Pandemic Diaries 7
That’s me and my wingman Roscoe above. Can’t say strongly enough how much that little friend means to me, and how much I’ve cherished him these past two weeks. Just now I have to make a run up to the country to bring my mom supplies. The state of Louisiana is going into lockdown at 5pm today. I want to share with you some more diary entries before I head out:
From Northern Virginia:
We live in Northern Virginia, outside of D.C. Like most churches around here, ours suspended Sunday worship as of two Sundays ago (March 15)—primarily in the interest of not being a source of infecting our neighbors—and its Sunday service has gone online. That was also when most everyone around here started staying home from work, and when the schools closed.
Our head priest (rector) did something else too: He started hosting online, interactive (via Zoom calls) Morning Prayer every weekday morning at 9:00 and Evening Prayer every weekday evening at 5:00. He has limited each one to a half-hour. At least 60 or so separate accounts have logged in for each of these, and one time we reached 100 (the limit of our account, which we’ve since increased). We are an Anglican church (Anglican Church in North America), so this means Morning and Evening Prayer out of the Book of Common Prayer.
The origin of these services is curious, and bears on the force they’ve had for our family and many over their first week. During the English Reformation, the Archbishop of Canterbury (Thomas Cranmer) wanted to make daily prayer accessible for the laity. The monasteries had had their canonical hours at least as far back at St. Benedict, but those required prayers every three hours, including through the night. Eight times a day was impossible for ordinary folk. So Cranmer distilled it down to two daily services, Morning and Evening Prayer, and Morning Prayer became in many ways the foundational Anglican service.
I’ve long known the basic history and known and appreciated those services. We’ll do Evening Prayer with some friends from church once a week, and an occasional Morning Prayer at home, and our church sometimes adds once-a-week Morning Prayer during the week in Lent. So one off, from time to time. But I’ve never done it the way the Church of England designed it—every day, twice a day.
It took the “freedom” and needs of a de-facto quarantine, plus the leadership of our rector and modern technology, to get me to do them the right way. As I result, my family, I, and others have spent the last week at last experiencing, and delighting in, the beauty, careful construction, and force of this system of worship. The lectionary readings are a progression across the morning and evening services and through the week (and year), so if you do all the services, you get substantial chunks of scripture, in order, rather than scattered bits. That includes marching through the Psalms once a month. The collects progress through the week, with a different one for each day, while we also in each service repeat the collect of the week, from the previous Sunday, as well as some other prayers (including a Prayer of St. Chrysostom) and verses (plus the basics such as the creed and Lord’s Prayer). So we are both moving along and remembering, changing and letting things sink in.
These services have structured our days as we adapt to this new world. I get up, get ready, and head down to the TV (set up to mirror the laptop) at 9:00, joined by my wife and kids. Precisely at 9:30, we are done (after the kids all wave goodbye to their friends on screen), and our work and school day begins in earnest. At 5:00, we mark the beginning of the evening and the end of at least the main part of my work day as we had begun it, with communal prayer, as a family and as a church.
It’s almost like a monastery for ordinary folks. What a gift, courtesy of a virus.
From southeastern Texas:
There has been a weird juxtaposition of “THE END IS NEAR!!” and complete normalcy here. Things were slow to ramp up in our area but panic buying took over last week. The most surprising thing for me was seeing cases of bottled water disappear. I mean, this isn’t a hurricane we’re facing and there is absolutely no disruption of utilities anticipated. In addition I have a feeling that buying up multiple bottles of peroxide was for some a kind of amulet against infection. They will no doubt gather dust on countless counters.
Speaking of hurricanes, I told my husband that there was a very similar surreal feeling when we were hunkered down waiting for Hurricane Harvey to hit. We had supplies in, our cars were gassed, our phones always charged, we were tuned in to the current weather forecast. Outside it was merely cloudy with an occasional breeze, a passing stray shower. It looked completely normal. Then you pulled up the radar and there was a panic-inducing MONSTER churning toward you. Turn off the radar and everything looks ordinary again. We felt rather foolish being so prepared even as we knew we needed to be. This situation feels similar. I wonder if we had some sort of virus radar that showed where it was people would take it more seriously. As it is, it’s invisible and so we only see the storm damage in the form of abstract numbers online and photos of people on ventilators. I used to be a nurse and was working at a large university hospital during the swine flu pandemic so I have no illusions about the grim possibilities.
We have a large family and I told my husband I felt like I needed to wear a shirt advertising “we have seven kids; don’t judge my cart contents” when I went to the store. For some it might look like hoarding but I was buying possibly twice the normal amount, certainly not enough to get through months. We now have to run out every several days for fresh produce and milk (for the little ones) but they’re quick trips. I’ve seen only one person wearing a mask in the last 10 days. The local HEB has staff armed with large bottles of hand sanitizer at the doors, making sure everyone uses it on entering and exiting. I heard yesterday that there was a security guard there and a scuffle ensued when a man refused to use hand sanitizer.
Since we were already homeschooling, apart from the oldest kids not attending classes (community college) things look pretty ordinary. No one is going to any routine checkups and no one is shopping except for necessary supplies. I have an at-home business so that hasn’t changed. My husband is a priest and therein lies our biggest disruption: church.
We’ve followed our bishop’s directives with respect to services: only Liturgies to be celebrated, no other services. Only a skeleton crew present, a maximum of 10 people including parishioners. The first Sunday we were unable to get a streaming system set up in time, but by last Tuesday it was in place. At first some people attended despite the restriction (no one was locked out) but by Liturgy yesterday it looks like it was down to around 10. I’d been home since the Sunday of Orthodoxy with the younger children, either reading Typica or participating with the streaming Liturgy, but yesterday Father started a system (with the dean’s permission) whereby he delayed consuming the chalice until mid-afternoon and allowed parishioners to come on the hour and half hour to venerate the cross and icons and receive communion. Doors were propped open so no one had to touch them. Alcohol wipes were present at each glass-covered icon, with a small trash can nearby. The little girls were overjoyed to see their friends (who were on their way out) but I and their mother had to hold onto the children so there was no physical contact exchanged. They’re all too young to understand. This system will stay in place until the county gives instructions for a shelter-in-place. (I will be surprised if the governor issues one for the state because so much of Texas is rural and isolated and there are many counties with no cases at all.) People were grateful to be able to receive communion.
Our mission is small (as is our budget) and we’re in the first year of a planting grant. Normally we would be encouraging visitors but now we’re having to tell people to stay away. The future looks uncertain but we’re focusing on the present and being grateful for what we have. As Father said in his sermon yesterday, “this may not be the Lent we wanted, certainly not the Lent we would have chosen, but it is the Lent God has given us.”
From Minneapolis:
I got laid off from my job yesterday. I work for a small manufacturing company where everyone wears a lot of hats, and one of the production gals became symptomatic last week, so they shut down production. The part of my job that doesn’t involve production largely involves procurement and inventory—very unnecessary jobs right now.The Archdiocese has stopped all Masses, but our parish is offering 24-7 Eucharistic Adoration (in the church, everyone at least 6 feet apart, etc.) I have a regular weekly Adoration hour and signed up for another, but can’t attend now because of being possibly exposed at work. That hurts. We watched a live-streamed Mass yesterday morning at home and it was better than I thought—but I still feel bereft.My husband had a stroke a few years ago. It was thankfully mild, but there are definite but subtle physical and mental changes. If he has to job hunt, I don’t know what he’ll do—I don’t think he could handle the stress. After the stroke he was able to step down to a less-demanding job in his company, keeping benefits and vacation time but taking a big pay cut. His company is still going, but if that changes, we lose health insurance.We came into an unexpected inheritance some years back and agreed to use it judiciously. We took money out for a couple vehicles over the years, and for kids’ tuition, and splurged on one Disney vacation years ago. We kept living life just as we did before the windfall and hoped we could swing a low-key retirement when my husband hits 62 in roughly a decade. We are pretty typical Gen-Xers, holding our heads down and working and not expecting much. Our biggest retirement dream: a truck camper and lots of camping trips. We watched the value of the inheritance account go up and up, and my husband’s 401k too. I haven’t had the courage to look at them now—I have no idea where we are.I can’t help thinking that we lived and worked like the ant but we may has well have enjoyed it like the grasshopper.
As you know, I live in a place you have to intentionally want to visit. The Walla Walla valley is remote–it is an hour’s drive on a two-lane highway once you leave either I 82 or I 84. Because it is remote, it is unusually self-contained, with colleges, health care, a robust local food supply (and bonus we make wine locally so if things get really bad we can drown our sorrows!) and a large agribusiness sector.Until Friday there were no confirmed cases of COVID-19 in our county, but a local friend who works at the hospital rolled her eyes and said “it’s all over the place here–we just aren’t testing.” We are sitting here watching the slow-rolling disaster in Seattle and California and wondering when the virus will hit one of the many retirement communities here in town. I pray that because we had a head start–the city and county have been proactive and local businesses were quick to limit gathering–for example restaurants closed dining rooms, colleges closed campuses and the like that we may escape the worst here.I stocked up on seeds and plants a couple of weeks ago, and I am focused on getting my fruit trees into the ground and my vegetable garden prepared and planted. I spend a lot of time outdoors digging, weeding, hauling, and pruning so life is quite pleasant for me right now. The biggest disruption is that church isn’t happening for us.Our little Episcopal church shut down early–I think the last gathering was two weeks ago. This was the first church here to livestream, which started a week ago. Yesterday we had a Zoom forum prior to a livestreamed Morning Prayer service (which I’ll link at the end). I was touched at the planning and care that went into producing this for our community. I wasn’t expecting music! We are a small congregation and I am feeling incredibly thankful for our clergy and musicians.At the forum yesterday, the rector showed us the parish records from 1918–he broadcast the pages from the book where clergy records services and attendance. There were no services for a ten week period between November and January 1919. Prior to that, there were maybe 10 people still attending. The note in the book said that services were cancelled by order of the state of Washington. In an odd way this was comforting–knowing that in 1918 nobody had the surveillance or modeling tools to know what was coming until it hit them; nobody had the health care resources we have now; nobody had Netflix or Zoom, and yet once the pandemic subsided, the world bounced back quickly enough that a century later the great Influenza isn’t much remembered by history. Things will be bad, but we will get through this.Here is a link to yesterday’s worship: https://vimeo.com/398943820
I pastor a church in De Soto, KS. We are a quiet community outside of KC. Our worship is traditional. Two Sundays ago we did our first ‘virtual worship’ with a cell phone. The set up was in our welcome area near a fireplace. Nothing fancy. I am grateful to those churches who can do a more fuller service that includes singing and the like, but I was very much moved by the experience of just sitting in front of a phone and praying and preaching through whatever it is we’re going through.The reaction has been nothing but positive. There has been an oddly affecting comfort of knowing people are gathered together with family and pausing for a few moments of worship. I have found it to be a bit freeing as well by not having to worry about all that can go wrong during a service. I know I and others will most likely be tearful wrecks by the time we all get to worship together again. This time apart has reminded me that God’s love truly can keep us together. I really do feel like we are preparing ourselves for a glorious reunion that is the foretaste of God’s coming kingdom.Our congregation is now communicating with one another on a more frequent basis (albeit almost solely electronically). Connections are being made as phone trees emerge, bringing people who have never talked to one another together and are now learning more about each other. Others are sending cards and postcards, reviving an age-old tradition of pen-paling. Church goers are submitting devotions of comfort and grace that are being well-received. Many are volunteering to help with those in the most isolated of circumstances, making sure our most vulnerable people are getting what they need.We are huddled in our homes and learning to live life together again. I try to limit watching the news of this unfolding catastrophe knowing that it will get worse before it gets better, not to remain ignorant but rather to remain present to this community. I know this will end and not without great, great difficulty, but in our dying to the old ways something new is emerging and I am grateful for the people of faith here at the church who are carrying on in ways that I could never imagine.
I wanted to share with you my own experience regarding the Coronavirus lockdown here in San Diego, where I work and reside. Like everywhere else in the state, San Diego’s been subject to the same policies, but you couldn’t tell in the beach community I live in.I went on a run yesterday for the first time in almost two weeks, my first exercise in a week (I’ve been recovering from an illness). I was struck by how many cyclists and runners were out and about. Far more than even on beautiful summer days, it seemed like Coronavirus has rekindled Americans’ love for bicycles and moving about on their own two feet.At the same time, I found it ironic that the number of people outside made it challenging at times to maintain social distance. All that space, yet here we were, using the same sidewalks, running/walking paths, etc. I found myself holding my breath every time I passed someone else, concerned the virus could waft its way over via the breeze generated by passing cyclists and runners.As for traffic, it was noticeably less than pre-lockdown, but still one too many, in my view. I couldn’t help but wonder where all these people were going if most everything was closed or if they were even going anywhere. A place like San Diego, especially close to the beach, makes it easy to catch cabin fever and a part of me empathized with the desire to enjoy the day while we’re still allowed to.Overall, however, I got the sense that people just didn’t take the lockdown that seriously. They did it because they were asked to, which is good, but, as people in free societies tend to do, they were willing to test the system. There were parties being held late into the evenings at the apartment complex where I live, indicating people were still having gatherings in relatively confined spaces, despite warnings from the CDC.It all makes me wonder what happens if the pandemic does get worse. The unwillingness of people to make temporary sacrifices virtually ensures stronger measures, up to and possibly even coercive enforcement, will be implemented. Gov. Andrew Cuomo of New York admonished those gathering in parks and other public spaces amid the lockdown and his words could effectively summarized as, “We’re not messing around.”On the other side of it, the economic impact the pandemic will have on our society became just a bit more apparent yesterday. The owner of the gym I’ve attended since I started living here has been updating the membership daily and wrote a heart-to-heart letter to us all. Without divulging too much, he leveled with us: while business has been suspended, their financial obligations, such as rent and taxes, have not. The cost of doing business in San Diego, to say nothing of California, is notoriously expensive. The amount of overhead is challenging to pay off even in the best of times and now the business can’t even open. To top it all off, the gym recently opened up a fourth location; in some ways, this crisis has hit at a time when this gym couldn’t afford one. As the owner put it, you can save for everything else, but “you do not save up for the day the Governor tells you that the entire state is shut down.”Despite the bleak outlook, the ownership is actually paying it’s full-time employees their regular salaries and wages. Unlike many other businesses, they’ve yet to lay off anyone in anticipation of losses that are virtually guaranteed at this point. This is an incredible decision on their part, but he also made clear it wasn’t something that could go on forever. Currently, the gym’s being buttressed by the monthly fees members (how many, I’m not sure) are continuing to pay but, again, if this crisis continues, it’s guaranteed that other members will eventually opt out.I, for one, am choosing to continue paying membership fees for the time being. Being a member of the “essential” workforce, I still go to work every day, a routine that’s quickly become a luxury. Honestly, it’s not easy to consciously decide to pay for a service I cannot use. But these are extraordinary times; I’m continuing to pay the membership fees for the sake of the owners, who, like many entrepreneurs, have thrown everything they had into this business, and for the employees whose livelihoods currently depend on members still paying their dues.I can’t say I’ve been a particularly “involved” member of this gym. For me, it’s a strictly contractual, transactional relationship — I pay for a service, they provide it, I go home. I’m not involved in the community aspect of the gym as much as the other members. But it’s also been the closest thing to a community I’ve had since moving to the city and I’ve made a few friends there, one of whom was laid off last week due to the Coronavirus. Hearing the gym’s owner explain exactly what was at stake brought the true face of the crisis to home and makes me fearful of what’s to come after the initial crisis has abated. I know, for a fact, that many of the faces I’ve come accustomed to seeing on a daily basis at this gym aren’t going to be there when I return and it’s a sobering thought.But the worst of the pandemic awaits us and I only hope it doesn’t take a disaster on the scale of Italy for Americans to realize the importance of isolation and social-distancing. Nobody wants to live like this, but if we want any kind of life to return to, we have to be willing to make those sacrifices. It takes a tremendous amount of effort and work to sustain a society during the best of times; imagine what it takes to do the same during the worst of times.
