After months of physical distancing and extreme surface-cleansing, it’s no wonder we’d like to go back to the way things were. Some of us have jumped in with both feet upon cancelled executive orders that are “reopening the economy.” Snapshots of people in restaurants, at rallies, and in grocery stores could almost make you think we’re done with the Coronavirus. Cue our collective sigh of relief. Finally.
As a pastor, I’m watching a range of conversations about when and how we return to our church buildings. I hear the cries of church folk who long to be back in worship, “back to normal,” but a responsible version of reopening our buildings doesn’t seem much like “normal” to me. Implementing our bishop’s guidelines, in line with the ones we read from the CDC or an ecumenical group of clergy, scientists, and other experts, will mean a very different experience of worship, without hugging and fellowship time, without singing and reciting words together, with keeping our distance from other families, and with face coverings. I’m not against doing this, but we should be utterly clear that it will feel way different than that activity we’re all missing. Different for a while yet. This is a matter of months, not weeks. More months than any of us want to admit.
This in the midst of churches who have started meeting in person again, just like before, with hugging and singing as if this pandemic weren’t a thing. Nary a mask in sight. “If they can get back to normal,” someone will ask, pointing to that church down the street in our own town, “why can’t we?”
Pretty soon we’ll hear of our people going to that church. “I’m not going to be ruled by fear,” they’ll say. “We’re social beings. We need to be together!”
Do you see how “normal” draws us? We’d like to get there, on so many levels. It would mean we’re done with all this COVID-19 anxiety and uncertainty (we tell ourselves). It would mark the end of something we’ve been through together. How we’d love for it to be finished so we can move on! No more changing expectations, updated guidance. No more fear of what all this could mean for us. Emotionally, spiritually, physically–“normal” feels like a place we’d love to be.
My friend Cindy often says, “Denial is a big country.”
This pattern is playing out around racism and advocacy, too. We can understand the rage and protests that broke out after George Floyd’s death. And Breonna Taylor’s. We all got caught up in it for awhile. We tolerated the nightly news that followed those terrifying riots. We even showed up at some rallies, and made some phone calls! Sure, it was understandable, and important, to a point. But it’s time for us to get back to normal.
Tell me you haven’t felt that at some level, if you’re a white person. Tell me you haven’t worried that you’ll find yourself feeling that, if you’re trying to be an anti-racist. Tell me you haven’t already heard that kind of thing (perhaps even less generous words than those) from people who aren’t interested in fighting the racism in our midst.
If you’re BIPOC, this slide back into apathy is part of what you were railing against, all along. “Why didn’t you hear, already?” you asked us, as we were roused by rage at newly-noticed injustices. You were right to worry that we’d fall asleep again. A few rallies. A few small wins. And then a slide back toward the way things were.
I’m worried about this slide back.
The “normal” that many of us long for has been unveiled as inadequate and unjust and unsustainable. In a pandemic that isn’t yet over, “normal” will needlessly cost lives. In the older pandemic of racism and systemic injustice based on skin color, “normal” exacts a horrible toll from all of us, and especially our BIPOC siblings.
It’s a slide I’ve observed in connection with #FoolishChurch. In my mind, a lot of people have had their eyes opened to some things that need attention in our churches. My book unveils the narrow range of respectability and tidiness that has characterized our faith communities, and argues that our old way is inadequate and unjust and unsustainable. I’ve seen some of your eyes light up at the idea that the church could be more different, that “raw” and “real” are watchwords for a better church. You’ve read, and you’ve talked about all this in your small groups or sermon series. And you’ve imagined the church that will make room, for real, for good!
And then normal beckons. Normal works. We don’t really have bandwidth to keep track of more than normal. Not normal may be “abnormal,” after all, and who wants that? What self-respecting well-meaning churchgoer wants abnormal?
Who indeed.
Like I shared in Foolish Church about the scary possibility of the church I loved becoming “the wheelchair church” (pp. 89-90). And me getting blamed for it. There’s fear wrapped up every time we get pushed away from our experience of “normal.”
Jesus knew abnormal was going to be really hard for us. It’s why he kept preaching love. And then gave us that “new” commandment, in his very last conversation with his friends. “Love one another” (John 13.34). The very oldest commandment that is always new because it’s so not “normal” in our life together.
So, no, I’m not jumping in to every activity I enjoyed pre-pandemic, and I know a lot of you aren’t either. Yes, I’m wearing a mask when I go out in public. It’s not out of fear, actually. It’s a rational decision in order to take care of my own self, and my family, and my ability to do the work to which I’m called. And it’s a way of loving other human beings.
And no, my church won’t be like that one down the way that’s worshiping like they always used to, without any precautions or limits. When we return to the building, we’ll do it the way the health officials tell us to. Because first and always, we need to love one another!
And, yes, I’m determined to fight against those voices in and around me that want to say the racism push is over for now, and we’re all good, and nothing more is required of me. I can’t go there. And you can’t either, if you believe in that always abnormal and ever true call to love!
Oh, and absolutely, I’ll keep pushing y’all on these questions, this vision, this gritty, true, idea of #FoolishChurch. Because–yep–love!
Love that says “Get behind me” to fear.
And I think Jesus will stand there, cheering us on. I’m picturing him with that placard. “LOVE.” Every bit as controversial and true and necessary as the ones that say #BlackLivesMatter. He’d surely have one of those, too.
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