Five Weeks In: The Tricksy Virus

On March 12, I started having symptoms of the novel coronavirus.  On April 8, I posted on Facebook that I was finally feeling like myself, and I was.  But this virus is tricksy, as Gollum would say.  The image above is from Gandalf's fight with the Balrog in the first Lord of the Rings movie.  Towards the end of the battle, Gandalf drives his staff into the ground and declares "You shall not pass!" The stone bridge on which the Balrog approaches cracks and sends the gargantuan monster falling to the depths of the Mines of Moria.  As Gandalf starts to rejoin his companions, the Balrog's fiery whip snaps up and wraps around Gandalf, pulling him down, too.  Just when you think Gandalf has won, he slips over the edge.

That is the image that keeps coming to mind with this virus.  For a couple of weeks in the middle, I actually thought I was in the final stages of recovery. Perhaps I didn't quite have normal energy levels, but they were high enough.  Two steps forward, one step back - work and rest.  All through Holy Week, I had the stamina to work during the day for Bruton and SpiritWorks and then do services in the evening.  Until Easter.  Once again it was like the Balrog whip wrapped itself around me and yanked me down.  During Easter week I had more tightness of chest and shallow breathing than I did when I was much sicker.  And the fatigue. Taking a shower in the morning and coming downstairs is enough to put me back on the couch for a time until I can regain strength to get breakfast.

From what I've read, the tricksy return of symptoms is normal for some people. Fortunately I haven't had the version where two weeks in you take a sharp downward turn and land in the hospital.  But I'm now entering the 6th week of this virus, and I'm weary of it.

On Saturday, my bishop directed me to stop working until I've fully recovered.  Since I'm a classic workaholic and codependent, I am grateful for her wisdom.  On Monday, I called the doctor's office and explained how long I'd had symptoms.  The doctor said, "It's time for you to know for sure what this is."  So I trundled off to Urgent Care to be tested.  The test is a battle in and of itself, but that is a story for another post.  Suffice it to say it's not fun.  I nearly passed out.  Yesterday I got the results - positive for COVID-19.  The monster still has a grip on me, though not the death grip that many have experienced.

The health department is confused by my case because the symptoms have lasted much longer than those of most people.  But they also know that it is tricksy, and so they have encouraged rest and fluids and a new seven day quarantine.  No argument here. My cough and shortness of breath have pretty much disappeared, but the fatigue remains.

Spoiler alert:  we do learn in the 2nd Lord of the Rings movie that Gandalf and the Balrog have quite the battle as they continue to fall through Moria, and eventually Gandalf kills the Balrog, though things go dark for a time while he is transformed into a new version of himself.  My fight with Covid-19 does not require superior magical powers or force or a wizard's staff.  Apparently my battle with the virus requires one thing - rest.

In his fight with the Balrog, Gandalf the Grey is transformed into Gandalf the White.  I can't help but wonder what transformation I'm undergoing as I wait for the virus to let go of me.  What transformation is the world undergoing?  What are we meant to learn from this virus?  Will we learn it?

I don't have any answers.  But I have surrendered at last. The virus can't be beat through force; I must completely rest for my body to heal.  How grateful I am that I have the means and support to do so.  Thank you for all the prayers and positive thoughts - truly they have sustained me.  I'll keep you posted on how the transformation is going.

The Triumph of Love

Yesterday morning, I woke up sad.  Now that may seem backwards.  But so has everything this Lent and Holy Week.  On Palm Sunday I learned that we had lost a young man in the SpiritWorks community to a fatal overdose.  On Monday of Holy Week, I let my sweet, loving cat, Spirit, return to the care of her Creator.  I grieved that day, and then I plunged into the work of preparing for Holy Week liturgies.  Proofing bulletins and creating Noonday Prayer and Compline videos.  Learning to use the new camera so we could livestream all our Bruton services.  Attending daily Zoom meetings and answering emails.  When you're busy, you don't have to feel much.

Maundy Thursday service went well, and then it was Good Friday.  Talk about backwards.  I spent the day practicing the Exsultet and writing my Easter Vigil sermon.  I was in Easter before I had reached Good Friday, but we were recording the Vigil right after the livestream of Good Friday.  Liturgical whiplash!  All day it felt wrong to be singing Alleluia, but I decided that I'd already experienced Good Friday this Lent with the pandemic and the deaths.  It was okay.

Holy Saturday, I got to walk the labyrinth.  And rest.  And Easter morning, I woke up sad.  I had to remind myself that it was Easter, but even the reminder didn't bring the usual smile of joy.  Tears lurked behind my eyes, threatening to slip down my cheeks.  As I glanced through my email, I saw  that a message had come in from Christ and St. Luke's, the church that sponsored me for ordination.  It was the link to their Easter service. (View here.)  I decided to "attend" the video while I ate my breakfast.

Like a child returning to the comfort of her mother, I returned the church that had been the spiritual home of my young adulthood.  And I was nurtured yesterday as surely as I had been nurtured 25 years ago.  The sound of brass playing Easter hymns lifted my spirits, and video footage of that beautiful church reminded me of other happy Easters, long before I knew the joy of Easter as a  priest.  And then came Win Lewis' sermon.  Win is the first person I ever wrote a fan letter to, and it was because of his sermons.  He was the Associate Rector when I attended in the 90s, and his sermons always spoke to me.  He preached about Easter as the triumph of love, telling stories of how love overcomes grief, bitterness, trauma, hatred, and death, preventing those things from having the final word.   He quoted Corrie Ten Boom - "There is no pit so deep that God's love is not deeper still."

He also quoted his New Testament professor who said, "Resurrection is not resuscitation."  It's not resuscitation of the old; resurrection is the transformation into something new.

In my own Easter Vigil sermon, I had preached that saying "Alleluia" in this time doesn't mean we have to pretend to feel happy when we're not.  Yesterday morning, I heard my own words.  It didn't matter that I didn't feel joyous on Easter morning.  It was okay to be sad.  It was okay to be where I was.  Resurrection is not up to me.  It's up to God.  If I do not insist on being resuscitated into myself before the pandemic, God will transform me into something new.  Love triumphs over everything.  Death, grief, pandemics, isolation, despair do not have the final word.   Love has the final word.

In that moment as I sat curled up on my couch, I heard God speaking to me through Win Lewis, and I knew it was okay to be where I was, to feel what I was feeling.  Being sad on Easter doesn't mean that Christ isn't risen.  Christ is risen indeed.  Alleluia.  A bit later, walking through the churchyard before the Bruton service, I took the picture above.  Standing amid graves and viewing the Easter lilies, I heard the words of our burial office, "In the midst of life, we are in the midst of death.  Yet even at the grave we make our song, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia."

On Good Friday, my rector, Chris Epperson preached that two things can be true at the same time. I can say, "Alleluia" while feeling sad.  I may be sad for awhile, but that doesn't mean that Easter didn't come.  Easter comes whenever love triumphs. Even my grief is a triumph of love, for if I had not loved, I would not grieve.

Happy Easter, everyone.

How Will We Be Changed?

I know this may sound strange, but I can feel the virus inside me.  When I take a deep breath, it's there, lurking in my lungs.  Fortunately it is not winning, not with me, not so far.  But because I feel it, I keep resting.  I fear that if I push too hard, I will give it room to grow and spread.  And so I continue to rest.  I believe that I will know when it is gone, and I hope that I will have been changed for the better.

Halfway through the first week of this virus, Jan shared this video with me.  A colleague of hers from Romania got it from a colleague in Jerusalem.  I keep watching it because I find it to be so powerful.  The idea that the virus has shaken us, has stopped us, has undermined everything, and is giving us the opportunity to reimagine how we want the world to be challenges me with each viewing.  

If we could create the world anew, what we we change?  

How would we like to live differently?  

How would we want to use our time, our money, our gifts?  

One of the things I'm valuing in this time is reconnecting with so many people via Zoom and Facebook live and other virtual channels.  If we weren't stuck in our houses, we wouldn't be making these connections.  We'd think about it, sure, but there wouldn't be time.  How can we do that differently going forward?

In the video the narrator says, "This virus is part of us.  It's between us, in us."  This virus is now in me; I can feel it.  It's in us, between us, connecting us in ways we didn't expect.  We are not alone.  We belong to something greater than us.  We belong to each other.  My dear friends, maybe we're getting a do-over.  With the earth, our fragile home.  With each other.  Someone asked me if I thought God was testing us.  Of course it's possible, as I do not know the mind of God.  But I don't believe that's what's happening.  I believe God is with us in this, as God is always with God's people.  I believe God redeems everything.  I don't know how, but I already see so many signs of it.

Shelter in grace is a phrase I picked up from a reflection that came in my email.  Shelter in grace, my friends.  Listen to your bodies.  Listen to the earth.  Listen to each other.  Listen deep inside.  We may just have history's biggest do-over.  We may have the chance to offer grace to this new world that's being birthed.  When the virus leaves us, what will we choose to do?

Coronavirus: Ten Days In

Every night I tell myself I'm going to do better the next day.  Every morning, I get up, make my bed, take a shower, dress in actual clothes, not pajamas (I'm afraid I'll never get out of them), and then I'm wiped out.  To the couch I go, with a bowl of Kashi cereal and a cup of hot tea.  Another day of rest.

On March 12, I started to feel off.  Chills, achey back, and that feverish fatigue-y feeling that makes me not feel quite present in a room.  After my last meeting, I went home.  Temperature was 99.5.  High for me, but not as high as they'd been suggesting would indicate having the coronavirus.  The next day I felt well enough to do an outdoor burial, staying far from the handful of participants, after which I went immediately back home.

I've been in my house ever since.  I've been tracking my symptoms.  Temperature has remained largely at 98.8 or lower with a couple of bumps to 99.2.  Back ache remained for a few days.  All day one day I had a headache.  Diarrhea has come and gone.  A cough developed after the first few days.  It's been productive and not nearly as bad as some coughs I've had.  The fatigue, though.  Climbing stairs leaves me short of breath.  Participating in Zoom meetings and phone calls insures I'll need a nap.  I've had little to no appetite and have had to force myself to eat to keep up strength.  Every night I tell myself I'm going to get things done the next day - start cleaning the house, working on my taxes, answering emails, checking on people who are shut in or sicker than I am.  And I do a few things, but there is no energy.  On Tuesday night we had a Mission and Outreach meeting via Zoom.  So good to see everyone's face.  Every day we do a SpiritWorks noon meeting by Zoom and offer support to our volunteers.  At the end of each day, I am exhausted.  Fortunately I've been able to sleep.

On Wednesday I started to experience some shortness of breath and tightness in my chest.  That was probably the scariest moment.  I laid down on the couch, watched the Harry Potter movie I was on, (my internet isn't working properly either, so I'm watching DVDs) and went to sleep.  Fortunately by Thursday, the shortness of breath had disappeared, and that afternoon I had my first beginnings of energy since this had started.  The Indigo Girls played a Facebook live concert that lifted my spirits.

On Friday I learned that some people I've been exposed to are positive for COVID-19.  I called the health department.  They recommended testing, but said if I didn't feel up to it, I should stay home.  Every time I've looked at the instructions for testing, I haven't met the criteria.  And the thought of the effort it would take to leave my house sends me back to napping.  As I've heard about more cases in Williamsburg, I thought staying home was the best plan.  Since the first day I have assumed I have it and have quarantined myself.  People much sicker than I am need tests and the attention of our hard working health care workers.  Confirming I have it would not change my course of treatment or the fact that I will stay quarantined past the last vestige of a symptom.

Though I had started to feel much better, the great fatigue returned Saturday afternoon and lingered through Sunday.  More couch time, less talking on the phone.  I have finished all Harry Potter movies and am headed into Downton Abbey.  If you get this thing, don't be surprised that it packs more than one punch.  Listen to your body.  Rest.  Rest.  Rest.

On Friday night kind parishioners left a vase of daffodils on my front porch.  It made my weekend - spring came inside the house.  On Saturday I ordered dinner from Sal's.  They had it on my porch in less than half an hour.  Countless people have volunteered to bring groceries when I need them. I cannot express my gratitude for the goodness and kindness I have seen in people.  Ten days in, I am counting my many, many blessings.  And also praying for those who have it so much worse than I do.

Looking for Hope

Sunday's sermon is up.  The text is here.  

Over the past year my process for writing a sermon has been changing.  When I first started, I wrote my sermons way in advance and practiced them over and over to get them perfectly polished for the day.  Once I was ordained and in full time ministry, that ceased to be practical, but I always went to bed on Saturday night with a sermon written.  I couldn't sleep otherwise.  However late, I would finish it.  I might tweak a line or two on Sunday morning or during delivery, but basically what I had on Saturday night was what was what it was going to be.  

My process has been evolving into a more stressful process that involves less sleep.  Now on Saturday night, I frequently have something written, but it's not quite right.  And then on Sunday morning at 5:30 am, usually in the shower, I get the inspiration for fixing it.  Then I scramble to edit it in time for church.

This past Saturday I went to bed without a sermon.  Not because I hadn't been working on it for most of the day or thinking about it for most of the week.  It just wouldn't come.  I had too much to say.  I'd seen the movie, Just Mercy, that afternoon and wanted to include it along with so many things going on in the world.  Trying to figure out how the scriptures were connected and could provide guidance, comfort, challenge, or insight into these events.  Tossing around big abstract words like hope, justice, mercy, and peace, and struggling to make them concrete without being partisan or suggesting there's one right way to achieve them.  I hear my brother and sister preachers suggesting we have to address things going on in the world specifically and directly, but I have to be careful that I'm not just preaching the Gospel according to Lauren.  And I want people to be able to hear the Good News, whether they agree with me on certain issues or not.  It's a real wrestling match.

So on Saturday night at 11pm, I realized I was getting nowhere.  What I had was boring.  I didn't know what my point was, and I knew I wasn't going to get it finished.  I needed sleep.  I went to bed, set my alarm even earlier, and actually slept.  When I woke up I said, "Okay, God, we've gotta get something written."  And, as usual, in the shower, it started to become clear.  I rushed downstairs to start writing.  But there wasn't enough time, and I really needed to be dressed to go to church.  I hit print, and took what I had, but there wasn't an ending, and I hadn't had time to read over it.  I had a selection of different paragraphs at the end, not sure where they would go.

When I preached at 7:30am, it felt like a mess to me.  The order was all wrong.  I did my best to tie it all together, but then I hurried to my office before the next service to fix it.  Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time, so I was running down the sidewalk at 9:14 to get to the 9:15 service.  Somehow God must have played a little with time, because I was walking in the door at 9:14 and by 9:16 I had put the sermon in the pulpit, gone to the sacristy and vested, come out to thank the rector for waiting for me, and was standing in the back ready to process.  "This is too stressful, God," I prayed several times over the course of the process.  

But this is what I've learned.  Even though sometimes I worry that I'm just satisfying my ego with all this last minute polishing, trying to make the "perfect" sermon, the truth is that the rewritten versions are SO MUCH BETTER than what I have before I go to sleep.  Sadly, it sometimes takes me the whole morning to get to a coherent message with a solid point.  And no, preaching extemporaneously is not the solution.  I'm not a straightforward thinker, and though I can kind of wing it on mid-week services, I ramble and repeat myself over and over and over when I try to preach without a manuscript.

My point this week is about hope and placing it in God.  Apparently, from the feedback I've received, it was a message people needed to hear.  If I hadn't been willing to keep working on it, I wouldn't have gotten there.  I'm grateful that I'm learning to hear the Holy Spirit on Sunday morning, even though I sure wish she would show up a little earlier in the week.  But I'll take it and give thanks for the opportunity to let God speak through me.

Slow Thinker: Blessing or Curse

You've heard of slow cookers?  Well, my brain is a slow thinker.  If you're looking to me for Instant Pot answers or explanations or ideas, you've come to the wrong place.  Things have to simmer quite a while before I figure out what I think.  Now before y'all start fussing and telling me that I think just fine and I don't need to be so hard on myself, this isn't a criticism of my brain; it's an observation.  I've observed that I think slowly.  Sometimes it's a blessing, and sometimes it's a curse.  Sometimes it simply is.

I've always been careful about decisions large or small in my personal life.  Christmas shopping takes me forever because I have to go around to all the stores and see what the possibilities are before committing to purchasing something.  When I was younger, back when all shopping happened at the mall, I had to visit every store to see what they had.  Once the circuit was complete, I would double back, finally certain of what I wanted to buy.  Christmas shopping with me is a lengthy process.  Online doesn't help much - items lay stranded in my cart for months before I'm ready to hit "purchase." Sometimes the purchases never get made because I simply can't decide.  That's when the slow thinking is not helpful.

With big decisions I'm also slow.  I don't know until I know.  All the possibilities have to marinate before I'm ready to put the meat on the grill.  Whether I'm buying a car, deciding which seminary to attend, choosing my health insurance, or discerning call, I need time.  This can be frustrating to those around me, and even to me, but I can't decide until I've weighed the variables, considered the options, consulted with wise advisors, listened for God, and then waited until I know.  How do I know?  I can't tell you.  But when I know, I know, and when I finally do know, I can act pretty quickly, sometimes to the surprise of others.  Until then it's waiting for the slow cooker to finish.

Slow thinking can be a real challenge in ministry.  I don't enjoy teaching much, because people always have questions, and I rarely have quick answers.  Newsletter article writing, sermon writing, program planning, announcement creating all need to be done at a faster pace than I easily move.  And being Acting Rector at Bruton this year highlighted how slow my brain is.  Each day issues and questions came flying at me faster than I could process them.  Unlike Katniss in The Hunger Games, my reaction time is slow - I wouldn't have made it far in those contests. I learned to step it up a bit, but to the end, I continually felt like I was moving through Jello when I needed to be a Nascar driver.

Our world is fast moving, and technology has made it so much faster.  You snooze, you lose, as they say.  There's nothing wrong with slow cookers or crock pots - they perform very valuable services.  We need more slow thinkers - or perhaps more slow responders.  Impulsively saying or posting every thought that comes in our minds doesn't seem to be enhancing the global conversation.  But in a world of Instant Pot, the slow thinkers are often too far behind to contribute.  I love to listen to witty banter, and sometimes I really wish I could make strong points in a debate, but by the time I've thought of what I want to say, the moment has passed. Seems best to observe from the sidelines though that can mean my voice isn't heard.

Most of the time I don't mind being a slow thinker.  I like that I take time to consider decisions and I don't jump into things hastily and then have to back out with regret.  Giving food time to marinate is a good thing - brings a lot of flavor to what you're cooking.  While the cook is out getting things done, the pot simmers along, ready at the end of the day.  I admit that sometimes, I wish I could just dump the options in the Instant Pot and have the decision made quickly!  Better yet, how bout the Microwave?

When I'm the person in charge, being a slow thinker often feels like a curse, but overall, I consider it to be a blessing.  In 2020 I sense that some of the things that have been simmering on the back burner of my brain may be just about done.  I'm eager to see how they'll taste!

Deus Nobiscum: God With Us

On the First Sunday of Advent, I preached this sermon.  The text is here.  In it I spoke about my experience in the theatre with deus ex machina or "God from a machine" who descends from on high to fix all the problems.  I made the case that instead of that Greek tragedy kind of a god, Christianity has deus nobiscum, Emmanuel, "God with us."  On this 8th day of Christmas, this first day of a new year, this first day of a new decade, I think I could preach the same sermon.  God is not coming to magically resolve all of our issues with the wave of a magic wand (as much as I often wish that were so.)  Rather, God is here with us, in the midst of our suffering, in the midst of our joy.  God is here with us, loving us, equipping us, crying with us, and rejoicing with us each and every day.  May each and every one of us know God's presence with us and do our part in this new year to be the people God created us to be.