Last week I posted a picture of the inside of my refrigerator on the internet for all the world to see.
This morning I dove to shut my bedroom door as I was getting dressed and my kiddo almost showed my nearly naked body to her fourth-grade class on a video call.
Here in New Jersey we are halfway through week four of distance learning and trying to work from home. We are in week three of a shelter-in-place order from the governor with no end date in site. The list of places we can leave the house and go to is shrinking daily. Some local hiking trails had to be closed because social distancing wasn’t happening. It is, of course, entirely frustrating and entirely necessary because we humans are always trying to find loopholes in the rules just to see each other. We are all missing some forms of human contact. We were made to be in community and relationship! For us churchgoers, the novelty of going to church online has worn off and we are longing to sing together, to hug each other, to pass the peace and to partake in that tiny morsel of bread and sip of grape juice.
Sometimes I can feel helpless amid all of this. I am a natural helper (shout-out to my fellow enneagram 2s!). So when a situation arises, I want to help. Right now, the best way I can be a helper is to stay home, to keep worshipping from afar and to lead my people by example. I am getting creative in the ways I can help people during a pandemic. The one thing I know I can do is listen, so I am listening to church folks, to friends, family, neighbors, colleagues and those I volunteer with. I can be a cheerleader for my family and friends who work in medicine, as first responders, store clerks, delivery persons and everyone else who has to go out there and face this virus head on. I can also be a cheerleader for folks who are at home trying desperately to cope with this sudden new and isolating way of life.
The other night, a friend who is an emergency department nurse sent me a selfie after his shift. There was a bright red outline where a mask had been on his face all day. My eyes teared up a little bit and my breath caught in my throat. It was such a tangible sign of all that is happening in our world. I cannot fathom the chaos, tragedy and fear unfolding in our hospital emergency rooms right now. I have worked in a few as a chaplain and I know that these are hard places to be on a regular Wednesday, let alone during a pandemic. I pray fervently for everyone working in hospitals and clinics: nurses, doctors, food service, techs, housekeeping, all of them. Prayer is the most I can do right now. I know there are tons of other folks to pray for too — don’t worry, I am praying for everyone as we adjust.
The next morning, I had conversations with three different people I love who were in tears because all of it was just becoming too much to handle. (I had cried the night before.) All of them tried to downplay what they experienced because they aren’t a doctor or an EMT. I am praying for these folks just as earnestly. I have been reflecting on the grief we are all experiencing as a result of this pandemic and all that has been lost. Lives lost, celebrations, schedules, funerals, weddings, a sense of safety, and so much more. There is a lot to grieve right now. It reminds me of those disorienting moments after you first hear that a love one has died. You understand the information, but you must fit it into your life now. In an instant, everything changes; we are off balance. This is what we have collectively experienced in these past several weeks. We are also experiencing collective trauma, every one of us, and we can’t even begin to compare the different ways we are experiencing that trauma.
How my friend from the hospital experiences this is going to be different from the one who is crying because it’s all too much to handle. Both are equally valid experiences. Last week when I posted a picture of my clean and orderly fridge online, I made a funny comment about how it was proof this could happen. Do you know what I didn’t say? My scouring the fridge was not a product of extra time or boredom. It is a straight up response to the trauma and grief I am experiencing. For two glorious hours, I felt like I had control of something: the contents of my fridge. I have continued to work on projects like this; it is how I cope when things feel out of control.
Our lives have changed in a matter of days. Four weeks ago I would have never dreamed I would be diving across a room to shut the door so the fourth-grade class didn’t see me in my birthday suit. Our routines no longer exist. Everything we once did freely without much thought now takes an entirely new thought process. It is easy to fall into the Facebook wars of who has it worse, who is the biggest hero, demanding we focus on the positive, that we practice gratitude, or comparing ourselves to Anne Frank.
You all — it is OK to be entirely overwhelmed. It is OK to not see the positive, or to live through a day without gratitude. It is OK to be absolutely terrified to go into to work. It is OK to get frustrated and vent to people who hold that space for us.
We are in this together, we are praying together (yet apart), and we are all going to bring different concerns before God in our prayers. Some are going to pray for the hospital staff, some for the absolutely overwhelmed parents, some for the grieving, some for the sick. This is exactly what we need to be doing. My prayer is no more important than yours. Just like Paul writes about the body of Christ (the church… that’s us) having many different parts to make a whole, we need all our voices in prayer right now so that no one is left out. Let us continue to join our voices in prayer and remember to have grace with one another.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
REBECCA GRESHAM-KESNER is pastor at Faith Presbyterian Church in Medford, New Jersey. Outside of church and family life, you can find her in nature, finding fun ways to be creative or asking awkwardly deep questions of people she just met.
