Saying yes in a pandemic: Yes, it’s in God’s hands. Yes, we can take precautions.
Last week, I wrote that spiritual growth often results not so much from working harder or trying to behave more piously, but from surrendering to a cosmos that’s undeniably beyond our control.
“To receive, we must let go. And let go. And let go some more,” I said. “We surrender our good works. We surrender our ambitions. We surrender our fears. We surrender our desire to be praised by others. We surrender our successes and failures alike. We surrender pretty much everything.”
That prompted a response from a longtime reader who occasionally chastises me for oversights or theological or political errors.
He posed a common question: What would Jesus do?
“After reading today’s column,” my correspondent continued, “Jesus might decide to chill out and just be a good carpenter: no need to confront the money changers, challenge the (P)harisees, risk the cross. … I’ll keep reading your columns, but I gotta wonder where you’ve left your marbles!”
The dilemma he suggests is a valid one. In discussions of spirituality and theology, you hear it often, dressed in various costumes.
As I’ve said before, paradox is built into the heart of any religion worth the name. How much of our eternal destiny stems from our own free-will choices and how much is the result of God’s predestination? Where does a justification based solely on faith end and the necessity of good works begin? How can you lose yourself and yet find yourself?
When such questions are posed to me, my pat answer is, “Yes.” That is, yes it’s a matter of free will—and yes, it’s predestination. Yes, salvation is by faith alone—and yes, faith requires good works. Yes, you must relinquish your old self—and yes, in doing so, you may discover a fresh, better self.
The answer is rarely either/or. It’s nearly always yes/and. It’s both.
So, returning to my correspondent’s email, it’s not that we just surrender all things to God and become morally or intellectually blank. We may surrender to God and also find ourselves confronting Pharisees or moneychangers. One action doesn’t exclude the other—indeed, one action may complement the other.
Maybe a practical example would help.
We’re currently experiencing a major surge of Covid-19. The Delta variant threatens us in new and scary ways, including breakthrough cases—some serious and a few fatal—among those already vaccinated. Transmission and hospitalization rates are soaring.
As a pastor and as an individual, I must decide how my church and I will respond.
I’m being as proactive as I know how. At church, even though most members of our congregation are vaccinated, we’ve been meeting outdoors when the weather permits, because the likelihood of transmitting the virus is significantly lower outdoors.
When we can’t meet outdoors we meet inside, but with everyone masked, the sanctuary’s windows open and fans blowing the inside air away through the windows. We keep our chairs safely distanced. We don’t hug or pass the offering plates.
In short, we recognize facts and react to them intelligently, acknowledging the laws of science God gave us. We’ve made a point of studying how viruses work.
As an individual, I’m at elevated risk for Covid-19 complications. I was vaccinated early on, so the efficacy of my shots is waning. I’m an insulin-dependent diabetic. Plus I’m 65. Plus I’m robustly proportioned (that sounds better than “fat”), even after losing 40 pounds. For me, this is a dangerous time.
When I go to the grocery or post office, I wear my mask. If I visit a restaurant, I dine on the patio or order carryout and eat in my car. I’ll get a vaccine booster shot the day it becomes available.
Bottom line: I’m doing what I can to frustrate the virus, protect my parishioners and watch out for myself. I take practical precautions, even when they’re irritating.
But within that, I also surrender, knowing the outcomes aren’t in my hands. I’m required by common sense and duty to do my best. Even so, I or someone I love could get sick. No precaution is 100 percent effective.
Having done my best, I leave the outcomes to God. I don’t tremble with fear of the what-ifs. The future will be what it will be.
Or, as I put it in last week’s column, “there are things we can do to help ourselves and others, and those things we should do. ... Yes, pray. Yes, go to work Monday through Friday. Yes, educate your children. Yes, volunteer at a soup kitchen. Yes, vote. Yes, always, do what you reasonably can.
“But never think you can fix this world in any lasting way.”
Somebody once said the definition of “worry” is, “assuming responsibility God never meant you to have.”
We’re to carry out the few responsibilities God has given us, and roll the remainder onto him. We’re to do what we can—and yet, simultaneously, surrender to one greater than we are.
Paul Prather is pastor of Bethesda Church near Mount Sterling. You can email him at pratpd@yahoo.com.