WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER [Su, 10-4-20]

 CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter

As I walked yesterday morning, I crossed the street to avoid the CW. [Cheery Woman.] As we passed, though, nicely distanced physically--and socially, I thought--she called out, “You doing good?”

Well, yes, I am, and no thanks for asking. Why in the world does everyone want to know if I’m doing good? Have they no faith in me? I was made for pandemic isolation.

Helen and I have been in virus avoidance mode since March 15. That’s very close to 7 months. The first half of that period, I tried to be useful.

I sent funny sermon stories to our preachers. [I didn’t tell them they might be useful in a sermon; that would put response-ability on them.] I sent them little notes telling them how well they were doing in difficult circumstances. I started writing this column every day, instead of just whenever the muse struck, half of the time with my usual almost-funny story with an occasional wry-twist at the end, half of the time with a real attempt to be inspirational, the “we’ll get through this together” sort of thing.

We said that a lot back then: “We’ll get through this together.” Pretty quickly, it became clear that a lot of us would not get through this, together or any other way. People got sick. People died. People claimed the virus didn’t exist. The government failed us. People lost their jobs. People had to homeschool their children, having no idea what they were doing. Children and adults got depressed and mentally ill. “We’ll get through this together” was either incredibly naive or a hoax.

The second half of this isolated time, and from here on, I assume, I have realized that how I can be most useful is to stay out of the way, call no attention to myself, require no attention from anyone—not pastors or medical people or children or neighbors or friends. It’s self-serving, of course, for staying out of the way is virus avoidance, but for me now, it’s also a ministry.

People are overwhelmed. The one thing I can do for them is to require nothing of them.

I’m old and in the highest risk category for the virus. I can’t get out to the highways and the byways to be helpful to folks. But I can stay off the highways and byways so they don’t have to pick up my carcass.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m quite happy to talk if you telephone. I’m happy to read if you send an email. Or a letter, but that’s not very common these days. But I’m not going to “reach out.” [How come every contact anymore is “reaching out?”] I’m going to sit home with my wife, and my prayers, and my songs, and my books, and my coffee, and stay out of the way.

My pastors, and my fellow church members, and my friends, and my family, and my doctors, all of whom are good people, might say, “Oh, no, you don’t have to stay out of the way. Taking care of decrepit old people is what we’re here for.”  And I say, “Don’t take this away from me. It’s all I have to offer right now.”

I’m doing good. Leave me alone.

John Robert McFarland