As we approach the one-year-mark for the Covid-19 pandemic, I am struck by the cloud of weariness that hangs over our heads. A friend’s Facebook post says it all. There’s a little person walking along and wondering why he feels so tired lately. On his shoulders sits a huge gray rock with the words: “The cold of winter … plus lockdown, plus the uncertain future, plus the whole of last year generally, plus the unrelenting news cycle, plus that email you’ve been putting off, plus the lack of human contact, plus some other [stuff] you can’t quite put your finger on.” (slide) We are tired because we are weary. This pandemic is exhausting our patience and our tolerance for our situation. As Bilbo Baggins says in The Lord of the Rings, “I feel all thin, sort of stretched, if you know what I mean: like butter that has been scraped over too much bread. That can't be right. I need a change, or something.”[1]
Therapists point to “Covid-19 fatigue,” which
results in depression and anxiety. In 2020, both of these illnesses increased from
8 percent of the general population to as much as 34 percent.[2] Mental health experts talk about a “disruption in
our nervous system.” Our brains are simply reacting to all of the uncertainty
around us.[3] Psychologists
suggest combatting our weariness with intentional focus on relaxation, with daily
exercise, with socializing in safe ways, with seeking professional help when we
need it, with taking control of the things in our lives that we can control.[4]
These are all good suggestions.
Even without clinical anxiety or depression, however,
there is a spiritual dimension to our common weariness. We
can suffer from a “wearied heart,” a tiredness so deep that it prevents us from
caring. It can lay us too low to feel as if our efforts matter. When faced with
yet another problem in the world, we curl up deep in the sofa cushions and sigh,
unable to take action. The prophet Isaiah knew
something about this kind of weariness. Exiled for decades in Babylon, the
ancient Israelites were also shrugging wearily: “What is the use of following
the Torah now? It won’t do us any good. We might as well just live like the
Babylonians. God can’t do anything to help us, or we would be out of here by
now. If God is powerless, then we might as well give up. What’s the use? Why
does any of it matter, anyway?”
For our spiritual weariness, Isaiah suggests another helpful strategy:
waiting prayerfully for the breath of God. In the last five
verses of Isaiah’s ringing call to the truth of God’s creative power, the
prophet mentions some kind of “weariness” ten times. God, who does not faint
and grow weary, is the One who can deliver us from our own weariness, Isaiah
says. If we “wait for the Lord,” we shall mount up
with wings like eagles; we shall run and not be weary, we shall walk and not
faint. Hebrew poetry is full of parallel phrases, instead of rhymes. Here, we
have three parallels, three images that build on each other, culminating in the
last line. Did you ever notice, though, that people always choose the “mounting
up with wings like eagles” line to preach on, and not the final “walking and
not fainting” line? But for Isaiah, it is neither the flying nor the running
that is the strongest image. It is the walking, taking one step in front of
another, sustained by God just enough to keep going. Preacher John Claypool writes
about how God sustains us in our walking. Claypool, whose young daughter died
of leukemia, understands what it means to be truly weary. He writes: “’Who
wants to be slowed to a walk, to creep along inch by inch, just barely above
the threshold of consciousness and not fainting? That may not sound like much
of a religious experience, but believe me, in the kind of darkness where I have
been, it is the only form of the promise that fits the situation.’”[5]
Kathleen
Norris tells the story of a monk who was given the task of watering a piece of
dry wood until it bore fruit.[6]
That can be how Pandemic life feels, can’t it? Staying home day after
day; putting on mask after mask; keeping things going when every day looks an
awful lot like the last; making small, insignificant efforts to spread God’s
love. A virtuous Pandemic life can feel like watering a piece of dead wood. But
we know that, with God, even dead wood will someday bear fruit. Our patient
waiting, as we put one foot in front of the other, recommitting ourselves to
each new day, is the only way through.
Many
of you probably know the popular song, “On Eagles’ Wings.” It clearly echoes the
eagle image in today’s reading from Isaiah. The chorus goes: “He will raise you
up on eagle’s wings, bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the
sun, and hold you in the palm of his hand.” But, wait a minute. All of the
verses taken together do not seem to honor the struggles of our very real
weariness. “If you are with God,” the song seems to say, “then nothing bad will
ever happen to you. You will be ‘raised up,’ riding effortlessly on the wings
of God’s giant eagle.
The
Hebrew words of the text from Isaiah, however, don’t actually say that we will
be raised up on eagles’ wings. Instead, the Hebrew says that those who
wait on the Lord will stretch out their wings as the eagles. God isn’t
going to plop us down on an eagle so that we can soar into the sky, away from
our tasks on this earth. Isaiah is telling us that, if we trust in God, then we
will be willing to stand on the edge of the cliff and hold out our wings,
waiting to be carried out of our exile by the breath of God. As the Psalmist
writes, “For God alone my soul in silence waits; truly my hope is in God.”[7]
Think
for a minute about Simon Peter’s mother-in-law in today’s Gospel. Jesus comes
to her on her sickbed and “raises her up.” He cures her of her sickness and
makes her whole again. But he doesn’t send her soaring into the sky into a life
of ease and luxury. The text says that she gets up and begins to serve the men!
Now, no modern woman cares for this passage. It is clearly the product of a
time in which the only role of women was to take care of the household and to
offer hospitality to visitors. We don’t need to restrict women to this role in
order to find meaning in the text, however. The verb, “to serve” is the Greek “diakonia,”
the root from which we get the English word “deacon.” Clearly, this woman’s
service was the kind of service to which we are all called as followers of
Christ. More importantly, though, Jesus is lifting her up from sickness to her own
life. She is not transformed into someone totally different than who she was
before. She is brought back from death to herself, to wholeness of mind, spirit,
and body.[8]
She is restored to who she truly is, without the weariness of disease. Being totally
oneself, serving as one was born to serve, is one of the joys of being human.
There
is a prayer in our Book of Common Prayer that is made for our weary Pandemic
days. Pray with me:
This is another
day, O Lord. I know not what it will bring forth, but make me more ready, Lord,
for whatever it may be. If I am to stand up, help me to stand bravely. If I am
to sit still, help me to sit quietly. If I am to lie low, help me to do it patiently.
And if I am to do nothing, let me do it gallantly. Make these words more than
words, and give me the spirit of Jesus. Amen.[9]
This is the prayer of the
eagle who stands in exile on the edge of the cliff, waiting for the wind to
come. This is a prayer that we can pray as we struggle to care, to walk through
the repetitive tasks of life, to persevere in times of trouble. God doesn’t
expect us to live our lives on our own power, doing everything ourselves, flapping
our wings more and more frantically. But God does expect us to trust God enough
to stretch out our wings in readiness daily and to wait, finding our rest in
prayer.
[1]
JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings. Found at Quote
by J.R.R. Tolkien: “I am old, Gandalf. I don't look it, but I am be...”
(goodreads.com)
[2]
Susan E.W. Spencer, “Mental Health Concerns Rise as COVID Fatigue Deepens.”
UMass Med News, December 10, 2020. Found at As
COVID fatigue deepens, mental health concerns rise (umassmed.edu).
[3]
Ibid.
[4]
Amanda Solliday, “Wellness Advice While Dealing with Cold Weather and Covid
Fatigue.” Duke Today, February 4, 2021. Found at Wellness
Advice While Dealing with Cold Weather and COVID Fatigue | Duke Today.
[5]
John Claypool, quoted in Peter Jonker, “To Walk and Not Faint,” 2020-02-23-PM-To-Walk-and-Not-Faint-Jonker-Isaiah-40.27-31-2020-email.pdf
(lagrave.org).
[6]
Kathleen Norris, Acedia
and Me (New York: Riverhead Books, 2008.)
[7]
Psalm 62:6
[8]
Karoline Lewis, “On Being Restored to Yourself,” Working Preacher, February
1, 2015. Found at On
Being Restored to Yourself - Working Preacher from Luther Seminary.
[9]The
Book of Common Prayer 1979, 461.
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