In public life we spend a lot of time talking about what should be done. When it comes to who should do it, the discussion often becomes an impersonal, contentious and dehumanizing debate that reduces people to “the poor” or “the middle class” or “the 1 percent.” No one really likes it, but that’s the way we talk about politics.
In contrast, the coronavirus is a common enemy. And I’ve been encouraged lately seeing what people can do together when they trust each other and share a sense of mutual obligation. As the Covid-19 public health crisis has developed, along with the economic crisis that came in its wake, I’ve seen how the people in one, small, local Presbyterian Church in Arizona — my own — have responded with humbling grace and generosity. As the situation evolved over the past few months, we talked first about who had needs and then about how we, as a church, could fill those needs.
With the church’s services and other regular activities suspended — but a powerful need to stay connected — we established a variety of responses to meet the needs that we saw and some others we anticipated. Would the members of the church who are most vulnerable to this virus need anyone to do their shopping? Has anyone been laid off or seen hours reduced? Does anyone need food or money to pay rent or other bills? Who is lonely? Who is scared? We’ve already had one member sick, and many have had family and friends become gravely ill. This creates additional burdens. Who can share those burdens? Who needs prayer?
A friend of mine likes to say that the church is a hospital for hurting people. He’s right, of course. Churches are, first and foremost, places of worship that minister to people’s spiritual needs. For Christians like me, there is an emphasis on repentance, spiritual rebirth and living a life of ongoing sanctification. That’s essential to the church. But those same people who come to the church broken in spirit have very real physical needs too. And the church should provide for those too when necessary.
Mine does and it’s both a blessing and a consolation to see and be a part of it. There are certainly financial needs — and of course these will continue to emerge — but the most consistent and widespread need so far has been encouragement. People are lonely, longing for human contact. That’s especially true for people without strong family connections. A phone call every few days can go a long way. And it’s brought me closer to some people that I didn’t know very well a few months ago.
Of course, we’re not alone. A Roman Catholic friend in Europe runs a soup kitchen near her home with a few other people. That’s closed now along with nearly everything else. Still, they’ve found other ways to keep in contact with the people they used to feed every day. Lockdowns are lonely times for many people. Isolation is bad for people’s mental health, even when it might preserve them physically.
The social atrophy described 20 years ago by the sociologist Robert Putnam in “Bowling Alone” has only accelerated in the past two decades. The lack of strong social bonds is amplified during times like these, when the entire nation is under duress. The efforts of our church have underscored for me the power of community Dr. Putnam describes. It has demonstrated that strong communities are still possible and that they can integrate what he saw disintegrating.
Within our church community, despite everything else that is happening in the world, there is a sense of peace and equanimity that I have found heartening. Christians often remind themselves that we are, as the Apostle Paul wrote to the church in Corinth, “sorrowful but always rejoicing.” This is a strange contradiction, but is an excellent description of the Christian life. We recognize the trials, pains and losses of life, which we count as the price of living in a fallen world beset by the effects of sin, but we are simultaneously joyful that there is a better world to come, in which Jesus Christ has wiped away every tear. It’s a world we experience only in part today through the church. In what might seem like a paradox, that hope doesn’t mean denying or ignoring the needs of this world, rather it creates a sense of obligation to serve as a witness to that hope.
That’s because as Christians, we live in in-between times, a pilgrim people, but one with a responsibility to both God and man. Christians in their individual lives often struggle with how best to love their neighbors. What does it mean in practice? How do you love your neighbors when they won’t talk to you? How do you love the person who has wronged you? These can be hard questions. But in extremis, in times like those we face today — when people are dealing with the current outbreak, with anxiety, with loneliness from lockdowns, with the economic costs and all the related stresses they bring — we are prepared. In ordinary times, it can sometimes be difficult to see the best way forward, but when the world collapses, when people are in distress, when the needs are clear, we’re ready, not so much as individuals, but as one church.