So… here I am, preaching from home on video with my phone. This was not my plan. But earlier this week, both Rachel and I tested positive for Covid 19 and are isolating. What I really should say, is that we have Covid 19, what that test really means. I suspect for many there has been a kind of stigma around sharing or admitting that you have Covid 19, although that has lessened lately. I have Covid 19! I was part of the reported numbers in The Record. We are certainly not alone. We have joined the roughly 3.34 Million Canadians and 450 Million people worldwide officially diagnosed with Covid since the pandemic began, knowing that those numbers, especially since the rise of the Omicron variations, are well under-reported. More tragically, over 37,000 Canadians and over 6 Million world-wide have died and so many have had health complications or Long Covid. 2 years ago this week, March 11, 2020, the World Health Organization officially declared the start of the pandemic and we still don’t know the end date even as restrictions are lifting and there is a guarded sense of hope. Can you remember back to those first few weeks? Schools closed, for at least 2 weeks, work shifted to home, church shifting on-line, the first restrictions, quarantining at home, no non-essential travel, the closure of borders, washing and sanitizing everything from hands to groceries, and an explosion of FaceBook feeds trying to understand what was going on and how the feared virus spread. I still remember the post that Covid was like glitter – found and sticking on every surface. The biggest word underneath everything that comes to mind is Fear. Fear of catching Covid. Fear of the illness and death. Fear for our senior homes and those most vulnerable. Fear of so much unknown as our lives were turned upside-down. We were seeing pictures of nursing home chaos, field hospitals and temporary morgues and panic in other parts of the world and lots of fear closer to home. So much was unknown and unpredictable. At the same time there was also this explosion of compassion and concern and care for each other and the world. ‘We’re all in this together’ became the rallying cry. Neighbourhoods banged pots and pans for front line health workers. There was an out pouring of generosity. Connecting on Zoom took off and concern for those not computer savvy. Resources were freely shared and government poured money into pandemic relief funds for individuals and businesses. Fear and Compassion seemed to go hand in hand.
2 years later we seem to be at a very different place as a society. Yes, we have learned much, and adapted and found our ways to live during this time. But our collective patience has grown weary after so many restrictions and the on-going toll of isolation and shifted life patterns. Mental health has suffered. Children and youth in school and young adults in post secondary education and early jobs have had such a difficult time. There have been economic consequences for so many. There are many more political and ideological differences and polarizing and anger. We experience this in our family and friend circles and society at large. We saw the extremes of this in the recent Trucker Protests as it tapped into some of these broader sentiments. There is a tiredness and weariness brought on by these 2 years. There was an Angus Reid survey this week that said that roughly 75% of Canadians say the pandemic has pulled people further apart, brought out the worst in people, and that Canadian’s level of compassion for one another has grown weaker. (https://angusreid.org/covid-19-two-year-anniversary/) Our fears have also become much more disparate – yes, still concerns about the virus, but also about the long term effects of isolation and restrictions, about the shifts and loneliness for our seniors, about the effects on children and youth/young adults and on families, about freedoms, about supply chains, gas prices and the economy, and about where the whole world is going, especially in light of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and other ongoing situations of global unrest like Afghanistan and Syria. As our Fears have changed and deepened, Compassion seems further away. Living in fear for 2 years has had its consequences.
I have been reflecting on these themes as I’ve been isolating at home this week. The source of our Covid infection was clear. We hosted my parents for a few days as they try to sell their house in Toronto for a move to Luther Village in May (yes, big news in our family), and they were then informed of a close Covid contact. With a positive test, they returned to Toronto to isolate and we isolated as we waited for the lag time of our tests. So we didn’t need to fear about spreading it to others. There were those fears of the potential effects of Covid if and when we tested positive – this week I became aware again of someone’s parent dying of Covid complications – but we also had confidence in our triple vaccinations, and so far, all of us have only experienced mild symptoms. We were probably more irritated than anything that after being so careful for 2 years and still following all the protocols, now we get infected as the pandemic is receding. So it’s more of a de-mystifying or disarming of a fear that has hung there for so long. I found it ironic and maybe timely that the Scriptures and themes for this 2nd Sunday of Lent were all about ‘From Fear to Compassion.’ I have found myself more compassionate this week for those who have gone through this journey – especially in earlier and more serious parts of the pandemic, and I have appreciated the expressions of support and concern that have come our way.
Fear is very much a part of our human experience. If we are honest, we all have many fears – particular fears of anything from spiders, mice, snakes, heights, closed spaces, to monsters under the bed or in the closet, fears for the potential for personal violence or attack, fears of our own personal insecurities and inadequacies, fears for our children and their welfare, fears for the economy or your job, fears for issues like racism or war or climate change, fears for the future, fear of a health crisis, fear of death. Fear can be so guttural. It is de-habilitating. Our full Fight or Flight instinct kicks in and we become almost paralyzed. We certainly cannot entertain solutions to our fears, or reach out to others when we are so afraid. It is easy to lash out, to act irrationally, to do something we might regret later. Fear so easily leads to division. And yet, when we are given grace and space to step even a little bit from our fear, our hearts can open.
I had some visits earlier with our members living now at University Gates. Some of those folks were born in Ukraine and during World War II, like today, they fled as refugees, with just the clothes on their back, full of fear. They know this geography and the names of these cities and towns. They each brought up those scary memories, and their empathy and compassion for those fleeing today. I appreciated the story Peter Klassen shared from during the worst of times in his village, when his mother would see all of these young soldiers, pretty well boys, sent without their consent as soldiers are, and no matter what uniform they wore, she would come out to the streets and offer them a cold glass of water. From fear to compassion.
The Biblical witness takes seriously our fears. 365 times we hear the words – ‘Fear not! Do Not be Afraid.’ That is once for every day of the year. Psalm 27 declares ‘The Lord is my light and my salvation: Whom shall I fear?’ It lists a whole array of fears that sound just as relevant today as when they were written – When evildoers assail me, though an army encamp against me, though war rise up against me – and we could add our own – yet I will be confident. God will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble, conceal me under the cover of his tent, set me up on a high rock. This is God having compassion upon us when we have fears. Maybe that is where it starts – when we are fearful, we need God to provide compassion, a listening ear, shelter, a safe place, the grace to see our way through our fears – before we can begin to find compassion for others. In our Fall worship series we looked at some of the Psalms of Orientation and Dis-Orientation. Walter Brueggemann names Psalm 27 as a Psalm of New Orientation, a 3rd category – a Psalm of Confidence that comes after trouble – that doesn’t deny the troubles and fears of life, but can see new life beyond them. He writes ‘The insistence of the opening line is that nothing we may think of is severe enough to shake confidence in Yahweh who is light, salvation, and stronghold.’ (The Message of the Psalms, Augsburg, 1984, p.152) It’s that de-mystifying and disarming of fear, through the compassion of God, that opens us to our own compassion for others.
In the Luke passage, Jesus is confronted with his own fear. Some Pharisees come to Jesus to warn him about Herod wanting to kill him. Note that it is Pharisees trying to protect Jesus, taking a risk for Jesus. In Luke, this is still fairly early in his ministry. This is a direct threat on Jesus’ life. Jesus stares down this fear, this threat, not letting it immobilize him – facing it directly. Go and tell that fox that basically I am too busy casting out demons and curing people. These threats won’t really get serious until I get to Jerusalem… I would rather hide and get as far away as possible, but Jesus heads straight towards the city, towards the threat, towards the fear, towards the death he knows awaits. Rather than lashing out, or responding in violence, or reacting, or living out of fear, Jesus offers this remarkable image – ‘How often have I have desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.’ I am not a farmer, but a mother hen will fiercely protect her chicks upon threat of danger, clucking to them and sweeping them under her strong wings, hiding them, keeping them safe. Jesus is offering this to the very people who want to kill the prophet. He is facing fear and threat with love and compassion.
Drew Hart, in his book ‘Trouble I’ve Seen – Changing the Way the Church Sees Racism’ (Herald Press, 2016, p.69 ff), helpfully points out the contrast or foil in this story between the two animals in the passage – the fox and the hen, representing two very different ways of being in the world. The fox is sly and deceptive and predatory, based in an approach of violence. Like Herod, the fox is complicit in the sinful and violent ways and systems of the empire that oppress and discriminate and try to keep people in fear. Fear is what makes those systems work. Hart makes those connections to today’s world and how fear and violence is used to keep racist systems going. ‘The hen, in contrast, it motivated by a deep and courageous love for its children, its chicks. Out of such motherly love, it is willing to endure the brunt of the attacks of the fox in attempt to provide cover and safety for its chicks. It longs to create life-giving space of flourishing and shalom under its wings and within its realm’ (Ibid). It is subversive and powerfully transformative. The mother hen disarms fear through offering compassion and love – through opening her wings for a place of safety and a release from fear. Ultimately, Jesus disarms even the fear and power of death itself. Jesus offers those loving and compassionate protecting wings to us – giving us a place for our fears. It makes me wonder how we can offer safe places for others – can we open our arms in compassion to others?
There is much to fear in our world and much to fear within our own lives. We have been living at a heightened level of fear these last 2 years. It has done much damage. But the promise of God remains. God longs to gather us under wings, like a mother hen, full of compassion and protection, disarming our fear, and allowing us to reach out with compassion to others. ‘Don’t be afraid. My love is stronger than your fear. Don’t be afraid. My love is stronger, and I have promised to be always near.’ (VT 596). May it be so. Amen.