Lament, Joy and Hope in a Time of Pandemic

A few days ago I took a funeral service. Unlike several others recently, the death wasn't Covid-19 related. As the mourners gathered in the Crematorium, I  noticed that, despite the Funeral Director's best efforts,  many of them were taking no notice whatsoever of the social-distancing markers on the chairs. As a result, many rows were filled with people who clearly weren't all from one household or 'bubble'. To their credit, they were all wearing face masks, but as the service ended and they filed past me into the courtyard area, many of them huddled close together whilst others kissed and embraced. As several people were chatting, they either raised, lowered or removed their facemasks. 

Grief, of couse, is difficult enough to cope with at the best of times, and it's hardly surprising that mourners at a funeral either forget what precautions they need to be taking or abandon them because they simply find them all too much to bear in such sad circumstances. 

It's easy to be critical of those who, without the excuse of grief, seem to show a flagrant disregard for the current legislation and guidance regarding Covid-19. Some people are, without doubt, either selfish or stupid, but for others it's not quite so simple. 

One of the things many of us have learnt over these last few months is that we take our freedom and way of life very much for granted. Indeed we've become so accustomed to doing so that many people genuinely can't get their heads around how drastically things have changed. Some have found it much more difficult to adapt than others, and the reluctance to adopt new practices and the desperate and often dangerous rush back towards 'normality', surely stems at least partly from a sense of denial and an inability to actually face up to the harsh realities of the current situation. 

Underlying all of this is the fact that our modern society isn't good at confronting its own mortality. I can remember the time decades ago when, in common with most young people, I considered myself indestructible, but it's also true that in later life we shy away from the universal truth that death is the only certainty in our lives. Now that I'm in my sixties, my body has an infuriating habit of using various aches and pains and malfunctions to remind me on a daily basis that there's far more of my earthly life behind me than there is ahead of me, and it's a sobering thought. 

In an increasingly materialistic society in which happiness is so often sought in wealth and possessions and material security and in which our mortality is often subconsciously denied, it's no surprise that a life-threatening pandemic is just too scary to cope with. 

This is one area where I believe the Christian Church has something important to offer. We need to help people come to terms with their own mortality. But we need to do so - and be seen to do so - from a position of empathy and not in a way that is perceived as condescending or self-righteous.  As a first step in this process, we need to demontrate the ability and readiness to lament -  to recognise the awfulness of suffering and the reality of fear, pain and grief. The template is set before us in the Gospels in those two most beautiful and, tragically, so often debased words, 'Jesus wept'. 

I was talking recently with a friend who normally worships in a very busy, lively, evangelical church. He told me that, in common with some other members of the congregation, he didn't feel able to return there at the moment because he felt that the normal exuberance of worship would be missing due to congregational singing not being permitted - and that he wasn't convinced that the worship there, nor indeed the theology normally espoused - would helpfully address the current situation.  

As someone who identifies as a Charismatic Catholic, I have to say that I greatly miss some of our uplifting worship, and in particular the joyful worship songs, but like my friend, I also recognise that such worship would now feel to me at best rather incongruous and at worst contrived and insensitive. As a sacramentalist  I'm glad, therefore, that we can at least now gather around the altar once again to celebrate and receive the Eucharist, for its liturgical nuances speak eloquently into all aspects of the human condition. In the Eucharist death and resurrection, lament and rejoicing meet.

None of this is intended to imply any criticism of those who espouse a more evangelical approach to worship, rather I'm simply expressing my own feelings and spiritual struggles.  The challenge for Christians of all shades is to engage appropriately with the sufferings and sadness of our times, to share the message of hope that lies at the heart of the Gospel, and to continue living and worshipping joyfully. 

I often tell individuals and congregations that joy isn't a superficial happiness but is a profound spiritual gift that enables us to engage fully with the realities of sadness, grief and distress with a sense of hope and peace. It is this deep quality of joy that our society so desperately needs at the moment. For those of us who go to Mass and celebrate that eternal mystery of lament and joy, the most important words come at the very end of the liturgy. 'Go in peace to love and serve the Lord'. 

At this time of pandemic, that service surely means lamenting with those who lament, helping others to embrace their mortality not with fear but with hope, and sharing the joyful message of God's love that  lies at the heart of our faith.