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My daughter’s yearbook arrived the other day.
Brimming with colorful photos of smiling students and teachers at various gatherings, it filled me with not only the nostalgia that always accompanies the end of the school year but with a yearning for the way things used to be, before masks and social distancing.
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“I don’t like Brussels sprouts,” complained my son one night at supper long ago.
“If you finish your Brussels sprouts, I’ll give you a noogie,” said Daddy, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“What’s a noogie?”
“If you finish your Brussels sprouts, then you’ll find out.” |
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Questions often raised during these weeks of social isolation and pandemic are: What am I learning from this experience? How will my life be different going forward? How will society change as a result?
I have heard from many people who are feeling a greater need for God in their lives. When we confront suffering, fear, loneliness, and privation, we gain greater insight into the essential nature of life’s meaning.
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Last week, Andrew Cuomo, the governor of New York, made a rather interesting theological observation.
Commenting on the progress that his state has made in fighting the coronavirus, and praising the concrete efforts of medical personnel and ordinary citizens, he said, “The number is down because we brought the number down. God did not do that. Faith did not do that.”
The coronavirus is not a punishment from God. It is not a severe chastisement dealt to a world that in so many ways sins against the Almighty — by ignoring his commandments and teachings.
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I have lived in Santa Barbara, Calif., for the past four years. In that brief time, my neighbors and I have experienced a number of real tragedies.
Just over two years ago, the terrible Thomas Fire broke out in my pastoral region, in the vicinity of Thomas Aquinas College (hence the name).
For a frightening month it made its devastating way from Santa Paula through Ventura, Carpenteria, Montecito, and eventually commenced to devour the foliage on the hills just north of my home.
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Needless to say, this global pandemic is unprecedented in our history, especially in terms of its impact on our daily lives. The consequences of our essential shutdown as a nation are far reaching and disturbing.
We are all praying for the victims worldwide — those who have died, those who are ill and suffering the effects of this corona virus. We pray for health care workers, first responders, and government leaders who must feel overwhelmed. I pray for our elderly and vulnerable populations, including the poor and the homeless. I pray for those who have lost income already and are economically struggling. We think of families who have their children home all the time. All of this equates to tremendous stress, anxiety, suffering, and fear.
In the face of all of this, God is inviting us to a deeper, radical trust in Him. In some ways, with our normal routines disrupted and many of our securities stripped away, we are faced with a profound existential moment — do I truly believe in God and confide my life to His mercy or not?
Our whole life of faith and practice of our religion has prepared us for this trial. Now is the time for us to truly let our faith in the Lord shine forth for others to see and draw strength from our witness. In some ways, with the suspension of public Masses, this time reminds me of the Babylonian captivity in the Old Testament. |
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Often what we want is different from what we need — or what is good for us.
Consider this recent exchange in my household, where we’ve been striving to be more health conscious.
“What would you like me to get at the grocery store?” I asked my husband, my pencil hovering over the grocery list.
Today my daughter was searching our house for a recorder, an instrument for her school music class.
Over the years we have acquired a couple of recorders, but, used by different children at various times for school, their whereabouts are not always known. (Yes, unfortunately things do get lost in our house sometimes.)
“Should we write a note to the teacher, saying we have a recorder, but we just don’t know where it is?” my daughter asked.
“No, we’ll find it,” I said, pulling open and peering into desk drawers in our home office. “Go look in your brother’s cubby.”
Today my daughter was searching our house for a recorder, an instrument for her school music class.
Over the years we have acquired a couple of recorders, but, used by different children at various times for school, their whereabouts are not always known. (Yes, unfortunately things do get lost in our house sometimes.)
“Should we write a note to the teacher, saying we have a recorder, but we just don’t know where it is?” my daughter asked.
“No, we’ll find it,” I said, pulling open and peering into desk drawers in our home office. “Go look in your brother’s cubby.”
