A dreadful day
What a dreadful day! (Joel 1:15)
Yesterday was a day of devastation, a dreadful day. A man died. Now I know every day people die, not just of COVID-19 but of many other things, including old age, but this was different. A man we had been praying for, with young children, lost his battle with the virus and died.
As a vicar I am, of course, well acquainted with death. I have had to help a number of people over the last few years say goodbye to their loved ones. And I am not one of those vicars for whom this has become routine. Every time I share in their loss. I grieve with the family. Sometimes, in this close community, I have also grieved for myself, for I have been helping the family to mourn someone I have come to know as a friend. But this felt different.
In my life I have not been someone who avoids risk. I've climbed snowy mountains, canoed white-watered rivers, waded flooded streams and driven fast down narrow roads. No more of course and my children will laugh at the idea that I used to be a risk taker, but on a number of occasions I have looked death in the face. One time I most certainly should not have survived, and can only blame my parents' prayers and God's strange selection for keeping me here. But this felt different.
My usual mode when I hear of someone else's loss is to seek to comfort them. Indeed, I've done so twice in the last few days. It feels right and natural to offer a friendly ear and a comforting word. To share for a moment with them in their loss and to walk alongside, giving support and hopefulness. But this felt different.
What it did was turn me in on myself. I spent the day being irritatingly self-centred. I hid away when I should have been helping, distracting myself with old episodes of Top Gear. When some minor thing went wrong in the family, instead of laughing and shrugging it off, I became morose and inward focussed. Instead of thinking of others, not least the grieving family, I thought of myself.
I recognise this instinct now in all those empty shelves. Others had gone through exactly the same thing I was going through. They had been shocked and frightened by what they had heard and turned inward. They had grabbed what they could to look after number one (and in many cases numbers two to five too). It was the instinct to self preservation, written large across our screens and feeds.
So what is it? Well the old preacher will tell you. SIN has I in the middle. Sin is not doing bad things or disobeying God's rules. At it's heart is not selfishness, or wrongness, or even evil. Sin is the instinct to turn in. Sin is that inward driving force that turns away from God and towards ourselves. That's why it's original sin. Not some strange genetic imprint passed down by sexual intercourse, but the essential directive in human beings to hunker down inside their own heads.
So as I sit and write, I know I have another story to follow, another path to walk. It is the path away from myself and towards a loving God. Something about an infectious disease that kills, something about this Plague, turns me inward, reveals the real nature of my heart and I need to find a way out.
If this is you too, then the route is well trodden. Turn away from sin and to the living God, for he is like a father running towards you with open arms, longing to embrace. If you are hunkering down by the TV set, turn it off for a moment and pray, 'Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done'.
Yesterday was a day of devastation, a dreadful day. A man died. Now I know every day people die, not just of COVID-19 but of many other things, including old age, but this was different. A man we had been praying for, with young children, lost his battle with the virus and died.
As a vicar I am, of course, well acquainted with death. I have had to help a number of people over the last few years say goodbye to their loved ones. And I am not one of those vicars for whom this has become routine. Every time I share in their loss. I grieve with the family. Sometimes, in this close community, I have also grieved for myself, for I have been helping the family to mourn someone I have come to know as a friend. But this felt different.
In my life I have not been someone who avoids risk. I've climbed snowy mountains, canoed white-watered rivers, waded flooded streams and driven fast down narrow roads. No more of course and my children will laugh at the idea that I used to be a risk taker, but on a number of occasions I have looked death in the face. One time I most certainly should not have survived, and can only blame my parents' prayers and God's strange selection for keeping me here. But this felt different.
My usual mode when I hear of someone else's loss is to seek to comfort them. Indeed, I've done so twice in the last few days. It feels right and natural to offer a friendly ear and a comforting word. To share for a moment with them in their loss and to walk alongside, giving support and hopefulness. But this felt different.
What it did was turn me in on myself. I spent the day being irritatingly self-centred. I hid away when I should have been helping, distracting myself with old episodes of Top Gear. When some minor thing went wrong in the family, instead of laughing and shrugging it off, I became morose and inward focussed. Instead of thinking of others, not least the grieving family, I thought of myself.
I recognise this instinct now in all those empty shelves. Others had gone through exactly the same thing I was going through. They had been shocked and frightened by what they had heard and turned inward. They had grabbed what they could to look after number one (and in many cases numbers two to five too). It was the instinct to self preservation, written large across our screens and feeds.
So what is it? Well the old preacher will tell you. SIN has I in the middle. Sin is not doing bad things or disobeying God's rules. At it's heart is not selfishness, or wrongness, or even evil. Sin is the instinct to turn in. Sin is that inward driving force that turns away from God and towards ourselves. That's why it's original sin. Not some strange genetic imprint passed down by sexual intercourse, but the essential directive in human beings to hunker down inside their own heads.
So as I sit and write, I know I have another story to follow, another path to walk. It is the path away from myself and towards a loving God. Something about an infectious disease that kills, something about this Plague, turns me inward, reveals the real nature of my heart and I need to find a way out.
If this is you too, then the route is well trodden. Turn away from sin and to the living God, for he is like a father running towards you with open arms, longing to embrace. If you are hunkering down by the TV set, turn it off for a moment and pray, 'Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done'.
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| Marshwood graveyard, with distant views to the sea |
George, our hamlet has come together magnificently with residents setting up a Whatsapp support group and a great feeling of neighbourliness and common purpose around. But your writing above prompts me to reflect on some neighbours' thoughts beginning to turn inwards, even using the word 'vigilante' to ward off the threat from 'strangers'. I should not and am not judging them, but I hope your words and thoughts above might reach them.
ReplyDeleteJohn Donne wrote some four centuries ago:
ReplyDeleteNo man is an island, entire of itself;
Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were:
as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were.
Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind.
And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls;
It tolls for thee.
George,
ReplyDeleteYou, Alison and family are in our thoughts are prayers.
The daily briefings from govt that show the grim stats of this horrid virus can shake us. Then the stories of some of those taken are shown on the news and they are no longer statistics to us. We see their faces and hear from their loved ones. For me, it's then I comprehend how real this is, and what could happen to MY family, friends and neighbours. That's sobering and tests my faith so much.
It's ok to be as you say you were yesterday. I keep meaning to read Pete Grieg's God on Mute. I hope this link takes you to a 3 minute clip of Pete talking about God's unanswered prayer. Something we all struggle with.https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTyEo83Y0Fg
Take care.