We’ve seen epidemics before. I grew up during the AIDS crisis. I remember it being other people’s problems. We could blame it on gay men. Or urban populations. We could pretend it was OUT THERE because we weren’t by the epicenter, the area where it started. Until it hit home when a basketball star contracted it. Then a young kid named Ryan White got it through a blood transfusion, and we couldn’t pretend any more. Yet it was distant for many of us. Distant like the measles, or E. coli outbreaks. Unless we were directly affected or knew someone who was, we could ignore the many epidemics that have rolled through our lives.

But this is different. This is wider. It’s a pandemic. It involves everyone. For most of us, this is our first pandemic. Most of us weren’t around for the Spanish Flu. This affects us all. We’ve discovered that this thing is deadly and still beyond our control.

In a crisis, we discover things about ourselves and our society. The bravery of some. The incivility of others.  Our health care and service workers have epitomized bravery, especially those who’ve labored for next to nothing. They have taken no sacred oath to stock shelves, deliver our mail, or pick up our trash, but they show up day after day. Then there are those whose work has been deemed non-essential so are instead urged to do two simple things—stay home, and should an errand be necessary, to wear a mask in public when you can’t socially distance yourself. Even this, however, is too large a burden for some.

I see folks gathering at the state house in body armor and brandishing weapons as if you can shoot a virus. Some folks on my Facebook timeline brag how they won’t ever wear a mask, no matter what. Now there are good medical reasons why folks won’t or can’t wear a mask: anxiety, PTSD, hearing-aids, etc. But stubbornness isn’t one of them.

I’ve tried to remain non-judgmental. I’ve tried to restrain my frustration and look toward positive examples of hope. But it’s hard sometimes. Instead of putting out my opinions on social media or spreading my anxiety around, I spend my time with my family. We’ve been doing movie marathons and puzzles. Spending well-needed time together. We Zoom call with friends and family. We join in drive-by birthday celebrations. We have virtual happy hours with friends from college and friends around the state. It’s been nice seeing everyone. Connecting even though we’re isolated. It’s not as good as real life, but I’m thankful that we are living in such a time with such technology.

Technology I can use to call my mom on Mothers Day. To see her face and the familiar walls of my childhood home. My mom is an essential worker who is a rural mail carrier. We talk about how the kids are doing. We talk about the things she sees on her route. We talk about how she loves her right-hand drive Jeep Wrangler, but how it’s often broken. She still loves it though and reminds me to be patient with the things and especially people we love. For everything breaks. Cars. Hearts. Lives. Best to be patient. Vent a little, but work on putting things back together as best we’re able.

That’s what my sister does. She tries to put people back together as best as she’s able. She was a nurse in the past, but three years ago became the Clinical Coordinator of Case Management at a hospital in Marysville. She talks about the worry, the anxiety of her co-workers. How she tries to keep morale high, even her own. She loves her crew and her patients and is trying to do her best to keep her community healthy. We’re worried about the folks we know who are out of work, or whose jobs have slowed down. There’s a lot to worry about, so we look for things that bring hope.

What we’re finding during this pandemic, is just what is essential. Just who is essential. Art. Community. Relationships.

I want to hang out with people who don’t live in fear. There’s enough of that. I don’t want to hang around with people who are intimidated… so intimidated they try to shout down their fear and cover it with anger. They stubbornly cling to the old ways by not wearing a mask or taking precautions, like the Israelites who Moses called, “A stubborn and stiff-necked people” who “longed for the flesh pots of Egypt.” As bad as things were being slaves in Egypt, some wanted to return because that life and routine was known.

But there’s no going back. We are in this thing. We are in the wilderness of this pandemic. And we must trust in God and follow our Moses. And just who is our modern-day Moses? It’s not just one person. It’s a whole group of people. People like our essential workers. The medical professionals on the front line. We have many here in our congregation. I want to name and thank them all, but I fear that if I start naming them, an incomplete list would be a greater disservice to them. Especially since a few of them don’t want to be named. “It’s no big thing,” they say. “I’m no more essential than anyone else.”

Yet the gift of healing… of nurturing someone back to health. I want to be around people who are eager to do good for others. That is essential. And we bless the work of your hands and ask God’s wisdom to be your wisdom. You are essential… for I’ve been in those rooms where healing was needed. I’ve been in those rooms where healing didn’t happen, and someone died. And what sustained people was love.

The last words of so many has been gratitude. Words of love. Not words of, “I should have spent more time at the office.” Not words of, “I really wish you didn’t cut your hair.” It is almost always in my experiences, words of gratitude and love. And the medical team experience those deaths as well. They mourn. They wish they could have fixed it. Their hearts break right along with the families, and in that way, they become like Jesus who wept at grave of Lazarus. And while we can’t see the resurrection on this side, we can trust that there is one in heaven, on the other side and take comfort in that. That can keep us going. Keep us on this journey with all its joys and concerns.

We are seeing in this time, just who is keeping us going. Those who deliver our mail. Pick up our trash. Who are in logistics, making sure supplies are traveling across country. Those who stock our shelves and staff the registers. Workers in our food supply chain, from the farmers to the grocer and everyone in between. Our first responders who work to keep us safe; the police, fire-fighters, paramedics and all those who support them. Our national guard who is helping get food to people. We rely on them. Artists who inspire and brighten our world. And we ask God to bless them in their work. For this work helps others. We benefit from it. It is part of the unseen workings of society that keeps businesses, communities, and households functioning. It is holy work.

It’s like we’re remembering our baptism, knocking the dirt off of our vision and seeing again what connects us all. The invisible love of God. Noticing. Noticing one another. Noticing things we haven’t before. We’re noticing what jobs are essential, and we’re thanking those folk. We’re noticing the ties that bind us in so many incredible ways.

Sure, we can lose patience. We can be irritable. Our anxiety might be out of control, as we are feeling out of control. We can wonder when this all will end. Absolutely. It is understandable. Be kind to yourself and others in these moments. This is after all, our first pandemic. In those moments, talk about what’s essential in your lives. Instead of turning to fear or conspiracy theories or anger, let’s be eager to do good for those in our lives whom we love. I’ve been amazed by what we as a church have been doing these last few months. It’s been weird. Different. And in many ways, incredible.

The kindness. The caring. The ways you stay in touch. Eager to do good. For we are remembering our baptism. That we’re connected to a whole cloud of witnesses; past, present, and future. That we’re promised a resurrection through Jesus who is beyond any disease, and whose love is essential for us who have committed ourselves to his way of life. The way that welcomes, loves, and serves. That does not return violence for violence, but offers a peace that surpasses all understanding to the world.

If you’re in need of that peace and can’t seem to find it, look towards our essential workers. I’m lucky enough to have my mom and sister to be inspired by how eager they are to do good. Maybe you know someone you could reach out to. An essential worker who might need some kind words. Or you might know someone who is out of work who might need community now more than ever.

We’ll get through this. All pandemics have ended. Yet, after each, society was changed. Society evolved. My hope is we will rediscover just what matters. Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. These things are essential…There is no law against such things. Nor can they be suspended. Nor in a crisis abandoned. They are essential. Just like you. Amen.