Neighbor Loving in the Time of Corona

There was a time--it seems like ages ago, but I guess it's just been 7 or 8 weeks--when I thought the Coronavirus might be what brought this country back together. A profound, difficult, shared experience can have that effect on people, no matter how hard it is for them to get along. I remembered 9/11, when for a couple of weeks one September, people were kinder to each other. We waved to strangers. We united by flying our flags off our front porches. We were all in the throes of shock and grief, and we treated each other carefully, gently. I thought that might be the case this time, too. And I think it was for a couple of weeks. But 9/11 lasted a day. The Coronavirus has lasted two months in the US, with no sign of letting up. We seem to have grown weary of treating each other gently.

The two ruling philosophies of the day are no longer Republicans and Democrats, conservatives and liberals, but "open ups" and "stay locked downs." They both have a pile of evidence to defend their positions. I can be convinced by either side. But since no one philosophy is completely doable, we've landed in some sort of wishy-washy middle ground where everyone just does their own thing. It doesn't take long for someone's "own thing" to collide with someone else's, and the result is usually not pretty.

Early on in this strange new life we find ourselves in, I went to Sam's Club with my youngest daughter. About a quarter of the people there were wearing masks. At that time my "own thing" did not include masks, but in the cold produce area, we collided with someone who saw things differently. While I was some distance away, an old man wearing a mask approached my 12-year-old and shouted at her, "You're killing people right now!"

My kids spend a lot of time at school talking about rights and responsibilities. Part of their school's creed, memorized since elementary school, is putting responsibilities ahead of rights. The man at Sam's surely had the right to say whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted. But as an adult, he also had the responsibility to not frighten a child. Or accuse her of murder.

The second it happened, my mama-bear instinct roared to life in a way I hadn't seen in years. I wanted to punch him, or maybe just hit him between the eyes with an oversized strawberry. That response lasted for about a second. Then I saw him for who he was, a scared, fragile old man living in the most disorienting, terrifying time of his life. My mama bear went back to sleep, and I only felt sorry for him.

Today I have a different perspective than I had that day in Sam's. It's my right to breathe freely in public, unencumbered by a mask. It's my right to visit a restaurant that has decided to challenge the order to stay closed. It's my right to hang out with a large group of friends. It's my right to attend church in a building with other people. Rights are important. I do not want to live in China. But responsibility is important too, and my chief responsibility is to obey God, who calls me to love my neighbor as myself.

I was not loving my neighbor in the produce section. I didn't know it at the time, and he didn't respond correctly, but I can now see it from his perspective. People are scared, especially those who are most vulnerable. They're scared, and they need a head of lettuce. They need to get out of the house to keep some shred of sanity. By wearing a mask in public, I'm not saying I'm scared of the virus or other people. I'm not kowtowing to the government. I'm saying, "I care about you." (I'm also thinking, "I feel absolutely ridiculous wearing this thing," but I'm hoping that feeling will fade.)

Isn't it strange how the smallest decisions these days seem like major ethical dilemmas? Do I really wear a mask to run into the post office for 10 seconds? Do I let my kid go to the park with four friends? How close do I get to the person who crosses my path on a hiking trail? With no hard and fast answers, we're all left to use our best judgment and do our own best thing. Let's give each other a lot of grace. And let's ask ourselves, "What would it look like to love my neighbor right now?" That may be our best hope for coming out of this thing better, kinder, and gentler.