A Fearful Possibility? - or a Place of Shelter?

With news of a new variant named 'Omicron' by the WHO that may possibly dodge the effects of the vaccine on our immune systems, as well as being even more transmissible than the Delta version, it is clear that the pandemic is far from over. The fear of new variants has been acknowledged for some time, but now seems to have been realised due to the low take-up of vaccination in the global south. As one scientist said on the radio recently, 'none of us are safe until we are all safe', urging the fairer spread of vaccine into the poorer nations, now that rates of protection are fairly high in the developed world.

Our own island community has seen infection rates soar since the borders were re-opened in July. The freedom from 'non-pharmaceutical interventions' that we knew - mask wearing, social distancing etc - is now a distant memory as we are tasting what the rest of the British Isles and elsewhere have been going through in the last couple of years. Covid came even closer home to me recently when Diane, my wife, caught Covid and went through a couple of weeks of the symptoms of a really heavy cold, though thankfully nothing more. At the time of writing I am grateful to be still free of the infection.

But some of he stuff I learned during my long battle with life-threatening illness is helping me now. I realise, for instance, that I must make a decision not to let fear dominate here. Why should I be afraid if I know that my life is held in God's hands? Illness and death have always stalked the Earth since the earliest days of mankind, as have wars and famines, but God has always shown himself to be faithful. Christmas is the announcement of God breaking into our fallen humanity with the presence of the one who is described as 'Wonderful Counsellor, Mighty God, Prince of Peace and Everlasting Father'. None of the horrors of the pandemic have taken him by surprise and his hand is still on the tiller of history.

A prayer from the book of Psalms says; 'when my heart is overwhelmed within me, lead me to the rock that is higher than I'. (Psalm 61:2). If you are starting to feel fear's icy grip on your heart, you probably need to pray that too. The new variant may be coming, like another wave of evil, but God's rock is still strong enough for you and me to shelter by. That rock is Christ!

 

Scars of Victory!

 

Watching the Remembrance Day march-past at the UK Cenotaph in Whitehall, London, once again today, I am moved by the faces of the veterans in parade. Regathered after last year's pandemic shutdown, the serried ranks of the comrades, men and women, showed faces beaming with a sense of achievement. As the bands of the Coldstream Guards played wartime tunes they marched past in their thousands, medals jingling, berets askew, arms swinging, chests thrust forward with pride. Yet, for many, the march was a test of endurance. I saw several double amputees in full regalia tottering forward on their artificial limbs but keeping in step with their colleagues. There were guide dogs for blind veterans and several young people in uniform accompanying others. Some marchers were bearing their scars of war so bravely it seems that they were almost decorations, not disabilities.

In my book Through the Storms I describe this scene at the start of a chapter about bearing our scars with pride and not shame. So many of us do have scars from our encounters with pain, disappointment, trauma or battles of all kinds. I have many, both physical and emotional, from my own two decade long struggle with acute and chronic pancreatitis and the many long stays in hospital and appalling pain I endured. When I bared my torso for a medical examination recently the nurse exclaimed 'wow - that's not a scar; that's a shark attack!' The trauma of more than one 'near-death encounter' and long spells in intensive care has left its mark on my sub-conscious, and still affects me occasionally. But these veterans of war marching today by their thousands have reminded me again that our scars are not shameful - no, they speak of our overcoming, our victories.

If you are badly marked or impaired in some way either outwardly or within due to to trauma, hold your wounds up as badges of honour, not signs of disgrace. When Jesus overcame even death itself, his resurrected body still bore the marks of his traumatic death on the cross. They did not disappear in the glory of his victory precisely because they describe his triumph so clearly. Those wounds also become a sign to me of the way he enters into my own suffering so completely. They qualified Jesus as the perfect man as well as God, able to enter into our own battles and sufferings with complete understanding, and total victory.

So, scarred warrior, march on with pride, and when the devil reminds you of your past - just remind him of his future!