This post is part of a series hosted by UC Berkeley’s TAUG and the Claremont Colleges’ hearhere. In this weekly series, staff writers from both journals will be sharing their perspectives on the COVID-19 global pandemic. Click here for more information on hearhere. Last year, I happened upon a beautiful, antique copy of Ben-Hur: A Tale of the Christ. I happily added it to my collection, not thinking much more about it aside from its general retelling of the life of Christ, a story I had always heard growing up in a Christian family. This week, though, I sat down and reopened it with a remarkably different perspective. I read with a heavy awareness that navigating a pandemic in the season of Lent has presented a most profound opportunity to reflect on my faith. In the constant and overwhelming developments of COVID-19, I have observed some parallels between life in 2020 and life in the first century. In the matter of days, our world has become unrecognizable. So many have lost their jobs, their loved ones, their lives. Healthcare professionals are risking their own health to serve their communities; scientists are working endlessly to develop a vaccine; and governments are scrambling, debating, and compensating to try to manage the crisis in the best way possible. We have far more questions than answers, and we are, by definition, in desperate need of saving. The life of Jesus also began in a time of unrest and wondering. Jews, like Jesus and his earthly family, were under Roman rule, and political tensions mounted as Jewish zealots sought rebellion. The Christmas story tells of a Roman census being conducted at the time of Jesus’ birth, disrupting citizens’ schedules and obligating them to return to their hometowns. Even more, as an infant, Jesus escaped a mandate from King Herod ordering the murder of all firstborn sons in the land. Yet, among all this chaos, three wise men traveled at length throughout the desert–following a star in the direction of the chaos, not escaping it–in search of the Christ. Borrowing from the biblical record, Ben-Hur’s creative retelling of that search includes one of the wise men saying, “We are far from home, but God is with us. Let us be patient.” Although in this pandemic, many of us are physically quite the opposite–we are ordered to stay in our homes, not far from them–the comparison remains that we are far from what feels like home. Much like the time of Jesus’ birth, many of us have been required to return to our hometowns. Amid the panic, pain, and distress of COVID-19, Americans are still trying to navigate a census year and an upcoming presidential election. We are far from normalcy, security, and routine. As we await a resolution to this crisis, we are forced to be patient, by default if nothing else. Yet, like told in Ben-Hur, God is with us. Several years later in the life of Jesus, when he was in his early 30s, a series of events took place that are remembered now as Holy Week. Holy Week includes Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, and it observes Jesus’ crucifixion and the events surrounding it. The Biblical events of Holy Week include some of the greatest betrayal, tragedy, and lament in history. On what is now observed as Maundy Thursday, Jesus, knowing the suffering awaiting him, lamented in the Garden of Gethsemane. He was then betrayed by his disciple, Judas, which led to him being taken into custody and sentenced to death. Then, on Good Friday, Christ’s crucifixion included unimaginable mocking and torture. As a Christian, Jesus’ sacrifice is extremely meaningful to me; yet, as a Christian living in a pandemic, COVID-19 monopolizes my thoughts. I am grappling with the ever-rising death count, attempting to establish a routine while working from home, and preparing for my first-ever digital Easter service. The pain I am enduring is nothing compared to the physical torment Jesus experienced, but it is pain–and a peculiar version of pain with which I am just now becoming acquainted. As I coped with some of this discomfort by immersing myself in reading, I was struck by another passage in Ben-Hur, an excerpt illustrating the earth’s anticipation of the Christ: “The stillness was more than silence; it was a holy hush, a warning that heaven was stooping low to whisper some good thing to the listening earth.” Remember that Jesus’ suffering took place on Thursday and Friday, but Saturday was different. On the eve of his resurrection, the world was quiet. The Bible does not speak of any events on Holy Saturday; it was the Sabbath. Saturday was a day to listen. In all the chaos of COVID-19, I have noticed a particular awareness, a desire to be present for our loved ones and our communities, otherwise forgotten in a healthy world. Our world, afflicted by this virus, is not healthy; it is vulnerable. But in that vulnerability, might it be possible that heaven is once again stooping low and whispering? Might it be, that as we observe the life, death, and resurrection of Christ–the acts which brought ultimate salvation–some 2,000 years later, that heaven is calling? Might it be that the resemblance between the life of Christ and this season of pandemic are not coincidental? If it is possible–and I believe it is–then Christians have a special responsibility this Holy Week: to listen to that whisper. As we observe Holy Week, considering the parallels between Jesus’ life on earth and the reality of this pandemic, let us remember to listen. In a crisis unlike anything we’ve experienced in our lifetimes, rife with noise and fear and heartache, the Easter story remains. Christians worship a savior who promised, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live.” The resurrection and the life–even in a time of death. Kara Anderson is a 3rd year at UC Berkeley studying sociology and demography.
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