So, how was your Easter? It was Palm Sunday for us Orthodoxes, and let me tell you, I’ve had better Palm Sundays. Happily, this one began with a surprising video from London. As you will have heard, British Prime Minister Boris Johnson has been released from the hospital after very nearly dying from coronavirus. Here is his Easter message for the people of Britain. It is striking to see and hear the overwhelming gratitude he has for those who saved his life. I bet this experience will end up making him a better man, and a better national leader — and, I hope, a man of faith. May God bless and strengthen all the hospital personnel who care for the sick and dying in this crisis.

It is hard to find the words to express my debt to the NHS for saving my life.

The efforts of millions of people across this country to stay home are worth it. Together we will overcome this challenge, as we have overcome so many challenges in the past. #StayHomeSaveLives pic.twitter.com/HK7Ch8BMB5

— Boris Johnson #StayHomeSaveLives (@BorisJohnson) April 12, 2020

The mononucleosis was particularly acute today. I woke up at 10:30, exhausted. Drank two cups of coffee, watched Boris, then went back to bed. Slept most of the day, waking up every now and then to pray my prayer rope, before drifting off. Mono is such a weird thing for me. When I’m having an episode, my brain is foggy and my eyes burn. I can’t focus on a book, and it’s hard to watch TV. So I sleep and pray. Believe me, it’s not because I’m pious; it’s because there’s nothing else I can do. There’s probably a point to this enforced prayerfulness.

Anyway, it rained most of the day, which makes for good sleeping weather. When I woke up around 5, we read the Orthodox Typika service aloud as a family. After a while, I flopped on the couch in the TV room and watched the first two episodes of Kieslowski’s Decalogue, which a friend loaned me ages ago, but that I’ve not gotten around to watching.

Ever seen it? It’s one of those things that everybody says is fantastic … and they’re right. It’s a ten-part series made for Polish television in 1988, with each one-hour episode a dramatic illustration of one of the Ten Commandments. Let me tell you, it’s hard to find a more depressing setting than a concrete Warsaw high-rise in the dead of winter, in the final years of communism, but man, what a powerful film. Intensely beautiful storytelling — but not the kind of thing you can take a lot of at once, if your recurrence of mono has made your body feel like a concrete Warsaw high rise in the dead of winter in the final years of communism.

So I watched an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm as a palate-cleanser afterward. And that was my floppy, rainy Sunday. Let’s hear from you.

From the South:

My misgivings about the extreme measures being taken against Covid-19, dating from the moment the bishops rolled over for the lockdown, continue to intensify. Let me state up front that I am taking the virus seriously. I was the first person in my city wearing a mask to the supermarket. With great grief I have put on indefinite hold plans to visit my mother and other aging relations lest we or our kids inadvertently transmit the virus to them. Yet I feel a cold unease about the eagerness of Christians—including you, of all people! to not only cooperate with the shutdown of churches but loudly support it, and even single out for mockery those unwilling to fall in line.

Rod, the suppression of Christianity you’ve long been warning us about? It’s here. It’s happening right now. And you continue to say it’s necessary and morally righteous for us to cancel our services and stay away from the Eucharist. This I do not understand.

So, my Pandemic Diary. We are in a parish in the South that offers the TLM. Last week our heroic priests gave parking lot confessions. I shared my anguish about the way the Church has slid—no, jumped head-first—into “non-essential” limbo. Father agreed and connected me with a different parish which is still holding outdoor Masses. I got the venue information by email. We were asked not to share it publicly. It was strictly limited to “word of mouth.”

Today, Easter Sunday, we packed all the kids into the car and drove 80 miles one way to a field in the middle of nowhere, where Mass was celebrated for a congregation of people in cars. It was the most American Mass ever—and one of the most beautiful I’ve ever assisted at. The stillness made me think of that old spiritual: “So high you can’t get over it, so low you can’t get under it, so wide you can’t get around it, you must go in at the door.” That high, low, wide thing was there in that field like a wall splitting the world, and the door was on the truck-mounted altar. I’ve seen people on the internet, and some of my own offline friends as well, waxing misty-eyed about the unexpected spiritual consolation of live-streamed liturgies. We did the live-stream thing last week and the week before, and I can now confidently say: To Hell with that. I would give a thousand live-streams for one soft clank of a thurible drifting over a field.

I can already hear the busybodies drawing breath to criticize us for “endangering others.” Their warm concern for our health and safety is misplaced. Social distancing was maintained (all stayed in their cars except the handful of altar servers and the two-woman choir; we didn’t take communion). I was in more danger buying gas along the way. It is not only possible but easy(ish) to celebrate Mass without irresponsible social contact … yet it remains forbidden while not only supermarkets and drugstores are open, but liquor, weed where legal, and unedifying entertainment by the terabyte, including porn, can be freely had by all?! I find it very hard to convince myself that this is an excess of caution, let alone a morally justifiable decision. It is a collapse. How does that saying go? “Gradually, and then all at once”?

One other thought that came to me in that field: “This is the future.”

As you know, this is a serious concern of mine. I’ll write about this in a separate post on Monday.

From Texas:

I am a corporate bankruptcy lawyer working at a large, Amlaw 100 law firm. I thought your readers might want to read a little about the impact that the pandemic appears to be having on the business community in Texas and Louisiana (i.e., the part of the country where I practice).

From what I’ve seen, most business Chapter 11 cases have not spiked (yet). Contrary to media depictions, most business people are understanding and generally gracious about this whole situation. I know of several commercial landlords who have simply given their tenants three months’ or more worth of rent abatements in exchange for adding another three or four months to the end of their leases. Many lenders (even large banks) have been similarly understanding. As far as I’m aware, most are working out forbearance agreements with their borrowers rather than trying to force them into foreclosure or liquidation. Everyone knows that these times are unusual and hope that they will be temporary. The Paycheck Protection Program of the 2020 CAREs Act should also be a real life-line for many small businesses and enable them to pay their rent and their employees and otherwise keep their businesses afloat for now. (Of course, as you might imagine, the Small Business Administration’s implementing regulations for the CAREs Act remain a work in progress.)

Unfortunately, the longer this shutdown lasts, the more difficult it will be to avoid serious, long-term economic consequences for American business. Already, major strains are appearing in the hospitality, restaurant, and energy industries. Hotels are basically shut down. They cannot make their loan payments at 5% room-occupancy rates. That just won’t cut it. Still, lenders aren’t foreclosing yet either because (1) most are decent people and appreciate the situation hotels are in right now and (2) they don’t want to own an empty hotel in today’s uncertain market, which is what would happen if they do foreclose. As for restaurants, they face real trouble. Take-out and delivery services just can’t match regular table service. We may ultimately see many restaurants go out of business before this is all over. I hope not, but I don’t see any way out of it.

Finally, the worst-hit sector may well be energy. The energy industry has experienced a double shock, with both a supply glut and an unprecedented decrease in demand. According to the Houston Business Journal (https://www.bizjournals.com/houston/news/2020/04/10/the-week-in-bankruptcies-houston-area-hits-100.html), the Houston Division of the United States Bankruptcy Court for the Southern District of Texas—where lots of energy-related cases get filed—had recorded 100 Chapter 7 or Chapter 11 business bankruptcy filings by April 3, 2020, which represented an 82% increase over this same period last year. I have personally talked to people at two different oilfield services companies who will have to file Chapter 11 soon if things don’t change fast. People don’t need drillers or sand-producers when no one is drilling new wells. The same tough situation also faces many independent oil-and-gas exploration and production companies. Exxon should be able to ride this out. Those E&P companies with only a few assets in a few marginal fields won’t. And there are many of those small companies out there.

So, the business community has reason to both hope and fear as this pandemic rolls on. Like everyone else, we hope that things will get better soon, but we fear that they won’t. In my case, I try to remember that the Lord who created the universe and gave his Son for our salvation remains in control. It’s harder to remember that on some days than it is on others, though. Today, on Easter (for most of us), is one of the better days.

From Oregon:

I hail from rural Oregon and the virus has not affected us in a large way here yet.  Nevertheless, we’ve been sheltering at home since March 15, the 3^rd Sunday of Lent, when orders to cease congregating came from the state and archbishop.  So it’s now almost a month since we last attended Mass.

Even though the virus hasn’t touched me or my immediate friends in the area, it has affected me deeply.  My dear friend in Cambridge UK nearly died.  She developed severe pneumonia and a pneumothorax, but never went to the hospital as she did not “fit the criteria” being imposed by the NHS.  It has been touch and go for weeks, but she is slowly getting better.  (It makes you wonder how many thousands of people simply die at home without being counted as coronavirus victims.)  I am concerned about long term repercussions, but we still don’t know enough about aftereffects yet.

Thoughts of my “vulnerable” state of being over 65 with previous cancer/chemo and autoimmune disease are also present.  Over the last month or so, I’ve been steadily preparing important documents and items I would want to be found in the event of my death, which I have no illusions about.  I know I’ve already been saved many times from death.  It’s good to face the possibility as it sharpens one’s priorities.

Online Masses have been very helpful to keep a continuity of the liturgical year and to participate in some way, but even that has not always been available.  Rural living is wonderful, but if you have an infestation of burrowing ground squirrels that chew on internet cables underground, it makes internet access dodgy, if not impossible.  The cables have been replaced, but I still find connections wonky and unpredictable.  So even the consolation of online inspiration and general connectivity to the outside world has most of these last 3 weeks been withdrawn.

Therefore, Lent became even more ascetical!  Which led me to a lot of pondering about what we really need and what is really essential.  It has been a time for great self-scrutiny and examination.  That is an ongoing process and reveals much to be desired.  For now, the message is:  humility.  Spiritually, I could embrace this situation like the faithful in Communist countries who were barred, on the point of torture or death, from worship; or like the steadfast Christians in Nagasaki, who retained the faith after generations lived without priest or sacraments.  After all, Jesus is still with us, to the end of the world.

On a purely practical level, I also thought about a doomsday scenario in which internet was also withdrawn – what would we do?  What I do know is that the situation worldwide would be catastrophic.  Beyond that, I can only do what makes sense on a practical level:  Learn and relearn the old skills of living that have withstood the tests of time:  sewing, canning, making do with less, making my own yogurt and bread, thinking of creative ways to use what I have for what I need, etc.

Certainly, the constant barrage of information that spews forth from the internet isn’t good for us.  It can become addictive to know the absolute latest in the news of today.  Once I realized that I was “marooned” physically and connectively, I actually felt relief.   I’ve had some sewing projects on hold for months, and I delved into them.  I recently made 2 linen amices for a priest, which required hand-embroidering crosses on each.  What a lovely thing to do, sitting near a bright window, bending my head over the embroidery hoop in the creation of a little red cross.  Meditation naturally follows, then prayer for all our loved ones, for those who are sick and dying, for those people endangering their lives to serve, and for the world.  The pace slows and things become meaningful again, with each stitch.

I also adopted a 5 year-old rescue dog – a little guy that fits into my life like we were made for each other.  He gets me out regularly to enjoy the beautiful spring days, and he offers unconditional loyal companionship.  Another slowing down.

And gardening, seeing the seeds planted weeks ago beginning to emerge from the ground as signs of hope.  Thinking of how to keep the deer away.  More slowing down.

Last night, I was successful in watching the Easter Vigil Mass online, without interruption, and that was a great gift.  From childhood, I always get deeply sorrowful during Holy Week, building up to Good Friday.  By Holy Saturday, I feel that sorrow vanish, replaced by a slowly growing joy.  By the Vigil, I’m about to explode!  It was wonderful to know that, despite not being in church itself, the Easter story is deeply internalized and will never leave me.  He is risen!  Indeed He is risen.

Thank you all for writing. As ever, I am at rod — at — amconmag — dot — com, and am eager to read more Pandemic Diaries. Don’t forget to say where you live.

UPDATE:

From Port Hadlock, Washington:

We continue our “distancing” in a beautiful woodsy spot on Puget Sound, grateful every day that we can be outdoors without worrying about the six-feet rule. Today, Easter, was particularly precious, a perfect spring day with the water sparkling in a light breeze, and the two of us (one definitely in the high-risk category) still able to breathe.

At 10:00 am we went online for the virtual Easter service at our home church in Seattle. The Lent/Easter season is a typically a real event at this 500 member, 135-year old Presbyterian church, and it includes many traditions. Maundy Thursday is a solemn and mournful service which includes passing a wooden cross through the congregation, and ends with darkening and stripping of the sanctuary and everyone filing out in dark and silence.  By contrast, Easter morning is a most joyous event. Music is a very important part of our worship, and it covers the spectrum from drums, bass, and guitar contemporary to a much-beloved pipe organ and large choir. All play a role in the service, and the congregation sings, energetically and from the heart.

The congregational prayer in normal times involves anyone in the sanctuary who wishes praying out loud. In the virtual service, this isn’t possible, so people post their prayer matters at the side of the screen in the “chat” function and one of the online leaders prays for them as she reads them in real time. The prayers this Easter had a particular intensity as people typed in the names of loved ones in various kinds of distress, as well as dire issues facing the wider world and ministries we support.

The text for the sermon was from Matthew 28, and the sermon was serious and at the same time hope-inspiring. Our head pastor made a point of the angel’s words that Jesus would be “going ahead of you” into Galilee, and what it means that Jesus is going ahead of us as we move through the uncertainty that currently prevails.

One of the most beloved Easter traditions comes at the end of the service when the congregation is invited to come forward to sing the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. This morning, at the end our Director of Worship Ministries came on the screen to talk about it. I paraphrase from memory, because I don’t have a transcript. He said something like, “My first Easter at (our church), I was told that at the end of the Easter service the tradition was to invite everyone who wished up to the chancel to sing the Hallelujah Chorus. I thought, Oh…kay, let’s see how this goes… So at the end of the service, I gave the invitation, It took a long time for everyone to pack into the chancel, about a third of the congregation. The organ gave the intro, and I gave the downbeat, and…oh my goodness! Halfway through the song I wasn’t directing very much because I was crying.” He went on to say that church members had sent him Youtube links to various virtual choirs, and thus inspired, he put in a couple of weeks of work on it. (My wife and I got the invitation with about four days left before deadline, and we struggled mightily with the technology, but we got our little recordings done after many attempts, as did quite a few others). So the Hallelujah Chorus was sung after all, and the tradition was upheld. After the service, it was put up on Youtube and we were sent a link. For those of you who would like to hear it, here it is:  https://youtu.be/Q1Osb5rqPCs.

I’m sure we’ll remember this Easter for the rest of our lives. May God bless and keep you all in humility and health.

 He is risen indeed!