4th Sunday in Lent: Coronavirusworld

3/22

The word on the street.....

Lots of conflicted feelings about going to Ecclesia in Marcus Garvey Park today. Of course services at Good Shepherd-Faith-and all Presbyterian Churches- are cancelled today. But my brother Clyde  will be in the Park to serve the homeless people who gather there and I want to be with him. 

I’ve come to understand however, that it’s not simply about ourselves when we take a risk. It’s others we put at risk as well.   That raises the stakes ethically. And I’m just at the end of a self-quarantine due to a close friend of mine having come down with the virus. But after much refection, based on the fact that we will be outside, based on Clyde’s understanding of what’s at stake and the fact that many food programs for homeless people have shut down and we are providing a meal, I decide to go. 

It’s colder than it’s been most of the week. Back to the high 30’s. The streets are very quiet.  Even my favorite coffee shop that intended to stay open for carryout has given up. I take the slow walk to the drumming circle at Marcus Garvey.

I find Clyde in a theological conversation about the nature of God with a most emphatic man from Jamaica. As he enters into a discourse on the “illegal Maccabees Bible,” it’s time to begin our service. 

(I later learn that the Maccabees Bible, including the four books of Maccabees and Psalm 151, was banned in British colonial empire days and possession of it considered seditious and punishable by imprisonment!)

There are about half a dozen folks as we begin. Including one who only speaks Spanish. That number will grow as we continue. Our Jamaican friend coughs and Clyde immediately gives a passionate discourse about how to cough and no spitting.  He also talks about fear. How our strange days create fear and we continue to come to the park to allay those fears. We try to get everyone at least six feet apart. Clyde explains how we will have eucharist in only one species today. Each host will be placed on an individual napkin. 

We begin our service. Read the gospel, John 9: 1-41, the story of the man born blind and Jesus healing him with mud. My choice, however, will be to preach on the 23rd Psalm, which I read in Spanish before I begin…..

My friends…these are strange days we are living in. I have never experienced anything like this in my lifetime.  It’s the kind of feeling like in science fiction or horror movies. And it’s the whole world….last night at 9PM Pope Francis called for the  whole world to pray at the same time.  They’re asking us to stop every night at 8PM to say a word for health care and wellness workers. In Spain, France, Italy and Israel they go to windows to applaud workers on the way  to the hospital. 

(Clyde interjects…and they sing!)

So how bad is it now in New York?  New York State has 5298 cases….40% of the nation’s total. At the beginning of the week we had 700. That’s a nearly 700% increase.in one week!  So it’s real. Does anyone here know someone who has the virus? I do. 

The streets have an eerie quiet to them. All the closed shops and stores. We’ve been through hard times before. But it was different. We could come together. Sing songs together. Dance. Play ball games. Hold each other. That’s how we got through.  So what do we do this time?  It’s a great time for ZOOM. They have increased their value 26% in the last month while the market has plunged by 32%. Friday night I was in a nationwide concert on ZOOM. That’s how we do. But not if you’re my mom in her assisted living facility. Not if you’re someone without a phone. You are isolated and alone. 

 So how do we reflect on the moment theologically?  The lectionary this week is filled with rich passages. Some of my favorites…like 1 Samuel 16: 1-13 where Samuel goes to Jesse and goes through all his sons before finally landing on David, the youngest and least likely to be the anointed. Or John 9: 1-41 where Jesus heals a man born blind with a little spit and mud. Another favorite. (Used as an ascription for Martin Scorsese’s “Raging Bull”..) Both of those have the stuff for many sermons.

But today I have to go with Psalm 23. That’s it, our “go to” Psalm. The one we go to for comfort. There’s a lot of reasons for that. It’s used at probably every funeral we’ve ever been to in our lives. It’s part of the “walk around Bible” most of us have inside of ourselves. Back in the day, the old folks used to have all kinds of Bible verses memorized. They could walk around with them. Not so much anymore. For one thing, we all used to use the King James. Now there are so many versions, there’s no real common shared Bible. And two, well, we just don’t. But we’ve still got Psalm 23.

My denomination uses the New Revised Standard Version. Just not the same.  The darkest valley just doesn’t get you like the valley of the shadow of death….and that’s kind of what it feels like right now. My kids have been fairly frequently reminding me that I’m in the target group. One of my friends is still in the middle  of the fever stage. We worry about my mom. There is a shadow hanging over us. And it’s not just illness. I have friends who have lost all income as bars and restaurants shut down. And multiply that across the country across the world…it’s a BIG shadow. 

But the psalm is about hope. There is the image of bounty. My cup runneth over. (So much better than ‘overflows.”) We always have the choice to view our life as scarcity or abundance. Need or capacity.  When I started community organizing, we started with "Needs assessments. ”  And in most of the communities I worked in the needs were so great that at that point, people were ready to give up. On the other hand, if we started with capacity, it’s a very different story. We always discover we’ve got resources we didn’t even realize we had. 

Theologian Walter Breuggeman  said that doxology is beginning of resistance. Giving thanks is what it takes to start your way back. When I’d been fired and lost my job, I felt so alone. But then a friend asked what I had to be thankful for. It took me aback. But also helped me get on my feet again. I had so much to be thankful for. Nahum Ward-Lev says at the end of every day, we should make a list of what happened during the day for which we have gratitude. It’s not a bad exercise. 

And I will dwell in the house of the lord my whole life long? Or forever? I like  forever. 

Even in the shadows, God is with us. And if we look deeper, listen deeper, what do we see? In his beautiful poem Lockdown, Irish Father Richard Hendrick reminds us that in Wuhan Province, the air is clear again, the sky blue. And people hear the birds sing again. In Assissi, people’s voices fill the square and touch the lives of those who live alone.  We’ve got a chance to stop. To take a breath. And maybe figure out how to heal ourselves. And heal the earth. 

…we shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever…

Amen

We have our prayers of  the people. Share the peace from afar. Then one by one, come forward for eucharist. It seems to work relatively smoothly with some hiccups. Someone coughs on a laminated song sheet and we have to get rid of it immediately. 

As we are finishing eucharist, a van stops by. A Park ranger gets out and stops to investigate. “What’s going on here?” She asks.

“We’re having church” says Clyde, “and then lunch.”

“Well keep a safe distance,” the ranger says, “Six feet apart” and then takes off. It’s a reminder of what is so hard to enforce. Even after the ranger’s visit, we still have to remind our congregation over and over.

Finally, Clyde says, ”If we can’t keep six feet away, we just can’t do this anymore…”

 Put the lunch bags on the altar. People come up one at a time. There are so many, we’ve barely enough food. The people take their bags and move on.

Clyde shakes his head. It’s been a struggle. ‘I don’t know” he says. “Maybe we’ll just have morning prayer, forego the eucharist. I don’t like that idea, but…” and he shares the potential vulnerability of his home situation and sense of responsibility. 

“We’ll just have to see…”

No one knows what happens next.

I start my walk home through the empty streets.

No one knows.

Psalm 23

1   The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.2        He makes me lie down in green pastures;
     he leads me beside still waters;3        he restores my soul.
     He leads me in right paths
          for his name’s sake.

4   Even though I walk through the darkest valley,
          I fear no evil;
     for you are with me;
          your rod and your staff —
          they comfort me.

5   You prepare a table before me
          in the presence of my enemies;
     you anoint my head with oil;
          my cup overflows.6   Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
          all the days of my life,
     and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD
          my whole life long.

Psalm 23 King James Version (KJV)

23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.

3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.

4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.

6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.