Crisis Mode
Three months since the novel coronavirus, schools are closing, or going to remote instruction via computers. Life is moving quickly away from normal activities for leisure and work, leaving many people scared of what’s going to happen.
I confess, I bought extra food in an attempt to keep my family and me as isolated as possible for as long as possible.
As I shopped throughout the week building up to the closings, I was driven by an awareness that things might get scarce, and a determination that my family should not starve or suffer.
I have enough food for several weeks (I hope). But, I tried to not buy in a way that I wouldn’t normally do. I often try to have food on hand for a while, out of convenience.
The empty aisles of several supermarkets and big box stores told me that some people had gone further than I have the means or desire to go. I saw women buying 120 rolls of toilet paper. This so-called “panic buying” has gripped the nation. Also, opportunists have tried to capitalize on the demand for certain goods like hand sanitizer, hand wipes, or surgical masks.
Because of such intensive purchasing, laws about how many hours truckers can work have been suspended for the delivery of in-demand products.
What–if anything–does this response have to say about us and our culture?
Fear and Faith
On some level, gathering enough resources is a sober-minded reaction to governments and scientists admonishing social distancing to contain the spread of a pandemic.
But, in other ways, we have gone beyond that.
When our security is rooted in the stuff we have accumulated, that may be a spiritual problem. In Luke 12:15, Jesus says: “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.”
Is there any covetousness in panic buying? For me, there was: when I saw people with so much in their carts, it would have been easy to take more than I needed to catch up with them and not look (for a fleeting moment) less prepared for my family or less affluent or able to provide.
But, I told myself, no matter how much I buy, the food will eventually run out. The toilet paper will be used up, and I will have to let go of the fiction that I am self-sufficient: I depend on farmers, food companies and other producers for my survival.
My stash of peanut butter is a poor thing in which to put my faith, in the end. Without the support of others, I will simply not survive in our current system. That is a reality that hoarding can delay, but not change.
Luke 12:18b-20 keeps bouncing around in my mind: “I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’”
There’s nothing saying that our stash of toilet paper, food, disinfectant, or hand sanitizer will save us. It’s one thing to be prepared; it’s another to ascribe to the objects we buy a magical aura of protection.
Our preparations will not necessarily extend our life or comfort, though they may. Our trust is in something else: God and our life with Him in eternity as well as here.
On Earth as it is in Heaven
But, there’s a subtler danger in turning to comfort beyond this life: we’re still here.
I’ve seen religious friends posting about the inevitability of death and the hope of heaven. In response, I posted this on Facebook, lest people become so heavenly-minded they’re no earthly good:
“If your beliefs promise you heaven, and a life beyond the Covid-19 virus, should the worst befall you, that’s a wonderful comfort.
But, it’s not an either-or proposition: people (and, I’d submit, God) would still want you to do the moral thing and safeguard your family, friends, and neighbors by following social distancing and other earthly precautions.
I’ve seen several posts from religious friends along the line of ‘we’ve all gotta go sometime, and after this is heaven,’ but I’d hate for that to spawn an incautious attitude in others.”
Just because Jesus warns against the folly of storing up treasure in this life, with its vagaries, doesn’t mean we should not love our neighbor (in this case, by social distancing to prevent the rapid spread of the virus).
To cause harm to our neighbor when we suspect we have a way to avoid doing so is immoral. A friend and mentor pointed out that our attitude of not worrying about our own death might cause the death of someone who does not know the gospel and God, which would be an eternal tragedy.
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” indeed.
Love in the Time of Covid-19
Speaking of loving one’s neighbor, I believe God addresses this, too.
“If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them.” (Luke 6:32)
It’s easy to focus inward on your own survival; but this is a time where the church can focus outward and minister–even from a distance. My local food pantry put out a plea for food to support those going hungry. In all my trips to the store, it hadn’t crossed my mind to get a bag of rice, a can of beans, or anything else for those who are losing work because they are laid off or their company is closed.
There must be other tangible ways to reach out.
If I won’t even lay down a part of my life for my neighbors, how can I hope to reach them?
Philippians 2:4 leaves us a manageable sense of responsibility: “Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” If Christ “humbled himself to the point of death” for us, surely we can at least care for our neighbor as well as ourselves.
Look around. Even–or perhaps especially–in difficult times, there are needs we can meet. Oddly enough, when our focus broadens, our sense of fear for ourselves and powerlessness might well diminish as we seek to do God’s will in the world.
If I won't lay down a part of my life for my neighbors in the midst of Covid-19, how can I hope to reach them? Click To Tweet
