God Never Keeps Social Distance

My grandfather died in the 1918 flu epidemic. He was in his early forties, the father of five children; my father, at 15, being the oldest. It was in early April, “the cruelest month” according to my father and T.S. Eliot.

Dad, who was away at school at the time, told me that a teacher came to his classroom to get him because his father was sick and his mother wanted him to come home. By the time they got to the headmaster’s office, a short walk of about three minutes, his father had died.

Growing up in the age of antibiotics, I had a hard time imagining that someone could get the flu and then be dead in less than a day. Now it’s not difficult to know this can be true.

I’ve been thinking about my grandmother, Dad and his younger siblings a lot these days. What was it like to be left fatherless and penniless at a moment’s notice? How did they face those first days? There were no government emergency grants, no compensation for loss of income. It became clear almost immediately that they could no longer afford their lovely family home and had to move into a small cold-water hut in the woods, without central heat or indoor plumbing. My grandmother suffered from a weak heart and thus my father, at 15, essentially became head of the family.

He never talked very much about those long days and months. It was years later that I heard some of the details from my aunts and uncles. And so it’s during this time of another pandemic 100 years later that I have more questions.

Above and beyond the dire physical and financial circumstances that my dad and thousands of others world-wide faced in 1918, they hadn’t any means to maintain emotional and spiritual connection. How did they get through each day? Many did not even have a telephone.

Life in the early 20^th century depended on gatherings: faith communities, sewing circles, men’s and women’s clubs, sporting events, committee meetings, book groups (with “real” books), lectures, theater and more. How to maintain relationships with total social distancing? How did those that survived manage to keep on?

As it was then, so now we too are separated from family, colleagues and friends and will be for some time. We don’t gather for worship or lunch or book groups, children don’t go to school or sports. Many of us are acquainted with illness and death. Many are alone. All of us need to keep social distance.

Yet here’s the difference: because there are so many ways to connect remotely, we are able to see and talk to each other. We gather by Zoom, Facetime, and Skype with our faith communities, for work and for fun and chats with those we love. We get creative. One neighborhood in town will supply “untouched” sidewalk chalk next weekend so, one by one, neighbors can draw pictures or write greetings on the sidewalk in front of another’s house. An apartment dweller in a big city went into the common courtyard and led a Tai-chi class, as the tenants followed along from behind their windows. In New Orleans, a saxophonist went onto his balcony and wailed out a tune. Soon enough, a trumpet joined from the street below, then a bass from across the way, next a clarinet, a horn.

You, I’m sure, know stories like these. They are glimpses of hope, sparks of light in a trying time.

At the same time, sadly, there will be many missed occasions that can only be celebrated “live”; graduations, performances, weddings and, hardest of all, memorial services.

When a friend loses a loved one, words can say only so much. Lots of hugs, weeping together, sitting quietly side by side or holding a hand ; those times get us through. Dropping by with some food, taking a walk, just being there.

Keeping social distance has done away with those time-honored rituals.

With respect to all who follow a path other than mine, it is simply my belief in God’s love that gives me hope, comfort and reassurance. Because God never keeps social distance! I believe that the Holy One, while unseen, inscrutable and infinite, nonetheless is ever-present, beside, beneath and above each of us in every circumstance. Like the one we’re in right now.