Jon Roberts Page 86

By Gary A. Nowlan, PhD

*Much of this brief history comes from a report for the developers entitled Boulder Sanitarium, Historical Assessment, prepared in 2015 by Winter & Company. This document is available at Carnegie Library for Local History, 1125 Pine Street, Boulder, CO 80302. The library has a collection of documents about and photos of the sanitarium starting with construction in 1895. Most of this information may be accessed online at: https://boulderlibrary.org/locations/carnegie/

Perhaps referring to a building, rather a complex of structures, as a “dear old friend” is a bit dramatic. But in many ways, watching the demolition on what was once the site of the Boulder Colorado Sanitarium is like watching a loved one or a dear friend slowly die.

As I have recorded the demolition by photo and video, several especially poignant moments stand out. One of those moments occurred as I watched a large excavator crawl up to the evergreen tree standing in the middle of the circle drive at the main entrance. I could hear the cracking as the bucket of the excavator reached forward and pushed the tree over. The excavator then picked up the tree and placed it on a pile of debris. Next, the boom swung a bit and the jaws of the bucket opened and then closed around the nearby flagpole, pulled the now bent form out of the ground, and deposited it on a nearby pile of twisted metal. Even though demolition of the former hospital had been in progress for months, starting with removal of asbestos from the interior, destruction of the flagpole seemed to confirm its death was final. There was no going back.

What was to become Boulder Colorado Sanitarium* was established as a branch of Battle Creek (Michigan) Sanitarium in a house on University Hill in 1894. John Harvey Kellogg was heavily involved from the beginning. A brochure, which advertised the sanitarium in its early days, lists him as consulting physician. In 1895, the General Conference of Seventh-day Adventists purchased about 90 acres in and along the foothills of Western Boulder on the northwest corner of Mapleton Avenue and 4th Street. Two large 18-room houses, referred to as the West and East Cottages, were constructed that year. The main building was completed in 1896. A powerhouse, laundry, and bakery were constructed about this time. In later years, 19 small cottages, a hospital wing, a dairy barn, hen houses, a greenhouse, and an icehouse were added to the campus. The smokestack was constructed in the 1920s, replacing a series of three earlier, shorter ones. In 1930, a dormitory for nurses was built quite high up the ridge north of the sanitarium.

The nature of healthcare changed over time, requiring changes in services offered by the sanitarium. The changes were reflected when the name was changed to Boulder Memorial Hospital in about 1957. However, when my mother moved to Boulder in 1959 to work at the hospital, it was still referred to by employees and church members as “The San.” In 1989, when Memorial Hospital was sold to Boulder Community Hospital, the name became Mapleton Center, which offered primarily sports medicine and outpatient rehabilitation services. Memorial Hospital was replaced  by Avista Adventist Hospital in Louisville.

Fairly early in its existence, the sanitarium acquired additional land that became pasture for the dairy herd. In 1969, Memorial Hospital sold 210 acres to the City of Boulder for open space. It is one of the most heavily used areas in more than 45,000 acres of city open space. Several hiking trails traverse the former “sanitarium pasture” as we called  it before it became open space. Some of the trails lead to the summit of Mt. Sanitas (6,800 feet), the name derived from “sanitarium.” A 3-acre parcel adjacent to Boulder Junior Academy, acquired by the academy as part of the sale of Boulder Memorial Hospital, was sold to Boulder for open space in 1995. The cement remains of the dairy barn are on this 3-acre parcel.

In 2014, the hospital campus was purchased by Mapleton Hill Investments, LLC, for the purpose of developing a retirement community called The Academy on Mapleton Hill. (The company owns another retirement facility in Boulder, known as The Academy, reflecting its former existence as a girls’ boarding school.) The Mapleton campus will include cottages, condominiums, a subacute rehabilitation facility, a memory care facility, and supporting buildings. The buildings that served Boulder for so many years did not fit with plans for the site. Therefore, the decision was made to demolish most of the buildings.

None of the structures on the site, when demolition began in 2019, date from the early days of sanitarium development. The oldest structures on the site in 2019 were some of those constructed in the 1920s and 1930s. Structures that will survive the demolition are the nurses’ dormitory, a white frame cottage, a flagstone cottage, the smokestack, and a stone wall that served as part of the main entrance to the sanitarium grounds in the early days.

Often as I photograph and video the demolition, people stop to observe and converse for a few minutes. “I was born there.” “My children were born there.” “My siblings were born there, and I always wished I had been born there, too.” “I swam in the therapy pool while recovering from cancer surgery.” “I worked in the physical therapy department.” These are some of the comments people make, usually with a tone of sadness. Others say they think it is such a waste to demolish the buildings.

I share their feelings of loss. Even though the original buildings from the 1890s and early 1900s have been gone for decades, the later buildings are part of the history of my family, many other families, and the Boulder Seventh-day Adventist Church. My mother moved from Nebraska to work in the hospital. I soon joined her after graduating from Union College. I married, brought my wife to Boulder, and we made it our permanent home. My sons were born there. My mother died there. Many friends and church members worked there both before and after the hospital was sold to Boulder Community Hospital. I was on the governing board in late 1988 during intense discussions about the sale. The news shocked many Boulder residents, especially the Adventist community.

The site is now nearly devoid of buildings for the first time in 125 years, which means the view of the mountains west of the church is unobstructed. That will change as development takes place over the next two or three years. The few structures that will not be demolished will be repurposed. The nurses’ dormitory will house about six condominiums overlooking the city and the plains to the east. The frame cottage will be moved and preserved because it appears identical to seven small cottages built between 1900 and 1906. The flagstone cottage will be pre- served. The smokestack will be at the center of a small park. Old photos of the campus show it was a very beautiful place. Plans indicate it will continue to be beautiful. From 1895 to about 2014, the site was dedicated to making people well. The site will now be dedicated to helping folks flourish in their retirement years.

–Gary A. Nowlan, PhD, a member of Boulder Adventist Church since the 1960s, has served as church board chair and church elder. A geologist, he worked with the U. S. Geological Survey. Email him at: [email protected]

By Becky De Oliveira

My father, who has been in a mostly self-imposed lock- down since the beginning of March to protect both himself and my mother, who has late-stage Parkinson’s disease, from COVID-19, has used some of his downtime to work on writing his memoirs, focusing on the thirty-eight years he worked in forest management in the Pacific Northwest, starting in 1968. His writing is informative, funny, interesting—and, above all, highly reflective. At 77, Dad finds himself often pondering what he might have done better, what he might have done differently.

One example is a tree-thinning operation he supervised in the early 1970s about a mile from a scenic lake. Thinking the distance between the lake and the harvest site was enough that the activities of the machinery would have no impact on the lake, he was shocked to discover the lake had turned brown and murky. Sediment from a nearby wetland was slowly seeping into the stream that fed the lake. The damage was not permanent and the lake soon returned to its normal condition, but Dad calls this incident “a slap on the side of the head,” and says it caused him to learn to “look beyond the project at hand” and to “consider all the impacts” of his actions, always trying to “look at the broader picture.”

I wonder to what extent we are doing this—or not doing it— in our lives and communities. Make no mistake: a church, a town, a group of friends—these are all ecosystems, delicately balanced, precious. They can flourish. They can be destroyed.

For the first six weeks of the pandemic, I awoke every morning with a fleeting feeling of well-being. Almost as soon as my fingers hit the button on my phone to turn off my alarm, I would remember: “My life is over.” I’ve stopped feeling that juxtaposition of emotions. I’ve become used to going nowhere but the supermarket. I have plenty of things to do in my house; I’m a busy person. I do therefore I am. It would appear that my life is not yet over.

Anxiety-inducing as they were, I miss those six weeks—if that’s how long it really was—that period of time when every- one seemed to be on the same page, at the very least. We faced a crisis and we had some idea of how we might approach it. We were (mostly) unified in our efforts to make sure the most vulnerable of our population remained healthy. It made me think, in some ways, of one of the happiest nights of my life, the one when as a college student I was stuck at a truck stop on Interstate 90 heading east from Seattle to Walla Walla because of avalanche warnings. There were dozens of motorists in the same situation and we helped each other. We pushed stranded cars, provided change for pay phones, shared food and weather updates. Waiters in the diner gave out free coffee to cold travelers with nowhere else to sit. Things were not exactly going well, but we took our situation with good cheer. We wished each other well.

That night in 1993 is an example I consider when I think about a social, faith-based ecology—an ecology of cooperation, of goodwill, of friendship. Many people have similar types of memories and many of us long for communities that feel good. Communities where we can trust and be trusted. But it is getting ever more difficult to find these.

The things we do now in our little lives may seem inconsequential, the way cutting down trees a mile away from a lake seemed low-risk to my father all those years ago. We may find, however, that our actions—the gossip we spread, the mean comments we post on social media, the people we choose to disdain, for whatever reason—will change our ecosystem into something ugly and incapable of sustaining the good life.

I’m old enough to have adjusted to one new normal after another, but not so old as to have decided what I think it all means or to predict where exactly we—as humans—are going to land, what we’re going to decide to be. I hope—always— that it’s not anywhere close to as bad as it looks. I hope the damage is temporary. I hope for crystal clear water.

–Becky De Oliveira is a doctoral student in research methods at the University of Northern Colorado in Greeley and is a member of Boulder Adventist Church. Email her at: [email protected]

By Rajmund Dabrowski

If your ancestors did not inject you with the nostalgic lament that they are missing “the good old days,” you missed a natural element of the human experience.

This is pretty much what we are saying to ourselves these days when the “new normal” entered our daily vocabulary, though we utter these words with a rather agnostic overtone. We describe our “normal” as being different somehow, yet we are unable to describe it very precisely in most cases.

One thing we can be sure of: As someone said toward the beginning of the crisis, there will be nothing new and nothing normal about it.

We understand what nostalgia is. It’s a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one’s life; or a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time. We prop our nostalgia up with photos (the older, the better), or collections of memorabilia dotting the walls and surfaces of our homes. Dust collectors, rarities, or trinkets from numerous vacations or business trips. These are reminders of how it used to be.

Some time ago, I simply described nostalgia as the strange experience of comparing the “now” with the “then.” My study is a den of nostalgia, or “clutter,” as my wife puts it. I enjoy looking back in time and reflecting on what I should claim as my own world, wherever I am, and whenever I meet with the delights, laughter, pain, art, and arrogance of today.

But what I see today, I must to admit, is not to my liking. Relative tranquility is now replaced by anxiety. Diverse views have turned into hate speech. Human relationships have been replaced with digital contact or communication. Hand- shakes have turned into elbowing, and hugs are verboten. The facts are being replaced by theories, and fundamentalists see the end lurking just around the corner. Soon we will deal with polarized opinions about “forced” vaccinations containing digital chips.

But the above list of behaviors belongs on one shelf of “normality.” There is another to consider, one that is much more hopeful and that I hope catches on.

When we consider social separation, we may discover that we have more time to share. Invoking our imagination, some of us might note that we could now involve ourselves in activities we neglected before. Some of us are looking seriously at people experiencing homelessness, and we help them. We feed the hungry by donating to a local Food Bank, and we engage with the deeds of justice for an immigrant or two. Then there is a separate shelf of behaviors we may have missed, involving a bigger picture of our Christian way of life. We discover that there is more than worshiping once a week in a sanctuary by which we are protecting our communal status quo and tradition. So, there is more than reclaiming the old normal through re-opening the churches. We have already witnessed and engaged with the creativity of our faith communities in what is essential for the followers of Jesus: loving and caring for those who are not . . . us. Actually, as one minister said, the church does not need to open because the church never closed.

Being a believer and the Bible reader, I can marry my own nostalgia with what I see being described as the “golden era” of better things in life. This needs to be reclaimed and put into practice. In the words of Job (29:2, MSG): “Oh, how I long for the good old days, when God took such very good care of me . . .” Or, “I remember the days of long ago . . .” (Psalm 143:5, NIV). These words refer to “then,” but they push me forward. I am being reintroduced to a day when I get to create something new, and the only time I can form a future for myself, and for those around me. How about now?

Indeed, there is a new normal, a part of our experience now. How it will look tomorrow, a few months, or even years from now, we know not. Many of our fellow humans will be gone. But to us, in God’s name, belongs today and a better normal that we can create as we long for the real normal when He calls us home.

–Rajmund Dabrowski is RMC communication director and editor of Mountain Views. Email him at: [email protected]

By Ed Barnett

The last few months have been crazy ones for our pastors. They have had to adapt their churches to fit the changing times and do it quickly. Our churches look much different than they did back in January. Most of us couldn’t have imagined that change would happen so quickly. We’re indebted to the tech-savvy members who helped our pastors make this possible.

Several pastors have told me that they tried for years to get a small change in the order of their worship service and couldn’t bring it to pass. Now, overnight, things have changed. Old traditions have fallen by the wayside. We’ve been given the opportunity, as things move back to the church setting, to re-craft the way we do things as we move forward. Here’s my advice: don’t go back to the same old traditions, but creatively look at what will make your service more Christ-centered, more people-friendly, and more inviting to your neighbors who have realized they want to go church again.

We now have the opportunity to reassess why we worship and who we worship. May I suggest that we take time to process that and then revitalize our service as a mission community, so it captures what the church family and the community need as they walk closer with Jesus. Today, many are realizing that this world isn’t the same old place they once thought it was. They’re ready and open for something new. Let’s not disappoint them.

As a church, how can we be more caring and loving? How can we reach out with our mission to share Jesus throughout the Rocky Mountain Conference and elsewhere? How can we be more intentional about making a difference in our communities? If we really believe Jesus is coming soon, it has to make a difference in the way we live our own lives, and it has to make a difference in how we do church.

There will be nothing old in the new normal. Jesus will use what we’ve been through in the last few months as a wakeup call for each one of us and for our faith community, as well. We have been asked to fulfill the Gospel Commission to take Jesus to everyone in our territory. Don’t let anything distract you from that commission.

All too often we have conducted church to massage the saints, but church ought to be conducted to save sinners. As one prominent church leader said, the church is established primarily to reach those who are not like us. We can- not just sit in our ivory towers and think we are doing God’s bidding. Jesus came to show us how to do church and it was by making a difference in the lives of everyone around Him. It included all types of people, including lepers, Pharisees, poor, rich, different ethnicities, prostitutes, politicians, you name them, and you will find Jesus reaching out to them. He especially reached out to the children! And what about the youth? Why many of them are missing in our congregations? Can their voices be heard?

Shouldn’t that be what our churches look like today?

Jesus went against the traditions of the Jewish culture to reach out to everyone. That was one reason some of them hated Him. Nonetheless, He did what His Heavenly Father wanted Him to do, and that was to make a difference in the lives of everyone He could.

Would that our one hundred and thirty-three congregations in the Rocky Mountain Conference take church more seriously and conduct it the way Jesus would? What then would our churches look like in the age of new normal? Would our communities wake up and realize that it is Jesus that is at the helm? Would they realize that He wants to return to take His people home with Him, that our members are more than willing to help in this path?

Let there be nothing old and moldy in our new normal!

–Ed Barnett is RMC president. Email him at: [email protected]

By Mark Johnson

In the early morning hours of February 18, 1902, a “cleansing sword of fire” struck the heart of Adventist health care and destroyed the Battle Creek Sanitarium.

It was a proud and overconfident heart.

Dr. John Harvey Kellogg, the chief medical officer of the Sanitarium, had been battling Ellen G. White and the leaders of the Seventh-day Adventist General Conference over both the mission and the management of the health care institution. It is not hard to sympathize with Kellogg. He had taken the struggling Western Health Reform Institute in Battle Creek and had turned it into a world-famous destination health resort for many affluent celebrities. Control of the sanitarium, and the significant finances that went with it, had become a growing source of contention between Dr. Kellogg and the Church. The schism that soon came with the disfellowshipping of Kellogg completely overturned both the power structure of the Adventist Church and the foundations of our medical ministry.

The problems Dr. Kellogg had with the leadership of the Adventist Church had nothing to do with his medical practices. They were based on what was viewed as his “secularized theology” and on fears regarding who would ultimately control the Church. Albert Dittes writes: Kellogg defended “the harmony of science and the Bible” throughout his career, but he was active at a transitional time, when both science and medicine were becoming increasingly secularized. (Ellen G.) White and others in the Adventist ministry worried that Kellogg’s students and staff were in danger of losing their religious beliefs, while Kellogg felt that many ministers failed to recognize his expertise and the importance of his medical work. There were ongoing tensions between his authority as a doctor, and their authority as ministers.

On June 6, 1863, as a young member of the newly organized Seventh-day Adventist Church, Ellen G. White had her first “health vision.” The essence of this 45-minute vision was that the new church was to attend to the health of its members, speak out against all types of intemperance, and point folks to “God’s great medicine: water, pure soft water, for diseases, for health, for cleanliness, for luxury.”2

In subsequent visions, this item was included on an expanded list to embrace, “pure air, sunlight, abstemiousness, rest, exercise, proper diet, the use of water, trust in divine power – these are the true remedies.” 3

This list of remedies became the bedrock of Kellogg’s medical practice at the Battle Creek Sanitarium. Many of them he carried to what some would call excess. He used water, at different temperatures, as a sedative, a tonic, an emetic, an astringent, a pain reliever, a blood vessel constrictor and enemas. Lots and lots of enemas.

He actively practiced and advocated for the other remedies as well. He changed America’s breakfast habits by inventing such things as granola and corn flakes. He was at least one of many who were involved in the invention of peanut butter. He made the first of many vegetable-based meat substitutes. He made various foods out of nuts, grains and soy, and patented the first acidophilus soy milk. He led out in exercise sessions with his patients. He encouraged activities in the fresh air and bright sunshine. He railed against coffee, tea, alcohol and tobacco and he preached abstemiousness to the point of personal celibacy.

I mention Dr. Kellogg and the Battle Creek Sanitarium because it is impossible to understand Adventist health care today without knowing a bit of that history.

I believe there are at least three reasons why this history is pertinent to a dialogue regarding the future of Adventist health care: 1) many Adventists, at least in the United States, still feel more comfortable with Kellogg’s high touch, low tech “remedies from God” than with the high tech, low touch world of science in today’s hospitals; 2) there are lingering suspicions, among both clergy and physicians, in regard to the control of Adventist health care and the massive finances involved, and; 3) the COVID-19 pandemic has the potential of once again completely overturning both our Church’s power structure and the foundations of our current health care system.

These three issues underlie a major cause of real and potential division between the medical and clerical arms of our Church—a lack of empathy and appreciation. We do not know each other. We do not recognize, nor do we take the time to truly understand, the slings and arrows that others face in their daily work. I have heard members of the Church staff grumble about the salary differences between them and health care providers. I have heard them state that physicians have too much power in the local church. I have heard health care providers belittle Church staff because of their “banker’s hours” and complain that pastors ask for too much of them as volunteers and as donors.

The crisis we are now facing with the COVID-19 pandemic provides an opportunity to bring Adventist health care work and clerical ministries together in a very practical way. Hospitals and hospital systems have seen huge financial declines in revenue. Tithes and offerings have been reduced. While this could be catastrophic, it may also provide some opportunities we have missed or ignored in the past. It might help us to refocus our efforts.

In many places, our Church and its institutions have been siloed and insular in their response to the needs of the community. While most of our health care systems donate millions of dollars in community benefit every year, and our churches have wonderful outreach programs of their own, we now have new and significant opportunities for the Church and the healing arm of the ministry to join together and unite with non-denominational organizations to help provide or lower the cost of health care for those in need at this critical time.

The current pandemic has caused major disruption to our societal norms and provides great opportunities for those who have services to offer, especially if they don’t care who receives the credit. Unemployment is at record levels. Businesses are on the brink of bankruptcy and dissolution. People are hurting. They are anxious and fearful, and many have no place to turn. The ministry of the Church, in its spoken and its medical aspects, has answers to share and tender hearts that care.

Health care, already moving rapidly toward outpatient services, is now rapidly moving services online. Telehealth is a burgeoning technology, and both providers and patients love its convenience (as long as the visits are covered by insurance). Health care providers are having to pin pictures of themselves on their personal protective gowns, so their patients can “see” the faces of those who are caring for them. People avoid emergency departments, even when needed, due to fear of exposure to the infection. Surgeries are delayed, and elective procedures are canceled.

The normal functions and ceremonies of our Church have also been disturbed. Streamed worship services and Bible classes now “bring us together.” Pastoral visits are done by phone, online or with no-touch drop-offs on church members’ porches. Offerings and tithes are collected by electronic transfers, and Vacation Bible Schools are planned for children who will remain at home throughout.

If ever there was a time to bring the two arms of our ministry together in a new and powerful way, this is it. We must look past our historical distrust of one another. We must recognize each other’s expertise and value the importance of the gifts that each member has to share. We must learn to love as Christ loves.

As with all political, social and health care crises, we will either find that we are truly living in the last days and Christ is coming soon, or we will once again muddle through and learn to live in the world that remains. Whatever that “new” world looks like, we will continue to have a Christian duty to fulfill the gospel mandate, and as Adventists, that mandate is made up of the gospel as revealed in the medical ministry and the gospel as made known through the ministry of the spoken word. Will our vaunted institutions still be in place to provide us the necessary resources to move forward, or will we have to construct new methods of meeting our mission? Will leadership still come from Silver Spring, or will leaders need to rise up at the local level?

We are a people of prophecy, and prophecy tells us that things will not always be smooth and easy. It is basic human nature to believe that things will continue as they have been in the past, even in the face of countless examples that dis- prove it. Prophecy also tells us that in the last days, children will be preaching sermons and prayers will be healing diseases. If we really believe our prophets, why would we even dream that our large hospital systems will survive until the end, or that our denominational structure will be in place to greet Jesus when he arrives? Perhaps this is the time, or perhaps things will continue as they always have.

Either way, we have a God who has clearly demonstrated His infinite love and who has promised both to be with us to the end and to ensure we have His great medicine: water, pure soft water, for diseases, for health, for cleanliness, for luxury.

Mark B. Johnson, MD, has directed Jefferson County Public Health for the past 30 years. He has taught a course on the history of medicine and public health at the Colorado School of Public Health for 10 years. He is a member of the Boulder Adventist Church and may be contacted at: [email protected]

Notes

1 Dittes, A. (2013). Three Adventist titans: The significance of heeding or rejecting the counsel of Ellen White.

2 White, E. G. (1863). Letter 4. Washington, D.C.: Ellen G. White Estate. 3 White, E. G. (1905). The Ministry of Healing. Nampa: Pacific Press, p. 127.

By Reinder Bruinsma

Only months ago, the first reports from China about the emergence of a new coronavirus—COVID-19—were beginning to circulate in the Western world. Since then, the deadly virus has infected millions of people and killed hundreds of thousands of men and women. And for the Southern hemisphere, the worst is probably yet to come.

As I write this short article, the daily news is dominated by this global crisis. Yes, the wars in Yemen and in Syria are continuing to exact their terrible toll, and the refugees continue to crowd the camps on the Greek island of Lesbos and other places. And yes, from time to time there are still some news snippets from North Korea. But these things have been completely overshadowed by the continuous stream of coronavirus news. Even the topic of climate change is on the back burner. Brexit talks will, presumably, continue, but it is also rather quiet on that front.

As the world is in fear, not knowing for how long the present pandemic will bring death and despair, people also are beginning to wonder what kind of long-term impact this crisis may have. Will it profoundly affect, also in the long term, the way we live, work and communicate? Will it change the political panorama? Will the crisis contribute to a further decline of the United States as the world’s number one superpower? Will China’s prestige and worldwide influence increase? Will the crisis permanently damage the European project?

What about the church?

Looking at a possible impact of the COVID-19 crisis on the Christian Church in general, one must conclude that there are many questions and, so far, very few answers. Will it lead many people to give more thought to questions about the meaning of life? Will it strengthen the trust of those who believe in God that, somehow, He still is in control? Will it lead believers to focus less on the doctrinal nitty-gritty of their faith and more on what it means to have a living faith in times of need? Or will it also cause many people to doubt and to ask the questions about how the current misery can be explained if, indeed, God is characterized by love?

There are also other aspects. Will denominations find it easier to work together and will this have a long-term impact on ecumenical endeavors? Will “higher” church organizations become more marginal when it appears that, when push comes to shove, the local congregations must largely depend on their own creativity and internal resources to ensure that the believers have a sense of continued community? In addition, one may wonder whether people may get so used to on-line church services that future church attendance may not reflect the pre-pandemic levels.

What about the Adventist Church?

Many of the same questions arise when we ponder what this pandemic will do for the Seventh-day Adventist Church. There is, at present, no way of imagining how the Adventist Church in the non-Western world where the bulk of the nineteen million-plus members of the church live, will be affected. I will, in what follows, focus on the Western world.

There are various reasons why in recent decades the hierarchical structure of the Adventist Church has weakened. For many members in the West, the higher organizations in our church have increasingly become further and further removed from actual life in the local church. The bitter controversy about the role of female pastors has not endeared a major segment of the church to the leaders of the higher organizations. And, although a segment of the membership applauds the more conservative approach of the top leadership of the church in recent years, it would seem that— at least in many places—the higher organizations (in particular the General Conference and the divisions) are regarded by many as less and less relevant. Will a period without any physical presence of the leaders of these higher organizations around their divisions and around the world field, due to the ban on international travel, and the cancelling of numerous international meetings, further strengthen this already ongoing process? Moreover, will the inevitable strain on the denominational finances be another aspect that feeds into this process?

Will the pandemic affect the theology of the Adventist Church? Theology is not something that happens in a vacuum, but is always, whether we recognize it or not, influenced by the historical and cultural context in which it develops. In times of crisis, Adventist eschatology is inescapably strongly affected. How does what we now experience fit into the Adventist end-time scenario?

As might be expected, various responses to this question highlight the deep polarization in the church’s thinking. As always, there are pockets in the Adventist Church (as there are in other conservative Christian communities) where all kinds of conspiracy theories flourish. Some suggest that the current pandemic ties in with the seven last plagues of Revelation 16. There are stern warnings on how the measures taken by governments all over the world demonstrate how quickly a situation may arise in which our liberties—including religious liberty—may be in serious jeopardy. They warn the members that the current crisis may well be a prelude to the establishment of some kind of repressive world government with, of course, the pope in a sinister key role. This will bring enforced Sunday worship and serious restrictions in commercial activities for the “faithful remnant.”

On the other hand, we hear the warning that we should be careful in giving an immediate prophetic interpretation to what is currently happening. After all, we have been wrong before when we did this. This pandemic, it is argued, may well be one of the many “signs” of the times, but we must refrain from alarmist predictions.

A positive development could well be that many church members want the church and its leaders to focus on what is, they feel, truly important in such a time as this. They do not look for Bible studies about the King of the North and the King of the South while thousands are dying of this terrible virus. They want to hear (and to share with others) a message of hope and encouragement, and do not worry about doctrinal fine print.

The local church is being greatly affected by the consequences of the COVID-19 pandemic. Keeping the church going and providing a meaningful service to its members demands a lot of local creativity from the pastors and many others. People with digital skills now play an even more important role than they already did. Communication with members and setting up a good system to keep them in- formed about the concrete needs of all members, is a sine qua non. Hopefully, significant inspiration will continue to come from the various organizational levels (in particular from the conferences and/or unions), but most inspiration will have to come from the local church. The “lock-down” of church buildings may not just be a matter of a few weeks but, in some places, of several months, and will demand a continuous stream of new ideas and new digital projects, for all age groups.

Some pastors are computer-savvy, but many, especially in the older age bracket, are not, or not enough, digitally knowledgeable to operate effectively in the current crisis. Here conferences and unions have a task to provide online education to help their pastors function optimally as long as physical contacts are severely restricted.

Another significant aspect is church attendance. Will many perhaps become so accustomed to listening to a sermon from their couch that this will become their preferred way of “going” to church? Will people have the tendency to tune in to the on-line service of their local church, or will many search for well-known speakers and tune in to the state-of-the-art on-line programs of big churches, rather than to the less sophisticated programs of their own, much smaller, local church?

And what about the finances? To what extent will the giving patterns of tithes and other offerings suffer under the present conditions? How will this effect mission projects— far away and nearby?

Can we expect some positive effects?

As I said in the opening paragraph, I have many questions for which I do not even have the beginning of an answer. However, asking these questions alerts us to things that we must carefully analyze as the Corona-crisis continues to exact its toll before it will, as we all hope, abate and disappear. It is important that the church, at all levels, will not simply go back to its earlier routines (if that is even possible!), but will take time to analyze what has happened and how we can learn from it.

What currently happens may, I believe, also have some positive outcomes. One example of this is the re-thinking of future world congresses of the church. The postponement of the 2020 General Conference session, which was to be held in early July of this year, has forced the church leadership to consider ways of re-shaping this quinquennial event, that over time has mushroomed exponentially, involving ever more people and requiring ever larger budgets—with no end in sight. The good news is that this unforeseen development has also prompted the decision to greatly simplify future world congresses.

The necessity to avoid travel and to cancel a wide array of international gatherings, symposia, consultations and committee meetings, may set a new trend in motion to make a much greater use of available technology and, thereby, save a great deal of time and money. Anyway, financial concerns may also force the church to move in that direction.

–Reinder Bruinsma

By Barry Casey

“Normal” is what you don’t have to think about. It’s habitual, constant, grounded in assumptions. There are few surprises. It may even pass unnoticed until there is a rupture in the routine.

And that’s where we are now.

In the past weeks and months, as people have grown weary of lockdowns, masks, and stay-at-home orders, a new genre of projections has grown around the idea of what a “new normal” will look like. It’s a way of reassuring ourselves that some kind of normal will resume in time, coupled with the feeling that whatever it is, it won’t be what we’re used to.

Crises create fissures that must later be filled in or at least bridged. But sometimes they change the landscape enough and are severe enough that—to push the metaphor—we have to build a new path around them or figure out a way to fly over them. In other words, they force changes in means and direction, maybe even in purpose and goal.

We don’t know the shape of our lives in the future except in broad outline. When 9/11 happened, the catch phrase was, “This was the day the world changed.” And in general terms, a lot did change. We live now with fewer civil liberties than we were used to in the 90s. Our travel routines include much more scrutiny and delays. Prejudice and violence toward Muslims in American society has increased and remained high since 2001. Oil prices have fluctuated, but despite fracking, they have doubled since 9/11. And the war in Afghanistan, the longest in American history, continues, despite fitful attempts at peace among the warring groups. But in the amount of people directly affected, and to the

degree that daily life has been upended, the pandemic has been far more consequential than 9/11. It seems clear now that the country was not prepared for a public health crisis of this magnitude. The cascading effects of closing public life and shutting down much of the economy will no doubt be felt for generations to come.

In the AC— “After Covid-19”—era, we can foresee long- lasting changes. At a personal level, many of us will be much more aware of the risk of infection, washing our hands more frequently, cleaning surfaces regularly, and carrying sanitizer. Many thousands of people will continue to work from home. Colleges and universities will refine their online teaching and shift their course offerings away from face-to-face teaching. The use of adjuncts, who are paid less and receive no benefits, will no doubt increase. When a vaccine is developed, anti-vaccination groups will campaign vigorously against it. Thousands of small businesses will not reopen, foreclosures on homes will escalate, renters will fall behind, and the numbers of homeless will skyrocket. And underlying all that social turmoil will be the lingering grief and trauma from hundreds of thousands of deaths.

For most of us, considering what is “normal” and what might constitute the “new normal” is a rather passive exercise, if that’s not too much of an oxymoron to swallow. We probably don’t give it much thought until there is both a backlog of things we want to change and the will to change them. We might wish to make a clean break with that which holds us back; we might decide to press toward that for which we hope.

If it’s true that the normal is what we accommodate to and then habitualize, we now have an opportunity to remake our set course with some forethought. Movement in two directions is possible. There is the anticipation and projection of our lives forward into what will become the new normal. There is a recalling of our past lives, in measures of repentance, sorrow, and a sense of loss. In time, there may also be forgiveness and gratitude. Both movements are bound together: the forward projection doesn’t occur without the remembrance and looking back. Even if we turn our backs on the past and look ahead to the future, it’s the past that conditions our desire for a new start.

After the death of Jesus, the disciples sheltered in place. They retreated behind locked doors. They had just gone through the most crushing defeat and the most astonishing reversal that humans could experience—all within three days. What were they to do now?

Only Mary Magdala ventured out on Sunday morning and made her way to the garden where Jesus was buried. When she breathlessly returned with the stunning news that Jesus was alive, Peter and John raced to the tomb, but they did not see Him. They had to trust in Mary’s word. Later that evening, Jesus appeared to the disciples, despite the locked door, and reassured them. A week later, He appeared again to them in an upper room. What did they do in the days between those appearances?

Sometime later they are up in Galilee, away from the dangers in Jerusalem. They are going fishing, the one thing they know how to do that doesn’t demand their full attention. They can go through the motions without thinking, for fishing is something they’ve been doing since they were boys working for their fathers. But for all that, they don’t catch anything, though they work all night.

In the early morning, a hundred yards from shore, they see a figure standing by a low fire. He calls out to them, “Friends, have you caught anything?” They answer, “No.” “Shoot the net to starboard, and you’ll make a catch.” And when they do, their nets are so full they can hardly haul them in. “It’s the Lord!” John exclaims. Without hesitation, Peter throws himself into the water to wade ashore.

And there is Jesus, with a couple of fish cooking on the fire, warm bread, and a gentle smile. “Bring some of your catch,” he says. And they eat. None of them dares ask, “Who are you?” but all of them know. In the midst of the routine, in the familiar places where Jesus first called them, they are awakened. Jesus prods Peter: “Do you love me?” Three times He asks and three times Peter answers yes. “Then feed my sheep,” says Jesus. Peter will never forget how Jesus turned His numbed regret into a burning love.

Jesus reaches us in our normal routines. He will accept us as we are, but He’s not content to leave us there. There is something new to be formed.

The normal does not demand our attention. It has become so routinized that we slip it on like an old shoe. That can be comforting, but we miss a lot when that happens. When we anticipate how our spiritual life might change because of the pandemic, it calls for our attention. Attention is what we bring to the imaginative reading of Scripture. Attention allows us to see what is revealed by God in spite of our boredom and our fear. Attention is what changes our passivity to an attitude of hunger for Christ’s gifts.

After this pandemic, what might be our new spiritual normal? We will still—and perhaps even more keenly—experience Christ in our personal and our communal spiritual lives. Can we open our hearts to our will, which is often hidden to us, but which flickers to life and light when we listen to Christ with full attention? “What are the elements that go to make the concentration of purpose, out of which great and effective resolves arise?” asks Austin Farrer.

As a worshipping community, we long for oneness. But unity is never a done deal. It is a constant matter of attention and will. “We have talked so much as if unity means uniformity,” notes Mark Oakley in The Collage of God. “These words refer to different things. As celebrants of diversity . . . as individuals alongside each other, our uniformity as a Christian body has never been and will never be. It is unity for which we pray, and it will only ever be revealed as authentic if there are shades of difference amongst us.”

In our differences, may our attention be held by Jesus Christ, who is forever the same in His love, forever new in His forgiving.

–Barry Casey taught religion, philosophy, and communication for 37 years in Maryland and Washington, D.C. He is now retired and writing in Burtonsville, Maryland. More of the author’s writing can be found on his blog, “Dante’s Woods.” His first collection of essays, “Wandering, Not Lost,” was recently published by Wipf and Stock. Email him at: [email protected]

By Zdravko Plantak

“Who am I? Who am I? I am 24601!”, were the most reflective words of Jean Valjean in Victor Hugo’s provocative and deeply reflective novel Les Miserables. Besides reading this novel as a mid-teenager, the words became more striking after seeing the musical in several countries and continents in the last 20 years.

Am I a number or am I a name/person? How does naming me Zdravko or Zack differ? What do I bring with each of these to the cultural mix that has been rich and continually moving? In what way do I reflect all the cultures that I have adopted, from Croatia where I was born and lived for the first formative twenty-two years? Or England were I decidedly naturalized in and accepted as my own for the next 16 years, and now, America that I have chosen as the place of my life and work for the last 21 years?

I have always postulated for myself, my children, friends and students, that “the unexamined life is not worth living” and that meaning in life cannot be discovered by chance but that we ascertain it upon living and reflecting on this life, continually hoping for a modified, purified, improved, and hopeful life to embrace in all its abundance and, at times, in its struggles. With the Bible writers and Dostoyevsky, Ellen White and Niebuhr, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry and Tolstoy, and so many other thinkers before me, I continue searching and then investing my full energies into this purposeful existence.

The meaning of life is found in the relationships within the created and purposefully intended universe in which a good Divine Being loves and in the community of triune relationship cannot but create and spill the Supreme Love onto the image that is called Wo/Man. In that socially constructed community as a man and a woman, God poured Triune Image that is always and inevitably in relationship. This divine relationship is full of love and grace and cannot be expressed in any other way than deep care and supreme concern for the other. Even when the relationship between God and humanity is broken, God continues pursuing the created Imago Dei in us, endowing us with abilities that go beyond our sinful instincts. and making us loving and most fulfilled when we are acting God-like in our endeavors with each other. In other words, ontological humanness is actually to be in relationship and to centrifugally love and forgive

when it does not logically or even existentially make any sense. When we feel that we should be ruthless in order to endure [or better continue to exist such as at times like this terribly painful world pandemic], when we feel that we must pursue the “survival of the fittest” mode, the “Image of God” makes us give until it hurts, love until it does not make sense and forgive when it goes beyond “natural” human instinct. And when we do such extraordinary things, we label them heroism, or going beyond the call of duty, or a miraculous way of living exemplary lives.

The ancient thinkers would call this a Good Life, and by that, I assume, they would mean the Morally Upright and Fulfilling Life. The more modern thinkers would call it an authentic existence. And I would call it a meaningful or purposeful Christ-centered life.

To illustrate my single point, let me take an example of a fish. God created fish to live and thrive in water. The gills are adapted to absorb oxygen from water. Water is the only element in which fish can find freedom, can be free and fulfill itself, and find its fishness. That’s how it was created. It could exist in saltwater or fresh water, or in the case of salmon, it may go from one to the other. But that is the element in which it finds itself and is free as a fish. So, without a shadow of a doubt, water limits fish and its limitation is imposed on it by creation. But that limitation is the secret of its liberty. And the liberty of the fish is found in accepting the limitation that has been imposed on it by creation.

Let’s suppose one has a goldfish in a round bowl on the table. And the poor thing is swimming in circles until it is giddy. It finds its frustration unbearable. So, it decides to make a bid for freedom by leaping out of the bowl. Now, let us suppose for a moment that it lands in a pond in the gar- den and in such a way increases its freedom because it is still in the element it was created for—water. However, there is more of it so it does not swim in circles, but it can swim in squares instead. So, more freedom, but the same element. However, if instead it leaps to the carpet or the wooden floor, then we know that its bid for freedom spells not freedom but death. So, creation limits its liberty and its purposes.

Now, we apply this principle to human beings. If fish were made for water, what were human beings made for? What is the element in which human beings find their humanness, if water is the element in which fish find their fishiness? For me, the answer is love. Love is the major element in which human beings find their humanness, both in relationships of love with God and our fellow human beings. Love is the essential element within which human beings can live and thrive and find their meaning. And the reason is because God, who is love, made us in God’s image.

When God made human beings in God’s likeness, He gave them a capacity to love and to be loved, which is one of the basic ingredients of our humanness. So, we find our destiny as human beings in loving God and loving one another, which is why it’s not an accident that the first commandment that Jesus uplifts is to love your God, and the second, is to love your neighbor. The reasons for this is that it is in loving that we live. Living is loving. And without love we die. People who are turned on themselves are dead. I mean that is not life—life is loving. Even the Beatles presumably under- stood this when they sang: “All you need is love.” That’s what we were made for.

Michaelangelo said, “When I am yours, then I am at last completely myself.” I am only myself, when I am yours and only yours God. When I belong to you in love, then I am completely myself and truly fulfilled. When one understands this, it brings one to the most striking Christian paradox:

Freedom is freedom to be my true self—as God made me and meant me to be. God made me for loving. And loving is giving—self-giving. Therefore, in order to be myself I have to deny myself and give myself; in order to be free, I have to serve; in order to live I have to die to my own self-centeredness; in order to find myself, I have to lose myself.

That is the beautiful paradox of Christian living and freedom. Freedom under the authority of Christ, freedom of giving oneself to him and to one another which Jesus himself taught. True freedom is the exact opposite of what most people today aspire to: no responsibilities to God nor to any other human being in order to live for myself.

In the musical Les Miserables, Jean Valjean concludes in the previously quoted song, “Who am I?” with these words:

Who am I? Can I condemn this man to slavery?
Pretend I do not feel his agony
This innocent who wears my face
Who goes to judgment in my place
Who am I? Can I conceal myself for evermore?

Pretend I’m not the man I was before?
And must my name until I die
Be no more than an alibi?
Must I lie?
How can I ever face my fellow men?

How can I ever face myself again?
My soul belongs to God, I know
I made that bargain long ago
He gave me hope, when hope was gone
He gave me strength to journey on
Who am I? Who am I? I am Jean Valjean!

In loving and acting for the other, I discover myself and I uncover the purpose of life. In relationships with human beings and the Divine Being, I truly find that loving is living, and I find purpose in giving my selfishness to the higher causes. I love because God loved me. And in denying myself, I discover myself fully as I was intended to be.

Loving is living and living is loving and I know this as it was supremely illustrated in the life of the most exemplary human being as He kenotically emptied himself to become like me in order to give me another chance to be as He originally wanted me to be when He created Adam and Eve.

–Zdravko (Zack) Plantak, PhD, is professor of religion and ethics at the School of Religion at Loma Linda University. Email him at: [email protected]

By Jenniffer Ogden

Elbow to elbow, with sleep still in our eyes, we trudged to the top of the hill, the crunch of gravelly soil sounding with every step. In the crisp predawn chill, we huddled close to listen to the site boss as she issued daily instructions and acknowledged important progress. We were assigned to different areas of the site and given our first rotation of tasks for the day. After prayer, the archeological dig team disseminated to their assigned areas. Dirt flew, ropes were secured, rocks were moved, and archeological treasures began to appear. By the end of the dig season of 2007 on Tall Jalul near Madaba, Jordan, glass and clay beads, ceramic idols, pottery with writing (an ostracon), and skeletons had all been located. The objects lent depth to the rich recorded history of a tiny hill on the route of the Israelites from Egypt to the promised land.

As a part of the team, I found it was the early morning gatherings, with instructions issued and encouragement given, that granted a clear goal for the day and enabled us to expand the wonderful base of knowledge of the area. We were a group prepared and a group empowered.

As congregations have shifted to online worship services, prayer meetings, and Bible studies, I see the Seventh-day Adventist Church as a group prepared and empowered to forward the message of hope. We have been given instruction and encouragement and now we get to carry the wonder of compassion and knowledge to a world ready for both hope and good news.

Actor John Krasinski, in the lockdowns afforded us by the Covid-19 pandemic, began a small YouTube channel called SGN—Some Good News. The cheering stories and tales of heroic acts were a weekly highlight over the eight weeks of quarantine. Just as SGN carried good news into homes and businesses all over the world, we, the Adventist tribe, are called to do the same. And we have had 176 years of preparation.

Since the early days of Adventism, the call to share Jesus and His salvation has been integral to the advent movement. In Testimonies for the Church, Volume 9, Ellen White reminds us that “. . . truth must be spoken in leaflets and pamphlets, and these must be scattered like the leaves of autumn.” The wonderful news that Jesus has fulfilled the promises of God to humanity must be shared broadly. Our call to action is clear. We follow in the footsteps of a Savior who came to “seek and save that which was lost” (Luke 19:10), and our mission, as a group of believers, matches that of our Leader. We have Jesus to share with the world! The printed page is, by its very nature, limited. With the radical expansion of technology, we have an unprecedented opportunity to reshape the method of sharing a timeless message.

Over the past weeks, three realities have come from our churches moving online.

1)  Every home is a church.
2)  Every member is a minister.
3)  Every church building is a community center.

Every home is a church

While it may be tempting to define home as the place in which we dwell, the truth is, home will vary for each of us. Sometimes the place we sleep and eat is an emotionally draining, spiritually dry place. Sometimes we are held to an expectation of perfection or action that is impossible.

So, let’s reframe the definition of home. Home is the place, or the group of people, where we are most loved and accepted. Home is the space we are most ourselves. In the presence of God, we are all home. Thus, when congregations moved online, every home became a church. The places and groups where people are most loved, remain the space in which Jesus is revealed daily. Yes, people were embraced and encouraged weekly in our sanctuaries, and now that embrace is running rampant in our neighborhoods and groups. In Rosaria Butterfields’ book, The Gospel Comes with a House Key, she reminds us that we have the potential to “invest in your neighbors for the long haul, the hundreds of conversations that make up a neighborhood, and stop thinking of conversations with neighbors as sneaky evangelistic raids into their sinful lives”.

Our homes, our groups, can be the space in which we invest in people. The pews and potlucks have been replaced by video chats, phone calls, physically distanced deliveries. We carry the ability to love as we have been loved (John 13:34) into the world. We no longer wait to have the world come into our spaces—we, the church of love and acceptance, are actively carrying the message of hope with us to every place and group. Thus, by creating spaces where people encounter love and acceptance, we create church everywhere.

Every member is a minister

The story is told of a young boy who crafted Valentine cards for every student in his class. He was a shy child and largely played alone. He was resolute in his choice to make a card for everyone. His mother waited cautiously for him at the end of the day eager to hear how it had gone. He walked up the walk toward the house shaking his head. “Not one! Not one, Mom!” His mom’s heart dropped. He hadn’t received a card in return, she thought. How sad. “Oh, Mom! I did not forget one!” he grinned and beamed at her and was giddy to have remembered every other student in his class. Everyone had received a card!

As our homes have become churches, each of us have joined in the full time wonder of ministry. We carry the love and acceptance of Jesus with us into each space we fill. We, like the young Valentine crafting boy, have the joy of remembering those around us and caring for them in tangible ways. We intentionally nurture spiritual dialogue and provide physical and emotional care to those we meet. Each of us carries the message to the people as our pastors long have done for us on Sabbath mornings. We are the ambassadors to the world, going to all places and peoples, with the empowering of Holy Spirit who calls us.

Every church building is a community center

A building is no constraint for the love of God. As we carry the love and acceptance of Jesus with us to our homes, the spaces in which we have met together for years often are empty. Many of our buildings have long been used once or twice weekly—for prayer meeting and Sabbath services—and left unused the rest of the week.

Now is the time to invite groups to share the unused space for small groups like Alcoholics Anonymous, and grief support groups.

Perhaps in your community what is needed most is a food distribution center, or an overnight shelter for the homeless. We have sacred space available for every person to encounter a place where they can be heard, cared for, loved and accepted. Our church buildings are the place where we can resource our communities. This means we must know the needs of our community! And as we are creating churches in our homes and filling our roles in the priesthood of all believers, we will learn quickly the needs. And what joy we will have as we partner in new ways to serve those around us!

Yes, the preparation of the Adventist church to meet the needs in our midst have grown over our 176-year history. And today, as we thrive in churches at home, as we embrace our God-ordained roles in building the kingdom, and as we use our church buildings as centers where resources are shared, we fulfill the vision to share the truth as the leaves of autumn.

–Jenniffer Ogden is writing from Boulder, Colorado. She has been involved in pastoral ministry for eleven years, most recently in Boulder. Email her at: [email protected]

By Nathan Brown

As we headed into the uncertainties of April, with the coronavirus spreading around the world and so much of our lives suddenly shut down and socially distanced, a friend posted on his social media feed: “Some have asked me ‘what does the Bible have to say about this virus?’ It says: Help those who are elderly, frail and sick . . . be a good neighbor!”

Amid the rush to re-read Revelation, share tangential conspiracy theories or quote flowery comfort texts, I think my friend was reading the Bible best. And as we re-emerge from our homes and begin to re-engage and reconstruct our public practices of faith and church, this insight holds true.

But as we embark on this task, it is worth pausing to reflect on what has been revealed during this difficult time and what the next steps ask of us and our faith. The key question we should consider is how we react differently—particularly, how we respond better—because of what we say we believe. In this process of reflection, we naturally begin with ourselves, but we must progress into our communities and the wider world.

Reading the Bible

Over the past few months, we have seen a renewed impulse to study the book of Revelation, with a welter of sermon broadcasts, online Bible studies, and even evangelistic series seeking to respond to the interest in such topics among church members and some in our communities. But, while meeting an apparent demand, Revelation has surprisingly little to say specifically about pandemics and such a focus can feed those darker impulses that foster fear and conspiracy-mongering. Indeed, some groups within our church and beyond seem to be trying to outdo each other in this regard.

While it might seem a natural fit, Revelation is not necessarily the most useful guide to faithful living at a time of stress and disruption. Read at its best, Revelation does offer glimpses behind the scenes of the history of our world and assurance of the final outcome, but it gives only hints of how we should live. Its best direction is to describe a group of people who endure difficult times and seek to live out the teachings, life and hope of Jesus (see Revelation 14:12), even when everything else seems to be falling apart or under threat. But Revelation is not a stand-alone text. After all, the Jesus we discover in the gospels is the only key to unlocking the mysteries of the book of Revelation (see Revelation 5:4, 5). Revelation is a guide, but Jesus is our Guide.

It is in the gospels that we most hear the voice of our Teacher. It is in the stories, ministry and teaching of Jesus that we hear the best responses to fear, worry and disease. It is His resurrection that defeated the threat and power of death. And it is He who concluded His sermon on end-time faithfulness with the call to love and serve those most in need (see Matthew 25). We need to grow our instinct to turn to Jesus and His way, rather than reaching first for Revelation and the many lesser aberrations of it.

Encouraging each other

Over the past few months, we have seen most churches scrambling to find ways to continue their weekly worship services as a first priority. While it has been important to maintain contact with our church communities, at a time of significant disruption, it is remarkable how much effort and even creativity we have invested in ensuring that as little as possible has changed in our church routines.

Yes, Hebrews 10:25 urges us to “not neglect our meeting together, as some people do, but encourage one another, especially now that the day of his return is drawing near”1— but this can look very different in different places and times. How we meet together and encourage each other has necessarily changed, but let’s also take the opportunity to recognize that there is much in our church programs and structures that has proved unnecessary and even unhelpful. Let’s not be so anxious to get back to “normal” in this sense.

The other question we must consider is whether programming that is primarily for ourselves should be our first priority. For many years, we have tried to remind ourselves that church is not a building. The 2020 version is that church is not a Zoom meeting, YouTube broadcast, or Facebook livestream. Rather, church is a community of people who follow Jesus together and “motivate one another to acts of love and good works” (Hebrews 10:24) in the larger community in which we live and serve. In a changing world, that will look different—and more of our attention and resources must be directed outwards to our wider communities.

Kindness and justice

Over the past few months, we have seen many wonderful acts of kindness and generosity, including church-based programs and initiatives serving those who are in need and suffering during this crisis—as my friend’s Facebook post was pointing out. We must celebrate those who have worked to heal the sick, feed the hungry, support the vulnerable and reach out to the lonely. This work has been necessary and continues to be so important.

But we have also seen the disparity that always comes more into focus at times of crisis and disaster. Those who are already vulnerable are hurt first, deepest and longest. We cannot ignore this renewed revelation of inequality and injustice. And our acts of charity, vital though they be, must not distract us from the greater call to justice (see Isaiah 1:17):

The only thing to do to really help—the true kind- ness—is to completely restructure society. . . . Jesus did more than just hug away our differences. He completely changed faith and religion, ordering an end to the repressive hierarchies that saw widows, children, and the sick cast aside. Love is political when it is radical. Faith is political when it believes in something better. Hope is political when it looks for something more.

Creating alternatives

Over the past few months, we have heard conversations about how the coronavirus pandemic might re-shape our world in so many different ways—culturally, politically, economically, environmentally and spiritually. As with any such disruption and the inevitable uncertainty, there are serious risks but also hopeful possibilities. With the opportunities we have, however large or small, we are called to contribute faithfully to re-shaping our church, our communities and our world for the better.

Unfortunately, the difficult nature of these many tasks is one reason studying Revelation is attractive to many of us. As one of the “superheroes” in the apocalyptic graphic novel Watchmen reflects on the desire of some for an end to the world: “They want to be spared the responsibilities of maintaining that world, to be spared the effort of imagination needed to realize such a [better] future.”3 But the hope we have is never an excuse that ends our call to care.

Yes, we can echo the proclamation that Babylon is fallen (see Revelation 14:8), but the most effective way to call people out of these broken systems is to offer the alternative and present reality of the kingdom of God that Jesus taught—in big and small ways. For example, while we might condemn the unjust and broken economic systems of our world, we might grow gardens—both vegetables and flowers—as a small act of resistance, but also imagine alternative economic structures and ways in which people can work and grow sustainably.

Yes, we believe that Jesus will return—but that hope is our primary motivation for loving and serving today and our assurance for confronting serious challenges and heartbreaking injustice in the world around us. Among so many other such commands, the injunctions of Genesis 2 and Isaiah 58 and Matthew 25 continue until the King says, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the Kingdom pre- pared for you from the creation of the world” (Matthew 25:34.)

So, what does the Bible have to say about this virus and how to live faithfully in its aftermath? Our world might be changed in many ways, but the faithful answer remains— continue to trust Jesus (see Acts 1:7, 8), walking humbly with Him in loving kindness and doing justice (see Micah 6:8). Or—as Jesus put it—be a neighbor (see Luke 10:30–37).

–Nathan Brown is a writer and editor at Signs Publishing in Warburton, Victoria, Australia. Check out the website for Nathan’s newest book “Of Falafels and Following Jesus” at www.FalalfelsandFollowingJesus.com. Email him at [email protected]

Notes

1Bible quotations are from the New Living Translation.
2Lenz, L. (2019). God land: A story of faith, loss, and renewal in Middle America. Indiana University Press, p. 94.
Moore, A., & Gibbons, D. (2014). Watchmen. DC Comics, p. 380.