Well, Covid caught me, and that while I was bragging about minding my own business.
Suffice to say it got me pretty bad, in the way that you’d expect it. Fever, sickness, cough, loss of senses. Dragging on like any old flu.
But here’s the thing about it–I don’t think there was a thing I could’ve done differently in order to avoid it.
This hasn’t come as any revelation–in fact, it’s a bit what I expected.
I didn’t need a test–I didn’t get the sniffles and let my brain go into immediate lockdown mode–better make sure! It’s only responsible!
I didn’t sign up for contact tracing, didn’t spend any time hunting down the culprit.
I didn’t need a better mask, because I wasn’t breathing near or around people. I’m a natural introvert. It just happened in my usual sanguine, solitary life.
I’m not trying to make light of it. Who knows if I’m even out of the woods yet (tho I hope I am, of course. It’s been two full weeks and even tacos drenched in hot sauce don’t wake up my taste buds).
The point I hope to make is this: I got sick, and there is no one to blame for it.
You may hear stories on the news of people who have lost family members or dear ones. This is tragic, but as is typical, tragedy often gets exploited on television. Feelings explode in the spotlight, a visceral mourning unnecessarily (and prematurely) provoked.
There’s always a bone to pick, always glares at the supermarket and nasty comments directed at the irresponsible, the careless. If you had cared more, this wouldn’t have happened. If you weren’t so selfish, less people would be dying. It’s going to take all of us behaving in the same way to stop a pandemic.
I’ve noticed the next level of shaming in the works: the proud, public, responsible vaccine-ers who will save us all with their forethought and global-mindedness. UNICEF urges me to hashtag my vaccine photos with my neighbor-loving reason I got the shot.
Perhaps this is born of a desire to see life get back to normal. I would buy this excuse, except the majority of these vaccine-proud don’t appear to be the elderly or at-risk. They are folks who have a great shot at contracting the virus and defeating it with their God-given antibodies.
I have my doubts that the hashtagging crowd actually cares or has ever cared about lonely people in nursing homes.
If we truly cared about them, we wouldn’t dare cut the line in front of them.
With all the spare time lying on the couch (this is a bit of a covid homeschool joke), I’ve been thinking on how society is bumping around in the dark, scratching and scrambling to find a light source. There is rage. There is malice. There is plenty of mock compassion with an underbelly of self-righteousness.
Each party has a flickering, dim, battery-powered candle that casts shadows of doubt on the person holding it.
“We need unity!” politicians chant as they rip away the rights and livelihoods of the masses.
“End brutality!” shout protestors as they strip law enforcement of their means to protect the innocent.
“Listen to science!” scream the uber-careful, the same ones who once valiantly saved the environment by eschewing plastic straws (but now retch at the sight of a fellow human not wearing their disposable mask).
“Don’t let them silence your voice!” warn the clairvoyant Christian type, forgetful of how Jesus himself was obedient to death, even (silent) death on a cross.
Where is the wisdom in all of this? Where, actually, is the light switch that will erase the shadows and all the dimwittedness that surrounds us?
King Solomon was, as any Jeopardy-loving, Bible-reading gal knows, the wisest guy in all history. He admitted to God he was a “little child” and “didn’t know how to carry out [his] duties”. Solomon asked the Lord for wisdom to govern his people and to distinguish between right and wrong.
I admire this little child. I love his plea for help. Even more, I love how God praised him and gave him wisdom that spilled over and enriched the lives of his people.
God told Solomon,
“Since you have asked for wisdom, and not for long life or wealth for yourself, nor have you asked for the death of your enemies” (this covers about all of the dimwitted, battery-operated lights), “I will give you what you ask: a wise and discerning heart.”
A wise and discerning heart: how useful in these questionable times!
Solomon’s most famous case as a judge came when two women stood before him, arguing over the true maternity of one baby. As he ordered the sword brought down to (allegedly) split the baby in two (half to be given to each woman), the true mother begged him not to kill her child, but to give it to the other woman.
“No!” screeched the imposter, “Cut him in two!”
Cut him in two, cut him in two.
The dimwitted world wants everything demolished if they cannot have what they want. If the rules be arbitrary (and they are), let no one have justice.
Solomon, in his wisdom, could see this clearly. He spotted a crack in the second woman’s integrity. He read the between-the-lines story, the gap where made-up responsibility can’t block out the pure hatred that lurks beneath.
If we listen close, we can hear the same tune today:
If I can’t have my health, if my loved ones might die, then no one deserves to live.
If I can’t be safe, no one deserves to be safe.
Solomon said,
“Give the living baby to the first woman. Do not kill him; she is his mother.”
Friends, please listen to some otherworldly wisdom:
The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. (James 1:20)
Truth doesn’t spring off the lips of liars. Justice does not come from making a scene. Compassion for the sick and vulnerable doesn’t sprout from a heart filled with pride or resentment.
Think more deeply than your surface-level inclination. Filter what you are hearing through the lens of what is truly true, not just what sounds halfway fair.
Wisdom is a scarcely-sought commodity. Turn the light, the all-illuminating Light–on.
Brothers and sisters, stop thinking like children. In regard to evil be infants, but in your thinking be adults.
1 Cor. 14:20
