A meditation on faithful living in a land filled with frightful prospects
Ken Sehested
Note: I wrote an earlier version of this article (“Dueling spirits are loose in the land: A meditation on the pandemic and the outbreak of political infamy”) in June 2000 when the COVID-19 epidemic wrought infectious fear and trembling, coinciding with the pestilence of President Trump’s first term in office. Some copy has been edited and added in this updated version.
Processional. “Psalm 116: How can I repay the Lord.” —Poor Clares and Pauline Sisters, Lusaka, Zambia
Call to worship. “At the center of our pain, we glimpse a fairer world and hear a call. When we are able to keep company with our own fears and sorrows, we are shown the way to go, our parched lives are watered, and the earth becomes a greener place. Hope begins to grow, and we are summoned to the work that will give us a feeling of wellness and make possible that which we envision.” —Elizabeth O’Connor, Cry Pain, Cry Hope
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I will likely be considered antiquated, maybe maniacal, even apoplectic when I say we in the US (with derivative outbreaks elsewhere) are under the spell of the demonic, of those who worship retribution’s demand for sacrificial blood, specifically the silencing and vilifying of dissenters and the coercion of allies and demonizing of opponents.
It is characterized by the bullying of those who do not politically genuflect in our current administration’s presence, of any and all who stand in the way of their imperial designs. Who claim authority to divide the world into makers and takers, to shape all reality in service to the ruthless pursuit of the will to power, power being the elixir of indefinite, everlasting rule of the strong over the weak, the privileged over the disdained, the worthy over the sordid—and claiming that such logic is built into the grain of the universe.
Which, implicitly or explicitly, makes a theological claim: God made it this way.
Not just the claim to rule, but also a despising and revulsion of the frail, all of who are to be sacrificed as burnt offering to an unholy, odious, heinous god, a god who revels in caging children, who threatens fire from (nuclear) heavens, who shrugs at the sight of human suffering, pandemics, genocidal suppression, and ecological devastation, who laughs at every attempt of impeachment, whose word is less than worthless, whose every step is concealed in deceit, whose smiling face tells lies at every turn, whose law has become a license for infamy.
It’s the cost of doing business. Nothing personal. Agree to payola and, suddenly, you’re whole. Such have no friends, only interests. No allies, only exigent collaborators. Welcome to the politics of pandemonium and perfidy.
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Parenthesis: Yom HaShoah is the Holocaust remembrance day for the Jewish community, beginning this year at sunset on 23 April. In many quarters, the language of Yom HaShoah is used instead of “holocaust” because the latter is a Greek word indicating a sacrificial burnt offering as a gift to god. In our day and in our land, it is the disinherited who are designated for holocaust, as when shadow-president Elon Musk refers to the “parasite class” and others as the “takers” as distinguished from the morally upright “makers.”
When money rules, poverty is sin.
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But then, “The Word came to me, saying: ‘Mortal, say to this people: You are a land that is not cleansed. Your officials are like wolves tearing their prey, shedding blood, destroying lives to get dishonest gain. You have practiced extortion, committed robbery, oppressed the poor and needy, and extorted the immigrant’” (cf. Ezekiel 22).
Nevertheless, the rapacious laugh at the thought: “How can God know? Is there knowledge in the Most High?” (Psalm 73:11) Which is to say, scream all you want; none hears the cries of the despoiled. Your God has hung a “do not disturb” sign on Heaven’s door.
You are left to your own retched destiny of grief. Pray only that your death be swift, your memory forgotten. In truth, as 20th century philosopher and novelist Ayn Rand asserted, “altruism is incompatible with freedom, with capitalism” and “the pursuit of happiness” (in “The Virtue of Selfishness”).
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Word. “The history of the world, my sweet / Is who gets eaten, and who gets to eat.” —Sweeney Todd to Mrs. Lovett in “Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street” by Stephen Sondheim and Hugh Wheeler
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The Ancient of Days wails, “How long? How long will your priests barter righteous to the highest bidder? How long will your prophets pander lies and abide deceit?” (cf. Jeremiah 23:26) How long will you hoard what is not yours! (cf. Habakkuk 2:6).
Those used for target practice, as grist for the mill, as anglers’ bait and fodder for canons cry out, backed against the wall: “How long, O Lord? How long!” (Job 8:2, 18:2, 19:2; Psalm 4:2, 6:3, 13:1-2, 35:17, 62:3, 74:9-10, 74:22, 79:5, 80:4, 82:2, 89:46, 90:13, 94:3, 119:84; Isaiah 6:11; Jeremiah 4:21, 12:4; Habakkuk 1:2)
Judgment awaits those who “plunder many nations, because of human bloodshed and violence to the earth” (Habakkuk 3:6-8). For “I will speak against those who cheat employees of their wages, who oppress widows and orphans, or who deprive the foreigners living among you of justice, for these people do not fear me,” says the Lord Almighty (Malachi 3:5).
Because “In the abundance of your trade you were filled with violence, and you sinned. . . . Your heart was proud because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor” (Ezekiel 28:16-17).
“There are those,” writes the author of Proverbs, “whose teeth are swords, whose teeth are knives, to devour the poor from off the earth” (30:14).
Kindred, a cacophony of spirits is loose in the land. We must “Test the spirits to see which is from God” (1 John 4:1); and then loudly, vigorously announce your conclusions in the public square.
Within your assemblies, be persistent in considering how to incite one another—to provoke, stimulate, spur, encourage, stir up to love and good works, to fulfilling the demands of justice (Hebrews 10:24), the prerequisites of peace, all of which are mediated by the imperative of mercy.
Stand, O Mortal, in the watchtower and scan the horizon. “For there is still a vision which will eclipse the ways of the wicked. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come” (cf. Habakkuk 2:1-3).
In the midst of this present turmoil, seek out the quiet of your heart’s deepest region. A Sheltering Wing dwells there and a Guiding Hand—not to escort you from history’s bloody stage, but through it, through and to that far horizon foretold in our defining prayer: “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:9-10); and Holy Writ’s final promise, of the coming day when all tears will be dried and death itself will be devoured (Revelation 21:4).
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Benediction. “They seemed to be staring at the dark, but their eyes were watching God.” —character in Zora Neale Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God
Recessional. “When I can’t run anymore, I will walk / When I can’t walk anymore, I may stumble / When I stumble sometimes, I might fall / And down on my knees, I will crawl / Yes down on my knees, I will crawl / I will walk in the light and in the darkness / I will walk in a crowd and all alone / I will walk in the sun, in the pouring rain / But I know I will find my way home / I know I will find my way home.” — Eli “Paperboy” Reed, “My Way Home”
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