I can hear the ambient sounds of open space right now in this COVID world. Others are working or living in hospitals listening to the desperate cries of people as the ventilators give way and morphine is administered in their tubes. Hearing space and time reminds me of the simplicity of my youth when time seemed to grow the longer it progressed. I don’t know what it is like to lay to rest a small business or a mother, a father, a spouse, or a friend. 

One of the brightest noises around me is the whisper of the traffic on the freeway and the solidarity I prayed for to refine my work. Occasionally the train stops at Crestview and Lamar and the horn reminds me that life is still moving. I hear unfamiliar languages at the park during my runs, and the homecoming of children’s laughter needing no language to distinguish joy. Sometimes it takes a crisis to rediscover beautiful parts of life.

I admit, my weeks in a pre-covid world were burdened by busy calendars and sometimes the intentional neglecting of the Father. Only when hardship or trial greets me, I lift my head and realize I’ve missed my Father and my Friend, as well as the intimacy of the scriptures. And right now I can feel the softness of the wind. At the end of a run I look  at the lake and see how the water reflects the sky and I get lost in thoughts of Christ walking on a platform that would buckle beneath my weight. It’s an unexpected season of being forced to receive what I didn’t know I needed and it’s revitalizing. 

But while I’m sprinting the last quarter mile of my run - the way my dad always taught me - people are running out of breath because they aren’t quite sick enough to meet the ventilator requirements. As I throw my hands over my head to catch oxygen from the world around me, people in pop-up hospitals and cots raise their hands in surrender. Others surrender their businesses and employment. Some are just being introduced to the fragile state of grief and pain of laying community, safety, medication, help, things that give us life, and life itself to rest. Some are taking life as it comes, testing the pilot programs of new solutions and reconfiguring courses and curriculum, business models, and lifestyles. There are others who are welcoming a change of pace, either in more remote parts of the world, or places distant from the critical mass of death, crafting art, relationships, or intentional time in their once busy schedules.

I walked across the street last night to pick up a few things for dinner. The security guard at the front of Whole Foods in full uniform and mask looked at me as I walked in. I wondered if there was a smile behind the mask or if it was a facade holding duty and perseverance. There was no way to tell. I offered a wave and walked in. 

You could feel panic hanging in the air. I observed the human behavior at the store as I usually do - some are careful to keep their distance, fearing a single misstep would risk their life; the young man and older gentleman behind the poultry counter, who like to tell me they’re related, wave to me from what’s left of the onion stand. I believed they were the Father and the Son for a minute.

The sweet potatoes are back in stock. I remember those two men have been working since the pandemic began. I see my favorite Whole Foods employee, a cashier and friend, let’s call her Shelby. So Shelby keeps me updated on the store policy, recent increase in wages, and her anxiety day to day. She says wearing a mask invites panic to attack, meanwhile, she’s awaiting the new policy for required dress. She proclaims trust in the Father and discerns science, wisdom, and faith, and all for the same reason, there is much trust to place in each. The man behind me in line takes his items to the next cashier.

Pulling out of the parking lot I see the perceived father, the older of the two men taking a smoke break. I wonder about his family and where he’s from. I pray for his strength and thank God he and Shelby are some of the familiar faces I see on my frequent trips to the store. They bring rhythm to my life and deep gratitude, especially at these times when rhythm is broken.

I think of those facing the COVID war of unexpected barriers and newfound freedom of humanity. Just skim the covers of news outlets or organizations alike – stock markets are plummeting, the file for unemployment is at a record high of 10 million people in 2 weeks, 6.6 million in the latter, funeral homes are at capacity, adding to it the photos of people covered in masks during the Spanish flu of 1918 and COVID-19 being compared like “Who Wore it Best?”. Published work on preparing for economic turmoil and focusing on mental health is flooding the internet. “How Trump Invited Catastrophe in the States” and “How to Grieve the Year We All Thought 2020 Would Be” are making headlines. 

The newfound freedom segment sounds like sales pitches of hope and opportunity, “Now’s the Time to Make a Shift in Your Career!” in response to the vulnerable posts seeping out of professional platforms. Healthcare workers are the inspiration for 7pm praising on porches and siren serenades in New York City. Neighbors are meeting each other more, or maybe for the first time. People are hosting ninth birthday parties and 10-year vow renewals over Zoom giving grandma a run for her money in this technological era. Light surely shines after darkness, in our case, humanity swarms like the mass cricket invasion - a body holding against the weight of the flood - but we will keep the scheme of the enemy out, like those insects kept us out of Walgreens.

Humanity is walking at a new pace in an unfamiliar land. We’re all letting go of something we had in a pre-COVID world. It does feel like a different world now, doesn’t it? And we’re just getting started clearing the forest and building foundation on this new frontier. Some of us have had our fractured foundation swept away by the wind and the rain in this pandemic, some of us are standing firm on the foundation set years ago. In either case, it’s the beginning of a long road of restoration.

“‘He said to him the third time, Simon, son of John, do you love me?’ Peter was grieved because he said to him the third time, ‘Do you love me?’ and he said to him, ‘Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Feed my sheep.’” -John 21:17

The optimistic theme I see emerging from Christians is this great period of “awakening” upon us. Yes, we believe that by the power of God’s own hand He would cause a revival and produce new crops in barren hearts and economic land. Yes, we believe in the awakening to our own need of repentance and revelation. And we are surely hopeful that those on which the rain falls, those that don’t yet see themselves as God’s children, would come to know Him. 

What we forget to believe in the midst of our hopeful awakening is that the pangs of sin and death shred the human heart. Sin shredded the flesh of Christ. The Father did not find joy in death, and He turned His face away. An artist does not sew fibers together into some abysmal array only for the sake of having something to show. Like an artist, He patiently sews together the kingdom of Heaven, sending laborers out into the harvest.

We believe human beings are image bearers of the Father and His work. His most beautiful creation requires the same patience as the farmer waiting for crops to spring forth or the mother awaiting the birth of her child. We believe that Jesus came for those who are sick and in need of mercy. His ministry involved so many accounts of healing because His people from the east to the west were in great need of it. And today we have people sick and weary from the illness and loss this pandemic has birthed into the world. There is much healing and teaching to carry forward until the kingdom of heaven is at hand. 

“On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, ‘To your offspring I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates, the land of the Kenites, the Kenizzites, the Kadmonites, the Hitties, the Perizzites, the Rephaim, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites and the Jebusites.’” -Genesis 15:18–21

It is a fearful thing to leave a life of comfort and familiarity, a land you’ve always known, to fall into the hands of the living God, I am. (Heb. 10:31) It isn’t necessarily pleasant—and neither was the crucifixion of Christ. Living a life (Luke 14:25) bearing our cross, testing to know what lies in our hearts (Deut. 8:2), and surrendering to the Father’s will includes the war of unexpected barriers while walking in freedom.

Abraham wed, and in old age, set out to Canaan with his wife, nephew, and their possessions. The Lord appeared to Abraham under the oak of Moreh at Shechem and promised, “to your offspring I will give this land.” (Gen. 12:6-7) I imagine the journey to the destination place was trying, traveling across the open desert and exposing themselves to the surrounding tribes of the land or unforeseen attacks. Both the faith to believe what God had spoken and the harrowing work of arriving accompanied Abraham to Canaan – had his faith been apart from work perhaps the generations after him would never find rest.

Have you ever wondered why James references the work and faith of Abraham and Rahab? What does the man of many nations from Ur of the Chaldeans have to do with a Canaanite, harlot woman? Abraham and Rahab both knew the God of Israel and their conviction held so strong they could not deny His call—it led them both to sacrifice. For Abraham, his son, and Rahab, her own life at the cost of saving her enemies. (James 2:21-22) This is a foreshadowing of Christ on the cross with enemies surrounding. 

How might we bear fruit if we don’t first bear our cross and walk with God through the desert like Abraham?

This isn’t to say you need to start preparing for the production of your side hustle as much as you prepared for the pandemic with pasta shells and frozen pizzas. This is to say that along the long stretch of desert road, Abraham and Sarah left a lifetime of familiarity and walked with God, in the cool of the day. And that got them to where they needed to go.

“Do not go down to Egypt; dwell in the land of which I shall tell you. Sojourn in this land, and I will be with you and will bless you, for to you and your offspring I will give all these lands and I will establish the oath that I swore to Abraham your father.” -Genesis 26:2-3

The promise God spoke to Abraham holds the same weight as He speaks to his son, Isaac. And Isaac follows suit, sows in that land and reaps a hundredfold in the same year. At Beersheba God meets Isaac and speaks the same word over him, “I am the God of Abraham your father. Fear not, for I am with you and will bless you and multiply your offspring for my servant Abraham’s sake.” (Gen. 26:24) A generation later, God meets with Jacob at Bethel and says to him, “Your name is Jacob; no longer shall your name be called Jacob, but Israel shall be your name.”

So he called his name Israel. And God said to him, “I am God Almighty: be fruitful and multiply. A nation and a company of nations shall come from you, and kings shall come from your own body. The land that I gave to Abraham and Isaac I will give to you, and I will give the land to your offspring after you.” (Gen. 35:10-12) The commonality between the Isaac and Israel’s encounters with God? God speaks to his children when they obey His  leading voice to a new place. This is what living by faith looks like.

“But by faith, Moses, refused to be called the son of Pharoah’s daughter, choosing rather to be mistreated with the people of God than to enjoy the fleeting pleasures of sin. He was looking to the reward.” -Hebrews 11:24-26

God promises the conquest of Canaan to Moses as the Lord sends an angel before him to bring him to the place that he has prepared. After the death of Moses, the Lord speaks to his assistant, Joshua, a promise holding the same weight. The same word.

“This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” -Joshua 1:8-9

And they do inherit the reward, they inherit Canaan, allot the land, and “the Lord gave them rest of every side just as he had sworn to their fathers. Not one of all their enemies had withstood them, for the Lord had given all their enemies into their hands.” But this victory came at a cost. Their disobedience cost the lives of men and their forefathers in battle, spending months in turmoil and hardship at war, and 40 years of walking in wilderness.

All that time God sustained them, and they walked towards the throne of grace driving out tribes they didn’t believe they had the power to defeat. I also walk in hardship as I walk towards freedom. We are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses and the promise the Lord has spoken—the defense of Jesus Christ in His resurrection is the Word that sets us free. The promise has always been true and the promise is now fulfilled.

By faith and patience the Israelites inherit the promises and “not one word of all the good promises that the Lord had made to the house of Israel had failed; all came to pass.”

This old covenant inheritance reminds me of the generational weight of my obedience. How the authentic promise of God to the patriarchs, held from Abraham to Joshua, led so his offspring to inherit the land. To inherit required the sacrifice and leadership of several men in the lineage. Had one of them disobeyed the call, would the children have inherited the promised land? Had Joshua given them rest, would God have spoken of another day?

“Which one of you who has a sheep, if it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will not take hold of it and lift it out?” -Matthew 12:11

The obituaries of Those We’ve Lost read “the Owner of Paris Blues, a beloved Harlem jazz joint”, “a collector of dictionaries and lover of words”, “a boxing gym owner and beloved trainer”, and “a World War II veteran whose twin died in the Spanish Flu epidemic a century ago”. These people sound like neighbors - local musicians playing at Mohawk on a Friday night, the woman who owns a vintage shop curating content and writing news about business to keep it alive.

The living testimonies of COVID survivors say, “Oxygen therapy is painful and finding a radial artery is difficult… ‘Being a doctor helped me bear the pain. Others would desperately shout ‘enough’ ‘enough’.” The despair at home is increasing as “teachers give [kids] work as if the situation were normal” and parents “morale is at rock bottom. [They] can’t stop crying.” Neither can my colleagues. A friend’s dad passed away from cancer a few weeks ago and a sociologist and student from Argentina says, “Coronavirus is an illness which is lived in solitude, in total solitude.”

This open space allows me to hear the words of Christ, written by men centuries ago. “Truly, truly, I say to you, before Abraham was ‘I am.’ Go rather to the lost sheep of the house of Israel. And proclaim as you go, saying, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’” The Church is awaiting a great awakening these days and I keep telling myself, “surely we’re not looking for a sign. Surely we’re looking to Christ.”

During one of the first few weeks adjusting to our new remote spaces my Design Director offered perspective that I’m often too short sighted to see. She said, “Over the course of our careers other members of the team will have to carry more in different seasons of life.” I imagine a time when I’ll carry both children and work or tend to a sick family member or friend. I’ve seen women above me navigate the dual obligations of loving their family and manage deadlines for years. I’ve seen church bodies lay down everything to lift people who suffered from hurricanes, natural disasters, and disease. To have someone strong and courageous go before you feels familiar and fierce. It’s like the courageous men and women who have gone before us yielding to the Spirit of God.

May we, Church, be reminded that the ministry of Jesus was to teach and heal. He did what He saw the Father doing. This is a time of great paradox. We are experiencing situations, emotions, and circumstances that we will only figure out by walking through. We’ve seen a rise in sacrifice, communities of practice, and selfless donation. Beauty is omnipresent in the family of God, the kingdom of heaven, and across all of humanity. 

This is the beginning of a deeply sorrowful time for some and the continuation of suffering for others. We can’t begin to empathize with every human nuance and neither should we pretend. Confessing our need for help, for faith, for companionship, sows awareness and harvests awakening. When you’re in need, draw near to God believing that he exists and rewards those who seek Him. Darkness cannot prevail in the face of Christ. The resurrected One sits at the right hand of the Father.

May we be aware of the great pain and solitude this world brings and would we lose our life for the sake of Christ. The promise is true - we will find it in shepherding God’s greatest creation, those who bear the image of God, the sheep of the great Shepherd.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Emily is currently a designer and facilitator at USAA in Austin, Texas. She started a women's community group called The Harvest in June of 2019 to gather, worship, and study the scriptures. Prior to starting this group, Emily worked at a local church plant managing communications and led a group of high school girls through YoungLife. You can find Emily with a cup of coffee and a historical fiction in hand, running, or drawing inspiration, curating antiques, and getting to know people from antique vendors across Texas.