Fear is not of God.

These words, ingrained in me by one of my most influential mentors, are ones that I frequently remind my students of and ones that I hold onto as our global community responds to the COVID-19 pandemic.

The questions and “what ifs” seem endless. What will happen to my loved ones who are immunocompromised or who are already sick? Am I infected and just don’t know it yet? How long will this last, and will we make it out of this? When we focus on the unknowns, our worry can easily spiral until we feel paralyzed by fear.

Freedom From Fear

Jesus Christ desires our freedom from fear.

When he announces the beginning of his public ministry, Jesus chooses to recite a passage from the book of Isaiah as an overture of his mission:

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to bring glad tidings to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord (Lk 4:18-19, cf. Is 61:1-2).

Indeed, even the first proclamations of the Incarnation are freedom from fear. Before announcing to Mary that she would bear a son whom she was to name Jesus, the angel Gabriel tells her, “Do not be afraid” (Lk 1:30). Coming to announce the birth of this Savior to shepherds during the night, the angel says, “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people” (Lk 2:10).

Jesus Christ desires our freedom from fear.

When Jesus tells us that he came “that [we] might have life and have it more abundantly,” (Jn 10:10) he is not just speaking about life with him after we die but a participation in God’s own life here and now. What does this look like? A life in which we are not slaves to fear but trust our present and future entirely to the goodness of God our Father, as St. Paul reminds us to (Rm 8:15).

The Gospels are full of stories in which Jesus calms fear and boldly challenges the disciples to remain hopeful as they encounter frightening things. Jesus stills the violent storm, catches Peter when he is walking on the water and begins to doubt, and breathes peace upon the disciples who are huddled in fear after his death. He tells us, “Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span?” (Mt 6:27)

Here, I imagine Jesus expanding his advice to include some of our current anxieties: “So, do not worry and say, ‘What are we to eat?’ or ‘What are we to drink?’ … or ‘What will we use instead of toilet paper?’ or ‘How will we wash our hands without soap?’”

Fear is not of God.

So, let’s delve into some practical ways of saying “yes” to the freedom from fear that Christ invites us to in this present moment.

Cultivate Stillness and Create Space for Prayer

“People say they want peace and quiet. Then when it is thrown in their lap, they panic.” This notion that Sr. Mary Catharine Perry expresses so well is one that is worth sitting with. Her recent reflection on living nearly three decades socially distanced from others as a cloistered nun offers us much wisdom for today, specifically on how we might change our perspective as we take the necessary precautions to slow the spread of the virus.

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to attend an eight-day silent retreat. I had no contact with anyone outside of the retreat center; I had no access to a phone or computer; and apart from one 30-minute conversation with my spiritual director, I lived in silence. And it was glorious. Despite having a lot of free time each day, I never felt bored, and despite having very little social interaction, I never once felt lonely. Each day was permeated with prayer (three hour-long prayer periods) and filled with opportunities for rest, art, reading, leisure, hobbies, walks, physical activity, and eating. All of these activities, too, became moments of encountering the depth of God’s love for me as I began to see and be with God through all of the tiny details that make up the course of a day.

A silent retreat such as this one offers a mere taste of the fruits to be born of a life that incorporates times set aside for stillness and silence. These are privileged moments of encounter with the God who loves us and who, to use the words of one priest, is “closer to me than I am to myself” (Karl Rahner, “God of My Life”). This is the wisdom of monastic life that our Catholic tradition offers. There is no time quite like the present to incorporate the practices of silence and stillness into a routine of rest, work, prayer, and leisure.

As our family transitioned to working from home, we found it helpful to create a schedule for weekdays and weekends. Our daily routine includes the Liturgy of the Hours in the morning and at night; the Angelus at noon; and the other tasks that we need to do for the sake of our home, work, health, and each of our relationships with God. We do not stick to it consistently, but it encourages us to take the time for what truly is important. Yes, current circumstances — rambunctious children, work, sickness, grief — can make cultivating stillness a challenge, but God will draw near to us when we give God the opportunity to do so.

God will draw near to us when we give God the opportunity to do so.

For further encouragement on how to sit in stillness, watch this reflection by Bishop Barron. For prayer resources, check the website of your local parish or diocese or these resources from the USCCB. And, in a posture of invitation, hop on over to Instagram and join my husband and I as we pray Lauds (Morning Prayer) on weekdays at 9:00 a.m. CDT @CeltCampusMin.

Lean on Community and Live in Solidarity

On the first Sunday that my husband and I watched a live-streamed Mass in lieu of attending a public one, we heard an excellent homily on Jesus’ encounter with the woman at the well. Looking to Jesus’ example of speaking to a woman on the margins of society, the deacon instructed the faithful to continue to foster connection with others. Social distancing does not mean relational distancing. Even though we are urged to limit social gatherings and maintain physical distance, we can still work to strengthen our relationships with family, friends, and neighbors.

Many online platforms can make shared experiences out of activities we might otherwise do in isolation. Google Hangout or Zoom your way through dinner and coffee dates, trying a new recipe, crafting or tackling a DIY project, or discussions on books and movies. Call that friend whom you’ve been meaning to talk to, or sit down and write her a letter. Stream an online Mass from a place where you have always wanted to travel, invite friends to watch the same one, and then talk about the homily over brunch! We can be creative in how we connect with one another.

The experiences of quarantine and social distancing highlight the intrinsically social nature of human beings. Made in the image and likeness of God, who is relationship, we crave connection and intimacy with others. Many in the world are feeling this hunger palpably for the first time, yet there are others for whom isolation and exclusion are all too familiar. We are called to community — to be the hands and the feet and, particularly at this time, the voice of Christ to those in our midst.

We are called to community — to be the hands and the feet and, particularly at this time, the voice of Christ to those in our midst.

Catholic social teaching instructs us that “a basic moral test is how our most vulnerable members are faring” (USCCB, “Option for the Poor and Vulnerable”). Those of us who are healthy have a responsibility to adjust our lifestyles in such a way that our most vulnerable brothers and sisters are protected. We are our each other’s keepers, and the actions of one part of the community affect us all, especially the most vulnerable. We must also remember those who might be feeling lonely or isolated — call or text friends or neighbors who live alone and check in with people who might be experiencing strained roommate or family relationships.

I am grateful that the Church is a community that exists beyond space and time. Take comfort in the fact that the Church is bigger than the physical separation of her members. Many of us are hungering for that lived experience of communion through the Mass. In this moment, when many of the laity are not able to participate in public Masses (an everyday reality for many members of the Church in various parts of the world), we are invited to make an act of spiritual communion and to live Eucharistically. United through Christ, each of us can offer up our hunger for the Eucharist and our own share of suffering as a prayer for and in solidarity with the other suffering members of the Body of Christ.

Embrace Lent and Look Forward to the Promise of Easter

The spread of coronavirus has been a very Lenten experience. Many homilies have been preached on how we find ourselves in a desert-like experience alone, as Jesus did before the beginning of his public ministry. The desert is a harsh place, where one is exposed to the elements in often violent ways, yet anyone who has spent time in a desert also knows that it is a landscape with much beauty to offer. (Check out pictures of Big Bend National Park and its night sky, and you will see what I mean.)

Lent is a season in which we come face to face with our own shortcomings and, through penitential practices of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving, prepare to recommit ourselves to our baptismal vows during Easter. This Lent, we feel the weight of involuntary suffering and fasting in many forms. It is an opportunity for us to invite Christ, who was no stranger to suffering, into our lives. Jesus knows intimately the reality of sin and death in the world and desires to be with us during our experiences of suffering.

As Christians, we know that Lent points us toward Easter. The Cross always points us to the resurrection. This is the heart of the Paschal Mystery: It is only through Jesus’ Cross that we are saved and able to hope at all. We are promised resurrection. We do not know how or when it will come about, but we know that it will, because it is what Christ promises us. He is trustworthy, even when our current circumstances give us much to be anxious about.

We are promised resurrection.

I have been deeply formed by the Congregation of Holy Cross, the motto of which is Ave Crux, Spes Unica — Hail the Cross, our Only Hope! Its Constitution on “The Cross, Our Hope” beautifully articulates this mystery:

There is no failure the Lord’s love cannot reverse, no humiliation He cannot exchange for blessing, no anger He cannot dissolve, no routine He cannot transfigure. All is swallowed up in victory. He has nothing but gifts to offer. It remains only for us to find how even the cross can be borne as a gift. Resurrection for us is a daily event …We know that we walk by Easter’s first light, and it makes us long for its fullness (nos. 118-119).

We very likely will continue longing for the fullness of Easter as the Church celebrates the Triduum this year. I find it hopeful that Easter is not just a day but a season lasting a full 50 days. It takes time for the glory of the Resurrection to be fully experienced. Until then, we wait with hope.