The following article was adapted from a sermon written by Anne Edison-Albright and given on April 1, 2020.

We begin with a reading from Romans:

What then are we to say about these things? ... Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? ... For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

What’s next, dear ones? What do we do, now?

We’re in an ill-defined transitional space, a liminal space: we don’t know how long this time of pandemic will last or how long we’ll need to take these precautions to decrease risk of exposure. We don’t really know what the next weeks, days, or even hours will bring. Worries about illness, employment, the health and wellbeing of loved ones, death: these worries may be lurking around in a shadowy way or may be all too present and concrete for you these days.

Two wonderful recent devotions led by Focus Vision Team leaders Kaitlynn Rivers and Emily Lehman began with reflections on the uneasy feelings that come with the particular physical displacement and transition we’re experiencing right now:

What does it do to your sense of self when you can’t walk to class anymore? When you can’t easily run into friends on the way to the caf? When you can’t do the things you always did, are you the same person, and if not, who are you becoming?

This uneasy, ill-defined, waiting room of an in-between time is often associated with loss and grieving, and there is a Celtic Christian tradition to pray for these times to be “thin space.” In thin space we become more aware of God’s presence and our need for God. We realize that what we thought was a solid barrier between us and God is actually quite thin. In thin spaces, the Spirit can inspire us, and we can grow and change in ways we might never have been able to, otherwise.

In my experience, whatever you call this transition time, this time of growth and change, this ill-defined and uneasy space … it is still terrible.

I don’t like feeling out of control.

I don’t like not knowing what comes next.

I don’t like not knowing what to do.

This isn’t the kind of growth and change I would ever choose, for myself or for any of you.

We didn’t choose this, and, to be clear, God didn’t smite us or anyone else with coronavirus: the virus took shape and spread, as viruses are free to do.

Life—in its fullness along with its freedom and beauty and joy—comes with these in-between times, these waiting rooms of grief and loss.  

And when that happens, God waits with us.

God enters into the spaces we’re in.

There is no Godforsaken place.

There is no Godforsaken time.

There is no Godforsaken person.

Nothing can separate us from the love of God.

What, then, are we to say of these things?

What comes next?

What do we do?

We start with who and whose we are: we are beloved children of God, interconnected to God and to each other.

Faced with any question, with all the questions, with what may seem some days like endless questions, we start there.

Let us pray:

God, you made us to be always connected to each other and to you. In times when we feel overwhelmed, give us peace. In times when we feel alone, give us comfort in your presence. Keep us mindful of all the ways our actions impact not only ourselves and the people in our households, but all people. Use each of us to slow and stop the spread of coronavirus, for the sake of the world you created and love. Be with students, faculty, administration and staff at Luther College who are finding new ways to teach, learn, support and connect with each other this week and in the weeks to come. When we don’t know what to do, give us courage and hope, because we are yours, you made us, and you love us. Amen.