Meditating on a Pandemic

by Rev. Eric Folkerth

“Please, let it be over…”

Now and then, on my bike rides around White Rock Lake, I have these cathartic moments that wash over me when I least expect them.

I’ve always thought that it’s because those rides function quite similarly to meditation. While on the bike, I must quiet my mind and focus on my body and breathing. I must concentrate on being present.

As with meditation and prayer, what happens is that the exterior stresses and the daily “to do” lists fall away, and I can often deeply feel things that are sometimes surprising.

That happened this week on what I call my first “hot, sweaty ride” of the year.

It was super humid and hot. I was having to work hard on the bike. (BTW, I LOVE these kinds of rides…I tolerate the entire rest of the year of riding, just waiting for these glorious months…). There is something about feeling physically spent and having to work hard that tends to break open my heart; and sometimes —in moments that are quite surprising— I find myself crying at the emotions underneath.

That’s what happened. 

All of the sudden, I was rhythmically pedaling, crying, and praying to God:

“Please, let it be over…”
“Please, let it be over…”
“Please, let it be over…”

I was praying about the pandemic. But I was thinking back over the past few weeks, and just how “normal” they have seemed. I was thinking of all the “normal” things I’ve done these past few weeks:

Worship with you all at Kessler.
Hospital visits.
Invocation at a luncheon at Fair Park.
Family graduation party with 50 Garcia/Puente relatives.
Walking Bishop Arts and eating lunches and dinners.
Hosting a community meeting at Kessler for our City Council District.
Going to buy a phone with my Mom at a store.
Visiting face-to-face with some neighbors in our neighborhood association.

These are the kinds of “ordinary” activities that I used to do, regularly.

That list? That might have been an average week fourteen months ago. But for the past 420 days of this global pandemic, many of these activities simply haven’t happened. They haven’t been possible.

But after months of false starts at “opening up,” it really is the case now that things are “opening up.”

And I was overwhelmed at the pure joy of normal things. I was overwhelmed by being able to do all those things in one week. But simultaneously, the grief and loss of the past year welled up too.

As I thought of all these beautiful, normal things, I also remembered all the things that didn’t happen.

Fourteen months of metaphorically, and literally, holding our breath.

Maybe it was a ptsd-like moment of my own fear welling up, but all of the sudden, I was mumbling this prayer to God, as fast as each breath could come:

“Please, let it be over…”
“Please, let it be over…”
“Please, let it be over…”
“Please, let it be over…”

Over and over, I prayed this and I cried.

It was cathartic.

You will, no doubt, have a similar moment, as you meditate and pray on the lists of things lost this year. Some of your losses are far more serious. Some of you lost family members to COVID and you are still deeply grieving those losses.

What I’m here to urge you to do, as your Pastor, is to allow those waves of grief to come over you when they will.

Don’t push them down.
The way through grief is….through grief. 

Grief comes on us like waves in the ocean. It’s like you’re standing in the water, up to mid-shin level. You’re enjoying your life. You think you’re “moving on.”

Maybe you’re just enjoying a lunch on the patio with a friend, or some other “normal” thing you haven’t done for a while…

When, out of nowhere, some big wave of grief will come and slap you in the chest.

And you’ll say, “Where did *that* come from?”

That’s just how grief works, friends. And the only way through is…through.

A part of what we are supposed to do as a Church —a part of WHY we gather for worship each week— is to do the very same thing that happens on those bikes rides…or in quiet, personal meditation.

We center ourselves down.
We “breathe in and breathe out,” so that we can discover what’s underneath…inside…deep within our souls.

Sometimes, that “something” below is joy, compassion, love, and peace.
Sometimes, that’s grief, anger, confusion, hurt.

A part of being “Church” together is allowing each other the space for these complex emotions, and taking the time to pray to God about all of them; trusting that it is through God’s abiding presence with us in it all that makes healing possible.

Friends, you are doing well gathering for worship. We will continue to do so. In another part of our newsletter this week, I’m going to write a few gentle reminders to you all about what we’re doing in worship. These are meant to be things that assure that this prayer of mine —this prayer of yours— will come true.

“Please, let it be over…” can now be more than a wish, friends.

It can be a reality.

But let us continue forward as a compassionate community that cares for each other, respects each other, as we take this journey to our “new normal.”

Grace and Peace,

Eric Folkerth