Last Sunday my mom and I were driving to Cortez to see a friend in need. Just past the west side of Mesa Verde hill, we saw a barefoot woman running hysterically down the shoulder of Highway 160. She was crying and flailing her arms in the air. She stumbled and weaved as she ran, pure terror. A car was parked behind her and I thought she might be running for her life from whomever was in the car.

My stomach tightened in a ball and I gripped the steering wheel harder. What should I do? I turned to my 81-year old mom and asked, “Do you think we should stop? And, if we do stop should we give her a ride if she needs one?” I was not for sure, but intuitively I thought she was fleeing a domestic violence situation. The parked car behind her concerned me. Her life could be at risk and if we stopped our lives could be at risk. We could call 911 but by the time help arrived it might be too late. And, I had concerns about the coronavirus as well. Would we want a frantic, barefoot stranger riding in our car?

What was our best response?

Many of the stories of Jesus tell about him being moved with compassion. Marcus Borg in his transformative book, “Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time” says, “For Jesus, compassion was the central quality of God and the central moral quality of a life centered in God.” Compassion is feeling the suffering or the pain of someone else and being moved by that suffering to do something. “To be compassionate is to feel as God feels and to act as God acts in a life-giving, nourishing,” and generative way. Frank Rogers says compassion is the heartbeat of humanity that restores life, and Jewish rabbis and scholars believe the ethic of compassion is the essence of the Torah.

Jesus lived compassion. He touched the lepers and the blind. The hungry moved him with compassion. Jesus drew close and healed the man with unclean spirits. He forgave the thief on the cross. He listened intently to the woman at the well.

We run from our souls. Our dreams. Our hopes. Our identity. We run from joy, peace, wonder, and beauty. Father Richard Rohr says, “Resurrection offers us a future. One that is unknown and thus scary.” So, we cling to the familiar even if it harms us or no longer serves us or society. “It is easier to gather our energy around death, pain, and potential problems than around love, joy, and new life.” What do we hold on to? What do we cling to? Can we let go and enter into new life?

Father Richard Rohr states, “We are clearly not in control, as this pandemic is now teaching the whole planet. For many of us, this may be the first time in our lives that we have felt so little control over our own destiny and the destiny of those we love.” However, Christ invites us to walk in faith. We can be gentle, kind, patient, and supportive of one another. This is faithfulness.

On Thursday, Governor Polis issued a stay at home order, so Jennifer and I walked around the block a few times together. We talked. We felt the warm sun on our faces. We noticed the new green tufts of grass in the neighbor’s yard. We’ll probably need to mow in a week or two. A few yellow daffodils are spreading their wings. The tulips look promising in the front flower beds at church. Will they bloom at Easter? Tim’s aging old hound walked gingerly toward us. We said, “hello” as only old friends can do. I rang the church bell twelve times at twelve noon, once for each of the original disciples and to remind myself and all of us who we follow. Amidst the cloud of unknowing, is this enough?

This past week has been strange and surreal with the reality of the corona virus upon us.  Empty grocery store shelves.  Take out only in restaurants.  Schools shut and churches closed.  Social distancing and elbow bumps.  Empty streets.  This moment in time might forever change how we see the world and this moment might remind us of some eternal truths as well.