Jamie Greening's Blog, page 30

All You Need Is Free

Derek Elkins is on deck again today with what he calls an, (checks notes) “allegory” which I looked up and learned that is a fancy word for something that makes you go “hmmm”. Seriously, it is a very thought provoking read and gets those juices flowing with some outstanding wordsmithing.

Tomorrow’s COVID freebie comes from Joe Shaw and then we round out the week with Kathy Kexel. Our plan is to keep ’em coming as long as we/most of us are on some kind of lockdown. This is our way of hanging in there together, because if we’ve learned anything else, it is that we need each other to live the full lives we all desire.

Click on Agent Smith’s sunglasses to read Virus. Enjoy!

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Another Free Story — And An Old Friend

I confess a nostalgia in writing this story for today. Anyone who has read my books knew these short stories would eventually have to include some favorites of mine. Writing this scene — and that is really more what it is, a scene from a book I will never write but I can see and feel the whole book right now — writing this scene was like visiting an old friend after a long absence.

Oh, and I also had a good time writing lyrics to songs in a genre I know nothing about.

We will be back at it tomorrow, Thursday, and Friday with more free COVID Captivity Chronicles. No gimmicks. No paywalls. No newsletter signups. Just outstanding content. Of Course, if you like what you read, we do have these books you can buy . . .

Until then, Enjoy!

The Package

A Butch Gregory Short Story

By Jamie D. Greening

Wyoming Wallace couldn’t help noticing the outstanding legs walking so close to his face. It pleased him even further when the beautiful face attached to the outstanding body carried by those legs stopped right in front of his seat: 22A. “Sir, there are only six passengers on this flight, so we’re gonna seat you in first class.” She beckoned him with her finger, “Follow me.”

“I’d follow you anywhere,” he mumbled. She turned around and smiled. He didn’t know if she heard him or was being polite. He hoped she heard.

“You can sit here in aisle four. Would you like something to drink?”

“Whiskey. Neat.” Wyoming stretched out his legs. The flight across the Pacific was packed because it was the only one in the next two weeks. A little comfort felt good.

The flight attendant returned with a tumbler generously filled. He thought she lingered a bit longer than was necessary, as if wanting him to make a move, even if it was small talk. Wyoming wanted to, but he didn’t have time for that. Not on this flight. It still flattered him though.  At thirty-seven years old, he still had it.

The plane landed thirty minutes early.

The mood inside the airport was a strange mix of normalcy and fatalism. It still surprised Wyoming how much the world had changed. And how fast. The first wave of COVID in the spring of 2020 spawned the phenomena of social distancing and restrictions upon gatherings. That worked, for a time. Now humanity was up to its proverbial eyeballs in wave two of the virus. The second wave hit with a hard iron punch, made worse by foolish political mechanizations to downplay the risk. Society abandoned social distancing. People returned to normal lifestyles, like flying, picnics, church, and visiting sick people in the hospital. They accepted the fatalism of doom: there was nothing to be done but wait for your turn to get sick, so why bother. Behavioral scientists called it the COVID-19 Catch-22. It was a no-win situation. Everyone would get it eventually. Why make the time between miserable. If you die, you die. A compilation hip-hop album in the winter of 2021 by the title 19-22 shortened the lingo for the common vernacular. People soon referred to the disease itself as the 19-22. As if on cue with his thoughts, the canned music in the corridor played the title song. 

The cough, the chills—the pain in the head

19-22 make you wish you were dead

Blame Fauci, China, Trump or Milan

Kiss yo mama bye, cuz humanity is gone 

Y’all

Wyoming didn’t delay. He’d cleared customs in Los Angeles, and only had his carry on. He was headed south on I-5 before the plane’s captain had gotten out of the bathroom. His black Jeep darted around sedans and vans. Time was important. For the last two years, time was all that mattered. 

He was fifteen minutes from Tacoma General Hospital when a black Hummer and a gray Chevy Silverado matched his speed. The Hummer took a position to his left and the Silverado squatted in front of him. The window on the passenger side of the Hummer rolled down. A young buck with a Fu Manchu pointed for him to exit. 

Wyoming did not recognize the man, but he knew who had sent him. He had no intention of stopping. To stop would mean death, probably for him, and certainly for Lucy. That wasn’t happening, not on Wyoming Wallace’s watch.

He smiled at the Hummer, as if to obey and waved forward to distract. He reached into the bag beside him in the Jeep and pulled out his .45. He almost forgot to roll down his own window. When he did, he fired the pistol toward the man in the window. The bullet exploded into his skull throwing blood and brain all over the leather interior. The Hummer screeched, lurched across the far lane, and collided into a series of road construction barrels before smashing into an unoccupied Washington State Department of Transportation pickup truck.  

Wyoming swerved to the right lane and shot his pistol twice at the right rear tire of the Silverado, causing a blowout. He sped past the truck and put the pedal down.

He parked on the curb in front of the hospital’s main door. “You can’t park there,” shouted a security officer. 

“Sure, I can,” Wyoming snorted as he walked by him. “I just did.”

“I’ll have you towed.” The guard said.

“Go ahead. Wouldn’t be the first time. Won’t be the last,” Wyoming zipped by. 

He picked up in his peripheral vision a muscular man in a nice suit who started toward him as soon as he entered the atrium. Wyoming took advantage of the many mirrors in the hospital to confirm a man in a blue suit, white shirt, and a lavender tie was on his trail. What Wyoming didn’t notice was the other man watching him from the second level mezzanine. 

Wyoming entered the elevator and pushed the button for ICU. The blue suit got in the elevator and pushed the second floor. When the elevator doors opened, the second man, wearing black trousers and a dark leather jacket stepped into the lift and punched Wyoming in the stomach as the second man hit the close-door button.

Wyoming doubled over. “I didn’t see that coming. I must not be focused.” The bulging blue suit grabbed him and held his arms behind his back.

“Apparently not,” said the second man in a thick Russian accent. “I hope you do see, however, there is no way out. Give it to us and we let you live. It is that simple. We don’t want any bloodshed. We have worked so well together in the past. We don’t want this present unpleasantness to disrupt our future.”

“I’m sorry,” Wyoming said. “I can’t do that.”

“I was afraid you would say such.”

Wyoming noticed the elevator wasn’t moving. He wondered how long it would stay before the hospital staff became suspicious. Half-hour? Half-a-day? It could go either way. He didn’t have time to wait. 

“Well,” Wyoming said. “I am a little pigheaded. I get that from my mother’s side of the family.” 

“I am impatient,” the second man said. “I get that from my father’s side of the family,” and with that he wailed on Wyoming with his left and right hands, striking him in the stomach and face. “Give it to us.”

Wyoming shouted, “Okay, okay.” He caught his breath. “I can tell you guys mean business. Free my hand and I’ll get it.” The dark leather jacket nodded to the blue suit, who then let go of Wyoming’s left hand. Wyoming reached into his denim jacket as if to extract what the men wanted, but instead he pulled out his knife from his belt. With one motion he slit the throat of the second man and then switched the angle of the knife in his hand as he brought it back behind him and shoved it into the kidneys of the bulging blue suit. It was one fluid motion that in hindsight, Wyoming recognized was inspired. 

He pushed the button for ICU on the elevator and felt it kick back to life. He hoped no one would be waiting for it when it reached the floor. The mess he’d made would be a little hard to explain. He pushed the two dead men to the corner. 

Fortunately, no one was waiting for the elevator. He made his way down the hallway

Lucy Gregory was in the fourth bed. Every room on the ICU wing was occupied with a COVID-19 patient. Every patient had a ventilator. The survival rate was only twenty percent once a patient went that severe. Wyoming looked at all the people, most of them his age or younger. The first wave took the older folks. This wave was taking everyone else. 

Paul, Butch and Lucy’s youngest child, their only son, sat on a bench outside his mother’s room. “Where is your father?” Wyoming said as he approached.

“With mom,” Paul said. “He hasn’t left her. Not in days.”

“Sarah?” Wyoming said. Because of their dream experience, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, he felt a special connection to the young woman who was his friend and the Gregory’s oldest child.

“She is still in Seattle at the Army field hospital in Seahawks Stadium.” Paul scowled. “I asked her to come but she said she had unfinished business. She said Mom would be okay. She said you were coming with help.” Paul looked up, “Did you bring help?”

“We’ll see,” Wyoming said.

Butch sat in a chair next to his wife. He held her hand and was reading the Bible to her.

“Reading anything good?” Wyoming asked. 

“Psalm 91,” Pastor Butch Gregory said. He looked up at his friend and began to quote:

You will not fear the terror of the night,

Nor the arrow that flies by day,

Nor the pestilence that stalks in darkness,

Nor the destruction that wastes at noonday.

Butch rose from his chair. The two hugged. Wyoming said, “My friend in Hong Kong told me to inject it into her arm like a booster shot.” He pulled a syringe from his inside pocket. “Four years ago, I would not have been able to board a plane with this.” He handed it to the pastor. “Security aint what it used to be.” A tired smile formed on his face. “The old man told me within six hours she will be breathing on her own. Tomorrow the fever will break. In two days, she will be well.”

“How can I trust this?” Butch said. “If this were a cure, a real cure, wouldn’t the whole world know about it? So many have died. So much has been lost.” 

“Trust me, Reverend. It will work.” Wyoming wiped his bleeding lip with his thumb. “I don’t know why it is not available to everyone. There is a reason China has avoided the death rates the rest of the world has suffered. It started there, and they knew about it long before we did. They must have developed a cure.” Wyoming stepped to the other side of the hospital bed. “There are powerful people trying to keep this secret.”

Butch prayed, “O Lord of life and death, I commit this to you. You give and you take away. Please give me back my wife. In Jesus’ name. Amen.”

He injected his wife then sat back down in the chair.  

The Rona Is Out There!

The COVID Chronicles features a new writer to our team, Robert Cely, who scares the Ravioli out of us with The Rona. It is written in such a wonderful style reminiscent of the mid-century science fiction writers.

Tomorrow I’m up, and I have a special treat for the two or three people out there who have actually read my books.

Click on the very decidedly off-brand can of ravioli to read Rob’s wonderful story.

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Some Side Effects May Include: Awesome FREE Stories

Kathy Kexel finishes up our week of free COVID Captivity chronicles with a fascinating tale about Charlie. We have officially done three weeks now, and are raring to go with more free stories next week. Original coconspirator Joseph Courtmanche leads off on Easter Sunday, then my old friend and outstanding talent Rob Cely goes on Monday, then me on Tuesday, Wunderkind Derek Elkins on Wednesday, Joe Shaw on Thursday and then Kathy Kexel again next Friday.

Shaw used a picture of ZZ Top on his blog, and who am I to disagree with such a wonderful choice. Click on Billy Gibbons to read Kathy’s story, Side Effects.

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Lent Pictures–Lent Thoughts

Through the season of Lent I posted over thirty pictures to social media with quotations over the spiritual themes of Lent. It all started by accident. I wrote out in a red marker a quote I was reading from St. Augustine, and then the next day I wrote out another one not he white board and posted, and then a trend set in.

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By that first weekend I had an idea of what I wanted to do. I outlined a pattern of Fridays being Bible verses, Saturdays would be song references, Thursdays would be inspiring quotes of Christian content, Tuesdays would be pop culture and literature references and Monday’s would be primarily theological in nature.

My method was to create the quote in an analogy way. Yes, it would be delivered digitally in the photograph, but I wanted it to be real items like paper, chalk, ink, wood. For the most part I succeeded in this. The one exception was to get a typewriter font I used my Mac, but it is actually printed on paper.

There were some quotes I intended to use but never did. For example, I intended to use a Brene Brown quote where she says, ‘Sometimes the bravest and most most important thing you can do is just show up.” I love the quote and have taught my children for yeas that 90% of success is just showing up. However, in the midst of the COVID-19 crisis when we are encouraging people to stay home I decided that might send the wrong message and people might misunderstand that I was one of those misinformed and misguided people who think social distancing is a bunch of bunk. By contrast, I am a historian. I know full well the danger of a pandemic.

I also wanted to use a Stephen King quote I like — “Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win.” It is a good quote for Lent, but I just never got to it. Another one I wanted to use was “You can’t fight in the war room” from Dr. Strangelove but alas, it didn’t happen. I wanted to put up one day one of my favorite thoughts on Lent — “Why do they call it a fast when it goes so slow?”

Brene Brown, Anne Lamott, and James the Brother of Jesus got the most comments and likes.

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I must admit I was surprised most of these didn’t get more attention. But who knows how the FB algorithms work, right? I’ll probably reuse them again next year, with perhaps a few more added in. Until then they are posted here for you to peruse, or if you want swipe them and post them to your page. I don’t care. These were my arts and crafts projects for the spring.

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Remember That Time The Devil MADE You Do It? — Free Story!

“Jane Austen Meltdown” is all you need to know about why you should read the second installment of Joe Shaw’s Two More titled ‘A Pool of Blood.’ If you missed last week’s first part (or have slept since then) click here and read it first. Then read part two. Click on the parking garage below to read ‘A Pool of Blood.’

In the meantime, if you’ve missed the other stories this week — Derek Elkins enjoyed a demon possession on the side with his dinner on Monday (click here), Joseph Courtemanche burned St. Paul to the ground on Tuesday (click here), and I terrified you with academics in space yesterday (click here). Kathy Kexel is up tomorrow.

These are all free stories, and we will keep them coming as best we can during this COVID Captivity.

Enjoy!

[image error] click on the shopping cart to read Part Two of Two More

Academia — A Free Short Story

Let the free stories roll!

Today I add my next tale. I started off with a science fiction origin story two weeks ago (click here for Patient Zero) and then went for the personal trauma last week (Click here for The Last Message). This week I go back with the science fiction genre in a fun story I have set in the same universe of my current work in progress, a novel tentatively titled St. Carl of Mars.

Tomorrow, Joe Shaw gives us the next edition of his Devil meets a divorcee story and Kathy Kexel is up for Friday. We have added a few other writers, including Derek Elkins who went on Monday (Click here for A Night Out) and Robert Cely to the stable, so be looking for their pieces as well.

Enjoy!

Academia

By Jamie D. Greening

The academic flagship Biblioteca came out of cruising speed and took a low orbit around the planet BH-34. A transport vehicle hovered over the southern pole. As soon as communication was established between the two, the Bibliotecaopened its loading bays and received the taxi. Andrew Stratskin, a native of the plutonium mines on Saturn, stepped out.

A middle-aged woman stood alone in the hangar. “Stratskin, please follow me.”

He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. Stratskin wore the traditional gray plaid pants and matching coat with a red tab shirt underneath. On his head was the traditional triangular mortar board worn by academic candidates during their committee interview. This was the last hurdle between him and his dream of becoming a full-fledged scholar. If his research was approved, the Biblioteca would become his new home and he would be a credentialled member of the academy. The rest of his life would be dedicated to learning, teaching, and discovery. 

If he did not attain approval, he would have to go back to Saturn and start all over, which could take years, assuming he had the emotional fortitude to do it. Most who weren’t approved left academia forever and took up jobs in the low-esteemed industry of television and movies. No one ever made money or became famous in movies. Failure to get approved in his interview was a career death sentence. 

“Here is your interview room. They are waiting for you,” his escort walked away with no further words.

Stratskin took a deep breath, counted to four, exhaled, and then walked in. Three people sat in the room. His advisor, a man named Professor Carmichael, stood up to welcome him. “It is good to see you in person, Stratskin. Our conversations have been good, but in person is always better. I want you to know however this turns out, you are to be congratulated on writing a thorough and riveting study.”

“Thank you,” Stratskin said. “I found the material interesting. I think I could spend another three years on it.” 

“Maybe you should,” Said the woman who sat on the left side of the glass top table. “There has not been enough research done on this topic. At least not to my liking. Everyone is either too interested in the Greek antiquities or overly involved in The Conflagration. We could use rigorous study about these smaller epochs.” She smiled at him, but it was the kind of smile which made him nervous. The smile said, “I may engage in playful banter with you or I may devour your weak arguments like a tiger eats deer. It all depends on my mood.” Did her jab at needing rigorous study mean she found his presentation weak? Doubt crept in. 

Carmichael extended his long arm, “This is Professor Nguyen of the University of New Rome on Mars. She is in residence here on the Biblioteca working on her next book. Nguyen is an expert on Earth history between the Roman Empire and The Conflagration. I asked her to be a part of your committee because of her interest in the field.”

Nguyen nodded.

Carmichael pivoted and smiled at the third person in the room. “This is Professor Lee. He is the Dean of North American artifacts on the museum vessel Palestine. No one knows more about the material evidence of your preferred time period than he does, so I asked him to be a part of your review committee.”

Profesor Lee did not move or change expression. 

“Have a seat here at the head of the table, Stratskin.” Stratskin sat down. Carmichael continued. “We have all read your work and made several notes. We don’t think this will be a long interview because you have been very thorough. We met this morning over breakfast and came to several conclusions. To start, we’d like for you to give us the summary point of your work.”

Stratskin sat up straight like his mother told him to. He wiped his hands on his pants again. “My thesis is the COVID-19, also known as the coronavirus, was the underlying impetus which eventually hurled humans into space colonization. Without the virus, we might not ever have left earth.”

Nguyen squinted her eyes. “Yes, we saw that in your opening. In a paragraph or two, summarize the events, as you understand them, of the COVID-19 plague.”

“Well,” Stratskin said, “The virus started, originally, in Asia. We don’t know where, but it quickly spread across the planet. The hardest hit people group in the first two waves were in North America, a people who called themselves American. The virus made three passes around the planet before herd immunity kicked in. It was on the second pass around when the leader of the Americans, a man named George Washington, ordered the quarantining of the scientific and industrial leaders in a place called Pentagon. Given the name of the place, and our knowledge that ‘penta’ means five, we believe this was a five-province region in the west where the virus had been mitigated earlier. The concentration of scientific and financial means created the social and material matrix for the building of the first off-planet living vessels before the third wave came.”

Stratskin paused, but no one interrupted so he continued. “My research indicates the third wave was so disastrous the only organized civilization left was these Americans in the west.” 

“Wait a minute, Stratskin.” Professor Lee spoke with a deep register. “We have an artifact in our museum from around this same time. Dating these things is difficult because of the radiation contamination, but we have identified the leader of the Americans as being a man named Fauci. The artifact is an image of him standing in front of a podium, and on that podium is a seal that represents the leadership tribe of these Americans. I have always accepted he was the leader, yet you are convinced it was this man named Washington. Defend your claim.” 

Stratskin fought the urge to get defensive, yet he needed to stand firm. “I have seen that image. It is the only proof of this man called Fauci, and I find it difficult to make a generalization from what might have been a one-off moment.” He cleared his throat. “By contrast, the oral and epigraphical documents that have survived repeat over and over again the name of Washington.” He suddenly noticed the glass of water on the table. Assuming it was for him, he took a drink. “Most information about the Americans was destroyed in The Conflagration. But numerous times historical documents refer to phrases like, ‘Washington says’ and ‘This in from Washington.’ Plus, there is a giant etching in the hills of the western part of the American continent that we believe to be a portrait of their greatest leader, George Washington, and his three sons. We know a person named George Washington existed and was considered the greatest leader of the American tribe. It makes sense he was the leader during the greatest crisis, the Covid-19 Conundrum.”

“If George Washington even existed.” Professor Lee said. “I have my doubts about the Americans. They were a brief flash in the pan, a highly superstitious people prone to worshipping many gods such as Lincoln, Apple, and Football. Washington was probably just another mythic god they bowed to on key holy days.”

Stratskin didn’t back down. “I agree with their pantheism tendencies. I also agree the holy days in July and November were of outsized importance. However, that doesn’t mean Washington never existed or he was myth. Myth is often based on fact.”

Nguyen smiled again. She twirled her hair. “You may be right, or wrong. We will never know, really. However, that has little bearing on your three main conclusions. The first two are almost cliché so they are not worth working ourselves over.”

“I’d hardly call them cliché,” Carmichael said. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Stratskin.

Stratskin squirmed. “I understand your point, Professor Lee. It is widely accepted the first interplanetary vessels were built and launched in the context of the COVID-19 plague and the human population shrank to roughly half its size with the largest amount of deaths coming from the European regions. But still, these facts were important to establish for the overall thesis of COVID-19 creating the desire to leave the planet.”

“You went farther than that, though, didn’t you Candidate Stratskin?” Lee tapped on the table. “You make the incredible leap from the facts of leaving Earth to the reason for the exodus.”

“I did,” Stratskin said. “Pestilence and plagues are a part of life in all its expressions. This is true of humans, animals, and plants throughout the universe. The difference was humans were the first species in history to see the possibility of extinction and then find an ultimate solution. By spreading throughout the solar system, starting with Mars, we safeguarded the race from extinction by disease.”

“You hypothesize a parallel I find curious,” Carmichael said. “Our histories teach humans left Earth because of a yearning for exploration and discovery, and parallel that with the discovery coming out of the Middle Ages of new continents. Our tradition teaches us about the noble human spirit and the boldness of our conquests. But,” Carmichael shook his head, “that is not your parallel.”

“No, not discovery. Need drove humans to the stars.” Stratskin felt rightness flow in his veins. Whether he was approved or not, he believed what he’d written was true. The belief and passion now came out of his mouth. “We were afraid. We were needy. Like hunter gather humans chasing migrating herds to stay alive. We were more like humans leaving changing environments to temperate climates. In short, we are made for survival. Leaving Earth was another repetition of our innate reaction to fear and change. It has happened repeatedly in our past, and it will happen again. We’d fought the disease and won, but we knew we might not win next time, so we opted for flight.”

“Again?” Lee said. “You say it will happen again? I find that hard to believe given the vast growth of the human species and our technological sophistication. That is not a part of your research paper, and it is bold claim.”

“That’s right. I omitted speculation, as I view that as something less than academic. It is my belief, born from research, that no level of advancement can guarantee security or protection from disaster. Systems decline and things happen. The Americans probably had no reason to believe they were in any danger until they were right in the middle of it. These are my beliefs, and not the facts. When I was in primary education aboard the academic vessel Nicea, Professor Wentrick instilled within us the practice of only reporting fact.”

“I studied under Wentrick, too.” Nguyen was smiling again. “His tests were hard, weren’t they?”

“Especially the pop quizzes.” Stratskin nodded and took another drink. 

“I hated those pop quizzes,” Lee said.

Now a smile appeared on Stratskin’s face at the thought they’d all studied under Wentrick. He opened his mouth to say Wentrick’s classes were the hardest he ever had, but he learned more from him than any other. He never got the chance. Carmichael stood up, “I think that is all we need. Go on outside and you will be escorted to the lounge. We will notify you shortly of our decision.” 

A sense of relief washed over him as he rose from his seat. “Thank you for your time and your attention. He nodded in each of their direction and then left.” 

When he arrived at the lounge, he found a seat by the viewing window and looked down upon BH-35. It was mostly water, with only two small continents close together on the equator. He’d come here as a final place of solitude to prepare for the interview. His mind replayed it. He thought of seventeen different things he should have said. He had just convinced himself to pack his bags for a return to Saturn when Carmichael walked in.

“Welcome to the faculty, Professor Stratskin.”  

Story Time With Santa Joe

This is not a Santa story.

Joe can tell a good Santa story, but this Covid Captivity Chronicles freebie is more akin to dystopia. In fact, when I read it I thought of Trashcan Man — and if you know who that is — you’ll probably love Joe’s story. Even if you don’t now who that is, you’ll love this story.

Joe gives us a bonus today, you can also hear him read it. One of Joe’s many specialties is reading audiobooks. He has a great voice.

Tomorrow I post a new story — and we have freebies all the way to the end of the week.

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Click on the fiery picture to read Joe’s story.

And Now It’s Time For Something A Little Different: A Free Story!

This week we kick off our free COVID Captivity stories with a non-Covid tale from a new writer who has joined our conspiracy, Derek Elkins. Remember, there is no gimmick, no fee, no paywall, no newsletter sign up. We just want to entertain you a bit while you’re stuck at home without sports or reality television. If you like what you read, feel free to buy our books, available at Amazon. But no commitment necessary.

Click on the table to read Derek Elkins A Night Out. Enjoy!

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Tomorrow Joseph Courtemanche is on deck, and then that hack Greenbean takes a shot at it on Wednesday.

The Lentiest–A Meditation for Palm Sunday 2020

This is the lentiest Lent that I ever lented.

Today is Palm Sunday — the paradoxical day when we cry out in joy “Hosanna” but also cringe at the cross looming on Friday. It is the last Sunday of Lent, but also the beginning of Easter week.

Ash Wednesday seems like a whole other universe, that cold winter’s night when we gathered and spoke of our own mortality — ‘From ashes you came, to ashes you shall return’ and promised to follow Jesus on the lonely path of prayer and devotion. We started our fast by faith, not knowing where it would lead us.

There is nothing quite like a global pandemic to get your attention on the issues of mortality. People’s lives are in jeopardy. Medical supplies are running out. The world is shut down. People are afraid. This new reality focuses our prayers. We started praying for Wuhan. Then we prayed for Italy. Then Spain. Some of us prayed for Iran because the news looked like they got hit harder than admitted. Then we prayed for Washington State — that hit close to home. Now we pray for New York, where doctors, nurses, and all hospital personnel put their own lives at risk everyday to save others. And bodies are being stored in cooling trucks because there is no room in the morgue.

We are driven to ours knees in prayer for our communities for the virus to pass without fatalities, and that it passover us.

From ashes we came. To ashes we return.

Lentish in the extreme.

The question of Lent is how do we fill our lives with meaning between the ashes.

The quest of Lent is to live a life dedicated to God in such a way that makes the world better. This is what we will be judged on in eternity. This is the call of Lent — to draw closer to God in Christ because the world we live in, though important, is not the place where we find ultimate meaning. We are passing through. Our citizenship is elsewhere. Nevertheless, it is here in this place where we learn the secrets to the next: the fulfillment of sacrifice, the work of love, the joy of service, the power of truth, and meaning of hope.

Lent calls us to fast — depriving our body and our minds of normal, everyday comforts so we can focus upon Christ. This fasting is not a punishment but a process for controlling our appetites with discipline. Normally we do this by depriving our body of sugar, chocolate, bread, entertainment or something banal. This year, the fasting was abrupt and involuntary; fasting was hoisted upon faithful and faithless alike.

We were deprived of our social interactions and forced to face ourselves and our families. Do you think the Lord might be teaching us something spiritual here?

We were deprived of basic material goods we take for granted. No longer were people clamoring for the latest gadget but the most important thing on people’s minds was toilet paper. Is it possible there is something spiritual the Lord is teaching us?

Milk, rationed; the meat aisle was depleted. There is no flour on the baking aisle, either. So very lenty.

I don’t mean to be too over-the-top, but you’ll pardon me for thinking the Lord said to all of us, ‘Yeah, you could do without for a little while.’

The lentiest Lent that I ever lented.

The Lenten/Easter cycle is always in parallel with the Exodus/Passover narratives both theologically and temporarily, as they fall about the same time. Anyone who ever doubted God could bring the powerful Egyptian Empire to its knees by controlling the water, the livestock and the weather should observe how the world has buckled. I am not saying God brought about COVID-19 as a plague. I am saying life teaches lessons about reality.

Lent is about the power of God and spiritual strength. Though these times are hard, and this Lenten season is unique and will forever in our lives be remembered as the year without Easter, perhaps it will be the most significant and spiritually meaningful Easter. The reason is simple. Lent is that wonderful annual remembrance to prioritize what matters and to cut away those things which do not.

The lentiest Lent I ever lented will produce the easteriest Easter I ever eastered. Amen.