“You will know the truth, and the truth will make you free”

–Jesus (John 8:31)

Are you ‘covid-careless’; or, ‘covid-paranoid’? – two expressions I’ve heard used quite often.

Do you lean towards hyper-vigilance, and self-preservation-ism? Are you overly paranoid? Do these pandemic times stoke your battle cry (which has always been there, just underneath the surface) for hunkering down and keeping that big, bad world out there, out there? It certainly helps if your life circumstances allow you to cocoon.

Or, does that needle lean towards a denial or avoidance of the problem? Do you believe things are normal and criticize the ‘cancel culture’ of limiting economic and social interaction these days? Do you defy the mask-wearing practice, calling this a large-scale hoax?

Before pointing fingers of judgement upon others, we are well first to recognize our own tendency, and locate ourselves on that spectrum between those polar opposites. Confessing our own bias, we are making our bid to change for the better. We recognize our need to grow from our fear to be more faithful and trusting, grow from our self-centredness to love another.

Are we willing to change and grow?

I’d like you to imagine with me a tightrope, a long one, fastened at both ends. At each end, identify for yourself opposite responses to a problem you face. For example, above, I gave the difference between being covid-paranoid and covid-careless. The key, I believe, in our maturity in faith is to recognize where we are on that line, and move towards the opposite pole.

Many scriptures are actually constructed to contain both the problem and its resolution. But not everyone will see it the same way, depending on your perspective. Some will see first the problem; for them, they need to work hard towards a resolution. Others will first see a sunny disposition; for them, they need to work towards acceptance of hard truth. Neither is bad; just a different starting point.

You can see this tensive balance in the famous Reformation Psalm, 46. Here are the words that Martin Luther used to compose the well-known hymn, A Mighty Fortress is our God. While the words of Psalm do not literally equate God with a ‘mighty fortress’, Martin Luther made that interpretative leap, and his powerful image has stuck with us for the past five hundred years.

But the “city of God” is not ‘the city is God’. The city belongs to God. God is present in the city. But a bricks-and-mortar fortress of impregnability and impressive show, God is not. At least not according to the Psalm.

God is our refuge and strength and a very present help in trouble. But, it is fair to ask, how is God our refuge? A vengeful warrior on the battlefield? A fortress building? How do we see God? How is God revealed to us? We can’t be too hard on Martin Luther for his loosey-goosy interpretation in the words of his hymn. Because he gets it right almost everywhere else where it comes to our relationship with God.

We can stay with the Psalm in order to find a way of knowing God amidst the trials of life. Because towards the end of the Psalm, another image of God is resolved: Not as military buttress and fighting machine against evil. But someone who makes peace: He makes wars to cease to the end of the earth; he breaks the bow and shatters the spear …

On the one end of the spectrum we see the fulcrum of might and earthly power in all its dazzling display of strength against the opposition. On the other end of the spectrum we begin to tread into unknown spiritual territory for many of us: Be still, and know that God is.

Again, the question is: in which direction, to which end of the spectrum, do you lean? And, having confessed this in all honesty, the spiritual path, the path of growth and maturity in faith, calls you to see the good on the other end of the spectrum. And go in that direction. Rather than merely judge others on the other side, we move towards them!

If we imagine a tightrope, a long one, I wonder about where along this tightrope, this spectrum, you can bounce higher? It’s in the middle isn’t it? But if you stay very close to either extreme end of the tightrope, you’re not going to bounce very high at all. You might never fall off, but you won’t really ever live, either. Because the purpose of walking on that line of tension in the first place, is to follow Christ, and follow that path to growth and the joy of living in God’s love.

The love of God resolves the either/or tensions in our lives. Whether you tend toward being covid-paranoid or covid-careless. Whether you see a glorious, all powerful God waving a victory flag on the battlefield of life, or a bleeding, tortured and dying man on a cross bearing the world’s evil.

If you are more covid-paranoid, maybe for you the challenge is to move your attention away from self-preoccupation toward another, and to practice safe ways to connect nonetheless with others. Thus loosening the grip of fear over your life.

If you are more covid-careless, maybe for you the challenge is to consider your own potential contribution to the problem. Maybe you need to consider others’ health and well-being, especially those who are vulnerable. Communal health is just as important as your own. Thus putting a few more limits on yourself and sacrificing your own pride a bit.

In both cases, the starting point is your own bias. And, the practice of love is at stake. Love hangs in the balance. And love is an expression both of God’s freedom and ours.

The love of God is non-possessive; we don’t own the other and we don’t control the other’s behaviour. This is a difficult practice, because we don’t want to start with ourselves. We’d rather first point at someone else’s problem or fault.

Let’s say as a parent we continue to make choices in place of our children as they grow into adulthood; that is, we understandably want to spare them from suffering the consequences of a choice they might have to regret.

Yet it is a lack of love on our part to do so, since by forbidding them to risk aren’t we essentially trying to shield ourselves from possible suffering? Aren’t we being selfish? Aren’t we really trying to protect ourselves from the anguish we will feel each time our children do something different from what to us seemed best for them?

Alternatively, when we allow our children to make decisions, and therefore to take risks, we will worry, yes. We suffer the freedom we have given them. It’s being a parent.

We are God’s children. And God loves us. And God will free us. “The truth will make you free,” Jesus said.[1] Therefore, God will suffer with us, as we are given the freedom to act. God sheds tears alongside us when we suffer the consequences of our misdeeds. God rejoices alongside us when we make meaningful movement forward in our lives. Yes, this is risky. But that is love.

The Psalmist has good advice: “Be still.” When we are still before God, and we slow down our compulsive, impulsive ways of thinking and behaving, love sinks into and germinates in our open hearts. In our stillness, we learn to pay attention to others. In the love of Christ, we move freely to love others as we are so loved.

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[1] John 8:31