We are closing in on our second week of confinement to our homes. Not all are confined. It’s a select group of people who are told to:  “stay home”, “be safe”, “keep your distance.” And we do.

This strange time is something hopefully a year from now as a time we might call  “the  year of the virus.” A milepost in our lives. A marker. This time of the Coronavirus is a bit like grief. Time seems to have stopped.

What do we do with this separation in our lives? If you’re like me, you might waste your time. You can’t focus on anything. You know you should be doing something. You skip through channels on the TV to distract yourself and it doesn’t help. You try to read and nothing captures your interest. The libraries are closed so you can’t get a different book. You want to do some work, but you have no energy. You sample food that usually you don’t eat, and it doesn’t satisfy. This is grief. In this case, it is not the death of a person, but death of freedom. It is a period of time. It will pass.

This morning I read an Old Testament passage. In the passage, the people had been captured into slavery and at long last, they were able to return to their country. They had to rebuild the walls of the city to protect themselves, and finally, the wall was complete. They were settled in their towns and they had a time of worship and reading of the book of the Law of Moses. They hadn’t heard it read it for a long time and when they heard the words, they wept. After a time of weeping, the governor, Nehemiah, told them, This day is holy to our Lord. Do not grieve, for the joy of the LORD is your strength. (Nehemiah 8:10)

We aren’t there yet. The wall of protection–the completion of the Coronavirus–has not finished its course. We aren’t free to move around quite yet. We’re still in our homes. This time of separation reminds me of grief. It isn’t death. It is loss of freedom. We wait. Wait for the time when we can move about freely. Get closer to our families and not feel the heaviness of this loss. When we can return to our jobs, and churches, and friends. Until then, we wait. Together.

I remember a phrase I heard in the movie Cinderella and seems appropriate here:

Time passed….and the pain turned to memory.

This time will pass. The grief will pass. Our lack of freedom will pass. Until then, we wait.