The COVID-19 Zone -Or- How We Learn To Stop Worrying and Surrender to Love

by Father Mark P. Nolette

 

We are about to begin Holy Week.

April is Autism Awareness Month.

We are in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic.

All three realities converge for us now.  What do they have to do with one another? Nothing… and everything.   The pandemic, and our responses to it, have brought us to a crisis moment as the People of God.  There is hope on the horizon – an immense, brilliant hope, hidden in Christ but offered to us now.  Before we can perceive this hope, we must acknowledge our situation as it is. This will be very difficult for many.  It entails seeing things in a manner differently than the world as a whole sees things.  That is why we need to look to autistic people – people who habitually see things differently; people who are not fooled by ‘spin’ – as an example of what this means and how it can work.  It is the hour when people who appear to be of no use – such as autistic people and contemplatives – may have something valuable to share with everyone else.

Let us begin.

We Americans like to define ourselves by what we do.  We feel better about ourselves when we can tell others how busy we are.  We may complain about it, but we also pride ourselves in it. We define others by how well they can adapt to our culture of busyness.  We speak of those who cannot keep up as “dis-abled”. We do not respect those who choose to order their lives differently.  We plan and fill the hours of our days, our work time and play time.  When we must physically stop, we fill the space around us with movies, TV shows, games, and conversation.  Our culture of busyness also provides us with the illusion that we are in control of our lives.  We have calendars; we have meetings; we have detailed plans and agendas.  We have life by the throat – or so we like to think.

Enter COVID-19.

This virus and the methods we have chosen to slow its spread have upended our usual sense of busyness and control.  A sense of loss and absence is pervasive. Schools and colleges have either gone to online learning or are shut down completely.  Some people must work from home, while others have lost their jobs. Social distancing makes it more difficult to connect with friends and family.  Restaurants, movie theaters, museums, and even many parks are closed. Professional sports leagues have cancelled games. Clubs and other social groups have cancelled or postponed activities.  The way we shop for groceries has changed.  Most states currently have stay-at-home orders in effect for their people.  We now find that we have more time on our hands and fewer ways to spend that time.  We miss the easy familiarity of friends and relatives.  We fear the loss of control.  We feel as though we are now in a Twilight Zone episode where everything looks the same on the outside, but our lives have changed profoundly.  We do not know how long these changes will last, or how many of us may end up with coronavirus.  Where we once knew busyness and control, we now find absence and emptiness.

Absence is suddenly all we see, starting with our own removal from where we normally go.  We basically agree that it is a concession, a sacrifice, for a greater good; and then, we seek to fill the space.  To lessen the shock of change, we begin finding substitutions to approximate what is missing.  Restaurants closed?  Then, we can order takeout!  Housebound for the evening?  Movie marathon!  Meetings cancelled?  Video conferencing!  Birthday party?  Neighborhood greetings on parade, viewed from the safety of your window!  After a while, this improvisation becomes a badge for the war effort. We cheer each other on as we prove that we can overcome any loss with enough creativity and imagination.  Yet, we cannot help but detect the scent of cognitive dissonance in all this.  All these actions are substitutes, desperate attempts to convince ourselves that life goes on as usual – except that it isn’t.  And we know it.

We look to our Church for help and guidance. In official statements from diocese to diocese, we find instead a reflection of what we see everywhere else, written with such consistency from one diocese to the next that we wonder if there is a template that everyone is passing around.  First, we find absence – an absence that we are told, regrettably, is necessary as a response to COVID-19: no public Masses, few if any Sacraments publicly celebrated (or celebrated at all), devotions and other public gatherings cancelled; church buildings in many (but not all) dioceses locked 24/7. Yet, these same official statements assure us that all is well and in control.  The work of the Church continues, we are told.  We are encouraged to watch livestreamed Masses and make prayers of spiritual communion.  Yet again, if we are open, we will catch the scent of cognitive dissonance.  The work of the Church is not continuing as it should – and we all know it.

Something is missing here.  Something is not being spoken or acknowledged.  Until we can fully acknowledge where we are, we cannot know which way we should go from here to move forward.  What is missing?

If all we do is attempt to replace one form of busyness with another, we learn nothing. If all we do is try to maintain the illusion that we are in control, we see nothing.

An artist or an architect might tell us that what we are missing is negative space or, more precisely, what only negative space can reveal.  Negative space – those areas deliberately kept empty – is as essential as every visible color, line and element in any work of art.  The use of space in a painting helps us see the subject as the artist intends.  Pauses bring out the melody in a musical piece.  Silent moments are a necessary part of any good conversation.  Negative space reveals a depth of meaning that color or sound or shape alone cannot offer.  If the artist filled all negative space, the work would suffer and even become incomprehensible.  Negative space, then, is necessary in art and in life.

How does this concept of negative space enter our discussion of the COVID-19 crisis and how we as a Church can see it and respond to it?

In the Christian spiritual life, we have a term for negative space.  We call it contemplation. Contemplation is a long, loving look at the real. Because it is a loving look, it means that we see things through the eyes of God.  Because it is a long look, it means that, in order to have that loving, divine perspective, we must create negative space in our hearts and minds.  We let go of control and power so that we can look around us with open eyes and humble, loving hearts.  Contemplation, or Christian negative space, reminds us that God’s ways are not our ways, that we are all blinded by the world, and that we can only see once we see the truth in love, as God knows it to be.  This can only be given us by God as a grace.  We cannot control it or set its agenda.  We receive it, and then we offer it to all.

Here we must add a warning. Some people have the impression that contemplation should always yield peace of mind; that it is a method to calm fears and anxieties.  Not necessarily.  Christian contemplation sees what really is with the eyes of love.  In this case, we may fear what we might see.  We see absence.  Emptiness.  But it’s not a neutral emptiness.  We would not fear that so much.  In that empty space, we perceive pain.

What pain do we perceive?  There is the pain of the hundreds of thousands who have COVID-19 and the thousands who are dying of it.  There is the pain of hundreds of thousands of others who have other afflictions that we might be ignoring now.  There is the pain brought about by social distancing and the lack of human touch.  There is the fear of what this pandemic will mean for everyone.  There is the pain of separation from Mass, the Sacraments, and especially the Eucharist.

All these are our pains.  But can we speak of a pain in the very heart of God? Does God not in some mysterious way share our burdens? Does God not know the suffering of those who are ill with COVID-19, or any other illness? Does God not know the pain of social isolation, or anxiety, or uncertainty? When we no longer offer one another the Sacraments – those extremely precious gifts of God to us – have we not, in a sense, spurned God by rejecting His gifts? Does our lack of faith and courage also cause God pain, in that our fears become an obstacle to His love and mercy?

When we stand in the love of God, we have the courage to face all such pain.  Where do we go from here?  Where does hope enter in?

The Scriptures show us.  Faced with such overwhelming pain, people in the Scriptures lament.  We see it in the Psalms, first of all.  We see it in the prophets.  Jesus weeps and laments over Jerusalem for its inability to recognize what the Father was offering it through Him.  So must we lament.

What should we lament?  We lament the pandemic itself and the great suffering it has caused to so many around the world.  We lament the effects of the measures taken to try to curb the pandemic – the social separation, the loss of jobs, the weakening of a sense of community, the loss of access even to many of the Sacraments.  We lament our refusal to pause our busyness long enough to gaze upon the world with that long, loving look of contemplation.  We lament how we have treated those who God has sent to show the rest of us how to do this. Since we find lamentation in the Scriptures, we can be assured that the Lord also laments for all these things and more.

Just as many of the lamentation psalms ended in expressions of hope, so, too, hope can truly enter once we have seen with open eyes what is going on, allowed ourselves to feel the pain, and lamented it.  Then, and only then, do we know where we truly are.  Then, and only then, can the Lord reach us.  Recall that His power is best manifested in what the world calls weakness. Foolishness. Failure.  Nowhere is this better manifested for us than in the events we are about to commemorate during Holy Week.

Only when we have seen things as they are and lamented them fully can we be truly open to the Lord’s voice in our hearts.  Only then can we discover what the Lord has planned for us – a future full of hope and joy.  But this future will not come from our own efforts.  It will be a gift of God.  Living that gift will take plenty of effort, of course.  But the gift will make the effort possible.

Where do we go from here? Only the Lord can fully answer that question, if we are serious about trusting Him and loving Him with all our being.  Yet, we can say this as a beginning.

First of all, the COVID-19 crisis reminds us that we are not in control and that our plans cannot account for everything.  We need something else to add to the mix: we need contemplation.  We need that ongoing long, loving look at the real.  We need to value it in our lives and live it when we can.  We need to value those whom the Lord has called to devote their lives totally to this.  We can now see that contemplation is as valuable as action, for action loses its purpose without the negative space of contemplation.

Secondly, we find ourselves struggling to maintain contact with people we like and love.  We are challenged by the constraints of social distancing.  We feel the uncertainty of a crisis over which we feel little control.  All our normal routines are disrupted.  Can anyone help us with all this? Who knows how to live such lives? Might it not be the autistic people among us, who have always felt socially distant and challenged? Autistic people, who have always struggled to connect emotionally with people they love? Autistic people, who often feel overwhelmed by life and who try to maintain daily routines? Might this be the moment when autistic people can share their hard-earned wisdom and experience with the world?

Finally, we are about to celebrate Holy Week.  This is the week where Jesus made Himself negative space; where He emptied Himself completely, giving His life for us and giving us the Eucharist as the ultimate Sacrament of His presence among us.  This would be an excellent time to practice the art of negative space, the art of contemplation, of a long, loving look at the real.  Set aside times during Holy Week when you can tune out everything, both outside yourself and within, and say to the Lord, “Here I am!”  Be ready to share His love and His sorrow; His joy and His pain.  It is all a part of Love.  It is all a part of how Love will bring you, by love, to Love.

A Word from Father Mark Nolette

(Ordinarily, Father Mark Nolette’s posts appear on his blog, The Anchorite.  If you have not yet seen his page or subscribed to his blog, it is well worth checking out.  Since his post today offers very timely support and validation for the autistic community, I am cross-posting here.  – Aimee O’Connell)

I begin with a statistic.  The New York Times reported this morning that the number of confirmed cases of COVID-19 worldwide, as of yesterday, is 160,000.  About half of these are in China.  On the one hand, if we focus on this number only, it seems rather small compared to the total population of the planet, which is estimated at over seven billion people.  This number is, for the moment, far smaller than the number of people who are infected with a typical late winter flu outbreak.  However, that’s not the number that has experts worried.  They believe that the number of cases will explode geometrically, becoming many times that number before the outbreak peaks.

How many times?

There we find a difference of opinion.  Last week, the New York Times reported on four possible scenarios for how many people in this country could be infected with coronavirus, and how many could die.  The estimates of infection range from 15% to 50% of the population.  The number of deaths range from 500k to 2 million.  The experts acknowledge that containment efforts, if applied, could reduce these estimates.  Moreover, because coronavirus is novel, no one knows if some people might have some immunity to it or not.

The fear we are feeling is not so much about the numbers of people who now have it, a number we can safely estimate.  The fear is about the uncertainty of how many people will eventually get it, and how bad it will be.  Moreover, given that a sizable number of people in this country do not trust scientific or medical experts, that compounds the uncertainty.  Moreover, the very existence of this virus among us makes us feel vulnerable.  All the king’s horses and all the king’s men (and all the king’s money) cannot drive it away.  No wall can keep it out.  We Americans are not used to feeling vulnerable.  This only heightens the anxiety.

What do we have, then? A grave level of fear and anxiety.  An overwhelming sense of impending doom. People grasping at any straw, even to the point of stockpiling toilet paper, in order to feel some sense of security or preparedness.  A sense of panic that may be more severe than the virus itself.

Welcome to the world of autistic people.

What I am seeing, as a priest and an autistic person, looks very much like autistic anxiety.  Some of the reactions I see look very much to me like autistic meltdown.  The anxiety I often feel before a weekend liturgy is something like this.  The anxiety I feel when something unexpected, like a funeral, enters my life is something like this.  The anxiety I feel when some future plan is still uncertain is something like this.  As an autistic person, I have needed to grapple with anxieties like these, learn to decipher them, and learn to live with them.  Therefore, I may be able to offer something from my experience as an autistic person that could help many other people during these trying times.

What have I learned that may be of help to others?

1) Things are not as bad as they feel. Yes, I am well aware of the danger of minimizing the risk of coronavirus. However, my sense is that the opposite is the greater danger; that people will panic and make the danger more than it really is.  Then, with panic in control, people do not think well. They may make choices that make the situation worse.  They may look for people to blame.  Sometimes, when I am celebrating Mass, it can feel as though I were the deer and the congregation were all hunters.  Now, there’s a kernel of truth in this. Social exposure of this kind is difficult for me.  However, it’s not quite as bad as it might feel for me at that moment.  In the same way, coronavirus is a real danger, but it’s not quite as bad as our panic might make it out to be.

2) We are not powerless. When anxiety becomes panic, we feel overwhelmed. We feel that we have no control, no options.  We learn to step back when this happens and remind ourselves that this is not true.  As an autistic person, I know that there are ways to manage anxiety.  There are also ways to address the outbreak and reduce the risk.  In managing anxiety, there are techniques like cognitive behavioral therapy, which help us examine our thoughts and see if they correspond to what really is.  Many people find that a few moments with camomile tea helps them soothe their nerves and be recollected.  Then, when anxiety and panic are more manageable, we can look at the actual situation and take appropriate action.  There are ways to significantly reduce our risk of catching or spreading coronavirus.

3) We must never deny or ignore our needs. This COVID-19 outbreak reminds us of our fundamental vulnerability as human beings.  We may find it difficult to acknowledge this vulnerability, to ourselves or to others.  We may feel the overwhelming temptation to camouflage those weak spots at all costs.  As an autistic person, I am well aware of my own vulnerabilities and limitations, especially in social situations.  Nevertheless, I have found that the stronger and more courageous thing to do is to acknowledge those vulnerabilities to myself and to others.  Paradoxically, this unlocks a strength in me and in others that makes all of us stronger.  Acknowledging our legitimate needs, and drawing healthy boundaries, are essential for our health and survival.  This is all the more true in the stressful situation we now find ourselves in.

4) We are not alone. Perhaps the greatest danger when we feel overwhelmed with intense anxieties, panic, or depression is the sense that each one of us is alone in this.  No one else could understand, we tell ourselves.  In this kind of isolation, we feel weaker.  We become easier prey to panic, depression and despair.  As an autistic person, I grew up with a profound sense of being “different” without being able to name that difference.  There were things about me that others could not understand, and there were things about others that I could not understand.  Though there is truth in this, there is also a danger – the danger of feeling ultimately alone in a dangerous world.  When I find others who share some of these attributes with me, I know I am not alone.  It is important for us all to share our anxieties and concerns with others so that we know we are not alone.

5) We are saved by Love.  Everything I have tried to say is summed up here.  It is Love that saves us.  It is Love that empowers us.  It is Love that assures us, above all, that we are not alone.  It is Love that we need more than any other thing.  And this Love is God.  As an autistic child, I felt more withdrawn from other people than I do now.  The first things to reach me were what some call “special interests” – my love for astronomy, dinosaurs, history, and many other things I began to discover.  Caught up in love for these things, I could easily talk your ear off, whereas I’d be silent most of the time otherwise.  Some see these interests as excessive and pathological.  Not necessarily.  They are meant, for the autistic person, to be a training ground for love.  Learning how to love these things helps us begin to love other people and, ultimately, to love God with that same total devotion that flows from the very marrow of our bones and the very cardiac tissue of our hearts.  All of us, faced with the fears caused by this outbreak, can renew our love for our own interests and, especially, for God who is Love.  It is this Love that ultimately frees us from panic and fear.  We need to do what we can to open ourselves as fully as possible to this Love.

This is why I have argued, and continue to argue, that we need the Sacraments and, especially, the Mass and the Eucharist at this time.  Yes, we should follow flu protocols and take all reasonable precautions to safeguard ourselves and our loved ones.  However, we cannot deny or ignore our need for Love.  Our need for Christ.  He has told us that we need to eat His Flesh and drink His Blood so that we might have the fullness of His life in us.  Christians of past centuries believed that this need was so fundamental that it was worth risking their lives for it.  That has not changed.  We need the Lord, and we need to follow His own teaching of how we can best receive His love.  Who could know this better than Him?

I leave you with this in the hope that my insight – that our experience of this outbreak parallels autistic experience – will be helpful, as well as my sharing of what I have learned from this.  It may be that this outbreak is a time when people who may have been shunned as eccentric or lacking in social graces may have something most valuable to offer the world.

May the love of the Lord be with us, now and always!