A Reflection from Lindsay Iudicello
![main image](https://cdn.monkplatform.com/image/czoyMzI6Imh0dHAlM0ElMkYlMkZmNzcxMDRjYjlhZWRlNTc3ZTc1Zi0yN2NiOTQ3YTZlMmZjZDk3YzgzNTgxZDcxZmYzMDQ5Ni5yNzAuY2YyLnJhY2tjZG4uY29tJTJGdXBsb2FkZWQlMkZzJTJGMGU2NDU3NjI0XzE1MDIzOTcwNzJfc3RhZmYyMDE3bGluZHNheWl1ZGljZWxsby5qcGclM0ZxJTNEOTAlMjZ3JTNENjgwJTI2aCUzRDAlMjZmaXQlM0RtYXglMjZzJTNEMWIzYWIzZTBlYjQ4MDA0NmUyNDI1ZDYxMTc0MDcyMjQiOw==/staff2017lindsayiudicello.jpg)
Dear Friends-
I have disinfected my keyboard, sent my children outside with tennis rackets, and closed the office door in order to avoid a view of the piles of games, puzzles, markers and bottles of hand sanitizer accumulating on the kitchen table. We are only a few days into global pandemic and what’s clear is that nothing is clear. No one knows how long schools will be closed, how long toilet paper will be off the shelves, if the food in the pantry will hold out, whether the healthcare system will be able to sustain the stress, whose employment status will change, who will get sick, and the greatest unknown: who among those we love will die? Will we die?
In these anxious days, when I kiss my husband goodnight there’s a lump in my throat, like a voiceless prayer, “please let us be okay.” I switch out the light and find myself wondering where we put our will and who among our relatives is best qualified to raise our children. I counsel myself that the fatality rate is low for people in my age group and that my husband and I are healthy without comorbidities. But what I know to be true is that there are so many unknowns at the moment – or the unknowns we always live with as part and parcel of being alive have pulled in close, breathing down our necks, whispering at our elbows.
I’m reminded at this uncertain time of the hymn, Now Thank We All Our God. It’s strange, perhaps, that a hymn of thanks would be my preferred choice in times of trouble. Wouldn’t A Mighty Fortress answer the moment more? But the biography of Now Thank We All Our God’s author, is what suggests this hymn. Martin Rinkhart was a minister during the Thirty Years War and the great pestilence of 1637. Following the decease of all other clergy in his town, Rinkhart became the sole presider at funerals. It is recorded that he read the funeral service 40-50 times a day. Consider that: 40-50 times a day, burying his friends, neighbors, family, strangers, his own wife. Can you imagine carrying on amid such adversity? But Rinkart didn’t just carry on. He had the peace of heart to pen these lasting words of thanks and trust:
Now thank we all our God
with heart and hands and voices,
who wondrous things has done,
in whom his world rejoices;
who from our mothers' arms
has blessed us on our way
with countless gifts of love,
and still is ours today.
O may this bounteous God
through all our life be near us,
with ever joyful hearts
and blessed peace to cheer us,
to keep us in his grace,
and guide us when perplexed,
and free us from all ills
of this world in the next.
All praise and thanks to God
the Father now be given,
the Son and Spirit blest,
who reign in highest heaven
the one eternal God,
whom heaven and earth adore;
for thus it was, is now,
and shall be evermore.
In this uncertain moment, I find these stanzas incredibly steadying. I welcome a reminder that indeed, we have been blessed our whole lives long, truly from our “mothers’ arms.” Though things are changing beneath our feet, this God of bounty has always been with us. However perplexing and dangerous the times, this is a God who remains near us still.
It’s been alarming to see how quickly “the changes of chances of this life,” as the BCP’s compline prayer terms it, can upend our lives. It’s with a sort of wistfulness, I look back at two weeks ago, a time before my trust in predictability was shaken. And yet, as Rinkhart testifies, of God’s reign there is no failing, “for thus it was, is now, and shall be evermore.” Rinkart’s is a bedrock proclamation, reaching far beneath the tumult of the day, to find sure anchor.
The pic-pic-poc of tennis balls against the garage door has ceased. I hear arguing and tears outside. In these days of close quarters, we’re never far from the next bout of sibling squabbles (and parental impatience!). But, despite all the concerns of these days—from light to grave—I’m trying to keep the example of Rinkhart before me; to raise my heart, my hands, my voice, with thanks, living in light of the assurance that this God, “still is ours today.”
Holding you all, my Holy Spirit Family, close in thoughts and prayers and looking forward to seeing you when we can gather again,
Lindsay