No Social Distancing Required

There is an episode of The Simpsons, from season 2, where Marge, so disturbed to see her youngest daughter Maggie emulating the violence she sees on the cartoon “Itchy and Scratchy,” she actually gets the show’s producers to do away with the violence completely and produce a more wholesome show.

Of course, when they do this, none of the kids want to watch it.

And so, there’s this scene where one by one, the kids leave their TVs, walk out the front door of their house, look up to the sky and rub their eyes as if this were the first time they were seeing the sky and sun.  They go to the playground and they fly kites and play marbles.

I’ve been thinking about this scene a lot lately.

I suspect that once this pandemic is over, that once we are told that it’s safe to go outside again and resume our daily lives, that we will respond in much the same way as those kids in The Simpsons.  

We will step outside and rub our eyes because after all of this, we won’t be able to help but see the world differently.

I have no doubt that the first time I see my grandmother, I will cry.  I have no doubt that the first time I hug my dad, I will cry.  Seriously, every time someone brings me food and water, so I don’t have to put myself at risk in the grocery store … I cry.

Heaven help us if we ever take these things for granted again.

Our world has been completely upended in a way that few of us have ever known.

And all the things we have counted on our whole lives, our jobs, our families, our church have been taken from us in one way or another.  Some of us have lost our jobs, all of us have been separated from family, and many of us now find ourselves worshipping on Sunday alone—this is a new world.

And it’s terrifying.

And in that way, I think we can better relate this Easter season to what the disciples must have felt following Jesus’ crucifixion.

Their world was upended too.  All the dreams they had, all the things they thought they would do as one of Jesus’ followers … all of those hopes, gone … like that.

Some, like Mary Magdalene, could not bear the separation and kept watch over the tomb.

Others, like Peter who returned to fishing, took comfort in the familiar.

In our current world where we are told that the best way to show love to our family is by not touching them, can you better appreciate good old doubting Thomas and his desire to touch Jesus just once more?  Did he really need to touch Jesus’ wounds to believe that he had risen?  Was it a lack of faith or simply fear, fear of being wrong, fear of hoping too much?

Like the disciples, we too are grieving, not just those of us who have lost a loved one to the virus, but all of us who have lost a way of life, who have lost the things that gave our lives meaning and purpose.

We are grieving.

But here’s the good news.  Are you ready for some good news?

Though we may not know what the future holds, God knows.

And though God does not cause our suffering, He will use it.

He will use it to do good things, to do amazing things, to transform us, to remake us.

As is said in Matthew 4:16, “…. for those of us who sat in … the shadow of death light has dawned.”

This is resurrection.  This is what Jesus promises, to bring us out of the darkness of death and into the light of life.  And we follow him, why?  Because he knows the way.  He’s been there.

“I shall not die, but I shall live,” our psalm for today, Psalm 118:117 reads. 

Life is what Jesus promises.

It is all he ever promised.

Living water.  Light.  Life.

Psalm 71:20 which reads in part, “…. You will restore my life again, from the depths of the earth, you will again bring me up.”

Yes, things are very dark right now.

But Jesus is our beacon.  He is our light, shining on the path before us, telling us where to pick up our feet so we don’t stumble and fall.

He is our light.  And with him no darkness is found.

He is our savior.  He is our salvation.

Take his hand.  No social distancing with him is required.

Amen.