“The tempest lays bare all our prepackaged ideas and forgetfulness of what nourishes our people’s souls; all those attempts that anesthetize us with ways of thinking and acting that supposedly “save” us, but instead prove incapable of putting us in touch with our roots and keeping alive the memory of those who have gone before us.”
— Pope Francis, March 27, 2020
Will our economy recover? Why weren’t we better prepared? When will this end?
The death toll continues to rise. Experts search for a cure and the best way to manage the outbreak. Their efforts are good and worthwhile, but we cannot help but face the question of our mortality. Of course, we confront our own mortality with every passing moment. It is inescapable. However, with a capricious and still poorly understood virus that has left hundreds of thousands dead in its wake, we are more acutely aware of it than ever.
Looking around, I am afraid we are squandering the opportunity hidden in this time of trial.
Instead of sitting silently to reflect on the mystery of our humanity, we distract ourselves.
Pornhub traffic is up nearly 25%; online alcohol sales have risen 243%; and the latest less-than-edifying addition to Netflix is a smash hit. Families have more time together than ever before. No sports. No playdates. No commutes. Rather than entering into this new familial reality, we recoil. We social distance within our own homes. We distract ourselves from the human connections that stand before us. We prefer the cheap technological façade of endless, mindless scrolling.
None of this is new, but the virus has exposed a deeper disease that has long plagued our society. Our illness isn’t simply technological, though technology enables and accelerates it. It is not that we tend to react to questions of meaning and ultimacy with hostility. Our affliction is that we have grown comfortable — anesthetized, as Pope Francis said. Put simply, we refuse to even ask meaningful questions.
Perhaps a sign of hope in all of this is that the technology we crave — filling our homes and children’s hands with it — has now become a source of torment. We begin to realize that despite being more “connected” than any time in the history of the world, we are starving for relationship. After an exhausting day of endless video conferences, we return to our precious technology or some other object of consumption to pacify our anguish.
Now more than ever, we must deepen the relationships around us, which afford us an opportunity to encounter God anew. We must put away the technology or any empty thing in our lives that grows vicious — or even worse –compulsive. We must spend real time with our families. We must sit on the porches of our homes or the balconies of our apartments, waving and talking to people as they pass by. We must plant a garden or mow the grass. We must reconnect ourselves with the earth, a basic concept we seem to have lost. We must read a book, turning the dusty pages that can’t be found on a screen.
A return to a more simple way of living can afford us the time to sit in silence. This will not necessarily lead us to a deeper conversion, but at least it is a start.
As hard as it may seem, we must confront our anxiety and grief. This is where our Lord wants to meet us. We must ask “why” in every sense of the word. This is difficult and uncomfortable, and that is okay. Too often when we look at the reality that stands before us, we can’t bear to see it, so we turn away. We must avoid this temptation at all costs. During his Urbi et Orbi blessing, Pope Francis cried out: “Wake up, Lord!” Perhaps we should do the same.
