Page 459 – Christianity Today (2024)

The following is the latest in a series of daily meditations amid the pandemic. Today’s musical pairing: a simple version of “Give Me Jesus” by Sara Watkins. All songs for this series have been gathered into a Spotify playlist.

“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”Psalm 56:8 (NLT)

“He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”Revelation 21:4 (NIV)

Meditation 25. 3,305,595 confirmed cases, 235,861 deaths globally.

The Bible ends with an ecstatic vision. A new heaven and a new earth—and a new Jerusalem “coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband” (Rev. 21:2). A voice cries out from the throne of heaven and declares, “Look! God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them. They will be his people, and God himself will be with them and will be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away” (Rev 21:3–4).

The heavenly proclamation includes an allusion to Isaiah 25:8: “The Sovereign Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces.”

It easy to forget how astonishing this is. The Jews had come to recognize that God is far greater than any other god people had ever imagined. They did not worship many gods and spirits. They worshipped a single God who created all things simply by speaking them into being. And yet that God, a God of transcendent power and ineffable majesty, also cares about the most minute sorrows of his people.

“I live in a high and holy place,” God says in Isaiah 57:15, “but also with the one who is contrite and lowly in spirit.”

We may be tempted to dismiss it as a poetic sentiment. We shouldn’t. There is nothing more true than this. The immensity of the love of God is in the intimacy of his care. No sorrow is so small it escapes his attention. The God of the universe, the same God who set the span of the cosmos and rules over all time and space, gathers our tears in a bottle. For each of us. Our sufferings are remembered in God. Even the sorrows we never disclose to any person on the planet reside in him eternally. They are our secret with him for eternity.

God gathers our tears and records them in his book, but he also promises to end them. Even lifelong sufferings are temporary. When we look back from eternity, it will seem as though they passed in the blink of an eye. Where there are sorrows, they will cease. Where there are tears, they will be wiped away.

There will come a day when the last tear is shed. Then, O Lord, we will live among you forever. Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

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The cashier at Trader Joe’s couldn’t get over how many fresh flowers customers have been purchasing during the pandemic. “People load up their carts with pasta and frozen foods and then they buy at least two bouquets of flowers,” she told me. “It doesn’t really make sense.”

Beauty persists, especially in times of uncertainty or hardship. Holocaust survivor and concert pianist Alice Herz-Sommer performed at more than 150 concerts during the two years she spent at Theresienstadt concentration camp. She later told a reporter, “People ask, ‘How could you make music?’ We were so weak. But music was special, like a spell … the world is wonderful. It is full of beauty.”

While some of us are first responders or have lost a loved one to COVID-19, most of us are contending with circumstances far less devastating than Herz-Sommer’s. Still, death stares at us hourly through the garish news graphics tracking the many lost to the virus.

“Living each day under the stress of the pandemic, our need for beauty is on the surface—we are feeling it, even if we can’t fully articulate it,” said Charlie Peacock. The four-time Grammy-winning composer, producer, and recording artist has worked with everyone from Switchfoot to The Civil Wars. “Gratefully, the vocational beauty makers are working overtime to fulfill this need. When has there ever been a time when so many artists of every kind are sharing beauty with the world—for free?”

He is creating new music and paintings daily while self-quarantining in Nashville, including a song with friend Sarah Masen Dark. “It did not start out to be any commentary on our new world, but in gradually learning what my own work was making me think and feel, I do believe it is linked.”

Peacock is not alone. Poets, painters, philosophers, and theologians have historically championed the conviction that beauty is even more essential during our darkest periods.

Pope John Paul II affirmed in his 1999 “Letter to Artists,” that “society needs artists, just as it needs scientists, technicians, workers, professional people, witnesses of the faith, teachers, fathers and mothers.” This pandemic requires first responders, scientists, grocery store clerks, delivery people, and, yes, artists who recognize their responsibility, as Pope Francis put it, to be “custodians of beauty, heralds and witnesses of hope for humanity.”

Scientists may try, but beauty can’t be measured by the same data that defines our disposition right now.

“It is not something we can possess. Beauty is the outcome of truthfulness, mastery and goodness working together,” encaustic painter Marissa Voytenko told me. She uses the ancient technique involving hot wax to create abstract works that have been exhibited across the US and the Ukraine. “When life becomes too heavy to bear and circumstances too dark to see a way forward, beauty has the ability to alleviate fear and offer hope.”

Mary Amendolia Gardner, a priest and spiritual director in Northern Virginia, leads seekers and believers in visio divina, or holy seeing, a spiritual practice to help focus distracted minds. She asks participants to sit in front of a work of art for five to ten minutes to become more aware of God’s care and attention in their lives.

“In times of uncertainty, sickness, despair, and death, beauty is more than a mere distraction,” she said. “Beauty is a human connection point which becomes a catalyst of connection to the transcendent.”

Many of the world’s finest museums are offering free virtual tours to provide encounters with extraordinary works of art. Many larger-scale masterpieces in these galleries exquisitely evoke human suffering through the ages and press us to contemplate our own mortality. There’s value in being reminded of this by studying a painting instead of another news story or graphic.

In her book On Beauty and Being Just, Yale philosopher Elaine Scarry observes that beauty has the effect of “radically decentering” us. Others have argued that reflecting on works of beauty in times of pain and affliction is misguided. German émigré philosopher Theodor Adorno famously declared that “to write poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.” But Scarry suggests the opposite, that beauty actually opens us up to the inequities and injustices of human life.

Bruce Herman has been reflecting on T. S. Eliot’s Notes Towards the Definition of Culture while currently sheltering at home. In his post-war essays, Eliot considers how artists, authors, philosophers, and theologians can continue to “meaning-make” in the face of futility and loss. Herman insists it is imperative to make music, art, and poetry when the world we know has been shattered.

Herman is a professor at Gordon College and a painter whose works are in the permanent collections at the Vatican Museum of Modern Religious Art and the Hammer Museum, among others. He has lost three brothers, both parents, his grandparents, and other family members to suicide, cancer, and other maladies.

“I am no stranger to grief and death and suffering,” he said.

Yet I continue to believe that beauty not only can be pursued in such a time as ours, but it must be pursued. … Beauty is not pasted over suffering but grows out of it—like the proverbial shoot from parched ground—breaking the hardness of concrete or asphalt with green growth and hope.

Is the longing for beauty something only healthy, well fed and sheltered people have? The proof against this is everywhere from the caves of Lascaux to the Sistine ceiling; from Shakespeare to the hymns written in time or war and loss.

In his essay Beauty in the Light of the Redemption, Dietrich von Hildebrand defends beauty against arguments that it serves no practical purpose: “The function of the senses and of the visible and audible contents in this experience is of a modest, humble kind: they are a pedestal, a mirror for something much higher.”

We typically dash through the world, barely noticing our surroundings or staring at our phones as one image quickly replaces the previous one. Now, as we settle into six weeks of self-quarantine, we have an opportunity to practice a new discipline—to actively notice the beauty on offer all around us, to go back and look or listen again. Far from distracting us from what is essential, beauty can draw us closer to all that is good and holy and healing.

Jody Hassett Sanchez is a journalist and documentary filmmaker. Her film More Art Upstairs, which explores questions about art and beauty, is available on iTunes and Amazon Prime.

COVID-19 has been called the “novel coronavirus,” but there is nothing novel about social distancing and quarantine. Societies historically have resorted to such measures for public safety. But what about biblical prophecy? Is this the end of the world? Are we in the tribulation period? Is Revelation 13 unfolding before us—a world in panic yielding authority to a ruler who will exercise massive control over the world’s populations?

Probably not. We may have the right chapter but the wrong book! Rather than this being a Revelation 13 moment, consider it more of a Leviticus 13 moment requiring Romans 13 compliance, prompted by 1 Corinthians 13 motivation.

Quarantine is biblical

Israel had a long history of self-isolation, beginning in Exodus. Moses, in a sense, was the first public health official, instructing the people in God’s protocols for community well-being. Though God’s people were designed for life together in proximity, sometimes, for health or safety purposes, separation was required.

Every year Jews around the world observe Passover, a commemoration of a stay-at-home order from God. The Lord confined the Hebrews to their homes as death passed them over (Ex. 12:23). The nation’s obedience readied them to leave Egypt for their new homeland.

While en route, God gave Israel laws for managing life together, including what can be read as personal hygiene regulations to ensure public sanitization—all predicated on the premise in the Torah of loving one’s neighbor as oneself (Lev. 19:18). Leviticus 13:1–8 lays out the law concerning leprosy (a large grouping of infectious skin diseases of varying severity). It consists of a 14-day quarantine, divided by two seven-day examinations to determine if the disease is a threat to the greater community. If someone tested positive, he or she had to publicly declare themselves unclean. Sounds eerily familiar, doesn’t it?

In ancient Israel, though priests had clear, well-defined sacerdotal functions, they also operated as custodians of public health, assessing the threat level for the greater community (a fairly progressive policy for 1500 B.C.). Even King Uzziah had to live out his days in isolation once he was confirmed to have leprosy (2 Chron. 26:21).

God mandated these laws well before medical science could explain the reasons behind them. The Mishnah added rules for triaging cases of leprosy and STDs—how and when to quarantine, how to confirm positive cases, and how and when to declare someone clean and reintegrate them back into society.

Even in the New Testament, lepers practiced a form of “social distancing.” A group of ten “stood afar off” (Luke 17:12, KJV) as Jesus approached their village and cleansed them. No holy kisses (Rom. 16:16), embraces, or high fives could be exchanged (Matthew 8 excepted). However, Jesus’ approach signaled a way to mitigate an infectious disease. He had compassion on those who were suffering and insisted they go through the established health system of priestly examinations as outlined in Leviticus 13.

Rather than Revelation 13 conclusions, think Leviticus 13 obligations with 1 Corinthians 13 motives.

This is where 1 Corinthians 13 pertains. “Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. Love does not demand its own way” (1 Cor. 13:4–5, NLT). Love is expressed in patience, kindness, forbearance, humility, courtesy, selflessness, empathy, and perseverance. It means giving up certain freedoms temporarily to ensure others can thrive. In this pandemic, rather than jumping to Revelation 13 conclusions, consider our Leviticus 13 obligations prompted by a 1 Corinthians 13 motivation.

Moreover, we have another 13th chapter for guidance. In Romans 13, we read that the governing authorities were “appointed by God” (v. 1, NKJV). One of the main responsibilities of government is the protection of its people. Though governments sometimes overstep their bounds, our general response as citizens is clear: “Let every soul be subject to governing authorities.” A good Christian should be a good citizen unless being a good citizen means being a bad Christian. God is honored when his earthly representatives are seen as preservers of peace (Matt. 5:9).

With the coronavirus, a simple equation applies: The flatter the rate of viral infection, the smaller the number of people who die. That doesn’t mean we can’t protest draconian governmental measures, nor does it mean we won’t disobey ungodly laws imposed by unrighteous leaders. But it does mean we should, to the best of our ability, live at peace with all people (Rom. 12:18).

Quarantine is beneficial too

Having more time and solitude on your hands isn’t a bad thing. Why not treat it as blessing? Church tradition has long encouraged the practice of certain spiritual disciplines, whether disciplines of engagement—prayer, study, and service—or disciplines of abstinence—fasting, chastity, and solitude. For those of us accustomed to the pedal-to-the-metalbusyness of everyday life—perhaps even addicted to it—solitude is challenging, even cumbersome. But it is desperately needed. Dallas Willard put it this way in his book The Spirit of the Disciplines: “Of all the disciplines of abstinence, solitude is generally the most fundamental in the beginning of the spiritual life, and it must be returned to again and again as that life develops.”

Solitude is the foundation of our “quiet times,” those periods when we get alone with God to hear his voice speaking to us and when we pour out our hearts to him. Maybe you’ve longed for such time, but your busy schedule interfered. Well, now’s your chance. Given our crowded quarters these days, you might very well end up in the closet—and that’s okay (Matt. 6:6)!

However, getting alone with God may force you into harsh self-assessment. “Solitude is a terrible trial,” writes Louis Bouyer in The Spirituality of the New Testament and the Fathers, “for it serves to crack open and burst apart the shell of our superficial securities. It opens out to us the unknown abyss that we all carry within us … [and] discloses the fact that these abysses are haunted.”

There are a host of benefits to being quarantined or sheltering in place:

• Physical restoration: When we are shut down, we are renewed (see Mark 6). God sometimes makes us lie down (Ps. 23:2).
• Spiritual edification: When in solitude, we can enjoy the presence of God more, getting into his word (Ps. 46:10; Mark 1:35; Lam. 3:25).
• Self-evaluation: When we are quiet before the Lord, we allow God to examine us without distractions or competition from others (Heb. 4:13; Ps. 139:1–3, 23–24; and Luke 6:12–13).
• Inner Consolation: You may be grieving the loss of a friend or relative due to the coronavirus. Perhaps you’re one of the millions who are unemployed. When you are alone, you can deal with grief at the deepest level (see Matt. 14:12–13 and Luke 22:39–43).

Take advantage of this strange season imposed on us all. The quarantined life has its challenges. But the Bible tells us that within every adversity lies an opportunity, a buried seed waiting for living water and light to bring it to fruition. Make yourself available to God and see what he does in these strange but potential-filled times.

Skip Heitzig, author of The Bible from 30,000 Feet, is pastor-teacher of Calvary Church and adjunct professor of Biblical Studies at Veritas International University.

The weeks slide from our fingers as the pandemic’s first wave moderates—whether due to our quarantined culture or the wiles of viral behavior. Pressure mounts to resume some sort of normalcy. On the one hand, normal is impossible as long as a vaccine eludes us. But on the other hand, surviving a sustained shutdown is economically and emotionally infeasible. Thirty million Americans have lost their jobs, nerves are fried, and happiness stays socially distant.

Reopening America comes at a high price. Given what we know about the coronavirus and its effects, there’s a tradeoff to be calculated between economic livelihood and human life. The quarantine’s goal from the outset has been preserving hospital capacity for anticipated surges. America is a country where health care, while expensive and notoriously complicated, is regarded as more a right than a privilege. But if too many people get sick and health care resources deplete, rights give way to privilege. The better off get better while the poor and marginalized suffer.

Such is the way of life, some would say. Nature must run its course. The virus exposes a surplus population, the elderly, and the mortal sin of preexisting conditions. According to a recent Pew survey, a majority of people with no religious affiliation (56%) said ventilators should be saved “for those with the highest chance of recovery in the event that there are not enough resources to go around, even if that means some patients don’t receive the same aggressive treatment because they are older, sicker and less likely to survive.” Economists do the math: A life is worth X, a job is worth Y, toss in actuarial variables, and generate a value on which to base a decision. Risk and price prove as efficient as they are heartless.

Unavailable resources may press for a recalibration of utility over values, but Christianity resists.

But a value and values are not the same thing. Ideally when it comes to health care, the patient does the math based on their own preferences and personal beliefs. Providers then respond with treatment options available. Unavailable resources may press for a recalibration of utility over values, but Christianity resists. One’s personal conviction, prayer, Scripture, community, and trustworthy teachings supervene on ethical decisions. Thus, according to Pew, most evangelicals (60%) said limited ventilators should go to whichever patients “need them most in the moment, which might mean that fewer people survive but no one is denied treatment based on their age or health status” (the US average was 50%). Moreover, religious beliefs evoke suspicion of any human presuming authority over another’s life—God alone holds authority over death and life (Deut. 32:39).

Still, decisions have to be made. Years ago, I served a stint on a hospital ethics committee in Boston where we tackled organ donation after cardiac death. When was it OK to remove a heart for a consented transplant from a child after that heart irreversibly stopped beating? Hospital policy was to wait five minutes rather than the preferred two practiced by most medical centers. The reason was to provide the deceased with “spiritual wiggle room.” The hospital determined that five minutes should suffice for a soul to depart its body.

Nonreligious members of the ethics committee were nonplussed. With hundreds of children desperately awaiting organ donations, why risk organ viability by taking extra time for something that, scientifically speaking, we’re not even sure happens? The ethics committee turned to me (a minister at the time) for advice.

“Reverend,” they asked, “how long does it take for a soul to depart the body?”

All I knew to say was what Christians had always believed. I quoted the Apostles’ Creed: “We believe in the resurrection of the body,” by which we mean the whole body. No need for the wiggle room. How does this happen? The Bible says it works something like farming: A natural body gets sown in the ground like a corpse buried, but then gets raised a spiritual body (1 Cor. 15:44). To dust we return, but from the dust we will rise and be recognizable like Jesus, fully healed and made whole and finally our true selves.

Except Jesus still has his scars. You’d think if resurrection gets you a new body, you’d at least lose the nail holes. “Look at my hands and my feet,” Jesus said (Luke 24:39). His scars were signs of sacrificial love. “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:3).

Note that Jesus did not say to lay down another’s life. We’re told to take up our own crosses in order to follow Christ (Mark 8:34), not to crucify others. We can love sacrificially unto death for a friend with hope and without fear because Jesus really rose from the dead.

If social distancing fails and resources deplete, who decides who lives and who dies?

If social distancing fails and resources deplete, the question over who lives and who dies resorts to politicians, economists, and health care administrators. But Christians have another ethical choice. Is our faith sufficient that we would ever give up our own ventilator for the sake of a friend? For a neighbor? For even a stranger? One’s personal conviction, prayer, Scripture, community, and trustworthy teachings challenge us to consider sacrifice over self-preservation. Following Jesus means taking up crosses. Lose ourselves and we find our true selves. Our scars and core wounds reveal our core loves and real faith, not the fruit of our effort but the yield of our yielding to Jesus. Our greatest love and most beautiful virtues do not run, but rather transcend, nature’s course.

John Calvin once wrote:

We are not our own: let not our reason nor our will, therefore sway our plans and deeds. We are not our own: let us therefore not set it as our goal to seek what is expedient for us according to the flesh. We are not our own: in so far as we can, let us therefore forget ourselves, and all that is ours. Conversely, we are God’s: let us therefore live for him and die for him. We are God’s: let his wisdom and will therefore rule all our actions. We are God’s: let all the parts of our life accordingly strive toward him as our goal of life.

Daniel Harrell is Christianity Today’s editor in chief.

Illustration by Mallory Rentsch / Source Images: Granger Wootz / Halfpoint / Getty Images / Tina Vanderlaan / Lightstock

It’s not exactly a secret: Many Pentecostals have responded to the current pandemic in ways that are both bizarre and troubling. These responses have overshadowed the sanity and generosity of many faithful, Spirit-filled Christians and reinforced the idea that Pentecostal theology is cheap and silly.

This is unfortunate because Pentecostalism has many gifts to give. At its best, it is mystical and prophetic and teaches us to live deeply prayerful lives. Pentecostal theology teaches us that ministry must begin and end in prayer. It teaches us we must hold high expectations for God to work in the world, along with a deep sense of personal and communal responsibility. It teaches us not to fear the new or idolize the familiar, and that the divine power of Pentecost is the love revealed in the Cross. These are all truths the church needs in this current crisis.

Pray like jazz

If you know anything about Pentecostalism, you know about the prayer. Harvard theologian Harvey Cox compared it to jazz because of its playful extemporization and collaborative enthusiasm. Pentecostals believe this improvisation is a way of keeping rhythm with the Holy Spirit. This is why our prayers often have the spirit of an old-time revival tent—open on all sides and thrown up anywhere, anytime, as God leads. Pentecostal prayer, at its heart, is about radical openness to God, and it is marked by a readiness to be surprised and to be changed.

This openness in prayer leads Pentecostals to be improvisational in other ministries as well. When we are faithful to our calling, we are ready to abandon familiar ways of doing ministry and make ourselves at home in the company of those we are called to serve.

We consider the church neither a means to an end nor an end in itself. Therefore, we are ready to forget familiar ways of speaking and to learn new languages, both literally and figuratively, because we expect to hear God speak in ways we never could have anticipated. This is what it really means to “speak in tongues.”

It is always hard to know what to say in times of pain and loss. But when we are faithful to the wisdom we have received, we know that what we say to others must be shaped first of all by what we say to God on others’ behalf. Faithful ministry, in other words, always begins and ends in intercessory prayer.

Even as we try to give good answers to the many difficult theological questions arising at this time, we should never forget that if those answers are to be helpful, they must be rooted in prayer. This is not polite, self-assured prayer, but raw, unsparing prayer, prayer that laments and protests, demands and interrogates, begs and invokes—prayer that is radically and confidently open to God in front of others and to others in front of God.

I believe the church needs this kind of openness in the midst of this crisis. We need a “holy boldness,” one that has nothing to do with living as if we are protected from harm, claiming secret knowledge about God’s will or asserting power over disasters and sicknesses, but has everything to do with following the Spirit into the darkness, coming alongside those who are suffering, and being Christ to them.

Love like God

Pentecostalism, at its best, is deeply communal and missional. It knows that love for God cannot be separated from love for neighbor and that prayer cannot be separated from action. As theologian Lucy Peppiatt recently observed, Pentecostals not only believe strongly in God’s involvement in every aspect of life but also believe—just as strongly—in the call for God’s people to participate in what God is doing in the world.

In spite of what some might think, this is a constant theme in Pentecostal theology. Daniel Castelo, professor of theology at Seattle Pacific University, argues, for example, that Pentecostal spirituality is a form of mysticism. This is not a mysticism of withdrawal, but of mediation and intermediation. In her recent book, The Spirit and the Common Good, Daniela Augustine, professor of theology at the University of Birmingham, makes the same point: “The Spirit uplifts the Christified human life as the visible means of invisible grace. … Indeed, the healing of the entire cosmos starts from within hallowed, Spirit-saturated humanity.”

All that to say, Pentecostal ministries are moved by this twofold desire: to commune deeply with God and to see everyone and everything else drawn into the same communion. This mysticism is a source of renewal for the church.

Dale Coulter, professor of historical theology at Regent University, has shown how something like that has happened before, in the aftermath of the black death in the Middle Ages. He argues that in this pandemic, once again, “pastors and priests need to become spiritual directors, guiding their flocks as they turn within and find the crucified God.”

Pentecostal theology teaches us to long for the age when all God’s people will be prophets. But we do not think of prophecy as a form of magic. We believe true prophecy is not so much about predicting the future as it is about seeing how God helps us to care for our neighbors in ways they most desperately need.

True prophecy gives us insight into what has happened and is happening, what is truly right and truly wrong in the world, and thus enables us to see into and call forth a better, more faithful future.

Coming into communion with Christ’s passion in prayer, we will find ourselves moved with compassion for others into action. The same Spirit who leads us to turn within, mystically, toward the crucified Christ, will lead us to turn out, prophetically, toward those for whom Christ offered and offers himself. Following the Spirit, we will enter the darkness instead of denying it, trusting that the light of God is already breaking forth from its depths. This is what it means to be prophetic, speaking life into dry bones.

Bless the poor

As a Pentecostal, and a Pentecostal theologian, I feel the need to be honest about our failures, past and present. I know there are hard questions to ask about the integrity and effects of our teachings and practices. And I know this is not a time for nostalgia or idealism.

But I am convinced that it is a time to return to the faithful ways that led to the rise of Pentecostal spirituality and theology in the first place. We need to retune ourselves to the God who tell us it is a commandment—not a compromise—to love our neighbors as ourselves, especially when those neighbors are not like us.

Sadly, many Pentecostals have forgotten the wisdom of their own tradition. In its beginnings, Pentecostalism was a movement of the poor and for the poor. The poor always suffer worst in crises like the one facing us now, so Pentecostals found themselves at the center of the Spanish flu epidemic in 1918. A century later, Pentecostalism remains a movement of the poor in most parts of the world.

But in the US, much has changed. Many of us now work at a remove from the poor, both geographically and spiritually, and we are largely out of touch with the material and spiritual needs of those we are called to serve first. Now is the time to make that right. And that begins with a return to the deepest, truest convictions of our mothers and fathers in the faith.

At the revival on Azusa Street, at the very beginning of the Pentecostal movement, pastor William Seymour put it this way: “The Pentecostal power, when you sum it all up, is just more of God’s love. If it does not bring more love, it is simply a counterfeit. … Pentecost makes us love Jesus more and love our brothers more. It brings us all into one common family.”

I know there are more than a few counterfeits available today. I know there is much that Pentecostals have said that is ridiculous and much that they should have said but haven’t. But there is another Pentecostalism, a mystical and prophetic Pentecostalism, which is a gift of the Spirit. And like many of the Spirit’s gifts, it is offered just as we need it and in ways we never could have imagined. That is precisely the Pentecostalism this crisis calls for.

Chris E. W. Green is a professor of theology at Southeastern University and a pastor at Sanctuary Church in Tulsa, Oklahoma. His most recent book is Surprised by God.

LifeWay Christian Resources, the publishing entity of the Southern Baptist Convention, has announced it will cut roughly 10 percent of its operating budget through staff reductions, a hiring freeze, and salary cuts.

The move comes after five consecutive weeks of steep revenue decline in the wake of the coronavirus and the expectation that sales may not rebound anytime soon.

The Nashville-based Christian publisher said revenue is down 24 percent compared with the same period last year, largely due to a sharp drop in bulk orders from churches for resources such as Sunday school curricula, Bible study materials, and Vacation Bible School curricula.

It’s not clear yet if SBC churches or other churches that buy LifeWay materials will hold VBS or camp programming this year.

LifeWay’s budget for this fiscal year is $281.3 million. It said it planned to cut between $25 million and $30 million from its budget.

The announcement is just the first indication of the financial blow many US churches and denominational agencies are facing as a result of the COVID-19 shutdowns—a blow that could reshape the religious landscape for decades to come.

“LifeWay stands to lose tens of millions of dollars of revenue that the organization would normally generate over the summer months from camps, events, VBS, and ongoing curriculum sales,” said Ben Mandrell, LifeWay’s CEO, in a news release. “LifeWay is mitigating these losses as much as possible through various expense reduction plans, including staff reductions and cuts in non-employee expenses.”

LifeWay said members of its executive leadership team will give up one month’s salary beginning in May. It did not say how it would achieve a staff reduction, whether through layoffs or by not filling existing vacancies.

Earlier this month, LifeWay announced it was exploring the sale of its Ridgecrest Conference Center and Summer Camps, about 18 miles east of Asheville, North Carolina.

Last year, LifeWay closed its retail chain of 170 Christian bookstores. Other Christian denominational retailers have closed in recent years, including the United Methodist Church’s Cokesbury stores, which closed in 2012, and Family Christian Stores, which closed its stores in 2017.

LifeWay will also begin a feasibility study of its corporate office building in downtown Nashville, with the idea of leasing out some floors in the building or selling or moving to another location.

The company had a $12 million shortfall in 2019, bringing in $266.48 million in revenue but spending $278.75 million, spokesperson Carol Pipes confirmed.

The company also said it would freeze 401(k) contributions and discretionary spending.

“We have to be ready to adjust to the needs of churches if we want to be relevant in a post-COVID world,” Mandrell said. “Church operations and ministries are going to look different for an indefinite period of time.”

Courtesy of Trinity International University

Early last week, theologian Bruce Fields lost a 21-month battle with brain cancer. I met him in the fall of 1990, near the beginning of my time as a student at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. With the exception of Doug Moo, he was the tallest faculty member, a basketball player who knew how to play the big man’s game. I remember learning that one of his coaches had been Chuck Daly (who went on to coach NBA championship teams with the Detroit Pistons) and asking him about his experience. He did not enjoy Daly’s approach of playing mind games and other forms of manipulation. I was hoping for some anecdotes about glory days under a future celebrity coach; Bruce revealed the more complicated and unsettling truth. I discovered that Bruce would tell you the truth as it was and did not seek easy or palatable answers to questions, whether about basketball, theological questions, or the world of evangelicalism.

When I arrived at Trinity, I was stepping into a world of theological education at an institution that placed a premium on academic excellence and publication. Before long, I found myself in those conversations with other students where you admire the achievements of certain faculty members. As I recall, not many brought Bruce into this conversation. While there are reasons these conversations emphasized some professors with more publications or prominence in the evangelical debates of the day, I know now that I missed the opportunity to learn how Bruce was walking through a unique experience: that of an African-American theology professor in an evangelical institution.

The faculty of evangelical institutions of higher education in the early 1990s included few nonwhite faculty in general and hardly any professors of Bible and theology. (Full disclosure: There still aren’t many of us. I doubt you will find even 30 of us.) Although I had many conversations with Bruce about questions minority students had at Trinity, and numerous theological conversations (including engagement with liberation theologies), for some reason it did not occur to me to ask how he was navigating this unique experience. For four years I was in the presence of a true pioneer; though we had later conversations after I joined our small club, there was an opportunity missed.

Though he is no longer with us, there is still much to learn from him. Bruce was a highly reflective and humble man. He had tremendous knowledge but his discourse never laid an emphasis on how much he knew. Rather, what I picked up from him was a perpetual state of inquiry. He never hesitated to share his convictions but seemed aware that there was always much more to be known; he wanted to tread the academic path with curiosity, always seeking to learn more. He had a learner’s mindset and patience with the process.

I once recall mentioning a future research idea, and his reply was “That will take some hard thinking.” I don’t think I fully understood what it meant to do hard thinking back then. But when I consider the careful and deliberate approach that Bruce displayed (perhaps especially when speaking, lecturing, or preaching), I think he meant that in our path of inquiry, we must be willing to take time to be still in the face of potential obstacles, seeing what is there and considering how God’s word can lead us to greater fidelity to God in word and deed. This deliberate, honest, and patient pursuit of truth would serve us well in a time that presents a perpetual temptation to speak quickly and get attention. I think Bruce might tell us that not all hot takes are bad, but we should leave many of our thoughts in the oven of reflection much longer.

Bruce was also more of a visionary than some recognize. About five years ago, he began to convene fellow African American theologians and pastors to consider together how to be people of evangelical conviction while paying greater attention to the questions of justice and flourishing often unaddressed in white evangelical institutions and communities. While some things have improved since Bruce’s early days at Trinity, Bruce was aware that a considerable horizon remained. The few times we gathered were refreshing, encouraging, and challenging. The baton now passes to me and others.

Bruce was deeply committed to his family and the church; when he spoke of them his love was on clear display. He understood that those commitments were the most important things. His life is a reminder that while there is value to the academic life, the more important is fidelity to our Triune God, to the church, and to our relationships. Obituaries and other tributes will say even more, but let us remember a person who truly fought the good fight and learn from his courageous, humble, and godly example.

Vincent Bacote is an associate professor of theology and the director of the Center for Applied Christian Ethics at Wheaton College.

I am sluggish on Mondays, yet extremely motivated on Thursdays. My thoughts are creative and clear in the mornings, but when I attempt deep thinking mid-afternoon I often feel like I’m running in sand. My soul always feels different in January than it does in August. Why is this? As a ministry leader, I’ve had the sense that timing is crucial, but I’ve never known why until recently.

I enjoy Daniel Pink’s writings, so I was eager to get my hands on his latest book, When: The Scientific Secrets of Perfect Timing. The premise: When we do things matters more than we think. Why do regularly scheduled breaks significantly increase student scores? Why should we avoid going to the hospital in the afternoon? Why do prison boards grant parole for more inmates in the morning than in the afternoon? Science proves that we function rhythmically in our 24-hour cycles.

What we do is important, but when we do it is crucial. By knowing ourselves, we can maximize our days by aligning our schedules with our circadian rhythm, that natural inner process that regulates our cycles of sleeping and being awake.

Although Pink writes primarily for a secular business audience—as far as I can tell, he has no strong religious affiliation—ministry leaders can glean much from his book. As pastors know, efficiency and ministry don’t often mix. Ministry can feel chaotic and exhausting, each day riddled with interruptions. Pastoral care issues can surface at a moment’s notice.

Years ago, I heard Saddleback Church pastor Rick Warren say church leaders should focus more on energy management than time management. We often use the clock as the marker of our days. However, since all leaders have limitations and need replenishment, focusing on our physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual energy levels seems wise.

Understanding our unique wiring

We are prone to forget just how intimately integrated our bodies and souls actually are. How we work; when we interact with others; what gives us life, joy and energy; and how we refuel have implications that go well beyond the physical realm. How we work, lead, and minister influences our levels of peace, our ability to be fully present with others, and our expressions of joy, kindness, and patience.

Each of our bodies is different, of course. Some pastors are monkish introverts while others are flaming extroverts. Some are early birds and others night owls (as well as those who live in the middle, which Pink calls “other birds”). Some are slow processors; others are quick on their feet. Some do the best work in isolation, while others are best when collaborating with others.

Leaders don’t have to fall into the comparison trap by constantly checking how they are performing against other leaders. Since we’re different, we shouldn’t be tempted to believe that we must accomplish the same quality and quantity of others—or accomplish it in the same way or even at the same time. The fact that we are wired differently is not bad; in fact, it is a tangible expression of God’s work creatively and compassionately stamping upon each one of us the imago Dei. The apostle Paul wrote about the beauty of difference in how God graciously and generously provides the body of Christ with gifts to be used for his purposes (Eph. 4:11-13). Peter echoes this sentiment as well: “Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in various forms” (1 Pet. 4:10).

Because of our unique wiring, it’s important for us to spend time in thoughtful reflection: When do I feel most alive, most energized, fully present, and wildly creative? When in my day or week do I feel most depleted and exhausted? And where, when, and with whom do I refuel after my spiritual, emotional, mental, and physical tanks are empty? The answers to these questions carry significant implications that can determine how and when we schedule meetings, engage in sermon preparation, hold staff meetings, return phone calls, and even check email.

Planning our day with a kingdom trajectory

Pink shares that we have a daily peak, trough, and rebound in our motivation and happiness. For example, we possess noticeably higher levels of energy in the morning hours, peaking right before lunch. We then experience a “trough” in early afternoon, when our energy and motivation wane significantly. It makes sense why Spanish culture embraces an afternoon siesta. Pink shares in his book that British researchers sought to identify the exact time when people’s energy bottoms out in an average day. They found it to be 2:55 p.m. (The next time you yawn or notice your energy lagging, glace at the clock. It’s eerie.) And then, in late afternoon and early evening, we rebound to find more energy and motivation, usually somewhere between 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. (Pink points out the fact that bars call this time of the day Happy Hour isn’t a coincidence.) Then, we slide back to a low energy level as it gets later until we eventually slide into bed.

This awareness of our circadian rhythm has helped me think carefully about what scheduling looks like in ministry. For example, if I start my day leading a marital counseling session, the couple may leave encouraged, but I am wiped out the rest of the day. I’ve had to learn to schedule counseling sessions in late afternoon or early evening in order to preserve my energy and my sanity throughout the day.

Mornings often set the tone for the day. Although we’re not more spiritual if we get up early, it can have numerous benefits. The Gospel of Mark records: “Very early in the morning, while it was still dark, Jesus got up, left the house and went off to a solitary place, where he prayed” (1:35). We can’t tell from the text if Jesus awoke early as a regular part of his routine, or even what time he set his alarm (though I am curious what “very early” meant in the first century), but he does give us a model for starting our day with a kingdom trajectory. Arriving at the office, mornings may be the best time for sermon prep, staff meetings, or even difficult conversations, where we can meet people climbing toward the peak of their circadian rhythm as well.

Afternoons, when the post-lunch trough sets in, can be set aside for responding to emails or working on logistical tasks that may not take a great deal of brainpower. Most ministry contexts may not allow a nap every afternoon—although Jesus and Elijah give us prime examples of power naps in Scripture—but there are other alternatives. For example, an afternoon meeting can easily be turned into a walking meeting if the weather is pleasant.

The late afternoon rebound can be a wonderful time to spend with family or connecting with other life-giving friends or staff members. Some pastors I know enjoy going to the gym after they leave the office. And as evening slips into night, and our energy wanes once again, too many night meetings, activities, or events can be unhealthy.

Scheduling breaks is important as well, according to Pink. For example, getting up every 45 minutes from our sermon prep for a quick walk down the hall to refill our water bottle may have more positive effects on Sunday than we realize. Those who come from a more liturgical tradition often speak of the benefits of the Daily Office. Praying the hours forces us, in the best sense of the word, to stop what we are doing and pray set prayers, often in a standing or kneeling position—a benefit that extends well beyond just our spiritual state. Rich Villodas, pastor of New Life Church in New York City, shares that these sacred prayer breaks are often the most refreshing parts of his day.

Reevaluating ministry Mondays

With the demands of Sunday, we must be very careful with how we spend our Monday. For many pastors, Monday is often the most depleting and discouraging day of the week. Exhausted by the adrenaline hangover from yesterday, we second-guess our sermons, see the attendance and giving records, and try to stave off the feelings of discouragement and depletion.

For years, whenever elder meetings occurred (which often ended quite late), I’d fall into bed and realize with dread I had scheduled an early breakfast in the morning. Over eggs and toast, I would be outwardly sluggish and inwardly frustrated, frazzled, and annoyed. When I finally grew sick of this exhausting pattern, I learned to block off an hour or two the morning after an elder meeting to allow myself the opportunity to replenish physically, emotionally, and spiritually before diving into the day’s ministry responsibilities.

This “Monday hangover” is one of the reasons my pastor friend and I cohost the weekly podcast Monday Morning Pastor, where we seek to support and encourage ministry leaders on their most vulnerable day of the week. Tara Beth Leach, senior pastor of First Church of the Nazarene of Pasadena, California, shared in an episode her Monday patterns: She would come into the office early, exhausted, and hit the day hard. But it wasn’t working; she realized she needed a drastic change or burnout would soon come. “I had no idea how awful Mondays were. It took me an entire year to realize I need to do something different on Mondays.”

She overhauled her schedule; now she enters into Mondays slowly and deliberately, sometimes going for a hike or enjoying a good book. She meets with her executive pastor at a Starbucks a town over to reflect on the weekend services and celebrate where God was at work. “There was something about not meeting in the office on Monday psychologically that is really important for me,” she said. Leach often spends her Monday lunch with a group of local pastors in what they’ve dubbed Pastor Triage, reminding each other their identity on a Monday is not tied to what happened on a Sunday. She also refers to a Monday morning “to-don’t list”: check email, log onto social media, hold staff meetings, and meet with disgruntled people. I think Daniel Pink would be proud.

Recognize and embrace the seasons

Churches have circadian rhythms too, though they are seasonal rather than daily. Church culture often mirrors the school schedule, whether or not we have school-aged children. Fall is a time of new beginnings and high momentum. With school back in session, new rhythms develop for both families and churches. Leaders cast the vision for the year, small groups launch, and programs start; this carries us up to and through the Advent and Christmas seasons.

Winter can start out strong. January is often when people are back with excitement, energy, motivation, and anticipation: a new year, a new time of possibilities and fresh starts. Churches use this time to recast vision or launch new programs or small groups.

Spring gives way to March and April, the season of Lent and Easter. It is not a peak or a lull but seems to stay somewhere in the middle. May and June lead us to the end of the school year and graduation, right into the summer months. While summer brings recreation and vacation, attendance and giving are often low—the church’s trough.

Once I began to notice the seasonal rhythms and grew to embrace them, I was more readily able to lead our church in ways that met what people were already feeling. The church calendar, of course, can be a wonderful way to place spiritual training wheels on our lives, teaching us to ride with joy and wonder as we embrace the seasons of the year, such as Advent and Lent. Even learning to embrace ordinary time can bring its own joys and surprises. Mark Buchanan’s book, Spiritual Rhythm: Being with Jesus Every Season of Your Soul, has helped me welcome the seasons as they come. Just as it is important to embrace the seasons of the calendar as they come, it’s wise to embrace the seasons of the ministry calendar and our soul as well.

Leave margin for interruptions

While intentionally aligning our schedules with our circadian rhythm, we must still remember that interruptions are a significant part of our calling. Patience and flexibility are prerequisites to faithful ministry. In Luke’s gospel, we read the intertwined stories of Jairus’s daughter and the woman subject to bleeding. Neither of these interactions was scribbled in Jesus’ day planner. In fact, the healing of Jairus’s daughter was interrupted by the woman who was subject to bleeding. If we zoom out of the larger picture of Luke 8, we see that Jesus is interrupted from his interruption from his interruption! Despite these detours, Jesus never seems flustered or irritated. The interruptions didn’t keep him from his ministry; they were ministry.

I, like many others, are tempted to jam as much in a day as I can, stacking meetings and appointments one on top of the other. When I fall behind, one meeting running long and dipping into another, I become distracted and flustered and sense my irritability rising.

When I realized this about myself, I began to schedule with more of an accordion approach, leaving at least 15 minutes of breathing room between each meeting. This simple change has given me space and time to be more present. It allowed me permission to embrace the interruptions and to see them as invitations and opportunities, not fires needing to be extinguished quickly. Expecting the interruptions has brought more tenderness and awareness to my day, rather than a rigid, let’s-push-through-this kind of approach. A breathable schedule allows me to see and embrace interruptions with a posture of receptivity rather than irritability.

While we seek to be more disciplined in how we invest our time, we also need to extend compassion to ourselves and others. Structure is important, but so is flexibility. This is a work of sanctification, but also a form of grace. We won’t always get it right, and that’s okay. Above all else, we’re simply attempting to be good stewards of the limited resource of time God has entrusted to us. If we learn to steward the gifts of time and energy—not just how but also when we use them—our ministry can be more fruitful in service to the King.

J. R. Briggs is an author, leadership coach, and the founder of Kairos Partnerships, an organization committed to helping hungry kingdom leaders become healthy and resilient.

In the past few months, scientists and doctors across the globe became public figures as people have sought the latest knowledge gained in the fight against COVID-19, and many of them are Christians. In the US, this is particularly true of those in the medical field. Sociologists Elaine Howard Ecklund and Christopher Scheitle reported in a 2017 book that when you look at those working at scientific jobs in the United States, such as doctors or nurses (and others), 65 percent identify as Christians, and 24 percent as evangelicals. While the percentage of Christian scientists at elite research institutions is smaller, they are an active bunch and many apply their research out of a sense of service.

CT reached out to a handful of these scientists and doctors to ask them how they’re staying grounded. We contacted people doing research on treatments or vaccines, improving patient care, or contributing to public health responses, some of whom are also working in hospital wards. While we could not include all of the responses we received, we talked to scientists in the US, the UK, Italy, Singapore, and Australia. We asked them how they’re coping and how they’re praying amid this crisis. Many shared anecdotes, Scripture, or prayer requests. They practice faith in a variety of ways, and though they practice medicine in labs and hospitals against different geographic and cultural landscapes, they’re united both in purpose and in spirit.

Francis Collins

Career field: physician and geneticist

Works in: Washington, DC, as director of the US National Institutes of Health.

Focused on: Collins oversees biomedical research in the United States, which is now aiming to develop treatments and a vaccine to control the coronavirus. He receives probably four or five interesting ideas every day, he said, which makes it a challenge to figure out which ones to prioritize. The NIH also manages a hospital that runs clinical trials, now including COVID-19 research. Prior to his NIH appointment, Collins led the team that first mapped the human genome.

How he’s praying: Collins views his calling as a public servant to be a Christian one, where he can wield the tools of science to alleviate suffering. “I pray every morning that I will find a path forward to do that with God’s help. I’m fond of Joshua and the verse in the first chapter: ‘Be strong and courageous.’ I need that. Sometimes I get discouraged and down,” he said. Collins described the grief he’s been feeling, saying, “I’m trying to figure out how to turn that into something, increased self-knowledge as well as actions.”

Collins prays for health workers, who are afraid to go home, and for researchers, who are working night and day to come up with solutions.

Emanuele Negri

Career field: physician

Works in: Reggio Emilia, a city in northern Italy, as director of a semi-intensive care unit at a local hospital.

Focused on: Negri cares for COVID-19 patients on noninvasive ventilation. His semi-intensive care unit will be adaptable to care needs as the pandemic plays out, he said. His colleagues assume coronavirus infections will go on for several months, though they plan to reorganize the hospital for the next phase as case numbers slope downward following the peak. As a team, they are exploring the hypothesis that patients experiencing lung inflammation may suffer from an amplified immune response called a “cytokine storm,” which they with are targeting in trials with several clinical drugs.

How he’s sharing his faith: Because of all the protective gear worn by medical professionals, Negri’s COVID-19 patients cannot necessarily hear him speak, but they don’t have to in order to experience the gospel. “It’s not a time of witness by word,” he said. “People around me will observe my behavior.”

He shared a letter from one of his hospital’s first patients: “I personally felt a miracle in the sense that the Lord put me in the hands of these professionals who can do their job well and which, in the end, allowed me to embrace my loved ones. I will never forget those sweet eyes hidden behind those plastic barriers. When I can get out of the house again I will meet many people, maybe even some of those who saved my life, but unfortunately I will never be able to recognize these people. I will not know who they are, but my thoughts will go to them forever. To them I will owe the most precious good: life. And to all of them I say THANK YOU.”

“Jesus had ‘sweet eyes’” (Matt. 9:37), said Negri. “It’s almost impossible to speak to my patients now, but they need our sweet eyes. We need to pray to show empathy.”

Julia Wattacheril

Expertise: physician scientist

Works in: New York City at a university hospital as director of the Nonalcoholic Fatty Liver Disease Program.

Focused on: In addition to maintaining outpatient care via telemedicine, Wattacheril was “redeployed” to work ICU triage overnight, helping make decisions about patients who worsen and need a higher level of care. Within her specialty, she and her group are collecting data to better understand how COVID-19 affects transplant patients, as well as the effects of therapeutics currently being tried. She’s hoping to repurpose an algorithm that might help identify at-risk patients so providers can suitably prioritize needs for recovery.

How she’s holding onto hope: Wattacheril described how she became discouraged recently, as she hoped for changes in leadership—such as a new tone of messaging, more emotional intelligence, and a readiness to comfort others in pain. “I prayed my anger and yelled at God on my roof. Later that day I was reminded—through John 15 about Jesus as the vine and we as the branches—that my job was to abide in Christ. I was too concerned with the fruit and anxious and distrustful of what God was doing.” That reminder helped her remember her purpose, and “hope came online quickly after that,” she said.

Wattacheril also talked about processing grief, saying she uses practices she developed several years ago after experiencing grief. She stays “anchored in prayer,” either by herself or with others. She meditates, seated or on walks, and listens to music or sermons. Also, “I have a beautiful community aligned to help and rally and remind me of what I tend to forget about myself as well as my well-worn Scripture verses with decades of history,” she said.

Lionel Tarassenko

Career field: electrical engineer

Works in: the UK at the University of Oxford’s Institute of Biomedical Engineering.

Focused on: Tarassenko works with colleagues on developing new patient monitoring techniques, from sensors to machine learning for data analysis. Now, he’s shifted these tools toward the fight against COVID-19. He described three ways the technology has been adapted: (1) the remote management of high-risk pregnant women, with the aim of preventing infection; (2) the triage of suspected COVID-19 patients in “primary care hubs” using video camera technology and (3) real-time monitoring, using wearables, of patients with COVID-19 being treated in isolation wards.

How he applies faith at work: “I am very mindful of the parable of talents and the need to put these talents to the use that God would want me to,” he said.

“I am also very conscious that our world is not limited to what we can see or perceive with our scientific instruments,” he said, quoting Hebrews 11:3: “By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.”

Justin Denholm

Career field: infectious diseases physician, epidemiologist

Works in: Melbourne, Australia, as medical director of the Victorian Tuberculosis Program at a research hospital.

Focused on: At his hospital, Denholm runs a screening clinic for people suspected of having COVID-19. He also manages patients over the phone so that they can avoid coming into the hospital and calls people to give them coronavirus test results. While he’s very busy with these tasks, he’s also conducting a clinical trial, which is testing a range of drugs for a planned 2,500 patients hospitalized with COVID-19.

How he’s feeling: “To be honest, at this point I’m pretty tired and find it hard to pray. I take some comfort in thinking that God is with us in everything, whether in illness or in working hard to relieve it,” he said. Denholm hopes that Christians around the world will support each other while physically distanced. “The support of communities is critical for all of us right now, and I’m grateful for all the ways that groups are finding to care for each other, and especially the most vulnerable,” he said.

Lim Poh Lian

Career field: infectious disease physician, also specializing in public health

Works in: Singapore at the National Center for Infectious Diseases.

Focused on: Lim moved to Singapore from Seattle, Washington, out of a sense of calling to serve Christ in Asia, ironically arriving months before SARS hit the country in 2003. Ever since, she’s been involved with outbreaks in WHO and UN advisory groups and task forces.

During the COVID-19 pandemic, she’s been working on the front lines with patients. “I love direct patient care,” she said. “I also help develop clinical, public health, and research protocols.” Her role at WHO focuses on mass gatherings risk assessment.

How her faith impacts her work: “I see my outbreak work as ministry,” said Lim, explaining how her work fulfills the greatest commandment to love God (Matt. 22:37)—by thinking clearly and strategically in outbreak control issues, caring compassionately for patients, and pointing people to trust in God. “Faith in Christ gives me courage and an anchor of rationality,” she said. “God has given us, not a spirit of fear but of love, power, and a sound mind—which he expects us to use!”

The following is the latest in a series of daily meditations amid the pandemic. For today’s musical pairing, “Song for Athene” by Sir John Tavener. All songs for this series have been gathered into a Spotify playlist.

“But Christ has indeed been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For since death came through a man, the resurrection of the dead comes also through a man. For as in Adam all die, so in Christ all will be made alive. … The last enemy to be destroyed is death.1 Corinthians 15:20–22, 26

“Listen, I tell you a mystery: We will not all sleep, but we will all be changed—in a flash, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet. For the trumpet will sound, the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will all be changed. For the perishable must clothe itself with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality. When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: ‘Death has been swallowed up in victory.’”1 Corinthians 15:51–54

Meditation 24. 3,094,829 confirmed cases, 215,461 deaths globally.

In the days preceding my grandfather’s death, he was wholly unresponsive. A heart attack and a belated resuscitation had left his brain without oxygen for an extended time. Though we were told he was no longer really there, we brought him home and the family kept watch by his bedside. The silence was leavened with hymns and prayers.

Death, for my grandfather, did not come like a violent plunge. It was more like his soul was water on the shore and it slowly receded into the sand. The beating of his heart, the pulsing of his blood, the rise and fall of his chest all grew gentler until they were almost imperceptible.

Then, in the last possible moment, his eyes opened. His arms rose off the bed and extended toward the ceiling, toward the skies, toward the heavens. Stunned, the family whispered encouragement. “It’s okay to go,” they said. His arms fell. And he was gone.

Mortality is much on our minds these days. Here in the United States, we have surpassed a million confirmed cases of the novel coronavirus. It began on the far side of the planet and has left a ruin of death and devastation wherever it has gone. More Americans have died from the disease than from the entire Vietnam War.

Grandfathers and grandmothers. Brothers and sisters. Parents and children and grandchildren. Friends and colleagues. Countless Americans are grieving their loss, and countless more are grieving overseas. How many will lose people they love before the virus is defeated?

When we lose a loved one, our souls strain against the veil. We come to the end of ourselves and our powers to see. We may wonder whether we will ever really see them again. How confident are we, really, that we will find one another again on the far side of the veil?

We do not, if we are honest with ourselves, really know what happens to the souls of the dead. Not, at least, in the same sense we know the names of our children or the number of rooms in our home. But that does not mean we cannot be confident. Trust can be stronger than knowledge when it is rooted in the being of God.

The Scriptures, the Old Testament and the New, are clear that God stands against death. God “will swallow up death forever” (Isa. 25:8). “I will deliver this people from the power of the grave,” God declares, “I will redeem them from death” (Hosea 13:14). Men and women are resurrected in both testaments. Jesus grieved death—and overcame it. The victory of God is the defeat of death.

We trust that we will be united with God when we depart this earthly life because we believe in his promises. This is the purpose of our being, and the promise of our redemption. And when we are united with God, we trust we will be restored into fellowship with our loved ones who are also united with him.

We trust these things not because we see through the veil but because we see the character of God. We have seen and have proved that he is true to his promises. Our confidence that we will see our loved ones again is not rooted in such a paltry thing as human knowledge. It’s rooted in what is changeless and unshakable: the character and the goodness of God.

I am more confident in the love of God than I am in my own existence. I am convinced that the love of God fills and moves and draws all things unto itself.

We mourn, O Lord, those who have lost their lives. It is good and right to mourn them. But we do not mourn as a people without hope. We trust, O Lord, that the souls of our loved ones will know their way into your embrace as a bird knows its nest in the branches. We trust, O Lord, that when we climb the ladder of the stars, we will find you there. Thank you for your love that binds all things together, even broken and lonely things, in order to bring them back to one another and make them whole together.

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