Theological Virus

March 20, 2020

Life has slowed down around here. Our governor’s decree shuttering businesses deemed non-essential has produced an almost eerie sense of impending doom. We won’t be gathering for worship Sunday—something I haven’t missed in years except for sickness. Earlier today, upon reading some entries in a clergy WhatsApp group, I posed a question. I quote:

“I know I’m just an old curmudgeon, but at what point to we Christians refuse to burn that pinch of incense and say, “Caesar (or Cuomo) is Lord?” A pastor’s job is in part, to protect the flock, but are we protecting people from a virus at the cost of exposing them to spiritual, social, and perhaps political bondage? What are the theological implications of our responses to such directives?”

The responses to my question dealt only with the wisdom of following medical advice, the need to protect our vulnerable parishoners, etc. When I went to seminary a lifetime ago, we were taught that of all people, we pastors needed to think theologically about life issues. “No one else will do that,” we were told. Not a single respondent even tried to deal with my theological question. 

I have no beef with pastors who decide to close their churches because of this virus. I understand their concern for the elderly (of which I am officially, a member). My question was simply to ask, “Who is Lord? Who gets to make these decisions?” I hope I can be forgiven for my concern over the blurring of the boundaries between church and state, but the issue of ultimate loyalty has always been at the heart of the Gospel, and considering the theological implications of what is happening in our world is not a side issue. I for one, am thankful that Jesus Christ is the One to whom I owe ultimate loyalty. He alone sees clearly and loves completely, no matter what.

On a lighter note, as Linda and I were working in the yard today (the temperature hit the mid-fifties, making yard work a pleasant interlude from our government-imposed isolation), we decided to bring out the patio furniture that was stored in the basement. She went down the stairs to open the cellar door, but couldn’t do it. Turns out, the entry block wall had partially collapsed. We hadn’t noticed it from outside, but there was no mistaking it. Why is this a lighter note, you ask? Because we had already determined to build a laundry room right over that entry, and needed to remove it in order to lay the foundation for the larger room above. As long as it had to come down anyway, there is no harm, no foul. As a matter of fact, it makes the job a bit easier. God sometimes looks out for us in the strangest of ways.