Having experienced
quarantine once before has not helped me through this pandemic we’re
experiencing, but it has given me some perspective.
I was 3 or 4 years old when
my older sister, four years my senior, was diagnosed with Scarlet Fever. County
health department nurses came to our rural home and nailed a menacing-looking
sign onto our front door, warning visitors not to enter the house by order of
the local Board of Health. The seven members of our family were not allowed to
leave. My memories are faint on this episode of my early life, but I clearly
remember my mother opening the bedroom door just a crack so that I could see my
sick sister in the bed. I was allowed only a brief look before the door closed.
I also remember my older
brother, at the end of the quarantine period (typically 21 days, some epidemic
websites say), tearing the quarantine sign from the front door when the
quarantine expired.
Quarantines used to be
issued for many diseases, including polio, smallpox and diphtheria. Vaccines
and new treatments have eliminated quarantines as the standard response to
several diseases.
What the world is
experiencing now is not an enforced quarantine but a plea for sensible actions
to reduce the spread of a disease, COVID 19, which has neither a cure nor a
vaccine at this time. We are urged to stay home, to avoid crowds, to keep a
six-foot zone between ourselves and other people. The rules have been
especially hard on restaurants, churches, theaters, schools (now closed) and
concert venues. Ceremonies, from baptisms to weddings to funerals, are being
canceled or postponed. Streets are emptied as people stay home.
At a time we want to hold
loved ones close, we’re told not to do that. Our need for human contact is
genetic. It is as essential as food and water. We have found ways to work
around the rules. Video chats are possible for people with computers (or smart
phones) and internet service, and we’ve taken advantage of that, just as many
schools have begun holding classes online and organizations have moved meetings
online.
These changes, which are
distortions of our basic need for human contact, are changing our society. The
impact of this pandemic, however long it may remain infectious, will have a
long-term impact. Already, isolation and restrictions are frightening people.
We are accustomed to getting through darkness and dangers by sharing our
worries with others. Limits on human contact make emotional recovery more
difficult.
One of the times we attended
church via the internet, the Psalm of the Day was the familiar 23rd
Psalm. “Yea though I walk through the valley of death …” seemed eerily
appropriate during a pandemic. But I was struck by another phrase in that
Psalm: “I will fear no evil, for though art with me. Thy rod and thy staff they
comfort me …” Notice that the passage does not promise recovery from illness,
safety from harm or death to viruses. Its promise is “comfort.” That should be
enough.
My search for comfort in
bleak times led me to a devotional by Episcopal Bishop Michael Curry, who read
a poem by Lynn Ungar titled “Pandemic,” written March 11. She suggests that we
treat our pandemic restrictions like Jews consider the Sabbath, the most sacred
of times: “Cease from travel / Cease from buying and selling / Give up, just
for now, / trying to make the world different than it is. Sing. Pray. Touch
only those / to whom you commit your life.” The full poem is on her website,
lynnungar.com.