to him.
God created me as I am and loves me unconditionally. Perceived defeats have nothing to do with my value. But, I underestimated the resilience of self-doubt.
It is comforting to say “In my weakness, he is made strong.” It is harder to admit when I am afraid to trust him, but I am trying. I pray that God will continue to shine his light into the darkest parts of my soul, burning away the lies hiding there. For my part, I’ll keep laying my secrets in the front yard, forcing me to deal with them.
Maybe Dr. Pitts was right and I won’t make it as an engineer. After all, that was only the first time I got fired. Or maybe he was wrong. Either way, that isn’t my identity. I am a beloved son.
Every day the news brings us stories of sexual abuse. No group is immune – the Catholic church, Boy Scouts, politicians, or business leaders. Most of the time, it is distanced from our reality. They are either groups we are part of but people we are unfamiliar with, or they are people we only recognize from television.
Until it hits home.
This past weekend, L’Arche International released an internal report that concluded its founder, Jean Vanier, had sexually abused 6 women between 1970 and 2005. Prior to his death last year, Vanier was a highly celebrated religious leader who dedicated his life to people with learning disabilities. Although none of the women were developmentally challenged, the revelation that he had used his ministry to prey on others is horrific (click here to read the story).
Click to redirect to Amazon. It is $4.99 and a great 1-hour read.
Most people have never heard of Jean Vanier, but he was an inspiration to me. I discovered his book, From Brokenness to Community, when I was first forming my philosophy of community. In a brief fifty-two pages, he clearly spoke words where I had previously heard mere whispers. He boldly proclaimed that community is where people become equals, sharing their strengths and their needs. Everyone has something divine to offer, and everyone has something they need to receive.
In September 2014, I led a discussion group to explore life in community, focusing on relationships and living with open hands. I stumbled across Vanier’s writing as I was preparing my notes. It was one of many books I read at the time, but it spoke life and became the centerpiece of our discussions.
Kim and I named the study “Building Neighbors” and first created the name and logo that would come to grace signs, t-shirts, and book covers over the coming years. Everyone who came received a copy of From Brokenness to Community. I repeatedly poured through the pages, highlighting text and making margin notes.
Over and over, I have repeated his story about the disabled, little Armand strengthening a powerful bishop, and I have copied his advice on how to know if someone who comes to serve will stick with it or not. Elements of his philosophy profoundly influenced my view of life and ministry.
Over his 90-year life, God used Jean Vanier to accomplish tremendous things. His spirit flowed through Vanier one-on-one, in speeches, and in books. He founded 154 communities in 38 countries with a culture of shared lives between people with and without intellectual disabilities. He was widely regarded as a “living saint”.
Jean Vanier’s spirit was filled with the healing light of Christ and yet his brokenness ushered incredible destruction to people who trusted him.
I have lost a sense of innocence with my teacher’s betrayal. Perhaps I am naive, but I have held onto my pure vision of a ministry totally devoted to God, a part of his kingdom on this earth. I am heartbroken for the six women who have suffered for so many years and repulsed by these reported actions.
To dull my pain, I want to embrace my anger. My rage burns against the actions, the man, and his legacy. How could he have betrayed us all? My fury however, hardens my heart and is toxic to my soul.
I recognize the need to set aside my anger and offer forgiveness. If his sins are not forgivable, how can I hope for something different for my own? I can begin by asking God for compassion, first speaking through clenched teeth, and then repeating my words of forgiveness over and over until they become genuine.
Last night, I shared my feelings with my men’s group. It was cathartic to release my emotions in a safe haven of support. They understood my anger, but encouraged me to move forward. I needed that. In the comfort of friends who know each other well, I can be honest and open. Healing began when I stopped denying the pain and let them release my shackles.
It is ironic that I find comfort in the concept of community that I learned from the man who betrayed it. Each of us is given different strengths, capabilities, and callings. We also have weaknesses, inabilities, and temptations. We will be broken until the day we are reborn. I depend on my Father and the rest of my spiritual family to guard my soul until that time.
For as long as we open our hearts to others, we will have our hearts broken. However, we can be both vulnerable and wide-eyed. Vigilance does not need to be the enemy of embrace. I am thankful for my friends, who gather around me when I am sad. You walk with me from brokenness to community.
“Community is the place where are revealed all the darkness and anger, jealousies and rivalry hidden in our hearts. Community is a place of pain, because it is a place of loss, a place of conflict, and a place of death. But it is also a place of resurrection.” – Jean Vanier, From Brokenness to Community
