Quarantine and Lent

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The word "quarantine" has been thrown around quite a bit in recent weeks as the novel Coronavirus has continued to spread across the globe. Here in Missouri, we topped 1,000 confirmed cases in the past 24 hours, and it seems the worst is still coming. In the face of this pandemic, the public is being advised to self-isolate and those who potentially have been exposed to the virus are being placed in "quarantine."

I came across some interesting articles earlier this week about the history of the word "quarantine." Although versions of the quarantine concept have been practiced throughout human history for a variety of reasons, the word itself seems to have originated in 14th century Italy. In the mid-1300's, another pandemic, the bubonic plague, was sweeping across Europe. Around 1377, the Venetian-controlled port of Ragusa implemented a policy of trentino, a 30-day waiting period for ships coming from areas affected by the plague. Over the next few years, this waiting period was extended to 40 days, thus becoming a quaratino. This Italian word for "about 40" is the basis for our English word of "quarantine."

No one is entirely sure why the waiting period was shifted from 30 to 40 days, but most scholars suspect it was related to religious reasons and the deep symbolism within Judaism and Christianity for the number 40. Indeed, it was not uncommon to find the number 40 used in other medical practices of the time. For example, mothers were often required to rest for "40 days" after giving birth to a child.

In the Bible, the number 40 carries significance and can be found in numerous stories. Noah rides out the flood for 40 days and nights. Moses intercedes with God for forty days after Israel makes the Golden calf. The people of Israel wander in the wilderness for 40 years. Saul’s Army cowers one fear for 40 days before Goliath until David arrives. Elijah lives off divinely provides food for 40 days as he fights depression while on the run from Jezebel. Ezekiel lays on his side for 40 days to symbolically bear Israel's sin. Jesus is fasts and is tempted by Satan in the desert for 40 days.

Now, what's interesting about the number 40 in Scripture is that it almost always seems to represent a time of isolation and testing. Look at the settings of these stories. A cataclysmic flood that destroys nearly all of humanity. Several stories of tempting in the desert. A prophet proclaiming the destruction of Jerusalem.

These were not happy times. They were times of temptation and failure. They were times of destruction and death. They were times of waiting, wondering if hope could be found. They were lonely times.

Incidentally, those of us who pay attention to the liturgical calendar know that we Christians also find ourselves embedded within another period of 40--Lent. For those who are less familiar with the lectionary or liturgical calendar, Lent is the 40-day season (minus Sundays) that begins with Ash Wednesday and culminates with Holy Week (Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday). Whereas Easter is the supreme day of rejoicing for Christians--a celebration of resurrection--Lent is a period of solemn reflection and lament.

During Lent, we take an honest look at our lives and our world and come face to face with their ugliness. We confront our own sins and attempt to grasp their full weight. We look toward the needy in our communities and dedicate ourselves to addresses the brokenness in our world. And ultimate, we stare into our own mortality and remind ourselves that death comes for us all.

This year, Lent began on February 26 (Ash Wednesday). Coincidentally, this was the exact same say that US officials announced the first confirmed case of community spread of the Coronavirus in the United States, a benchmark that moved us into the current crisis. And in the 30 days that followed, our news feeds have been consumed with nothing else and this tiny, invisible threat has completely and devastatingly turned our world upside-down.

The irony of this does not escape me. Literally as soon as those of us in Ash Wednesday services received the ashes on our foreheads with the charge to "Remember that you are dust, and to the dust you shall return," our nation was seized by fear of a virus that has been killing thousands worldwide. The message of Lent that we are mortal and are not truly in control could never be more clear.

And so, as I sit here, all of these threads begin weaving themselves together. A severe pandemic centuries ago created the concept of quarantine with a connection the the Biblical number of 40. Christians today are travelling through our own period of 40 days. In the midst of those 40 days another pandemic attacks us pushing us back into quarantine. It all comes full circle.

But this is why I appreciate the liturgical calendar. It gives me a framework of meaning and always seems timely--inspired by the Spirit if you will. At the moment, the world does not know how to respond. The ugliness of a period of testing, as all biblical periods of 40 were, is that they expose the darker sides of ourselves. We have seen fear and panic consume people because they feel a lack of control. In order to try regaining control, people have also resorted to hoarding and greed. Gun sales have also surged, not because a bullet can stop a virus, but because people are preparing for a fight or are willing to kill others who might threaten their property. The worst sides of humanity can come out in times like this.

Then there are also feelings of hopelessness and desperation. As a result of social distancing, everyone (both introvert and extrovert) are realizing just how important community is and how painful it can be to live with it. Couples are getting married without their families present. Mothers are giving birth without their husbands at their sides. Children are unable to visit their aging parents. Churches are unable to gather in person. School children are unable to see their friends. And stay-at-home parents are feeling depression settling in as their are locked inside their homes without adult interaction.

But the message of Lent also speaks most powerfully in times like this. Lent reminds us that grief and lament are ok in the sight of loss. The New Testament text in the lectionary for this past Sunday was about Jesus raising up Lazarus from the dead. Yet in that passage comes the shortest verse in Scripture--"Jesus wept." It is a reminder that even God Himself cries and grieves about the pain of this life.

Lent reminds us that the isolation and depression many of us temporarily face because of the virus is also the daily reality for so many of our neighbors. While we may be able to go back to work and our normal lives with friends, co-workers, and family in a few weeks or months, countless Americans do not have that luxury. There are senior citizens stuck in nursing homes with no one to visit them. There are adults and children who struggle with depression as a normal part of life. There are women who live in abusive relationships who have been isolated from every loved one by their abuser and for whom every day feels like a prison. As we experience similar emotions as them in this time of self-imposed isolation, we find solidarity with them and are hopefully motivated to live our lives in compassion towards those who see no end in sight.

And finally, Lent reminds us that we are not in control. That is the American myth. We crave control and can even do a decent job most days of creating some facade of it. But in the end, crises like this one rip back the curtain and expose our complete lac of control. But if we are paying attention to the message of Lent, we would not be so blindsided by this reality because we would know that it was a mirage all along. No matter how hard we try, the wilderness will always come. No matter how much we pull up our bootstraps, sometimes the whole rug of the economy gets pulled out from under us and knocks us down anyways. No matter how much we exercise, eat healthily, or medicate, death will always come for us. And sometimes, as some are finding out now, death comes much earlier than we might hope.

But the hope of Lent is that we need to let go of control in order to find a greater treasure. In the words of Jesus, those who lose their lives for His sake will find life. Those who grieve will be comforted. Those who lowly are those who are blessed. It's backwards. It's painful. But at moments like this, it's what we need.

So may our quarantine (both of the virus and of Lent) be a time of reflection of what truly matters in life and thus become a transforming period leading us into the resurrection of Easter.

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Messier than We'd Like

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The battlelines have been drawn, arguments made, and today the drama reached its climax. Today, the parents of Charlie Gard, the infant with a fatal mitochondrial depletion syndrome, made the difficult decision to no longer pursue treatment options but to remove their son from child support.

For those not familiar with the case, over the past several months the parents of Charlie have been embroiled in a legal battle with the hospital over whether or not they could pursue an experimental treatment for their son in the U.S. (they live in the U.K.). Although parents typically have the right to consent to treatment and make medical decisions for their children, the hospital and the state can step in when they feel the parents' decisions place the child at more risk of harm than good. Such was the case here. The disease Charlie has is fatal. In fact, the only reason Charlie is alive is because he is being sustained by life support. There is currently no effective treatment. The treatment that Charlie's parents wanted to try is "experimental," meaning it has no guaranteed success, and the risks are still largely unknown. In fact, this particular treatment has never been used with Charlie's form of the disease.

Given these facts, the doctors at the hospital believed the most humane action to take was to remove Charlie from life support, rather than subject him to an experimental procedure that could risk causing more harm with little chance of success and rather than prolonging his pain and suffering due to the disease. Thus, the hospital declined to allow the parents to take Charlie to America for this treatment. The case then was taken up in the courts, ending with the European Court of Human Rights siding with the hospital at the end of June, concluding that "it was likely that Charlie would suffer significant harm if his present suffering was prolonged without any realistic prospect of improvement, and the experimental therapy would be of no effective benefit."

This whole situation has reignited the debates over euthanasia, life support, and death with dignity. This debate can get downright nasty at times. Numerous commentators have ripped into the hospital for being inhumane. Conservative political thinkers have held this scenario up as a perfect example of the evils of big government, single-payer health systems, socialism, etc. There have even been death threats made against doctors and nurses at the treating hospital.

Most of the criticism of the hospital and the courts tends to come from conservative individuals who also tend to identify as "pro-life." And, the logic makes sense. If one is "pro-life," then naturally it should make sense to advocate for life at all costs. One cannot put a price tag on life, and so we should fight to keep people alive as long as possible and to take any possible option we can to save lives.

Cases like Charlie's often also get tossed into the "death with dignity" and euthanasia debates. Most conservative Christians would denounce euthanasia as an unethical medical practice as it attempts to "play God" by taking another person's life.

However, when I approach Charlie's case, I have two main thoughts. First, I think it's best if we all take a breath and calm down before speaking. I say that because situations like this are amazingly complex and fraught with all kinds of questions lacking clear cut answers.

On the one hand, I do think that Charlie's parents probably should have been allowed to pursue a treatment they thought might work. On the other hand, I also understand why the hospital wanted to oppose this. With no guarantee of success and a high risk of harm, allowing such a decision could almost be seen as a kind of child abuse.

When we enter this debate, we need to do so with humility and generosity towards the other side. I've seen various commentators repeatedly things like "the doctors have murdered the baby" or "the State wants the power to kill patients." But, we must remember that these are false caricatures. No one wanted Charlie to die. No one took pleasure in that decision. It is inappropriate to label the heartbreaking decisions of doctors who seek to save lives as "murder," let alone to threaten those doctors with actual murder.

But secondly, I also can't help but think of a question that has kept running through my mind throughout this whole ordeal--"When does our desire to save a life actually become a denial of death?"

Opposition to removing Charlie's life support has often been tagged as a "pro-life" position, but is it really? For one, I see this matter as very different from that of euthanasia. Typically, when we talk about euthanasia, we are talking about ending a person's life early to prevent the pain and suffering that will accompany a certain death. As a pro-life individual, I cannot get behind the number of "death with dignity" bills that have been introduced in recent years allowing doctor assisted suicide. Such an approach seems like "playing God" and seems to lapse too quickly into escapism and hopelessness.

In contrast, cases like Charlie's are different in that Charlie is already dead. That might seem harsh, but it is true. If the only reason a person is "alive" is because they are hooked up to machines that breathe for you and feed you and keep your brain and heart going, is that really living? Removing one's life support to allow a person to die naturally is a far cry from actively taking a drug to end one's life before natural causes have their way.

Such a distinction causes me to ponder if some of our "pro-life" shouting "on behalf of" Charlie is actually a refusal to accept death. Are we actually just afraid to confront the reality of death? The truth is Charlie will die, whether now or in 60 years. We all die. And, even sadder, many babies are born with problems that mean they will die before their first birthday. That is the reality of our broken world.

Now certainly, we should utilize medicine to minimize suffering and to find cures to reduce these deaths, but we also need to ask the question, "How far is too far?" At what point do we choose to accept the inevitable and surrender to the cold reality of death? Sure, we can endlessly grasp at more and more futile options to desperately save a life, but this does not echo of the Christian hope either. In some ways, running after every last possible treatment can also seem like "playing God" by trying to extend life when it's not reasonable to do so or when life has already practically ended.

Think about this same issue at the other end of the lifespan. A few years ago, my wife's grandmother died of cancer. She had tried various treatments for years with limited success. Some treatments not only made her incredibly sick, but even almost killed her. Toward the end of her life, she was given some newer, more experimental options, and she had to face this same question: "Do I try these with no guarantee of success and a high risk of more suffering, or do I commit myself to God's hands and enjoy this last bit of time I have with my friends and family?"

Now, there are some differences between an elderly person facing this choice and people like Charlie's parents. One has enjoyed a full, long life while the other hasn't. But we should consider the similarities. Both must wrestle with the inevitability of death.

So, does the pro-life position simply try to extend biological life, or is it something more? Isn't it also concerned about quality of life and about trusting in the God of life?

Think about what the situation would had looked like if Charlie's parents had faced the tragic reality that their son was going to die. What would it have looked like if they had thanked God for the chance to see their son, grieved over the loss of their son, and entrusted their son into God's hands?

What would it look like for the people of God to surround a family like this with a resurrection hope--a hope that says one day this evil will be made right? Yes, we grieve today that Charlie will never have the chance to run and play, but we hold onto the hope that our God raises the dead and that one day this child will be healthy and will finally have the chance to run and play on his own two legs.

None of this is to blame Charlie's parents. They were doing what they felt best in that situation. And that's the point. These are incredibly messy situations with no easy answers. We may never fully know what the correct action should have been. After all, how can we possibly answer the question of when to say goodbye to a loved one? Is there ever a good time to make that decision? Whether it is knowing when to stop futile treatments and seek palliative care for yourself, or deciding when to pull life support from a loved one, this is no easy decision.

So perhaps we as Christians should use moments like these to be people of grace and forgiveness, of patience and understanding. Rather than using it to bolster a political platform, perhaps we should use the time to be reminded of our own frailty, to grieve the loss of precious life, and to confront our our fears of death.

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What is "Home"?

In some ways, this is a follow-up post to yesterday's post. I just watched a powerful video containing a message to ISIS from Christians. While ISIS incites the world to violent conflict with its atrocities, and the world responds with a mission to "degrade and destroy" ISIS, this video speaks the Gospel-truth that not even ISIS warriors are beyond redemption if they will but heed the call of Jesus. Check out the video below:

Who Would Dare to Love ISIS? (A Letter from the People of the Cross)
Posted by International Christian Concern on Sunday, April 19, 2015

While there is certainly plenty to discuss with this video, I actually want to make a few brief observations about one of the comments on the video I saw. In the FB comments, one member posted about ISIS: "They don't realize when they kill a christian the are just sending them home."

Let's think about this statement for a second. Is this really what we mean to say? I think I know what the commenter is trying to get at, but the way the post is written is theologically problematic. What we should actually say here is that although those Christian martyrs were killed, they are now resting in the presence of God. My issue is with saying that killing those Christians has "sent them home."

So, what's wrong with calling heaven "home"? The problem is that such an idea buys into a gnostic/Platonic belief that physicality is evil or temporary and that our ultimate future is a disembodied state called "heaven." As I wrote about yesterday, the ultimate Christian hope is in the resurrection from the dead. Heaven is temporary. One day heaven and earth will be united as one (cf Rev. 21).

You see, if the above video comment is true and those martyrs are now "home," this has several problematic implications:

1. Death's evil is minimized
    If heaven is "home," then what does that make earth? If it's only a place I'm visiting, then shouldn't I try to get "home" as fast as possible. The answer to this is obviously "yes." In fact, the only reason I can see why we should linger longer and not commit suicide or seek to be murdered is we need to get other people to believe in Jesus so they can also live forever in heaven (oh wait, that seems to sum up the driving motivation of evangelicalism). We should also be careful whenever we celebrate the martyrdom of our Christian brothers and sisters. The Bible always maintains that death is an enemy. It is never to be viewed as a kind gateway to our true destiny. Rather, it is an evil obstacle God is working to overcome.

2. God made a mistake in creating the world
   If heaven is "home," then what kind of cruel God do we serve who banished us to an earthly existence? Why create matter at all? How can we call call heaven "home" when God Himself placed us on earth?

3. We dismiss the Bible
   Is there crying in heaven? Most people would say "no" because they have been tricked into believing that heaven is forever and that it is our "home." But I suppose those individuals have never seriously read passages like Rev. 6:9-11. This is a scene from heaven (slain martyrs), and yet it does not seem like a perfect paradise. Instead, the souls of these saints cry out and lament to God. They are waiting for something beyond heaven. They are waiting for judgment and resurrection. They are not truly home yet.

4. We dismiss any theology of judgment day.
    If judgment day is all about deciding who goes to heaven and who goes to hell, how does this square with the popular theology of people going directly to heaven or hell upon their death? If we arrive at "home" immediately upon death, then what does God's future judgment mean for us? Is God just going to say, "Ok, you get to be in heaven...oh, wait, you're already there"? No, Judgment Day is when God sets the world right. Everything the righteous lost through sin and death is restored and redeemed. The world experiences resurrection and recreation. Evil is finally put away for good. It is at this moment when heaven and earth are married that we can finally say we are "home."

Again, I appreciate the sentiments of the commenter, but they are theologically troublesome. If we really want to reach ISIS, we need to have a good grasp on the Gospel Jesus, Paul, and the early Christians preached, and it is a Gospel of resurrection. So to be clear, when ISIS martyrs our brothers and sisters, those fellow disciples of Jesus find peace in the arms of God. But they too, like us still on earth, are awaiting our true home--a resurrected reality where there is no more pain, murder, rape, sin, or death on earth. Maranatha.

If You had been here...

It has now been two weeks since Easter. This is the time of year when I always ponder whether or not we can truly claim to be a people of the resurrection. Each year comes with grandeur and glory. We proclaim "He is risen! He is risen indeed!" among stained glass windows and brilliant sunshine. We sing "Christ the Lord is Risen Today" while inhaling lily-infused air. We fill our sanctuary with bells, organ, guitars, cymbals, and strings. And the sermon, well it practically preaches itself. It is impossible to miss the Gospel truth of the Resurrection.

But give us two weeks, and we will largely forget all about resurrection. Yes, we still believe that Jesus was raised from the dead, but that is about as far as it goes. We dismiss the idea that the same spirit who raised Jesus is resurrecting our spirits in the here and now. We continue to ignore the truth that our bodies will one day be raised from the ground. But these are crucial truths that fill us with courage to live lives of faith in the midst of fear.

In John 11 we read the incredible story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. As I was reading this story today, I noticed that one statement (or versions of it) is made at least three times to Jesus in the story--"If you had been here, Lazarus wouldn't have died." Both Mary and Martha tell Jesus this (11:21, 32) and the crowd also wonders about this (11:37).

I don't know why this phrase stuck out to me in reading the story. Maybe it's because it echoes our own desires. We are, by nature, people who desire escape. No one likes suffering. And so, when evil does rear its head, we are left questioning God's love. "God, if you love me you will stop this from happening." "God, if you had been here, this would not have happened." Yet, implicit in this reasoning is the concept that God is our butler who must do whatever we think is best. Embedded in this thinking is a belief that we need to avoid pain at all costs.

When it comes to facing the reality of death, Americans take this same tack. Honestly, most American Christians take a very unbiblical approach to death. When confronted with the truth that our bodies are wearing out and will one day die, most of us simply deny that this is any real loss. We have bought into the Platonic idea that, once we die, our souls will fly off to a disembodied "heaven" and dwell there for eternity. It's as if we think, "If God really thought these bodies were a good idea, then he would stop us from dying. But since we die, He must intend for us to leave these bodies behind." I hear echoes of Mary, Martha, and the crowd--"If You had been here, he would not have died."

But Jesus is not afraid of death. He grieves it and weeps over it because death is evil, but He knows it is not the end. Instead, Jesus' message is that God's love is stronger than death and can turn the evil of death into an opportunity to glorify God.

Yes, God could stop our deaths, but death is the reality we created. We have all sinned, and so we all die. But the Gospel is not just about defeating death, it is about using death to defeat itself. It's about God being so powerful and loving that He takes what is broken and dead and breathes new life into it. What evil and death ruin, God takes and transforms into something even better. Our hope is that God is in the process of allowing death to occur to open the possibility of resurrection. We will die one day, but those who follow Jesus will experience a life raised from the death. And through the pain of it all, we will realize the glory, love, and brilliance of our King.

So after Easter, let's hold tight to a strong theology of resurrection--one that not only believes Jesus rose from the dead, but also believes we will be raised one day as well. If we do this, we will stop saying with the crowd, "If you had been here...," but will start saying, "I accept my death, but stand amazed in your power over death and loving willingness to raise this prodigal life." May we be a people who desire to redeem and restore, not to escape. May we be a resurrection people.

I leave you with this song as a reminder of what Jesus means for us post-Easter.