Category: Corona virus

Time to Share

‘If you have two shirts, give one to the poor.  If you have food, share it with those who are hungry’ – John the Baptist, Luke 3:11

The news hit the day after Thanksgiving.  As tens of millions of Americans rushed to stores and online to take advantage of Black Friday sales, the World Health Organization released news about the dreaded Omicron Variant.  Stock markets plunged, travel restrictions were imposed, and supply lines came to a stand-still.  Suddenly, the prospect of a post-Thanksgiving/holiday Covid surge took on dire new dimensions as people contemplated the news that the new variant boasts a ‘constellation of mutations’ that may enable it to evade both vaccine and natural immunity. 

The jury is still out on just how bad this really is, so it is premature to panic.  It may well be the case, one can hope, that this will turn out to be much ado about nothing.  Nonetheless, the arrival of a new ‘variant of concern’ offers an opportunity to reflect on the world’s response to the pandemic, in particular the failure of the wealthier nations to share their vaccine blessedness with less affluent countries. 

Omicron has its origins in South Africa, a nation with a relatively low vaccination rate (35%).  Poorer African nations are more severely under-vaccinated.  Nigeria, for example, has a rate of 1.7%.  Ethiopia, 1.3%.  The Democratic Republic of Congo is at 2.1%.  The continent as a whole stands at around 4%, with poorer nations averaging, as the examples cited evidence, less than 2%. 

And that’s just Africa.  Poorer countries around the world are overwhelmingly unvaccinated. 

As a Christian, I find this appalling, as I hope you do too.  Two reasons, the first being basic fairness.  John the Baptist’s observation about sharing clothing and food seems to apply to vaccines just as well.  In wealthier nations, including the United States, we throw expired vaccines away every day.  We have far more than we need (even if the persistently stubborn were to break down and take a needle, we would have plenty).  Seven days ago, America reached the point where 36% of Americans had received a third dose of the vaccine.  I myself am so boosted, a decision I weighed carefully, considering the very topic I am currently addressing. I decided to get the shot because they were abundant here in the states and, given the current state of vaccine hesitancy, would go bad if not used.  It did pain me somewhat to know I was getting a third shot when hundreds of millions have yet to get one. 

This widespread availability of the vaccine at home, and the receipt of boosters, is not necessarily a cause for hand wringing.  Citizens of wealthier nations could, if we set our collective mind to it, provide more than enough vaccine for both ourselves and the world.  I am no expert, and I am sure there are deep complexities involved, but two steps in particular seem in order.  First, wealthier nations could simply create a Marshall-type plan on Covid and appropriate billions of dollars to the purchase and deployment of vaccines throughout the world.  Second, the Pharmaceutical companies that created the available vaccines could release their patents, enabling vaccines to be developed at a faster pace throughout the world.  Pope Francis called for such a step in October, calling on Pharmaceutical companies to ‘Make a gesture of humanity and allow every country, every people, every human being, to have access to the vaccines.’

‘Oh but we can’t spend our money distributing vaccines everywhere!’ I can hear some say.  ‘We need to make sure we have enough vaccine to protect ourselves!  Not everyone is vaccinated here.  America first!’  Putting aside that Americans here have had plenty of time to get vaccinated, this argument is hollow, self-serving, and certainly contrary to the teachings of Jesus.  I love the story of Jesus and the Syro-Phoenician woman in the Gospels.  A foreigner came to Jesus asking for healing for her daughter.  Jesus, knowing his disciples’ prejudices, initially put her off by saying he had come for the children of Israel, not outsiders, thereby revealing the ugliness of the disciples’ nationalist, ‘Israel first’ mentality.  When she persisted in her pleas for help, Jesus delivered the woman’s daughter to wholeness.  There are many lessons in the story, but among them is the realization that Jesus didn’t just offer ‘healthcare’ to those close to home.  He made it available wherever it was needed.    

As for the release of patents, I am sure that I (and the Pope) will be accused of naivete.  Do you not understand the nature of the pharmaceutical industry?  Or the precedent it would set for the future?  Why should companies that invest millions, even billions, not be able to reap the rewards of their labor.  To tamper with the invisible hand of the Pharmaceutical marketplace would be to denigrate capitalism.  Well, in the first place, these vaccines were produced, at least in the United States (and I’m sure elsewhere) in part with public money, aka taxpayer dollars.  And in the second place, this is a crisis moment in which millions of lives are at stake.  If Big Pharma chooses profits over human lives at such a time as this, it will reveal the moral bankruptcy of its corporate soul and deserve whatever government encroachment on their turf ensues.  As far as I’m concerned, if they will not release their patents voluntarily, they should be made to do so.  Cries of socialism be damned. 

The second reason I find the current state of vaccine disparity so appalling is this: it is not only morally wrong; it is galactically stupid.  Failure to stop the spread of this mutating virus throughout the world means it will have more opportunities to metamorphose as it spreads, producing ever more variants of concern, each potentially more virulent than the last.  We are flipping out over the Omicron variant at present.  One wonders what happens by the time we get to the last letter of the Greek alphabet.  The Omega variant might be one that lives up to its name, to the horror of us all. 

The wealthier nations and the Pharmaceutical companies have a choice.  We can do the right thing, save millions of lives, and in the process save ourselves.   Or we can forsake the advice of John the Baptist to share, cling to what is ours, and watch the world descend into a chaos of our own making. 

It’s time to listen to the Baptizer.  It’s time to share.  If we don’t, we may all live to regret it. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Loss

‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle’ – attributed, variously, to Socrates or Plato

‘When Jesus saw the crowd, he was filled with compassion’ – Matthew 14:14

All week long I felt it coming.  I had no idea what ‘it’ was.  Not because I had no way of knowing, but because my mind blocked it.  But I felt it: a dark, looming remembrance waiting to catch me unawares and take me down.  I went to bed last night in one of those funks that you can’t explain but makes the world feel like a hopeless, compassionless place.  Somehow, I fell asleep, and this morning, I woke to the realization of what ‘it’ was. 

Today is Friday.  One year ago, four months after losing my Mom to cancer, my family and I learned that my Dad had tested positive for Covid.  Less than three days later, in the early hours of Monday morning, he was gone too. 

I wrote a tribute to my Dad that week.  It was the only way to process the loss.  We could not have a funeral.  A short time later, in the midst of hissy fits over mask-wearing, the insanity of a ‘plandemic’ conspiracy theory, and comments about how Covid was no big deal because old people died all the time anyway, I penned and posted The Great Divide, wherein I noted that the pandemic was bound to produce two different groups of people in our society: those who lost loved ones to Covid and those who did not.  The latter group, I feared, would simply never understand what the former was going through. 

A year later, with nearly 570,000 deaths in the United States alone that former group is millions strong.  I am thankful for the emergence of a third group, people who have not lost loved ones, but whose compassionate hearts have responded with sensitivity, grace, and a willingness to sacrifice for the sake of the vulnerable.  If you belong to that group, I thank you. 

But I have to be honest.  Most days, I don’t feel thankful.  Most days, and maybe especially this week, as I wrestle with my loss and watch a world that is mostly just excited to move on, I feel only sadness and pain.  Most days, I feel as if most people don’t and never will understand.  If I am really being honest, most days, I feel as if most people don’t and never will care. 

The fact that some will be mad at me for being honest about my feelings only proves my point.  Am I not allowed to grieve?  Must those of us who have lost loved ones keep to ourselves and remain quiet?  Must we suffer silently so as not to ruin anyone else’s good time? 

A couple of weeks ago, I urged the people in the church I serve to be kind to one another as we (hopefully) emerge from the pandemic.  Many are struggling, for all sorts of reasons, not just the loss of loved ones.  Many have suffered loss.  And for many, those losses have been far greater than the ‘loss of freedom’ due to the restrictions designed to save lives, or the inability to get their hair done at the salon, or having to forego a weekly gathering at the local watering hole.  Many are emerging with emotional, psychological, and spiritual scars.  And many have had to endure the loss of people they love, whether to Covid or something else, while the world around them hasn’t seemed to care one bit. 

So today, I urge again that people be kind.  As you make decisions and interact with people in the coming weeks and months, let mercy lead you.  Be sensitive and compassionate in your encounters with others, especially with those who have suffered loss.  Kindness is what the folks on the dark side of the Great Divide need right now. 

One more thing.  If you haven’t done so already, please, get vaccinated.  Maybe you think it won’t make much difference for you, but for the vulnerable, like my Dad was in late April of 2020, it could mean the difference between life and death. 

And for those of us who grieve, your demonstration of compassion will mean the world. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Photo from a memorial to Covid victims in Belmar, NJ, taken by my sister Kate MacDonald.

Bread and Circuses

‘Patriotism is the last refuge of the scoundrel’ – Samuel Johnson

I’ll admit the Blue Angels are cool .  I remember seeing them as a kid at the Lakehurst Naval Air station.  My Mom and I watched the expert flyers execute their exacting maneuvers in the sky.  It was an awesome day.  I was totally wowed by their stunts and formations. 

So it was kind of cool when they flew overhead a few weeks ago.  It was cool again when the New Jersey Air National Guard performed a similar fly over the following week.    The coolest thing was that the flyovers were intended to honor frontline health care workers.  Having seen these workers caring for my Dad, who recently died of Covid-19, I can only say that we cannot honor these heroes enough. 

So I should probably have been on the streets cheering for the planes as they flew overhead, right?

Unfortunately, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.  Not because I don’t honor our frontline heroes, but because I know this is the kind of distraction that inept governments routinely employ to hide corruption and incompetence. And I can’t help but feel that is precisely why the present administration in Washington D.C. suggested the flyovers in the first place.

The Pandemic has been raging for months.  What has the Administration done?  Well, before it even hit, the President had already eliminated the White House Office for Pandemic Response.  Then, when it hit, he called it a hoax for weeks.  His response since has been a slow train wreck.  No national strategy.  Lackluster testing and tracing.  Political attacks on Blue State Governors (and a couple of Red State Governors for that matter).  A near total disregard for the advice and opinions of the CDC and epidemiologists.  Firing health officials who dare point out the inadequacy of the federal response.  Forcing states to compete for supplies.  Eliminating and ignoring guidelines and pushing to reopen the economy in their absence.  Encouraging protestors, many of whom are armed and/or carrying nooses, swastikas, and confederate flags.  Refusing to wear a mask – and mocking those who do. Refusing to address shortages of PPE and other lifesaving equipment.  Blaming everything on the Chinese (because, after all, wouldn’t all the problems we face have to be the fault of foreign devils?).   Pushing untested drugs (and taking them!). And perhaps most infamously, suggesting cleaning agents such as Lysol or Clorox be used to clean our bodies from the inside out (and no, he wasn’t kidding). 

We are being led, in a time of crisis, by a narcissistic buffoon who cares only for his own political prospects.  If you object to my calling the President a narcissistic buffoon, I can only say, as former Republican campaign consultant Steve Schmidt recently noted while using similar terms, that I do not use them to be insulting; I use them because they are the precise words available in the English language to describe his character. The President has handled this crisis with all the aplomb of a petulant toddler who hasn’t gotten his cookies at snack time. 

But hey, don’t worry!  Look up the sky!  Listen to the sound of the jets!  Get out your American flags and wave them!  It’s the sight and sound of America being made great again!

Or is it rather the sight and sound of a great distraction? 

The Romans had payoffs and gladiatorial contests to distract their people from imperial incompetence and corruption.  It was part of what they called ‘bread and circuses.’ In 2020, we have the Blue Angels. 

I’m not falling for it.  If you want to honor our frontline health workers, and I certainly do, then tell the President and his cronies to come up with a scientifically based national strategy for fighting this pandemic.  Tell him to stop politicizing his response and to give our frontline heroes the supplies and systems they need to fight this thing. 

Until that happens, the flyovers, while cool, are little more than a modern version of bread and circuses. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

The Great Divide

They dress the wound of my people as though it were not serious. ‘Peace, peace,’ they say, when there is no peace – Jeremiah 6:14

As I walk through this time of pandemic, as I come to terms with the realities of this season, and as I make decisions about how to protect my family, the church I have been called to pastor, and my community, my mind keeps going back to an episode of Little House on the Prairie. 

It’s Christmas Eve, and Miss Beadle, the schoolteacher of Walnut Grove, decides to give her students an early present.   There is a light snowfall, and she announces that they can all go home early.  What she doesn’t know is that the light snowfall is about to turn into a blizzard.  As the kids make their way home, they are overtaken by the storm.  Many make it safely to their nearby homes.  But those who live farther away from town, like the Ingles girls, wind up caught in the storm with no sense of direction and no hope of finding their way home. 

The town soon pulls together to deal with the crisis.  Doc Baker enlists the women of the town to gather at the schoolhouse (which is also the town church) to get fires going and prepare to treat any of the children who are recovered and in need of care.  The Men of Walnut Grove are organized into search parties and begin to scour the routes that lead out of the town’s center.  It’s hard going.  The wind is fierce, and they are practically snow blind.  One of the men, desperate to find his son, pushes too far.   Not wearing the proper clothing, he is especially vulnerable to the elements, and they eventually take him down.  He falls in the woods.

The search parties eventually come across his dead body.  Because the children are still missing, there is nothing they can do but let his corpse lie in the woods where it is slowly covered with snow.

The search continues long into the night, as children are slowly found and returned to the school/church.  On Christmas morning, the last of the children are finally found, and there is a celebration.  The parents rejoice.  Talk about tidings of comfort and joy!  All the children have been found!  Everyone is safe!   Everyone is so happy. 

But then Charles notices that ‘everyone’ doesn’t mean everyone.  Standing alone on the other side of the building is the widow and son of the man who had fallen in the woods.  The crisis may have ended well for most of Walnut Grove, but for those who lost their loved one, the dawn brought no peace, no comfort, and no joy.   Compassionately, Charles moves to the pulpit and reads words of comfort from the Bible, drawing everyone’s attention to the family’s grief.  This ends the celebration, but it reminds the people of the reality of the crisis they have passed through.  Not everyone is happy.  Some have suffered, and will continue to suffer, profound loss. 

There is a great divide in America right now.  Actually, there are many in these divisive times.  But one of the deepest and cruelest is the one between those who have lost someone they love to the pandemic and those who have not. 

Having lost my Dad to this crisis, I have to say that the existence of this divide cuts deep.  I have been blessed by many friends who have understood my grief, and am thankful for the many people who have, like Charles Ingles, chosen to stand on my side of the divide.  But it is hard to watch the reactions of those on the other side.   It is difficult to listen to people claim this ‘plandemic’ is a hoax.  Or selfishly protest reasonable and scientifically grounded policies designed to save vulnerable lives.  Or say that it’s no big deal because, after all, it’s only the vulnerable, weak, old, and unhealthy who die anyway (which isn’t even always the case).  Or that the inconvenience of all this has gone on long enough and they want to just get back to normal so they can get their hair cut, go on vacation, go to church, or sit downtown and sip their double mocha lattes again on Thursday afternoons.  That it’s time to open everything up again without reasonable restriction or caution because, well, the crisis hasn’t affected them and probably won’t, so who the hell cares about anyone else. 

Like the woman and her son, those of us who have lost loved ones to Covid-19 can only stand apart and wonder how people can be so self-absorbed, how they can care so little for the ongoing loss of and risk to vulnerable life. 

I know.  I’m a killjoy.  I’m harshing everyone’s buzz as they prepare for the glorious day when things ‘get back to normal.’   Sorry to be such an inconvenience.  But those of us who have lost loved ones, and there are many of us, know several things the celebrants don’t seem to fully appreciate. 

We know that this virus kills.  Hard and fast.  We know that it steals loved ones away. 

We know that frontline health care workers are risking their lives every day.  Not just because we read about it in the papers, but because we’ve watched them caring for our loved ones. 

We know what’s it’s like to have to say goodbye to someone you love on Face Time.   What it feels like to not be able to hold their hand or embrace them one last time.  And we know what it’s like to grieve their loss without any of the traditional means and methods of mourning. 

We know that it’s both selfish and cruel to act as if all is right with the world in the presence of those who know such things. 

And we know that the storm is still raging. 

So, as we stand off in the corner, on our side of the great divide, all we can do is scratch our heads at the foolishness and selfishness of those who celebrate the end of a blizzard that is, in fact, far from over. 

Under Christ’s Mercy

Brent

The Value of Dots

Would you feel pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? – Harry Lime, in The Third Man

Harry Lime was a scoundrel.  Working in post WWII Berlin, he made a killing stealing penicillin from military hospitals, watering it down, and then selling it on the black market to desperate people who could not afford it elsewhere.  People were dying as a result. 

Such is the plot of the film, The Third Man, an intense drama starring Orson Welles and Joseph Cotton (and written by Graham Greene).  The film is perhaps best known for its ‘Ferris Wheel Scene,’ in which Lime (Welles) is confronted with his crimes by his long-time friend, Holly Martins (Cotton).   The two men ride a Ferris wheel to its apex, at which point Martins asks Lime if he knows any of his victims.  Lime derisively directs Martins’ attention to the fairground far below, where people appear as mere dots moving around, and says the following in defense of his crimes:

‘Would you feel pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever?  If I offered you 20,000 pounds for every dot that stopped, would you really, old man, tell me to keep the money?  Or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare?  Free of income tax, old man…free of income tax.  It’s the only way to save money these days.’ 

Such is the moral system of Harry Lime.  Dots, that is, human lives, are expendable. At least from a distance.  And for the right price. 

I hear echoes of Lime’s philosophy in our world today.  Ours is a time of crisis.  A novel virus is spreading, and the government has sensibly imposed certain restrictions.  Social distancing.  Stay at home orders. The closing of non-essential businesses.  All designed to slow the spread and save lives.  The science behind such moves is indisputable.  But these steps come with an economic cost.  People have been laid off, some temporarily, some perhaps permanently.  Businesses are on the brink.  The stock market has plunged.  There may well be a global recession, or worse, a depression.  The actions we are taking to save lives are having a deleterious effect upon the economy. 

And that has made some people angry.  In an infamous post on social media that has generated tremendous debate, a California attorney made the case that we should not sabotage the economy to save lives.  Especially because, in this attorney’s view, those most at risk are unproductive.  In other words, the elderly, the immune-compromised, and the weaker ‘dots’ in our society are expendable, all in service to the national economy.  And he is not alone.  Many in our society, and our government, are echoing the same sentiments, even if expressed in more subtle terms.  Heck, even some Christians, who supposedly follow a Savior who cherished the most vulnerable, have come down on the side of saving the economy over saving lives. 

And so the question resounds across our land – and in the church: is it worth risking the economy to save lives?

Before answering that question, I want to acknowledge that I know this is not just a question of what happens to the money of billionaires.  Ordinary people are hurting.  Workers have lost jobs.  Small businesses face closure.  In all of this, it will surely be the poor who suffer most.  This is real.  It is therefore encouraging that there are many in government who are at least trying to ameliorate the effects of social distancing on the economy.  I applaud the effort, and encourage elected officials on both sides of the aisle to use this opportunity to not only aid those impacted by this crisis, but to restructure society and systems to ensure that everyone, and especially the poor and vulnerable, in both times of prosperity and times of crisis, has enough.  And I would certainly encourage the Church to use its resources to help those who are hurting.  John the Baptizer’s advice for people with two tunics to share with those who have none is crucial for these times (see, Luke 3:11).  If our neighbors are hurting, those in the Church with resources to help must give generously to ensure those most impacted by this crisis receive the assistance they need. 

But at the end of the day, the answer to the question of whether it is worth risking the economy to save lives is a resounding, ‘Yes!’  Of course it is worth risking the economy to save human lives!  Why?  Well, if you really need it spelled out for you, it’s because each one of those lives, each one of those ‘dots,’ even the weakest, most vulnerable, and unproductive, matter. 

They certainly matter to God.  During Holy Week, we remember that they matter so much to God that he was willing to send Jesus to die on a cross for every one of them.

And if dots have that much value in the eyes of God, if they matter so much that he was willing to pay such a price for them, then certainly we can stay home and watch Netflix, all the while looking out for each other, in order to protect them.  Can’t we?

Or are we no better than Harry Lime?

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

Wind and Waves

But when he saw the wind and waves, he was terrified and began to sink – Matthew 14:30

In the fourteenth chapter of his Gospel, Matthew tells of a time when the disciples were overtaken by a storm at sea.  It was hardly the first time.  Many of them were fishermen, and even those who weren’t had at least once been in a similar situation (See, Matthew 8:23-27).  On that occasion, the disciples had simply run to Jesus, who had been sawing wood in the stern of the ship as if nothing were happening.  Jesus woke up, rubbed his eyes, looked around, and shouted, ‘Silence!  Be still!’  And just like that there was a dead calm.  The disciples learned that day that even the wind and waves obeyed their Master. 

But this time, things were different.  This time, Jesus wasn’t with them. 

He had insisted that they cross the sea alone while he went into the hills to pray.  Then, when the disciples found themselves far from shore, the storm hit.  They battled the wind and waves long into the night but were no match for them.  They were in over their heads.  All hope seemed to be lost. 

Jesus, however, had sensed their distress.  We can imagine that as soon as the storm arose, he looked seaward.  There, intermittently illuminated by flashes of lightning, he saw his struggling friends.  And so, he left the hills and walked to the shore.  And then kept walking – on the sea. 

As he drew close, he shouted, ‘Take courage!  I am here!’  

Simon Peter, filled with fresh courage, shouted, ‘Lord, if it’s really you tell me to come to you!’

Jesus beckoned to his impetuous friend.  ‘Yes, come!’

Simon Peter stepped from the boat and began to walk on the water, fixing his eyes on Jesus.  It was amazing.  But then, well, most of us know the story: ‘when he saw the wind and waves, he was terrified and began to sink.’

Jesus doesn’t let him sink of course. But we are going to stop right there for an important lesson. It’s a lesson many of us have heard before.  I first learned it as a kid in Sunday School.  In fact, it’s such a familiar lesson that you may wonder why I would take time to repeat it.  The reason is that sometimes, the simplest lessons are the ones that bear repeating.  So here it is:

Simon Peter was fine so long as he fixed his eyes on Jesus.  It was when he turned his attention to the wind and the waves that he began to sink. 

Right now my friends, there is a storm raging.  It’s called the Covid-19 virus.  It has us all scared.  We are doing our best to fight against it, but like the disciples battling the storm, we know that we are in over our heads. 

But just as Jesus saw the disciples in their distress, he sees us in ours, and as surely as he does, we know he will come to us. 

The question for us is therefore the same as it was for Simon: will we fix our attention on Jesus, or the storm. 

John Eldredge issued a short message the other day noting that in the current crisis, the battle is for our attention.  Will we focus on the storm and lose peace?  Or will we focus on Jesus and find it. 

As things continue to unfold in coming weeks, it will of course be important for us to pay attention, use common sense, and adhere to safe practices to ensure the health and safety of ourselves, our families, and our neighbors.  But as we do so, let’s not become so fixated on the storm that we begin to sink.  Let’s remember there is one who sees us with every flash of lightning.  There is one who comes to us in our distress.  There is one who calls us to fix our eyes on him and rise above the stormy sea. 

Fix your eyes on Jesus.  The Master of the wind and waves.  He is the one who will save us from the storm. 

Under Christ’s Mercy,

Brent

P.S. – I continue to recommend John Eldredge’s Pause App as a tool to help keep your eyes on Jesus in this time.  It is free, and you can find it here or in the the App store.  It has been a tremendous help to me, and I hope it will be the same to you.