100,000...

Passage for reflection: Luke 2: 22 - 40

I write this reflection on Tuesday evening, 26 January, the day when this country has passed the 100,000 death toll from COVID 19. We’ve watched the number of people who’ve lost their lives go up dramatically over the past few weeks. 

Today I invite you as you read this to pause and remember all those who have tragically been taken from loved ones since this awful virus came into our lives almost a year ago. The Prime Minister answering a question in his press conference on Tuesday referred to a “thesaurus of misery” - there are only inadequate words to describe such a point in our shared humanity. We stand with those who mourn and with those who today stand helplessly as others will soon slip away.

One day last year, the daily total of fatalities was the same as the entire membership of The Fens Circuit where we were living then. I was horrified by that. But 100,000, that’s so many people. The old Wembley stadium I think could hold 100,000 people. Imagine that with everyone gone. While I was writing this, Lis was watching a harrowing Panorama programme in which some bereaved families told their story. I was glad to be writing. It was too hard to watch. 

This third period of lockdown is by far the hardest. We are all tired as this has been going on for such a long time now. We have no idea when as someone in a meeting I was in said “we will be allowed out to play.” The new variant is scary. Some who have to go out to work are frightened having to be out there. Those of us who are shielding have cabin fever. Our church buildings remain closed. A vicar I was speaking to thought it might be June when we might just be able to go back into our churches. Some of us are all zoomed out. Four zoom meetings in a day leaves us with migraines. Home schooling youngsters is a challenge. Some people are finding their mental health is suffering. We can’t do the things we want to. We shout at God “how long, O Lord? How long?” I’m glad now dates it will be better aren’t being bandied about. 

But we do wait for this to begin to be better. We hold on to the hope of a vaccine which is the only way out of this. We wait for some restrictions to be eased to what that does to cases, to hospitals and to the number of lost lives. COVID affects every decision, almost every conversation and stifles planning. And yet in the middle of all of this we are called to wait and hold on and believe this soon will pass. We wait for a better future. 2022! I’m on sabbatical in just over a year’s time! I want to begin to make plans but it is too risky to do that yet. 

Waiting isn’t easy, but sometimes it’s what we are called to do. This Sunday the Church marks Candlemas: the presentation of Christ in the Temple, and the character of Simeon. 

The story in Luke 2 is the lovely end of the Christmas story. Simeon was an elderly man who spent every day and every night waiting. He waited for the consolation of Israel. He believed in a different future. He knew that one day in God’s time, God would break into his world. Mary and Joseph brought the infant Jesus into the temple to be circumcised and presented before God, and they came for Mary to be purified after giving birth. We used to call it “churching” of women. I had a high church vicar colleague in my first appointment, Father Lindsay, who still offered that in his church notices! 

Simeon took the child Jesus in his arms, and prayed the beautiful prayer we call the Nunc Dimitis. Who was this child? A light for revelation to Gentiles and the glory of God’s people Israel. Simeon’s eyes had seen the salvation God had prepared for his people right there in his arms. 

He had waited for years for this moment. He could now depart in peace for what he had waited for patiently had come to be. I imagine for the rest of his old age he remembered that moment. I imagine every day he lit a candle and quietly thanked God the long awaited future he yearned for was now a reality. I imagine during his waiting, others would have told him he was quite mad. If something doesn’t happen quickly, we easily give up on it. Waiting with patience is tough as we accept delay and uncertainty as we hold on but in the waiting we believe a better day is coming. 

100,000 plus deaths from a dreadful virus is a cause to lament and mourn. But amid the tears and shock there is hope. Why? Because God is here with us in the waiting and God will lead us from here to where he wants us to be. Perhaps there will be a better appreciation now that life is precious. Perhaps the good things that have brought community together will not end when this is a mere memory. Perhaps... 

I take comfort from Simeon. The quest for God ends with God in our arms. The presence of God enables us to find peace. The consolation we long for will in the end save us. And when we hurt, God hurts. That’s the point of the cross. 

And you know what? It’s okay while we wait to cry and shout a bit! If we aren’t moved by loss and tragedy we aren’t human. 

A prayer by Pete Greig:

One hundred thousand deaths. How do I even compute a stat like that?

~ Kyrie Eleison. 

A story told 100,000 times of loved-ones lost; prayers unanswered; hospitals too full; funerals too empty; millions of broken hearts. 

~ Kyrie Eleison

God help me the day I become numb to this tragedy. 

~ Kyrie Eleison

Wake my zombie heart before these stories become stats. 

~ Kyrie Eleison

Shake my selfish senses with the urgency of this hour

~ Kyrie Eleison

Take my despair and make it a prayer; the necessary lament of love. 

~ Kyrie Eleison