22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time: The Side Effects

I imagine we’ve all seen TV commercials for pharmaceutical products that show a vibrant, good-looking person, having the time of their life with at least one other vibrant, good-looking person, engaging in some outdoor activity marked by lots of smiling and unbridled joy. As all this is imaged, a voice tells us that nine out of ten people suffer from some particular health condition. Then we’re asked, “Have you asked your doctor if you should be taking zarthax, phlanterol, vepoloxamine”, or any other name that could easily be assigned to a newly discovered planet.

After conveying that we’ve dropped the ball, because we haven’t asked if we should be taking Zarthax, we’re then told the side effects, at a rate of speech that puts the rapper Eminem to shame: “Zarthax may cause drowsiness, irritability, profuse sweating or swelling of the eyeballs. If taking Zarthax, please consult your doctor if your eyeballs reach the size of naval oranges.” Zarthax sounds great except for the potential side-effects.

I think of this in the context of what we’re going through in trying to respond to the Coronavirus. The measures we are taking—the Stay at Home Mandate; the distancing; the masks; working from home; attending school from home; disinfecting constantly, limiting unnecessary contact, and thus avoiding people we would otherwise see, avoiding places we would otherwise go to—restaurants, movie theaters, vacation spots, and so much else—all of it, in attempt to be prudent and responsible, limiting the spread of the coronavirus and hopefully, to save lives. As I’ve said many times, while we may not all agree on whether or not all these measures are necessary, they’re there, and collectively, they’re meant to be the medication for our condition that is, fear of spreading the Coronavirus. Those measures are our Zarthax.

And like Zarthax, taken to provide something good and important, it may come with side-effects. The side-effects we are experiencing—I’ve talked about these big three—are the loss of structure in our day-to-day and week-to-week living; the loss of activities we enjoy and find life-giving, things we had planned, and the sadness that comes from those losses; and finally, the fear that comes with the uncertainty about what lies ahead for ourselves and the people we love. Each of us has experienced or is experiencing at least one of those spiritual side-effects, and from those come some alarming manifestations.

I hear it in my conversations with people. They feel lost right now, unrooted, a sense of just drifting. I think of how much we already experienced all that in our society, even before all this began almost six months ago. We already had an overwhelming percentage of the population that identifies as depressed, feeling like life has no meaning; that there’s no goal in life to set our sights on and move toward, and that God either doesn’t care or has no relevance in this problem.

We’re seeing the effects in the rising number of suicides, and in the angst that’s spilling over in society, in rioting and protesting. It’s not just about what happened to George Floyd or Jacob Blake. It’s been building over these months, and as we approach November’s presidential election, the tensions are likely going to be scary. Please understand, I’m not suggesting that any of these things wouldn’t be serious matters or even causes for division, but the side-effects of how we are treating the risks associated with the Coronavirus, without doubt, are greatly magnifying the angst, the division, the tensions.

In loving you and bearing this concern for us, I find myself speaking disproportionately about the need to not allow all this to increase our angst and division. I feel like a broken record, reminding us that we need listening, compassionate and understanding hearts right now. We need to lean into God more than ever, to be our strength and source of unity—even as these effects and their specific manifestations have us so distracted that God isn’t registering on our radar.

I’m reminded of a young man who had asked to speak with me about the anxieties he was experiencing: his first child soon to be born, stressful work, his inability to exercise and lack of sleep. I could see it by looking at him and hearing it in his voice, he was a mess. He told me he hadn’t slept more than a few hours in the past several days. I told him that he needed to get help, so that he could get some sleep, to allow his body and mind to rest, to be restored. “If you don’t”, I told him, “all those other problems and fears become magnified, unmanageable.”

It's true with us now, only rather than needing sleep, we need to be rooted in Christ. Seriously. He’s not just one more thing to add to the mix—I can’t emphasize that enough—he’s what can help restore us and help us to contend with these very real problems. He’s the Zarthax without the side-effects. I know you’re busy and you’re anxious—but you’ve got to slow down, breathe, and give some quiet space and time for him in your day

Our Psalm for today says so beautifully what our hearts, deep within, our crying: “…you are my God whom I seek; for you my flesh pines and my soul thirsts like the earth, parched, lifeless and without water….My soul is thirsting for you, O Lord my God.” And in our deafness, he shouts to us, You can’t do this alone. You’re going to burnout and lose yourself. Rest in my love for you, and let me hold you like a parent holds a child. Otherwise, you are not equipped deal with the angst, the fears, the tensions. Give me space in your life, in your consciousness, in your heart. Be restored in me to be who you truly are.”