Many of us are brought from a simmer to a slow boil, as eleven o’clock chimes each morning. Medicos, politicos, journos and others talk in numbers and percentages about life, death and underlying conditions, while pundits of all shapes and abilities on media – social and otherwise – offer angry comment.
Mostly, we remain frustrated, waiting in our homes and nowhere else. Part of our frustration is that we are unsure of what comes next, of where this season ends, and what life – and church – will look like on the other side of this. At our worst, we want someone to blame, because powerlessness and isolation are not good comrades.
Deeper, there is the sadness for those who are emotionally or physically affected. The growing cases in south-west Sydney and the western part of our state are not statistics, but friends, colleagues and family. They are not them, they are us.
We worry too about our church community. People with whom we would share and sing are reduced to a matchbox on our screens. Together is altogether not.
Through all this, Afghanistan, Haiti, climate change and women’s safety are almost airbrushed from our screens because our gaze is fixed on this one thing.
In the face of this turbulence, it is easy to forget who we are. Our response is that we become self-absorbed, worrying solely about our health, our safety, and that of our immediate family.
We become focused on QR code compliance and masks and urban boundaries which have never mattered until now. It is hard to see beyond our own immediate constraints.
An essential part of our discipleship is remembering. On each occasion when we celebrate the bread and wine of the eucharist, we are commanded, remember me. The central act of our shared life calls us to remember the crucified and risen Christ.
Remembering calls us back to ourselves, to who we are called, by Christ, to be. The awe-inspiring news that we are crafted in the image of God; the reminder that at our best, at our most average and at our worst, we are still loved by God. The astonishing promise that God’s mercy and hope address each frailty and failure, and articulate each time we bless others in our turn.
This is why community is so valuable. On the occasions when it is difficult to recall our hope, our faith, there are others who break the bread and share it with us, inviting us to rediscover our value and our call. We are re-membered, regathered by the community as we tell the stories of how Christ has acted, and is acting now.
We have congregations across the Synod who are helping people in their communities to discover hope in Christ, or to remember it. People are being offered food parcels, or phone calls, hampers are being carried to isolated communities and congregations are partnering with vaccination hubs to support everyone who calls through.
Our Ministers are being vaccinated to encourage our church community and posting it on social media – #loveneighbour – and our parish missions across the Synod are engaging in vaccination and meals and community support for isolated people of all ages.
Our university chaplains are providing pastoral support to overseas students, offering financial support to many in need. I am pleased that the Moderator’s Fund is being used in several places in our Synod, in a disaster where there are no fires, floods or drought, but plenty of people struggling.
Remembering, under the urging of the Holy Spirit is about our decision, about our faithful following of Christ. In seasons like this one, the Spirit reminds us of the One who has died and been raised, which is the reason we serve – and proclaim – in the world around us.
I am praying for our church, for all our congregations and communities, parish missions and service agencies, for our presbyteries and for our Synod.
We are in this challenging time, this pandemic, with the living God. We will serve, and proclaim, offer forgiveness and mercy, and live out justice. We will remember the one who calls us, who is always faithful.