A few days ago my pastor and I had a lengthy, productive phone conversation on several matters. The subject of masks came up.
I had not been wearing one at church.
I like our pastor. He’s approachable, and we’ve had several good discussions in the past few years. He didn’t dress me down about masks, but…
A couple of unnamed individuals complained that I wasn’t wearing a face mask at church. I’m not the only offender because at least a couple others haven’t been wearing masks either.
Oh, the horror!
I’m guessing I was ratted out by one of my wife’s friends who said she will stay away from church until more people wear masks. I’m left wondering how she’ll know when to come back to church if we all decide to mask up.
I was expecting somebody at church to challenge me directly about not masking up. The pastor said he didn’t think anybody in our group would do that.
The county where I live has a mask ordinance in place which keeps getting extended month after month. I’m sure we’ve all heard of or experienced the regulations of the COVID-created class of petty tyrants. But who is doing anything about it?
Part of my chat with the pastor involved Scripture passages like 1 Peter 2:13-16.
13. Submit yourselves to every ordinance of man for the Lord’s sake: whether it be to the king, as supreme;
14. Or unto governors, as unto them that are sent by him for the punishment of evildoers, and for the praise of them that do well.
15. For so is the will of God, that with well doing ye may put to silence the ignorance of foolish men:
16. As free, and not using your liberty for a cloke of maliciousness, but as the servants of God.
It’s hard to argue with that.
Furthermore, the pastor said he didn’t think I would want to be a stumbling block to other believers. Sometimes we must die to self.
How could I argue with that?
The only thing I could say in response was to express my deep sadness and frustration that so many people are going along with the propaganda and heavy-handed ordinances pertaining to a virus with a 99% survival rate.
By the way, it makes people mad when I mention that 99% figure. Silly me, I thought it might bring hope and encouragement.
My pastor and I discussed the questionable, ever changing science as to the effectiveness of masks. Even so, I was told we need to pick our battles.
OK, I get that, but I said if we don’t fight the smaller battles, we’ll never stand up to the bigger ones.
But then there’s the possibility that fines could be assessed by the county on individuals or the church. I think it’s unlikely, but it is a concern to the pastor.
My pastor was understanding of my arguments, but he wasn’t going to change his position. Though he was gentle with me, I was depressed and utterly defeated the rest of the day.
He did suggest times when I don’t have to wear my mask during the church service, such as when I teach Sunday school or when I’m operating the sound system. I’m several feet from others in both instances.
So it is with heavy heart, shortness of breath, and itchy face, that I’ve begun wearing my mask at church.
After the conversation with our pastor, I came to the stunning realization that I’m afflicted with a terminal case of Maskus Rebellulosis.
There’s no need to worry for me though because this ailment is extremely rare among the population at large. And it’s not contageous.
But believe me, I wish that weren’t the case.
I’ve entitled this post “Masking Grief” because wearing masks causes me grief. And it causes me grief when others wear masks.
I’m aware that reading this post will cause grief for some of my readers. The only way to avoid that would be to keep silent. But that only causes me more grief.
What else can I do in our COVID-ruined world?
A few weeks ago I told my wife I should write “Resistance is futile” on my mask. She asked what kind of a Christian testimony that would be. I said I thought about writing “We’re screwed,” but that definitely wouldn’t be well received.
I haven’t written anything on my mask, and I may not for fear I’ll be seen as a rebellious child. Echoes of “You’d better change your attitude, Young Man” hound me from my teenage years.
Nonetheless, it is tempting to write something on my mask to make some kind of attention-getting statement.
But would it even matter in a world where truth is irrelevant? I brooded over it for hours after the chat with the pastor.
Then the next morning it struck me.
That evening I had occasion to share my thought with another blind friend who goes to our church–maskless. I told him what we should both write on the masks we wear.
“Blind Submission”