There was an opinion piece in one of the newspapers this week from Dr Aaron Bloch––

who is an infectious disease physician in Victoria––

elaborating on the ongoing strains on the health system caused by Covid.

In it, he began by asking…

“Is it strange to feel nostalgia for 2020?” 

And, then explaining…

“Yes, there was fear. Fear of the unknown, infection, death…But equally, there was hope. There was a unity of purpose…We looked forward to vaccines and better times ahead”. 

But now, two years on, he says “resilience is depleted” and the health system is on a “precipice”.

In large part, he suggests, that’s because of the “breathless commentators” who… 

“have succeeded in reducing the debate to a binary choice between lockdowns and ‘let it rip’”. 

Rather, he argues, we need 

“a more nuanced approach if we are to survive in the time of Covid…If only wishing it were over would make it so”.

 

Indeed…

I think we’re at an interesting junction in this pandemic.

Sure, we have some effective vaccines…

even if they don’t seem to offer strong, long-term protection.

And the current strains are certainly milder than earlier ones…

so the proportionate rate of serious illness and death is much lower…

and many more people have been infected with little or mild symptoms…

which makes it easier to think that it’s all been a bit of an over-blown fuss.

Add to that what psychologists describe as “compassion fatigue”––

and no one seems to care, now, how many new cases there are…

or how many hospitalisations…

or, even, how many deaths.

It seems that the majority of the community has simply moved on.

They’re trying to pick up where they left off at the end of Twenty-Nineteen.

And yet… 

if the mortality rate from Covid continues as it currently is…

there’s going to be about fifteen thousand deaths in Australia this year.

We put far more measures into place to try to curb the road toll––

which, at around a thousand per year nationally… 

is a fraction of that!

But, apart from doctors, like Aaron Bloch…

or people with weird immune systems, like me…

there probably aren’t too many others in the community who feel any sense of “nostalgia” for Twenty-Twenty.

 

How we understand…

evaluate…

and make use of the past is an interesting phenomenon.

Back when the pandemic started…

there were many analysts and commentators predicting––

or maybe just hoping––

that this would be a chance for a societal reset;

that we might be able to emerge from all of this with a stronger sense of community;

and a resolve to build a new, fairer, more compassionate society.

But the evidence so far seems to suggest otherwise.

In this case… 

our memories of the past few years haven’t shaped the future in the way that some of us had hoped it would.

If anything, perhaps, there’s a sense of reaching back for an earlier period of history.

The comparisons that were made between Anthony Albanese and Bob Hawke––

around the time of May’s federal election––

were perhaps an example of that.

 

According to the American psychologist, Benjamin Hardy…

who we are now…

and how we see the world now…

determines how we interpret the past.

There are things that happened in the past that–– 

given what we know now, or believe, or the values that we hold now––

are simply no longer acceptable.

But, more than that, Hardy claims who we are now affects how we remember the past.

Our memories of the past are not stored like physical objects in some archive.

How we feel…

how we think…

what we believe…

and what we value…

now…

affect the way that we remember the past…

and what we take from it for the future.

The past––

our memories of it…

and how we view and value it––

is not static or objective.

Thus, as Benjamin Hardy puts it…

“Your story and your view of the past is your responsibility”.

 

All of which brings us to our rather awkward reading from Hebrews this morning.

The author begins, here, by retelling something of the story of Moses at Mount Sinai––

that is, the story of the giving of the Ten Commandments.

But in his retelling of it, here, there’s actually no mention of the Ten Commandments at all.

Rather, he focuses on the sense of theophany…

that is…

the revealing of God, and their encounter with God.

And the emphasis here is on the fearful sights and sounds––

on the darkness and gloom, the thunder and lightning of God’s presence––

and the dangers associated with it––

how they would have died if they had touched the mountain.

His focus is on that, rather than anything positive.

Now, the author does that so that he can draw as powerful a contrast as possible…

with the more recent revealing of God––

and their encounter with God––

in the person of Jesus.

And he draws a clear, although not fully articulated contrast…

between the Hebrew covenant and law…

which came through Moses;

and the so-called “new covenant” that he claims is mediated by Jesus.

And, while he admits that this “new covenant” entails the promise of a new, heavenly Jerusalem––

where they will find the rest and respite that they long for––

and a new kingdom, of which they will be a part…

once again…

he seems to emphasise the negative side…

turning it all into a warning: 

“See that you do not refuse the one who is speaking”…

namely…

the God who is “a consuming fire”. 

The image we have, here, is of a fearful God––

One whom we ignore at our peril.

 

And, to be honest, it’s hard to find much here…

if anything…

that’s particularly edifying.

 

Now…

historically speaking… 

the author was writing to a community who were experiencing suffering and oppression… 

because of their faith.

And… 

although we wouldn’t imagine it from our reading this morning…

he was trying to encourage them––

to urge them to stay faithful––

because of the better future that was in store for them.

And that was, in fact, a common ploy in the ancient world.

We see it time and again in Paul’s letters, as well.

But that sort of “pie-in-the-sky-when-you-die” ideology was rightly criticised by Karl Marx…

because it encourages political passivity and quietism.

It also reflects a particular theological stance that the Swiss theologian… 

Karl Barth… 

once described as “the gospel at gunpoint”.

And we won’t even mention the image of God that’s presupposed here!

These are not ideologies, attitudes, or theologies that would sit comfortably with us…

given who we are now…

and, hence, how we read, value, and interpret the past…

or what we expect from the future.

 

Perhaps all that we can take from this…

is the reassurance that…

whatever we face… 

Jesus––

and hence God––

knows what we are going through;

that God, in a sense, remembers what it’s like to suffer;

and that, in that, is the kingdom that cannot be shaken…

and the reason that we live…

and worship God…

as we do.

Our future––

like our past––

is what we make of it.