I had no idea when I moved to Seattle last summer that I would be moving into a city that would be the center of the Coronavirus in the United States. 

I remember rolling my eyes when my Dad called to check in on me when the first case was announced here back in January. That seems forever ago. 

Two weeks ago – how was it just two weeks? – my boss texted me saying to not cancel church. I was baffled by the text, so checked online. Two deaths in Seattle. I knew not to cancel for two deaths, but there were more questions to come. How do we properly clean and disinfect our space? Do I have any hand sanitizer hiding in my apartment, since all the stores are sold out? Do we offer communion? Again, this seems like ages ago.

Time functions differently in a pandemic. Multiple times this week I find that conversations from the morning seem as though they took place days before. The amount of questions and decisions is exhausting. And I’m not even the one having to make the really big ones, like whether or not we meet. 

As this progresses, the decisions last week seem so small and simple compared to what we’re facing now. What does church look like if you can’t meet together? What does Easter look like? What can we learn from the Underground Church, who has always dealt with the reality of not meeting together in large groups? What are the needs in our neighborhoods? For our senior care centers? For those in high risk categories? For health care workers? For families?

I navigate my own fears and anxieties as I sit with the fears and anxieties of my church members. I often return to breathing The Jesus Prayer during the day and especially at night. Lord Jesus have mercy on me.

I am furious when I see Facebook posts from friends in states not impacted by the virus, making light of the precautions being taken. As I find out more and more people I know who likely have the virus, but can’t be tested, or who have been exposed. As I read about the Life Care center in Kirkland and how coronavirus killed dozens of the residents there. As I see how this is destroying our small business owners. 

In moments, I feel empowered and encouraged to help our community. Sometimes pastoring involves many tasks that feel anything but pastoral. But in moments like this, there’s a sense of the privilege we have in serving and loving our neighbors in really practical ways. I feel humbled to participate in this movement. On Tuesday morning, I walked into a room where staff, keeping as much distance person-to-person, were in small groups, writing down ideas and ways that we can lead our congregations in the midst of COVID-19.

This, right here and now, is the Church.

I pray for my city. We are so self sufficient, but I think that is toppling around us. We need each other. When I moved here, many spoke about the Seattle Freeze, this standoffishness that permeates the city. But as we’re asked to distance ourselves socially, I see it putting us more in touch with our needs for connection. I pray that it will open us up to our need for Jesus. Not just outside of the church, but inside the church as well. 

I feel out of control. The virus recalls to mind 9-11. It was the first time that I truly became aware of how little control I have. The busyness and comfort of western living distracts us from this truth. Until it doesn’t. 

And I can turn to fear, which I often do. Or I can turn to God, with my fear. And pray the honest words I’ve uttered over the years: I believe. Help my unbelief.

I believe that you are here. Help me believe that more fully. Help me to trust you in unknown places. Help direct my vision to the needs of my neighbors, rather than being solely consumed with my own needs. Help me be wise in my comings and goings. Help me point people to you. Help me process through my own anxieties over the economy and what that means for me. Help me bring goodness, truth, beauty, and love, wherever I go. Help me say yes to awkward online meetings for the sake of the most vulnerable in my community. Help me let go of my work at the end of the day and rest. Help me from constantly turning to Facebook and news sites. Help.

This morning, as I prepare to watch our church service online with a couple of friends, I am drawn to my kitchen window. Sunlight floods through – a rare divergence from Seattle’s normal gray. I close my eyes and stand in the sun for a moment, just as the song “It is Well” plays on my phone. Instead of rushing off – there’s so much to do right now – I take a moment to pause. I reach out my hands, bathed in sun, and sing. 

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,

Let this blest assurance control,

That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,

And hath shed His own blood for my soul

It is well, it is well, with my soul

It is well

With my soul

It is well, it is well with my soul

And for this moment, it is well.