How do we move through this prolongated pandemic along with all the other challenges we face? How can we avoid growing pessimistic or becoming paralyzed? Is there a way to remain connected, energetic, and optimistic in the face of it all. In this sermon, based on Isaiah 43.1-7 and Revelation 1.12-18, I explore the way the perspective we bring affects our experiences and the way we engage the world around us.

This last week, at the dawn of the New Year, America was hit with a million new Covid cases in a single day. That’s a record. That a million people a day reported being Covid positive doesn’t mean that all of them are sick. But a lot of them are, and a lot more will be.

I’m not being alarmist, not interested in stirring up fear or anxiety. But I am interested in being clear and honest about the reality we face these days—not only with Covid 19, but with the handful of other major crises we face—and I’m interested, pastorally, in helping us live well in spite of them.

Because of this surge and the public health challenges we all face, our congregation has curtailed in-person gatherings for the time being—at least for a few more weeks. All our programs and services will be online until the end of January. Then we’ll reassess the situation. Hopefully, the surge in infections will be waning and we can plan to regather and offer both online and in-person services again in February.

Obviously, this is a huge disappointment for all of us. Our leaders have been scrambling to redesign programs, communicate with you all, and find new ways to keep us connected.

A lot of us had hoped 2022 would bring a new beginning, a way to leave 2021 and 2020 behind. But this doesn’t feel like a new year. It feels like a repeat of parts of last year and the year before that. You may be wondering when your kids will go back to school, if you can take the trip you planned or have the surgery you need or if the people you care about are safe or able to get the medical care they need.

One of you was to have back surgery on Friday. You told me Thursday that the surgery was canceled and postponed until at least the end of February.

Why? Because there are no hospital beds.

If any of you still wonders why we’ve moved all our services and programs online despite the fact that most of us are vaccinated. It’s this: we have a moral responsibility to help lower the curve and not increase the strain on our valiant medical personnel and our impacted medical facilities.

Look, I realize we’re all bone-weary from the ups and downs, zigs and zags of living with Covid. Add the news cycle and the enormous challenges that keep breaking in upon us. You may be frustrated, feeling overwhelmed again, and likely feeling grief, whether you know it or not.

I urge you to pay attention to these feelings rather than minimizing them or trying to muscle through them with a sense of grim duty. The truth is, during these immensely challenging times, you may have to leave something undone. You may have to let go of something. You may have to be ok with mediocrity.

On Friday, I said these kinds of things in our weekly email. I urged you to:

1. Go easy on yourself (and others).

2. Adjust your expectations (of yourself and others).

3. Reach out to others, even virtually. Stay connected, and—

4. Pay attention to the real priorities of life (be careful about should-ing or ought-ing yourself with lesser obligations that may not serve you right now).

To be resilient in these trying times, you’re going to have to keep flexing, adapting, and adjusting.

I know, you’ve done this for longer than you thought you’d have to. But doing so will keep you nimble. Doing so will help you not merely survive but thrive. And doing so will help others.

Flex. Adapt. Adjust. This is the spiritual work of our times. And being connected to a spiritually-oriented community like ours can help you. Our practices, values, and vision for life can help us to stay open, practice the presence of God here and now, and be kind.

So, don’t give up. Not now. Not ever. And be careful not to give in to frustration, despair, or anger.

Please.

We can do this . . . together.

Last Tuesday evening, James Harris was here at DCC. James is a long time member of DCC who has a way of seeing something that needs doing, and doing it. Whether he sees a need in Nicaragua or Puerto Rico or Paradise, California, and lends a hand rebuilding homes or fixing plumbing or tinkering with some broken thing, James is just as skilled at flexing, adapting, adjusting as he is at doing what needs doing.

I wonder how many of us feel like we’ll never escape this long season of exile. I wonder how many of us live in the thick fog of the zigs and zags, the ups and downs, the one-step-forward-another-step backward of the crises we’re living through. I wonder how many of us need to hear and take into our souls this ancient prophecy, a prophecy cherished by one generation after another. It comes down to us now at this point in time when we really need a long view. We need the promise that a season of liberation will come again, and tyrants—whether biological or political—will be overthrown and a new era of peace and prosperity will come.

Isaiah’s prophecy gives us the long view, the hope in which we can find the strength to wait for better days. But what do we do now when those days are still a long way off?

Our second reading, taken from the Revelation to Saint John, also known as the Apocalypse, the Unveiling, speaks to what a people in crisis can do now.

The writer has had a vision of the risen Jesus, resplendent, powerful, even fearsome.

His eyes were like a flame of fire, the scripture says, his feet were like burnished bronze, his voice like the sound of many waters, and from his mouth came a sharp, two-edged sword, and his face was like the sun shining with full force.

‘Do not be afraid,’ says Jesus (Revelation 1.17). ‘Face your fears and conquer them’ (2.7).

If Isaiah’s prophecy aims to comfort those of us living through crisis, John’s revelation aims to challenge us.

Isaiah says that in the long term, GOD will triumph; so don’t give up or give in; GOD will deliver you from what holds you captive. You can wait in hope of better days to come.

But John says that the short term is going to be tough; you’re going to need courage, stamina, determination. So steel yourself for the struggle. Whatever you’re facing, you can do this. GOD is with you.

And John says you’re going to need each other. Alone, it’ll be too great for you. If you let fear seize you and isolate you, it’ll paralyze you.

Instead, do your best to stay together; there’s strength in community.

Be generous and gentle with yourself and with those around you.

Flex, adjust, adapt. Stay nimble.

Relax your expectations. Back off your efforts to control things; any plans you make will probably have to change. You have more spiritual power inside you than you realize, and you have the strength of a community which can help you ride this thing through.

Maybe what you face feels like a mountain; maybe the struggle feels too great, or evil too strong. Maybe you’re fighting against your fears but they keep battering at you. If so, then take-in Isaiah’s long view promise of hope and comfort. In the face of the doom and gloom, hear the word of promise: GOD will carry you and all you love through the crisis; God has not given up on you; God has not abandoned the world. A new day will come.

Or maybe you feel like we’re almost home and all this hand wringing is annoying you. I wonder if your optimism is more a product of your weariness over all this and if you’re kind of whistling in the dark, hoping the end of the trouble is just a couple weeks away. Look, even if the pandemic ended tomorrow, we’ve got a handful of crises that’ll keep rattling us for a long time yet. So, if you want to be home now, take-in John’s promise of challenge. The truth is, this season will last longer than you want it to. But do not be afraid. Conquer your fears. Fight evil. Endure to the end.

May GOD comfort us and challenge us that we may rise in hope and courage that we may live well in these days of struggle.