Pictures of shelves stripped of toilet paper, it was surreal.
I was spending three weeks in the Rabagirana mission compound in Masaka, Rwanda, with a few Westerners and a number of Africans from 12 different countries. We were attending the International School of Reconciliation, a curriculum developed in response to the genocide in Rwanda in 1994.
In our isolation, we felt disconnected from the rising Coronavirus panic sweeping the West. Through limited blips of wireless connection I read of Americans hoarding toilet paper; it seemed like something from a movie.
The majority of my fellow students knew how to live without toilet paper; that would not be the first thing they would stock up on. I began to think about these differing reactions to the spreading pandemic.
The Africans among us and the nations from which they came were all taking the Coronavirus seriously, but they were not panicked. They demonstrated no impulse to hoard. Their intuitive response was to talk of sharing.
I reflected upon this, and this is what I surmise. Africans know that daily life is precarious. In their bodies and their countries they show the visible scars of the risks of living. Life has taught them to trust in the Lord, “double double,” as they say. They take this pandemic seriously, but they are not fearfully frantic.
Some Americans, on the other hand, are possessed by fear. We don’t do well with things we cannot manipulate to our will. We tend to believe that money can remove nearly all of the risk from our lives. In a sense this is true; wealth brings preventive health care, safer cars, lots of insurance coverage, and retirement accounts. We sometimes think, however, if we pay enough money we can make anything we find threatening or unsettling go away. The Coronavirus has disabused us of that illusion. After all, Tom Hanks and his actress spouse, Rita Wilson, caught the virus.
The virus makes clear we cannot insulate ourselves from the risks of life through our wealth.
We are like that man who built bigger barns to store up his abundance (Luke 12:16—21). He thinks he can then relax and enjoy life. He believes he can manipulate the world around him because he is rich. Upon completion of his storehouses he dies; so much for controlling things. In the story God calls him a fool for thinking he can build up enough wealth to insulate himself from misfortune.
Jesus follows the story by telling his disciples not to worry about securing their lives, as if any of us really could. That is the point of the story.
As Americans were busy stripping the stores of hand sanitizer and paper products, my fellow students and I were busy butchering two goats in Masaka. As we waited for the people in the kitchen to finish preparing the seasoning so we could get to barbecuing, we stood around the fire in the night. Soon we found ourselves dancing and singing. In other words, spontaneous joy broke out, Coronavirus notwithstanding. Trusting in God, even in times of challenge, is a license for joy.
A dearth of spontaneous joy is the price we pay for believing that we can insulate ourselves from the vagaries of life through wealth and possessions. We find ourselves less prone to dance when we are not busy doing anything else. Relying on our own efforts to secure our lives robs us of trust in God, the source of all joy and peace of mind.
Poverty is not to be praised; but wealth, on the other hand, cannot do for us what it promises. This is the lesson of the Coronavirus.
I realize the situation is serious, and we all must take measures to limit the spread of the virus. In particular, we must take rigorous precautions to protect the vulnerable among us, the elderly and those with underlying medical conditions that increase the risk. We should all alter our lives in dramatic ways to get ahead of this thing and prepare for the loss of life that will touch the families and friends around us.
So wash your hands frequently, maintain contact with others and check on people, stay home and away from crowds, and trust in God--the good shepherd who will bring us through this valley. Who knows, you may sense the urge to dance in the privacy of your own home.
Jim Kelsey
Executive Minister—American Baptist Churches of New York State
