COVID-19 has been sweeping the world, and it's all anyone can seem to talk about, so I'm going to be that person and add to the noise for a bit. I hope it's not totally noisy, just a little raucous, but c'est la vie if it is. I haven't been able to lead storytime at the library in a few weeks, so I'll start by telling you a story.
I was sitting in the front row of my junior year theology class getting ready to have a discussion on this book Silence by Shusaku Endo. It's a pretty life-changing read if you haven't had the chance, but the main crux of the book is its exploration of martyrdom and what suffering means.
Okay. Back to the story.
Every day in class I sat in the same seat in the front row. I always felt like I wanted to absorb the professor's insights as immediately as possible (and also because its where I sat on the first day and that means it was my seat FOREVER AND EVER AMEN). That class was many things to me: a delving deep into the identity and personal theology of Catholics on campus, a frustrating feeling of not-enough-ness being Protestant, a room where I hung out with a future priest who baked fudge. But it was also a place where I fully encountered suffering.
I don't mean I personally suffered in class (although I'd argue that being United Methodist and having to read deLubac's Catholicism is slightly torturous). I mean that I thought about suffering in a way I hadn't before. During the lecture portion of our class that day, our professor said, "Suffering is not a contest," and "suffering is not measured against another person's" (or something to that effect--he's much more eloquent than my memory ever could be). I was thrown back into my seat in a way I hadn't yet been in college.
Wait...suffering isn't measured? But then how do you know who's in the most pain? How do you compare events and figure out who's had it the worst? Do you just...not? That's bullshit. No way. A person who was in the concentration camps definitely had it worse than I did when I had to study for a test at 3am*.
And yet.
I wouldn't fully understand this until two years later, but feelings of hopelessness and helplessness are not on a scale or a zero sum game. They aren't feelings that you can brush off. When you're having a panic attack due to depression and anxiety? That is no joke. Doesn't matter what caused it. Doesn't matter how many times it has happened before. Trauma is not measurable in the way that grades or flour for baking or beats in a measure are. It's real, it's lasting, it's damaging, and it takes time to heal.
I've seen a lot of people posting memes that say things like, "We had to spend our senior year in Vietnam...at least you have the internet...stop complaining." But that's not what it feels like. It feels like a teenager's entire life is spiraling out of control and they don't know what to do. And no adult can tell them what to do. No one knows how to act in a global pandemic in the age of the internet. And you don't know what kind of environment that teen or person or whoever you're trying to demonize through your meme is going home to. You don't know if they're not going to be able to eat anymore because they ate two meals a day at school. You don't know if they have access to the internet or TV to keep updated on all the ways in which our lives are changing. You. Don't. Know.
We are all involved in an international moment of trauma. We are all suffering in our own ways. I'm not seeing the children and teens who I would give my life for on a daily basis. I don't know if they're eating, if they're well, or if they're feeling the effects of depression for the first time as they don't see their friends. I can't sing with people outside my home which is one of my deepest and most important coping mechanisms for my depression and anxiety. I'm terrified that the leader of our country is absolutely going to make things worse for the most vulnerable in a bid to...I don't even know what is going on in his head.
And yet.
I've rediscovered knitting as a calming way to keep my hands busy and my mind calm while I watch Disney movies and Marvel movies. I moved into a new place and am not failing at doing the dishes. I play the piano for dance parties in the living room. I built a bed and a dresser and reorganized my bookshelves. I pray in gratitude for the calm, decisive, and compassionate leadership in my state by Dr. Acton and Gov. DeWine.
These moments of gratitude are ways to turn this moment of collective suffering into something I can fathom. It's hard. It's a journey every day. But suffering has an end. I don't know what that end date or event or moment will be. But I'm looking forward to how the world will be better as we all move through this time #alonetogether.
*I understand that this is a bit of an exaggerated example. I do not mean to minimize the suffering and generational trauma of those who suffered in the Holocaust, but it is a realistic metaphor for how I felt at 20 years old.
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