Author: admin

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Some health officials have described our country as being at war with the Coronavirus. What makes it so dangerous is the fact that it’s an invisible enemy.

We can’t see it, we can’t touch it, we can’t taste it. We can only feel it… after we’ve been infected.

As a result, we’ve been instructed to self-quarantine, to retreat into our homes, to lock our doors until further notice.

Although that may largely protect us from the virus itself, there’s another silent killer among us.

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Loneliness.

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Loneliness is an indefinite state of sadness; that feeling that something is missing; that we have nothing to do, nowhere to go, nobody to talk to; like we’re alone in the universe.

It can hit us like a sack of bricks, especially while quarantined.

But it doesn’t have to.

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It may feel like I’m splitting hairs here, but there’s a world of difference between loneliness and aloneness.

While both imply a type of absence, loneliness makes us feel isolated. 

Aloneness, on the other hand, means being by yourself without feeling lonely; you still feel connected to others. 

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This must’ve been what Jesus felt quite often. 

A sense of aloneness.

Although he was separated from his heavenly Father, for example, he didn’t feel lonely. As he says in the Gospel today, “The one who sent me is with me. He has not left me alone.”

Jesus remained connected to his Father through prayer.

These were the moments when he poured his heart out, when he listened to his Father, when he begged for strength, when he felt the deepest sense of intimacy and belonging.

Although they were separated, Jesus remained connected psychologically, emotionally, and spiritually to his Father through prayer. 

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That’s also what we must do – remain connected to the Lord and to one another. Say a prayer. Pick up the phone. Have a real conversation. Be proactive in reaching out. 

A friend of mine has even started scrolling through his contacts, calling every person he can just to say, “hello.”

We combat the Coronavirus by staying home. But we combat loneliness by reaching out to God and to one another.

So who might you contact today?

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On Sundays, I try standing at the front door of church to greet parishioners before Mass.

Recently I saw a young teenager outside who, for whatever reason, was in a terrible hurry and ended up falling not down, but up the stairs.

Although he stood up quickly and promised he was okay, I’m sure he walked away with a bruised ego.

Falling in public is terribly embarrassing. We all know it, because we’ve all done it.

For example, I remember falling in the middle of Times Square once!

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In the bible, falling has a double meaning. 

It not only means to lose our balance; it also means, “to sin.”

To fall means to sin.  

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In the Gospel we find a woman who’s fallen.

She’s been caught in the act of adultery. Imagine how embarrassed she must’ve been as she’s dragged by a band of men out of her home and laid at the feet Jesus.

These men are stewing with anger. A woman has broken the Law and must be killed. But before they unleash a barrage of stones upon her, they want Jesus to condemn her, too.

But he just kneels down eye level to the woman and starts drawing in the sand. Some say he doodles.

Others say Jesus writes an account of their own sins, which is why he dares these men to be the first to cast a stone.

Deeply frustrated, they leave him – and her – for a time.

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Although this poor woman has made a serious mistake, Jesus reminds them that no one is blameless.

They’ve all sinned – and broken the Law – to varying degrees. 

Lent is the time for us to recognize how we’ve done the same. 

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But it’s also a time to remember that God is a God of forgiveness. He welcomes us back every time we leave him.

Think no further than the Prodigal Son.

But God’s forgiveness is contingent upon our willingness to forgive others. 

Jesus would’ve forgiven these men their sins, for example, if only they were willing to drop their stones, relenting in their punishment against their neighbor.

Because, according to Jesus, mercy trumps judgment.

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In the bible, falling has a double meaning. It not only means to trip; it also means to sin.

Two things we’ve all done.

Before condemning others, then, take a quick look in the mirror.

“For as you judge,” Jesus says, “so will you be judged, and the measure with which you measure will be measured out to you.”

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If there’s anything that tests our patience, it’s waiting.

For example, think of how many of us sit in traffic on our ride home from work. That stop-and-go, stop-and-go feels like your inching your way into Dante’s 9^th circle of hell.

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These days, however, we’ve shed our traffic patterns for long lines at the grocery store. 

We’ve all seen images of people standing outside of Costco, the line literally wrapped around the building, people standing six feet apart.

While we wait, we run through our grocery list ten times over, making sure we don’t forget a single thing. 

Meanwhile our stir-crazy kids sit at home, trying to learn something from their teachers online, while their own patience is tested.

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Most importantly, we’re waiting for an end to the Coronavirus. Time is of the essence. We need a cure.

Health experts are warning us that our healthcare system is quickly reaching a tipping point; soon enough, we won’t be able to treat every patient who’s ill.

We’ve already seen images of patients lying on hospital floors in Spain; the country is overwhelmed. Doctors and nurses are literally choosing between who receives life-saving care and who doesn’t.

Meanwhile, we wait. We wait for a cure. We wait to file our taxes. We wait to pay our bills. We wait for relief.

This all seems like a page ripped out of a science fiction novel. But it isn’t. It’s real.

Strangely enough, it’s like a page ripped out of the bible. In particular, a page from today’s Gospel.

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Like all those infected with the Coronavirus, Lazarus is sick; he’s dying. 

So his sister, Mary, does the only thing she can. She sends word to her friend Jesus, the miracle-worker, begging him to save her brother.

Then they sit and wait.

What follows, however, is haunting and strange. Jesus, fully aware that his friend Lazarus is near death, also sits and waits.

As the Gospel tells us, “When he heard that Lazarus was ill, Jesus remained for two days in the place where he was.”

Why would he wait?!?

The simple thought that Jesus lets Lazarus suffer can make our blood boil.

In fact, Jesus waits so long that Lazarus is dead for four days before he arrives. “Lord, if you had been here,” Martha says, “my brother would not have died.”

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We know how the story ends. Lazarus is raised from the dead. But let’s push pause on that for a moment and pay attention to what Jesus does next.

It’s the shortest sentence in the New Testament, but it’s packed with meaning.

“And Jesus wept.”

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Jesus, the Son of God, wept. 

God wept.

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Over the last two months, how many of us have wept? 

People have become sick, deathly ill; others have lost their jobs; schools have been shut down; fear and frustration simmer in our hearts. 

The fact that Jesus himself stopped and wept adds an incredible value to our own tears. 

He wept because his friend Lazarus had died. He wept because his friends were ripped apart in grief. He wept because death is real. It happens. 

Jesus wept because he, too, was human.

In these times of trial, Jesus reminds us how important it is to show empathy towards one another.

To weep with those who weep, to pray for those who protect us, to support those who cannot support themselves.

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But thank God that isn’t the end of the story. Literally, thank God.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb, commanding his friends to untie him.

Here we see the reason behind Jesus’ waiting. 

He waited until Lazarus was dead for four days to teach us a lesson, one we need to be reminded of in the midst of this current Coronavirus pandemic.

In his own words, “Our friend Lazarus is asleep, but I am going to awaken him.”

Jesus makes Lazarus rise, showing his disciples that he has power over death, because the next person to fall asleep will be Jesus himself.

But wipe your tears away, for he, too, will rise.

This is the Easter story we’re waiting for, the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. In that – in his resurrection – we find the promise of our own.

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What a timely Gospel passage for us.

We have, it seems, nearly every detail and emotion that’s happening in our world. People are sick; people are praying for a cure; some are being healed, while others are overwhelmed with grief.

But come Easter Sunday, Jesus will remind us again that we, too, shall live.

For, “I am the resurrection and the life,” he says, “whoever believes in me, even if he dies (like Lazarus), will live.” 

Thanks be to God.