Here in the center of 2021, we are emerging from—and continuing into—one of the most turbulent periods in American history.
I think almost all of us have felt grief during the current pandemic, even if we haven’t experienced the death of someone close to us. At first, it was likely the loss of our normal way of life.
On Ash Wednesday I am supposed to say that dying is good news. Not like this. Death came like it does every year, but this year we could only stand behind double paned windows and wave at grandparents who were trying to remember our names. We crossed our fingers and did the math.
What if hurry, busyness, and resulting distraction are the biggest challenges facing our spiritual lives today? That is the question John Mark Comer addresses in his book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry.
We’ve waited the long weeks of Advent, trying to focus expectant hearts to celebrate the birth of Christ with even a modicum of the glory and reverence it deserves. We know we fall short every year, but maybe this year—Christmas in the middle of a global pandemic—is the most difficult yet.
Self-giving and self-protective. Adaptable and anti-change. Gracious and grumbling. This is the church in 2020. Perhaps this has always been so.
How we’ve worked has changed immensely in the last century, but Covid has forced us to see an arsenal of ordinary people with whom, literally, we couldn’t live without.
Although much of the national news media is rightly focused on things like social distancing, testing and vaccines, there is another important dimension to the 2020 coronavirus crisis that merits analysis—the use of massive amounts of debt to finance mitigation efforts.