Praying About the Pandemic

Friday, Mar. 20, 2020

Last night as I was praying for protection of my family and friends against the coronavirus, what came to mind was the 10th plague sent by the Lord upon Egypt. 

The Book of Exodus relates how, to convince Pharaoh to free the Israelites from slavery, the Lord went forth through Egypt, killing the firstborn of all the people and the animals. The Israelites were spared because they had done what the Lord said, and marked their doorposts with the blood of the Passover lamb. 

At first I dismissed this story when it popped into my head, because I couldn’t think what it had to do with the coronavirus. The pandemic we face today was not sent by God; the world’s population is not enslaved, forced to labor by oppressive taskmasters. We are not standing with loins girt, poised to flee to the Promised Land. My prayer is not that God lead me, my friends and family to a land flowing with milk and honey, but rather that we be spared from illness and death.

Although I tried to turn my thoughts away from the exodus from Egypt, it wouldn’t leave my mind, so I allowed it to remain. Pondering it, several lessons emerged.

First, the Israelites put their trust in the Lord. They packed up everything and walked into the desert because God promised them a brighter future. We, in our time, don’t have Moses and Aaron to bring God’s message to us. What we have instead is the Word of God, who became man and promised us not a better future on this earth but rather eternal life, and it is in this Word that we trust. 

“Remember, man, you are dust and to dust you will return.” We heard these words only three short weeks ago. That was before we were struck with fear of the pandemic, and perhaps you, like me, accepted them as part of the traditional Ash Wednesday liturgy.

Now, though, that same pronouncement takes on an immediacy I’ve never felt before. Yes, I have known that I and all my friends and family are mortal and will someday return to the dust of which we are made, but I’ve always felt that most of us will gradually fade away of illness or old age, and I will have time to say farewell.

With the pandemic, though, it is entirely possible that family or friends will die before I can say goodbye. It might even happen that I, myself, will be struck down.

That thought, coming in prayer last night, made me ask myself whether I am ready to meet my maker. I went to Confession a couple of weeks ago, and I don’t think I’ve committed any mortal sins since then, but I’m not yet at the point where I can say with St. Paul that “to die is gain.” It’s not so much that I don’t want to shuffle off this mortal coil – although I’m in no hurry to do so – it’s more that I’m well aware that I haven’t made good use of my time here. 

“Death would have no great terrors for you if you had a quiet conscience,” Thomas á Kempis writes in the “Imitation of Christ.”

I won’t bore you with all the things that disquiet my conscience, but let’s just say that charity and love haven’t prevailed in my life. I’ve been working at making those two virtues an everyday occurrence, but there’s been more backsliding than progress.

“If you aren’t fit to face death today, it’s very unlikely you will be tomorrow,” Thomas á Kempis adds – a sobering thought in light of the pandemic.

 We Christians believe that death is sorrowful because we part from our loved ones, but we also see it as a celebration because we pass from this life to the next. The question, of course, is whether, when that happens, we have prepared our souls so that we may be commended to God.