Something Is Bothering My Soul ...

Something is bothering my soul. I began to notice it early in the pandemic; however, adequately identifying the source of my discontent became elusive. Initially, I thought it was the utter chaos of the COVID-19 pandemic. I would go into a store and see labels instructing me which direction to walk in an aisle ... I heard 'experts' on the news teaching me how to wipe down my groceries or my packages from the mail ... I saw people directing me to use only specific (and often outlying) store entrances, rather than being able to use the most accessible ones ... I would go to my physician's office and be instructed to take off my mostly-impervious cloth mask, in order to put on their cheap, loose-fitting, disposable one. It all felt like uneducated, non-scientific, illogical insanity. It felt like everyone, every company, every business, was trying to cover their butt, with little-to-no scientific reasoning behind their actions. 

Then, as the months wore on, this insanity gradually subsided and everyone moved into a more casual, sustainable approach to 'living in a pandemic.' We all mellowed, if only a little. Life has not returned to a pre-pandemic normal, but life goes on mostly uninterrupted. Most people take precautions, such as wearing a mask in public, indoor spaces (though many do not). Many have received COVID vaccinations, but many have not. Surges in COVID cases rise ... then fall ... then rise again ... then fall again. Businesses, restaurants, schools, organizations, and churches have made necessary adjustments to their operating models. And, for the most part, it's been effective. Life continues. Fewer and fewer people are dying because of this vicious virus. 

And yet ... something still bothers my soul.

It's something that has compelled me to write again in this blog. It's something that seems to have no easy solution ... no 'fix.' In the line of work that I'm in, I've had the privilege of seeing (and learning about) the wide spectrum of health, circumstances, and emotions on which people find themselves. 

What is bothering my soul is the FRAGILITY of life. 

I've long known that — while we may be loved equally before God — we are not all born with the same abilities, immunity, privileges, opportunities, and more. But this pandemic, like never before, has made explicit the wide range of health issues that dictate what a person can and cannot do in life. 

 In short, we're all more fragile than I ever thought. 

And this fragility bothers my soul deeply. Because I desperately want people to feel 'safe' in public again. I desperately want people to feel that they can sing in public, attend a concert or sporting event, walk through a mall, eat at a restaurant, etc. And ... the sobering reality is ... that many cannot. Or believe they cannot. Or don't want to take that risk right now. Or ever again.

Life has always consisted of this fragility. So what's different now? And why is it so troubling now?

I think what is now different (and troubling) is that a much larger, and more visible, range of people are feeling the necessity to take extraordinary precautions in life. And perhaps the visibility of these precautions reminds me of our human fragility. And that fragility scares me.

“ And perhaps the visibility of these precautions reminds me of our human fragility.

I believe in protecting others and myself due to a faith-motivated 'love of neighbor.' I make every reasonable attempt to live in such a way as to minimize infection (or harm of any kind) to those with whom I come into contact. But in spite of all of my efforts, my lament remains. We are all fragile. We are all in a vulnerable place because of this global pandemic. It's not over yet and may never be. And all of this frightens me, heightens my anxiety, and troubles my soul. 

My own theology ... my own faith ... tells me that life is indeed fragile. That human beings are flawed and that we also live in a flawed world where diseases, and violence, and racism, and hatred, and many other bad things, exist. I get it. I accept it. But I can still lament it. I can still hurt because of it. And even as I lament, I'll still stay the course. I will continue to live in ways that protect the well-being of others. I will care for those who become ill (vaccinated or not). I will pray. I will hope.

Holy Week During a Pandemic, and the "Not Good Things"

Most of us have never experienced anything like this coronavirus pandemic. We may not be sick, or even feel the threat of becoming ill. Still, we've been thrown (catapulted, really) into a time of new terminology and social action, all in order to protect ourselves and those with whom we may come into contact.

Online church services have become a desperately-needed outlet for community, especially as so many are isolated at home. I'm not sure I would call this a revival, but this pandemic is certainly allowing us an introspective look at our human need for both spiritual and community connectedness. And that's a good thing.

We like to find those "good things," those silver-linings, during this pandemic. Hope, in whatever form it comes, gives us an ability to endure. And yet, as we enter into Holy Week, perhaps we also need to sit with the "not good things." Like suffering ... illness ... and death. For Christians, there is always a balance to be found between the cross and the empty tomb. We have to live with death while also remembering its defeat. And now, as many states approach their COVID-19 peak, we mustn't rush too quickly past the thought, and news, of death.

In this Holy Week, and in this peak time of our national coronavirus pandemic, let us simply sit and endure the horrifying news that confronts us on the television and Internet. Because it's the same horrifying news that we often want to brush past even in approaching our Lord and Savior. To make my point, observe any annual Good Friday service attendance, compared with Easter Sunday attendance. Across states, across denominations ... we just don't like to sit with death. This Holy Week, may we sit with the "not good things" and not bypass them, for it's there that Jesus hangs and dies. It's there that, somehow, salvation waits.

A Walking Dead Theology

AMC's controversial television show, The Walking Dead (based on the popular graphic novel), is a series worth discussing, especially within the Christian community. Sadly, this show has largely been ignored or dismissed by Christians, perhaps due to its graphic violence and mature content. In much the same way as Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ, many people cannot bring themselves to watch The Walking Dead. But like The Passion, The Walking Dead (TWD) has important theological ideas to share, even as those ideas are enveloped in graphic brutality. 

To the outside observer, TWD is just a show about zombies. But to even the most fledgling fan, it's a show about humanity. The zombies, or "walkers," simply provide a disastrous backdrop for a more important topic: the inner soul of humanity. TWD is meant to prod deep questions about human beings, such as what it is that makes people truly 'human,' how violence affects humanity, what it means to stay united in a world without law, and more. The zombies are only a vehicle to this end ... they are the apocalyptic impetus that forces humanity to examine its inmost being. In a world of utter survival, the protagonists (and antagonists) must decide what they must do to stay alive, and how (or if) to stay human in that process.

There are many themes throughout TWD that have deep, theological implications. While this blog is not meant to be exhaustive in any way, its purpose is to point to several important theological themes that have run throughout the series.



WHAT IT MEANS TO BE HUMAN

Rick Grimes, flawed leader and faithful protector

TWD has, from its first episode, wrestled with the question of what it means to be human. In a world overrun by 'the walking dead,' those who have remained alive must fight for survival. Safety is never guaranteed and trust is at a premium. Finding more people to partner with means survival, but always close at hand are the issues of power and corruption. Who makes decisions for the whole? Who can be trusted? If someone is a threat, are they to be killed or sent away to survive alone? As the series continues, the main protagonists (led by police officer Rick Grimes) find that survival means letting others into their group ... allowing trust to develop ... and fighting together to stay alive.



VIOLENCE AFFECTS HUMANITY IN NEGATIVE WAYS

Carol Peletier, moral compass and voice of reason

At times, TWD is a brutal show to watch. Zombies are killed in very graphic ways, as well as other living humans who pose a threat to the group's survival. But it's in these pull-no-punches visuals that the viewer can see humanity for what it really is: sinful. The show, as stated before, is meant to examine the inner soul of humanity. That soul, as in real life, is broken and scarred. When pushed to the edges of our common limits, humanity will react in very inhuman ways. This reality prompts the metaphoric use of the show's title: The Walking Dead. Are the zombies the "walking dead" ... or are those still alive the real "walking dead"? Robbed of what makes them human, the answer is that those still alive are the true walking dead.
The violence seen in TWD, though graphic, is also redemptive. Main characters such as Carol Peletier and Morgan Jones have displayed how killing both dead and living takes its toll, and makes a person less than human. Their hell is to live with the fact that they've had to kill to stay alive. They want a different reality, but are unable to find one. Their task now is to make the most humane choices possible in a very violent world. The violence on TWD is typically not glorified, but rather is meant to examine the harsh effects of living in a world of chaos and brokenness.



WE ARE BETTER TOGETHER

A band of brothers and sisters along a very long, hard road

Another vital theme running throughout TWD is that others make a group stronger. Early into the show, Rick, Glenn, Daryl, and the rest were resistant to let anyone else join their small group. They had finally found trust and didn't want to compromise it. However, as the group fled to an abandoned prison in season three, they found that they needed more people to help them in their quest for survival. Adversaries began to arise, and to remain closed off to outsiders was no longer an option. In our world, as in TWD, many live in suspicion of 'the other,' whether that other is a person of a different creed, race, or ethnicity. In TWD, those suspicions are amplified to highlight how truly fear-filled humanity can be. In the end, the group is better—and stronger—when they are united together.



PEACE IS THE WAY TO SURVIVAL

Carl Grimes, brave and compassionate truth-teller

(Spoiler alert) In its eight season, main character Carl Grimes dies of a zombie bite. While this kind of infection has wiped out many characters before him, Carl's death occurred because he was out in the woods attempting to help a stranger. Carl became a metaphor for the best that humanity could still be, even in an apocalyptic wasteland. Just before his death, Carl leaves notes to his father and friends, even to main antagonist Negan. These notes reveal a timeless truth: that peace is the only way forward for humanity to truly live. In essence, TWD is making the profound point that violence doesn't have to be the way humanity survives (in an apocalyptic world or in our own). It's only the chosen method, because too many have abused power and influence. As season eight closes, it's clear the deeper message is that forgiveness and peace will be the only way forward if the world is to be fair and just. Only those left alive can make the decision to choose that future.


If you haven't watched TWD before, it may or may not be your cup of tea. If you're not a fan of graphic horror films, then it's probably not for you. But just because a show can be easily dismissed doesn't mean it's void of meaningful value. For all of its violence and brutality, TWD will surely be documented as one of the great morality plays of our time, giving us much to ponder about our own broken reality.