I’ve been attempting to read J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring. Somehow, I missed the entire saga of Middle Earth while an adolescent; and, later, after becoming a father, I never read the stories to the boys. I’m surprised how slow-moving the story seems. I had expected swordplay and wizardry on every page. Still, during some of the quiet moments there are thought-provoking observations.
Early in the story, the wizard Gandalf attempts to warn Frodo concerning the coming conflict with the powers of darkness, a conflict in which the somewhat timid Hobbit would play a key role. After Gandalf explains that the world had been moving toward this moment for a long time, Frodo says, “I wish it need not have happened in my time.”
To this the wizard responds. “So do I and so do all who live to see such times. But it is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
As Christmas and the new year approaches some of us may wish all the stressful events of 2020 “need not have happened” in our time. But they did; indeed, these times have not yet passed.
Timing plays such a crucial role in some Bible stories that some insist there is no such thing as coincidence, that everything we experience is God-directed, coming in God’s timing. Even Albert Einstein reputedly said, “Coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous.”
And, of course, as we reflect on this Advent season, there is no clearer recognition of events occurring in God’s timing than the birth of Christ. Paul puts it plaining to the Galatians, “But when the appropriate time had come, God sent out his Son….” (Galatians 4:4)
On one level, it might seem Christ’s birth could not have come at a worse time. Palestine was under the heel of the Romans and the local ruler Herod was a cruel, paranoid despot.
Yet, in other ways, Christians have long marveled at the timing of the first Christmas. The empire was experiencing a period of great peace, a peace lasting until well after the gospel began to spread beyond the boundaries of the Jewish nation. The Romans had built a road system that made possible relatively quick travel throughout the empire. The same roads that allowed soldiers and royal messengers to travel from place to place, would allow missionaries to do the same. The Roman laws would—for a while, at least—protect the rights of the new Christians. And, evidence suggests, the masses were spiritually hungry, tired of the false promises of their gods.
As Paul said, “the time was right.”
But I first applied Tolkien’s words to the pandemic. Why must you and I experience this stressful time?
There are those who think they know. God sent the pandemic to punish us for such things as abortion, same-sex marriage, and even genderless bathrooms. When I hear earthquakes, hurricanes, tornados, famines, pandemics, and so forth interpreted as God’s judgment I always wonder how those making such claims can possibly know. And, frankly, I also wonder why, if God does use such “natural” disasters to punish us sinners, He hasn’t sent such chastisements for our chronic racism, our indifference to millions who are hungry or denied adequate health care, our addiction to violence. Too often fiery jeremiads are shaped by the personal tastes of the doomsayer.
So, is the pandemic God’s judgement on America? (Yes, I know the pandemic is a worldwide phenomenon, but I’m just echoing the typical prophet’s perspective.) I don’t have enough information to answer that question. I don’t know anyone who does, whether television evangelist or seminary president. Indeed, Christianity’s reputation has often been hurt by those who speak as if they know more than they could possibly know.
My friends who are more committed than I to Geneva’s famous son John Calvin may disagree, but I believe God grants us a great deal of freedom, that every moment in human history was not planned in advance—please note, this does not mean God ever says, “Well, I didn’t see that coming.” Nor does it mean anything we, as humans, may do in exercising our freedom can thwart God’s plans. It does mean the results of exercising our freedom are on us; thus, if we ignore the best counsel of those who understand the dynamics of disease, we can’t say, “God made me sick,” either to justify rage at heaven or to piously suggest God must have some purpose. As a pastor, I often struggled to comfort those who, having experienced some tragedy, were told to accept the experience as God’s will. In fact, I don’t know how any pastor can say to a hurting church member, “Your child’s death was God’s will,” or “God has a purpose in your being assaulted in your home.” The older I became, the less likely I would endorse such theology.
On a larger scale, God allowing us a degree of freedom may mean we need not try to reconcile God putting a narcissistic, hedonist in the White House after one election and an alleged socialist in the White House after the next election. Indeed, I recently opined God may not care who wins the U.S. presidential election; but, having said that, I’m not entirely sure I agree with me. Of course, when we begin trying to explain the mystery of providence we are tempted to digress, not to mention to pretend to know more than we can possibly know.
Instead, let me suggest what we might “do with the time that is given us.” There will be nothing profound here, but maybe it’s a chance to reflect and the new year approaches.
Perhaps we can use this time to realize how important our relationships are. I’ve always been able to go into a café or restaurant, order something, and eat with a book propped in front of me. I don’t need a lunch or dinner companion. Yet, I know people who will skip lunch rather than eat alone. During the pandemic I’ve come to see how important that hour or so I used to spend each week eating with a group of fellow pastors was to my mental and emotional well-being. Zooming has helped but when the pandemic is over—and it will be over—I hope we all are more intentional about maintaining friendships.
Perhaps we can use this time to model good behavior. This is a straight-forward observation with no intention to stereotype or offend: Back in Ohio, well before the pandemic, I often saw men and women wearing surgical masks in public (often they were Asian). I remember thinking they were afraid of catching a cold or the flu. Instead, a little research told me how in some cultures, people are very concerned lest they spread their cold or flu to others. So, these good folk wear masks to limit that possibility. Too many people are still refusing to wear masks. They use all sorts of excuses, from masks being unconstitutional to their supposedly impeding breathing to their being an insult to God. Why can’t we understand that we wear masks, not just to protect ourselves, but to protect others? Why can’t we allow ourselves to be a little inconvenienced for the greater good? Well, I know why. But so do you.
Perhaps we can use this time to expand our knowledge and understanding. I’ve been surprised at how much reading I’ve been able to do since I’ve been unable to go to bookstores; indeed, I’ve been reading some of the books I bought in those stores and just put on the shelf. I’ve read books I might not have ordinarily read, books like a history of candy in America and, keeping other events in mind, three books on racism. When the pandemic is over—and it will be over—maybe I will have a better understanding of what has been called “America’s sin.” Don’t misunderstand, I often succumb to the temptation to binge watch TV, even those programs I’ve already seen. But, still, reading may help us get through this “time” we wish had not happened during our time.
Perhaps we can use this time to prepare to get back to church. I’ve spent my life around people who go to church. For some, that weekly church experience is their only contact with others, with men and women who will give them a smile and not demand something from them. So, I can understand people wanting to be in church even if it threatened their health. I regret some church leaders haven’t done more to help their people stay safe, to maintain contact without putting themselves in danger, to help them hold on to the hope that one day the church doors will reopen.
I can’t help but imagine that at least some of those walking back through those doors will want something different.
As I envision an ideal post-pandemic encounter between clergy and laity, I’d hope to hear some church members say to their pastors.
--Your “feel-good” sermons didn’t prepare us for this; give us more depth.
--The strobe-lighted, concert-style worship services excite our emotions, but those emotions dissipate before we get back to our cars—we want something that exalts God, something that says the situation is not out of control.
--We don’t need celebrity preachers or singers; that money can be used to deal with practical needs in our community.
--Your refusal to censure your colleagues who scoffed at the virus and insisted their congregations meet, makes you an accessory to their foolishness and callous indifference to the health of their people. Risk criticism; say something.
--Your politics-infused activities hurt our witness and further polarizes an already divided nation; it’s time you preachers get back to eternal issues, time to lay aside political differences and unite behind the gospel.
--And, really, wear a tie once in a while. You’re balding and your kids are in high school: the 60s-youth-leader look no longer suits you. (Is that just mean?)
It is almost Christmas. This year it will be different for most of us. Still, I hope it will be a “time” when you feel blessed by God’s love.
