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I heard someone say this week, "If we are going to put our faith in things other than Christ, the smallest thing possible--a virus--will shake that to the core."
In the wee hours of yesterday morning, Easter morning, we went through the house waking the children and telling them to assemble downstairs. We were under a tornado warning. My six-year-old sat in my lap and put his head on my shoulder. "I'm scared," he whispered. I did not know how to console him; I could not make promises I had no power to keep. But I rubbed his back and prayed silently, "You are the Author of Calamity, and You are able to do whatever You will. I am asking for your mercy. I am asking if you would keep us safe." Twenty minutes later the storm had passed. We were unharmed.
But I have been chewing on the unusual timing. Here we are in the middle of a worldwide quarantine. And you can't seek storm shelter and social distance at the same time. Legitimately huge or unfortunately overblown, God has used this little virus to bring the whole planet to its knees. And then He sent the storm that sent us scurrying for cover where there was little to be found. From Texas to North Carolina.
Can you hear me now?
Funny. On the one hand, Italy and New York City have been hit extremely hard by this virus. On the other hand, we are a month into this, and zero people in my social circle have told me they tested positive. I am not here implying that I have omniscience over the health of every single person of my acquaintance. But, thus far, there is no stigma associated with the virus and, therefore no reason for me to think people are being furtive. And I am not the only one. Zero? A month in? In different locales?
Funny. On the one hand, I am told that half the people who have it are asymptomatic. On the other hand, responsible science should prevent us from making claims we do not have the ability to verify. Maybe everyone who has the virus is symptomatic. We. do. not. know. And we can not know.
Funny. On the one hand, I stand six feet back during my necessary excursions into the grocery store as a way to respect the fearful and vulnerable. On the other hand, I stand six feet back because this might be legit.
Funny. On the one hand, our family obeys the civil magistrate because that is what believers do. On the other hand, this is a jurisdictional travesty of Kuyperian proportions. Civil government protect personal liberties and punish infringers of said liberties; self-government takes personal responsibility.
Not quite as funny. On the one hand, we keep reminding each other that the second greatest commandment must inform our behavior. Enough already; we get it. It's one thing to present the second commandment for our consideration as we live in this time; it is another thing entirely to position ourselves as the final arbiters of what it actually means to love our neighbor. On the other hand, I have not seen one person present the greatest commandment for our consideration at this time. Not. a. single. soul.
So, yeah, I know little for certain. But I am certain of this:
On the one hand, Jesus is Lord over quarantines and diseases, tornadoes and tyrants. The nations rage, and the Lord laughs. On the other hand, Jesus is Lord of His Creation and of His nation, the Church, and we laugh with Him.
The secret things belong to the Lord our God, but the things that are revealed belong to us and to our children forever, that we may do all the words of this law. Deut. 29:29
So laugh at the days to come.
And if you're not laughing? You might just need to repent.
