Wednesday, February 26, 2020, the season of Lent began, bringing the novel coronavirus 19 outbreak with it. This is no coincidence.
Historically, Christians set aside a season of 40 days before Easter to fast and pray, and to remember the sacrifice of Jesus, the Son of God, slain for the sins of the world. This is a season of intentional gloom and quiet, a time to reflect and ponder on the mystery of the gospel, the good news that God has won, and yet it has cost Him everything.
This bitter-sweet symphony is the heartbeat of the Christian faith—the Bible refers to it as a paradox, the wisdom of God presented as the foolishness of men.
If you have observed Lent, then the coronavirus quarantine is nothing new. Just as we Christians inflict limitations on ourselves to remember, so now our entire culture is limiting themselves to protect each other.
As I write this, the rumor is out that the state of Georgia will be closing. How you can hang a “closed” sign on the door of the entire state is beyond me and sounds more like George Orwell than the nightly news, but these are the times we are living in.
We are all in a panic.
It’s harder to find toilet paper and food. People are stock-piling everything and I have had more conversations about bunkers and the end-of-times than ever before.
It’s not that this threat is any bigger than the last one. Natural disasters are equally terrible—some are far more dangerous!—as are terrorist attacks, wars, and the natural growth and spreading of viruses and bacterium.
The problem is, we believe that we can (and should) control this one, but we are unprepared.
We, the greatest country in the world, are unprepared for dark days. We live in the light so much that we have forgotten how to live in the dark.
We have response teams to clean up after disasters, and we have the greatest armed forces on the planet to protect us against all harm. But we don’t have a vaccine for SARS-CoV-2.
We have the urge to fight, but we have no weapon.
And while we all hope the best for everyone—we hope to find a cure to any and all diseases, to defeat terrorists and evils domestic and abroad, to isolate storms and redirect their terror—ultimately, we have to yield to this imposed season of Lent.
We have to make peace with the darkness, make peace with our own ultimate end.
Because the greatest gift of all is not a vaccine to get us through the night; the greatest gift of all is the dawn.
And while the darkness is certainly confusing (maybe even paradoxical!) the only way out of this season is through it.
So hunker down, for the dawn is breaking.