Prisoner of Hope: Covid-19 Part III

Part III: Spring Beginning
It’s Spring when we can begin to shed old identities, let go of the way we thought it was going to be, and still find we’re alive, full of life and potential. This is hope.

There’s a certain energy that emanates from those who merge their identity with the One who lost his identity. We can take that energy and give it to the world. It’s what we’ve always done. Our strength has never been in the way we govern, or influence world powers, or create systematic theology. Our strength has been in our willingness to give it all away. We are people of mercy, grace, and compassion. Compassion means bringing our passion into alignment with others. And that’s the thing that has changed the world.

In the 300s, Christianity became the state religion out of love for power. (Initially, to be fair it was also out of an understandable desire to escape persecution, but ultimately it became about power.)

Additionally, in the 300s, Christianity started the first hospital not out of love for power but out of love for the other. Christians were the ones willing to take care of the sick and dying during the plagues. I’m sure there were non-Christians too, but by and large, the world owes a debt of gratitude to Christianity for forming the first hospices and then hospitals.

And here we are in the 2000s facing the “plague”of Covid-19. I wonder what Christians will be known for in the coming months.

Compassion is our identity. We are the ones who “see” the other. BTW, this is the thing Frederic Nietzsche hated about Christianity. Nietzsche, you may know, is something of the father of modern-day atheism. But unlike most of the modern atheists, he seemed to genuinely wrestle with Christianity. He hated it because he thought it created weak people, but at least he took it seriously.

The point here is that compassion is the thing we’ve been known for and it’s the thing we could be known for again. And that brings us hope! It won’t look like what we thought it was going to look like. It will be different, but again, thank God it will be different.

My struggle over the last week or so pales in comparison to others, but for me, I’ve had to grieve the loss of my routine. My wife and I are “young” empty nesters. This past summer, all three of the boys living with us moved out. Through Fall and Winter, I grieved the loss. It wasn’t until about February and now into March that I found that I was enjoying this new chapter of life. I was experiencing some margins in a way that I had not experienced for the 25 years I had been a parent with kids at home. And then, Covid-19. Ha. My schedule has been wrecked. Again, it pales in comparison to the loss of others, but I see this as emblematic of my life: I plan some stuff. Life blows through like a hurricane. I pick up the pieces and start again. This is neither the first, nor the last time this will happen.

And then I think, “What if I die from this thing?” Honestly, what if I die? We’re all going to die. Death is fatal every single time. Christians are the ones who know this more than anyone. We’re not the ones who hide from our fear. We’re the ones who say Jesus has overcome our biggest fear. And we bring our passion into alignment with others.

This is a massive opportunity, an opportunity to have the humility to agree with what the world has been telling us for a long time, that is, that Christians aren’t very good at governing, or politics, or production, or fame. Not really. We’re really just good for giving our lives away. Yep, that’s about it. And that brings me hope.

Again, this is a different kind of hope than the hope of, “Oh, I wish this would all go away so things would return to normal.” This is a hope that honestly grieves the loss, and then says, “Oh man, something good could come of out this.”

So, yes, I’m in a constant oscillation between grief and hope. As I reflect upon the movement, I picture my life going back and forth. Faster and faster. I engage both of them. Grief. Hope. Over and over. Until it blurs into one response.

For grief and hope are symbiotic. They are different sides of the same coin.

Jesus-followers don’t go around pain to get to hope. They go through pain. They get to Spring and sometimes they get to Spring right smack dab in the middle of Winter.

I end by borrowing from Cornell West, who probably borrowed from Desmond Tutu, who, let’s be honest, probably borrowed from Zechariah 9:12… I’m neither a pessimist nor an optimist. I’m a prisoner of hope.