We live on a hill at the edge of our town. From our elevated position, we look out over the town and across the valley. The city of Malaga is in the distance but the eye is drawn more to the mountains on the horizon than to the city itself.
For this reason, the reality of the pandemic can feel remote from us. Yes, we have been in our house for nearly 60 days. Yes, we venture out to buy groceries and we exchange commiserations with our neighbours. And yes, of course we are aware of the losses and hardships brought on by the virus that is overwhelming old age homes and hospitals, and because of which people are losing their jobs. We are aware of all this - I believe it affects us all at some inarticulate level, as we join in the sense of common longing for things to be turned around. And yet, from our home - our actual lived experience, rather than our online news consumption - it can all feel rather distant.
Today, Manu had an appointment at the doctor's. This was to check that her dizzy spells are nothing worse than low blood pressure, common at her age. We left the house just before 10am, the time at which the morning allocation of outdoor exercise time is coming to an end. In the town, there were still plenty of people out running and cycling. Surely they wouldn't get back to their homes within the government-dictated hours? We arrived at the clinic. Some people were wearing masks and gloves, some were just wearing masks, some were just wearing gloves. A delivery guy, who must have been to multiple locations that morning already, wasn't wearing either.
I noticed Manu's nervous energy. She was listing off the things that people were doing or not doing that seemed to contradict, or contravene, the rules of which she's aware. I realised that the universe has become unpredictable and dangerous in her mind, and the sense that people are following rules helps to make it feel safe again. Seeing people not following the rules was making her edgy.
Don't we all want our world to be safe? This has always been true, not just during a pandemic. Depending on our personality, we devise different ways to make ourselves feel safe, or to take the edge off the feeling of insecurity. Maybe now more than ever is an opportunity to notice that feeling in ourselves, as the illusion of control lifts a little. Am I truly the chief agent in this life of mine? And if not, what does that mean? How do I engage in the world once I become aware of the larger landscape, those cosmic realities that seem to defy the containers into which I have tried to shove them?
The vista from our home can be comforting in a good way, and anaesthetising in a way that's not so helpful. On the one hand, it is good to take in the bigger picture - to trust that above all the chaos and uncertainty there is a God who is unceasingly moving towards us in generous and redemptive goodness. On the other hand, it can be a means of disengaging from the reality of the world, forgetting to pray, losing sight of the place of longing in our intercessions for the world.
So I am wondering if the feeling that arises when we think others are not keeping the rules - that vague sense of anxiety that tempts us to judge, or criticise, or seek control - can instead become a wordless prayer, a longing: Oh Lord, we find ourselves in this place that feels so unsafe, we long for security. Teach us that our security is found, not in rules and contingency plans, but in you. May this sense of anxiety I feel now be part of the longing of the whole world for the source of our security - Jesus himself - to be made known among us. Amen.
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