On Good Friday, Christians mark the sufferings of Christ. This Good Friday morning, I sat in front of a blank computer screen thinking, “The computer died overnight. This is a dark time. Maybe it’s temporary. Push the ‘on’ switch, Donald. Okay, maybe it needs to be held in a bit longer. Shoot, still no screen. Wait, is it brightening? Yes, it’s coming back to life. What would I do if my only functioning computer died? Apple is closed for business, so going to the mall is out of the question during these quarantine days. Ah! There’s that little line with the slow light-sabre that shows resurrection. It’s back on. I’m bathed in the glow of my screen.”
And then I thought, “How foolishly petty I must be,” as I realized what day it was. And from that, I thought of those thousands who in the course of just a few recent weeks went from health to death, from light to darkness, and to the families who lost loved ones forever. Unlike my computer and the story of Christ, this contemporary story has no tangible resurrection for the victims of the pandemic, no 'on' button for loved ones to push. No, there’s a permanence here, and life has changed for the survivors.
One doesn’t have to be a Christian (I am, by the way) to learn a lesson about life from the sufferings of Christ and the Covid-19 victims. This is not your practice life, dear Reader. As you sit in front of your computer, recognize that the screen you use could at some time be infected by a virus, and the life you live could be similarly affected, the latter infection far worse than the former. That you currently have both a computer that works and a life to live should bring you some joy. Among your fellow seven billion humans are those who have neither a working monitor nor the health to use one that functions. If you can empathize with them, you might experience joy in what you have, not merely in your access to a computer—a device no one had not too long ago—but also in your access to consciousness, potential, and human interaction in some form.
When you do undergo your eventual resurrection from the tomb of quarantine, look with wonder on those others around you given the gift of rising into a new life. Look, too, with pity on those who will emerge into the world with bitterness because in their self-centered perspectives and in their egocentrism, they will not note that some never rose from the graves dug by a pandemic to enjoy the world again and to fulfill their potential.
If you undergo small sufferings and find yourself complaining, short-tempered, or mean-spirited, step back for a moment to see your life not in comparison with what it was but rather in light of what it can be in fulfilling your potential for good. Unless you are under dire threat, you aren’t in your quarantine being crucified. You aren’t suffering as much as your impatience wants you to believe. Will the post-pandemic world be different from the pre-pandemic world? Yes, of course, but it will be a world of your making. If my computer had become a permanently dark screen this morning, I would be temporarily cut off from posting a blog, but I could still put pencil to paper if I felt the need to write. The mechanism of communication would change, but the ability to communicate in alternative ways would remain. I could take joy in whatever endures. Small sufferings can heighten the joy in what we do have, in what we have not lost, and in the potential to adapt.
Christians live in the hope of their Resurrection, their personal Easter, but anyone, believer and nonbeliever alike, can also hope for and work toward a bright emergence from a dark time.
And then I thought, “How foolishly petty I must be,” as I realized what day it was. And from that, I thought of those thousands who in the course of just a few recent weeks went from health to death, from light to darkness, and to the families who lost loved ones forever. Unlike my computer and the story of Christ, this contemporary story has no tangible resurrection for the victims of the pandemic, no 'on' button for loved ones to push. No, there’s a permanence here, and life has changed for the survivors.
One doesn’t have to be a Christian (I am, by the way) to learn a lesson about life from the sufferings of Christ and the Covid-19 victims. This is not your practice life, dear Reader. As you sit in front of your computer, recognize that the screen you use could at some time be infected by a virus, and the life you live could be similarly affected, the latter infection far worse than the former. That you currently have both a computer that works and a life to live should bring you some joy. Among your fellow seven billion humans are those who have neither a working monitor nor the health to use one that functions. If you can empathize with them, you might experience joy in what you have, not merely in your access to a computer—a device no one had not too long ago—but also in your access to consciousness, potential, and human interaction in some form.
When you do undergo your eventual resurrection from the tomb of quarantine, look with wonder on those others around you given the gift of rising into a new life. Look, too, with pity on those who will emerge into the world with bitterness because in their self-centered perspectives and in their egocentrism, they will not note that some never rose from the graves dug by a pandemic to enjoy the world again and to fulfill their potential.
If you undergo small sufferings and find yourself complaining, short-tempered, or mean-spirited, step back for a moment to see your life not in comparison with what it was but rather in light of what it can be in fulfilling your potential for good. Unless you are under dire threat, you aren’t in your quarantine being crucified. You aren’t suffering as much as your impatience wants you to believe. Will the post-pandemic world be different from the pre-pandemic world? Yes, of course, but it will be a world of your making. If my computer had become a permanently dark screen this morning, I would be temporarily cut off from posting a blog, but I could still put pencil to paper if I felt the need to write. The mechanism of communication would change, but the ability to communicate in alternative ways would remain. I could take joy in whatever endures. Small sufferings can heighten the joy in what we do have, in what we have not lost, and in the potential to adapt.
Christians live in the hope of their Resurrection, their personal Easter, but anyone, believer and nonbeliever alike, can also hope for and work toward a bright emergence from a dark time.
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