The irony doesn’t escape me—and why does irony always try to do that, anyway?—that Ezekiel 4:9 is about famine.I’ve posted about the breakfast cereals from Food for Life (yet more irony, from Corona, California) before, but during this time of shortages at the local grocery stores, famine is an apt topic.I don’t mean to underplay famine.Death by starvation is something nobody should have to face, but looking ahead, who knows?The reason I was eating Ezekiel 4:9 is that my usual cereal brand was sold out.Empty shelves and the prophet seem symbolic,don’t you think?The box quotes the verse as a kind of health-food recipe, but the point was, in context, that this was not something you’d normally want to eat.This was food for hard times.
Ezekiel, you see, lived through the collapse of his own society.In his case it wasn’t because of a virus, but imperial ambition.The Babylonian Empire under Nebuchadnezzar was expanding and Judah was in the way.The city was captured and Ezekiel, a priest, was exiled.His symbolic action of eating poor food was to show people they ought to plan on this as “the new normal.”Even now we hear people saying, “when things get back to normal…” but I also wonder if that will happen.Collapse can occur slowly.The thing about reading history is that we see centuries compressed into a few hundred pages.Things take time.Like restocking toilet paper.Meanwhile empires crumble.
The Babylonian Empire didn’t last long.Oh, it was long enough to mean some people knew nothing else, but looking back we can see that it held sway for decades rather than centuries.In the middle of his book, Ezekiel changes his tune.Once the temple is destroyed, when the worst has happened, he starts looking for a better future.Many people have been under serious strain since November 2016.Anxiety levels have been consistently high for damaging lengths of time.I suspect the book of Revelation hasn’t been so well thumbed for decades.The seventies were also apocalyptic times, as I recall.Although we’re living through history, we each do it on the ground.We experience it in our own little lives.These seismic shifts can’t help but impact us.It helps me to act like some things are normal.I still get out of bed early.I stumble into the kitchen and fumble on the light.I settle down for breakfast with a prophet and wait.
As the pandemic stretches on and getting things in stores—or even from Amazon—isn’t assured, my thoughts go back to Larry Norman.Specifically to his song “I Wish We’d All Been Ready.”Made famous for many by its use in the 1972 rapture film A Thief in the Night, the song recounts the state of those “left behind” when a piece of bread could be exchanged for a bag of gold.The lyrics are haunting in their sincerity.Here in Pennsylvania, as in neighboring New York, non-essential businesses have closed, per order of the governors.Periodic forays to the grocery store show the empty shelves of panic buying.Norman’s song rings in my ears.Only this isn’t a biblical plague.We’re just acting like it.
No doubt technology has been of great use in keeping us aware.I do wonder, however, at how panics seem to come more quickly now.Slowing down manufacturing will have a knock-on effect for things down the road, of course.Right now we’re all wondering how we’re going to get through yet another day just sitting in the house.Meanwhile the lawn is beginning to grow and I’m going to have to get out there with the push mower soon.I’d been planning on shopping for a better one this year, but plans seem to have suddenly pooled at my feet.What is essential travel anyway?Does it count a trip to the big box hardware store to buy a reel mower?Should I even bother about the lawn when there’s no toilet paper within a fifty-mile radius?I wish we’d all been ready.
The funny thing about all this is how it makes us focus on the here and now.While we’re waiting for things to “get back to normal” we’re being told nobody knows how long this might last and we should plan to hunker down for some time.The International Meeting of the Society of Biblical Literature (being held in Australia this year) was cancelled.Many of us in the discipline have had our lives revolving around the Annual Meeting in November for all of our adulthood.If that meeting’s cancelled how will we even know when Thanksgiving comes?Can it even come without the crowds at the Macy’s parade?Best not to look too far ahead, I guess.The rapture is a fictional construct, but the effects of a pandemic are eerily similar.I do wish all of us had been ready.
With the non-essential stores closed, my daughter asked me the other day “does that mean bookstores?”Sadly, yes.More weekends than not I spend some time in a bookstore.Fortunately we are well stocked for an apocalypse, book wise.Lately I’ve been on a kick of reading short stories.I’ve certainly written enough of them to fill a book or two, and it’s nice to start something you can finish in one sitting.I just finished reading, or perhaps re-reading Ray Bradbury’s The Illustrated Man.I say “perhaps re-reading” because I know I read many of the stories in the edition of the book I bought as a tween.Some of the tales I didn’t recall at all, making me think I was reading selectively in those days.That’s the nice thing about story collections: you don’t have to worry about continuity.
That having been said, the conceit of the illustrated man himself is that of a framing device.His tattooed body is the canvas on which all of these tales are painted.A surprising number of them are religious in theme.Many of them take place on Mars.Rockets are ubiquitous.As a child I hadn’t realized that many of Bradbury’s stories were published in the late forties and in the fifties.They still felt futuristic to me, having grown up in a small town with very little exposure to technological developments.Reading many of the tales as an adult, I was surprised at how much they influenced my own fiction writing style.I must’ve read a lot more of them when I was younger than I recall.
My tweenage years were long enough ago now that memories slip into one another.I can’t remember when this or that happened, especially as regards reading.When did I first read about the incessant rain on Venus?Or about the writers living on Mars dying out as their books are destroyed?Looking back over my own fictional work I see Bradbury’s fingerprints everywhere.Bradbury couldn’t afford to attend college, so he did what he knew—he wrote.Of course, back in those days publishers and agents weren’t dealing with the volume they face these days.The internet has made writers of us all.And I have to admit that some of the stories in The Illustrated Man disappointed me.They didn’t reach the level of either depth or insight that I had recalled.Overall, however, the impression was good, if nostalgic.As the days become a long series of interconnected hours of sitting in the house, it’s a real gift to have short stories to punctuate the days.
This is important!Please share it.If you don’t like sharing blog posts please at least share this link: https://www.fcc.gov/ecfs/filings/express.During this time of international crisis, American politicians have decided to discuss making the internet free again.But because a certain political party doesn’t want this, they are doing it in an obscure way.Since many people are working remotely and their livelihoods depend on internet connectivity, the FCC is accepting public comments on Proceeding 17-108, whether to restore internet neutrality or not.The form will take you only two minutes to fill out but you’ll need “Proceeding 17-108” and your zip code plus four.And you’ll need to hit “enter” after filling in your name.The very form seems designed to discourage public input.This is not a joke.
I had sincerely hoped that the COVID-19 crisis would bring out the best in the GOP.It hasn’t yet.Hearing the recorded comments of people like Mitch McConnell on how the Republican Party really doesn’t want to offer any stimulus packages but realizes that the economy will grind to a halt without them, my faith in the human spirit tanked.Not only that, but now that internet neutrality, which is the very way life goes on for many of us, is back open for public input, Ajit Pai is doing his best to make sure people don’t know about it.Please take just a moment to go to the FCC website and make your voice heard.And please share this.If you’re reading this post, remember, you’re using the internet.
Maybe it’s just living life “under the dome” that makes me feel this is so important.Right now my entire family is working remotely.Our house looks like a computer lab.Big Cable, since the end of net neutrality, has been allowed to drop users into “slow lanes” on the web, unless they are supporting causes those companies want.This has ended up wasting a lot of time for those of us who rely on the net for our daily bread.You can make your voice heard.This crisis is the opportunity to say something.Please do.In the best of all possible worlds, or even in a pretty good world, governments would listen to the will of the governed.We’ve been caught in a loop where the governed are exploited for personal gain.The coronavirus has led to the rare chance to make your voice heard.Tell the FCC what you think.And please share the link.
It’s a dilemma.I face it every year.I don’t have green to wear and it’s St. Patrick’s Day.For your average run-of-the-mill citizen, this might not be an issue—but I do have an Irish heritage (in part), and so it’s a heartfelt concern.The reason I don’t have green has less to do with fashion (consider the source!) than with my clothing purchasing practices.First of all, I like to make my clothes last.Fabrics can be quite durable.They aren’t mechanical and therefore don’t break down often.I don’t live a rough-and-tumble life, so tears aren’t really a problem.The end result is that I keep my clothes as long as they’re functional.When they begin to wear out I go to the store and examine the clearance racks until I find something in my size.That means color selection is often a matter of very limited options.
Once in a great while I have landed something green.I still remember a green shirt I had in college.It served me well for more than four St. Patrick’s Days.It long ago succumbed to overuse, however, because I wore it on other days as well.And let’s face it, when I make one of those infrequent trips to the clothiers’ shops, this particular holiday’s not on my mind.Unless, of course, I go shopping in March.Back when I lived in Boston it was easy to get your Irish on.I bought a bright green silky (I don’t know if it was real silk) tie with white shamrocks on it.It was probably down at Faneuil Hall.It had been a bit outlandish to wear to work in New York City, though.Indeed, at work staid dress was by far the most common code.Consequently it hung unused in my closet for years.
When we moved a couple summers back, I noticed my green tie had faded to bronze.I thought it went the other way around.In any case, my last truly green clothing article was no longer green.Yes, it still has shamrocks, but I’d feel even more ridiculous trying to rock a bronze tie and pass myself off as Irish.It won’t even pass for gold.Of course, I work from home.I’ve practiced social distancing long before it was a trend or a government mandate, whichever it is.The only people to see my lack of green would be my wife and daughter, and perhaps a Jehovah’s Witnesses that might stop by.But still, even minor celebrations are anticipated at times such as this.Although I won’t be going out today I’ll probably be spending some time in my closet and reflecting on the true heritage of my Irish forebears.
I suspect that, like many, I’ve come to see the coronavirus as an indictment of political foolishness.Electing unqualified officials feels like all fun and games until a crisis emerges and the leadership has no idea what to do.The Trump administration announced itself as anti-science and began breaking down the carefully built institutions that made our way of life possible.His fans cheered.Now they’re huddled in their bunkers with their stockpiled Purelle and toilet paper and Fox News on 24/7.It’s a good thing that a stable genius is in charge.He’s trying to get Germany to move production of the most promising vaccine to the land of his anti-vaccers, something Germany’s reluctant to do because 45 has a reputation internationally.It seems he’s made America infectious again.
As those of us with brain stems try to find some way to comfort those we know and love, we keep coming back to the fact that this kind of pandemic is new in the internet-linked world.No matter what you try to do right now you have to assess whether it involves meeting other people, potentially infected, and whether it’s worth the risk.I had to go to a grocery store and Target over the weekend.I’ve never seen so many empty shelves before.This is what panic looks like.The difference is that even W., who will never be considered among the smartest of presidents, recognized that institutions are there for a reason.America’s greatness grew slowly by building on what’d gone before.Tearing everything down in a narcissistic tantrum and claiming all we need to do is adore our autocrat, we now see how great this country has become.Greatly afraid, that is.
Coronavirus closed schools more effectively than Betsy DeVos.Businesses are reeling as the businessman president fumbles with facts and figures he can’t understand and can’t admit that science is real because, well, global warming and all that.Internationally people are looking for solid leadership and finding that the autocrats they’ve elected have no idea what to do.Self-aggrandizement is no basis for leadership.The Republican senate had their chance just two months ago, but they were banking on their personal bank accounts, it seems.Even in the face of this crisis Mitch McConnell persists on insisting it’a all a game.As a child raised in a Republican home I was taught never to run with scissors.But then, I had all my vaccines.Mad dictator’s disease hadn’t yet been released upon the world.
All the way back in seminary my friends and I used to joke about virtual church.What made it so funny was that the idea seemed ridiculous.The very raison d’être for church (which essentially means “gathering”) was, well, gathering.We joshed about putting a communion card into an ATM and getting bread and wine.Little did we know we’d live to see virtual church become a reality.While I prefer not to tip my hand as to my affiliation (I began doing this when teaching at secular schools, for if a professor of religion is being academic about their specialization their affiliation should have no bearing on the class) I confess I am the member of a religious community.That community has become virtual, as of today.
This isn’t a permanent thing.Unless coronavirus is a permanent thing.As I spoke with my clergy person about it, I wondered how many people would attend virtual services.Sermons would need to be stellar.Who would hear if I tried to sing hymns (this is not a pretty thing, take my word for it)?My laptop doesn’t even have a disc slot into which I could insert my offering.Churches, synagogues, mosques—they’re about community.What does community feel like when you’re sitting there in your pajamas, at least on the part that the webcam doesn’t pick up?Does the minister see you in virtual church?Have I, like number 6, been reduced to a numeral?I suspect the current crisis is going to be a real test for faith communities.Meeting together would make us all feel like snake-handlers now.
The funny thing was, back in seminary it was a joke.At Boston University School of Theology in the late 1980s we knew that churches weren’t really growing.Some megas had started and we now see them following the mushroom cloud to its dissipation stage.As little as we meant it, we could see devices creeping into the mix.I did not use a computer until after seminary.Funnily enough, thinking back to the pre-1990s, we survived without cell phones.If you were going to church you were going. To. Church.These days of pandemic in the pews will be a real test of the preacher’s power.For Episcopalians the mediating of grace had to be done in person.I remember watching worriedly as the priest, clearly with a sniffle, was the first one to take a sip from the community chalice before holding it out for others to drink.We wondered about efficacy of ATMs dispensing consecrated hosts.It was only a joke, then; really it was.