Editor’s Note: We’ve been quarantined, locked down, and obliged to forego in-person worship. And like never before, we’ve come to see the hope of our faith in unexpected places. In a special section of our Summer issue, 10 of our brothers and sisters reflect on the thoughts that have come to their minds.  

Here, Scott Armstrong, lead pastor of City Church – Eastside in Atlanta, talks about his experience as one of Georgia’s earliest COVID-19 patients.

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The global pandemic is changing everyone’s life. But for me, that change has been far more personal than I could have ever imagined. 

On Tuesday, March 17, I was positively diagnosed with COVID-19, one of the first cases in Georgia. The diagnosis came after eight days of struggle with the classic symptoms: fever, aches, digestive issues, and a dry cough. The flu-like symptoms were manageable, but it was the shortness of breath with labored breathing that, by Day Six, caused the most concern. By the time my doctor phoned with the test results, my wife, Kerstin, and I were thinking it might be time for a trip to the emergency room. We decided to wait one more day, and in that time the viselike grip of the virus began to loosen, and I have since recovered physically. 

I am just now beginning the process of spiritual and emotional reflection. To date, three lessons have come to mind that I believe are worth sharing with you. 

First, we are collectively experiencing trauma on a scale many have never experienced. For a very small group of us, that trauma includes the physical disease. But we are all experiencing a shared “dark night of the soul” as we face a viral enemy we have never seen before. 

In addition to sickness, investment portfolios have been decimated, many are out of work, and our churches have been left reeling with a “new normal” of separation. One parent at our church shared with me that their child was not eating because of fear of sickness for “mommy and daddy.” New Testament scholar N.T. Wright, reflecting on the timing of COVID-19 during the Lenten/Easter season, said, “There is a reason solitary confinement is such a severe punishment. And this Lent had no fixed Easter to look forward to. We can’t tick off the days. This is a stillness, not of rest, but of poised, anxious sorrow.” 

Here’s why that matters: When you experience sorrow, loss, and suffering, you have to deal with your own trauma before you can help others. As a shepherd, I am regularly asked to deal with the crises and needs of others. Here is what I have learned: You can’t give away what you don’t possess. In other words, you can’t give the gospel — God’s grace, mercy, and love — to others until you’ve experienced it yourself. 

In the days immediately following my diagnosis, my story was picked up by the local news, and I was inundated by hundreds of emails and texts, many of which asked for prayer, support, and encouragement. (In the news story, I had shared my desire to help others, including anyone who desired prayer.)

It was the prayers of others, I believe, that God used to heal me. But despite my recovery, I quickly sank into a startling depression. I now realize that physical and emotional isolation from my wife and children, plus recognizing the severity of this disease for me and others, had forced me to confront the trauma I had been through. In anguish, I turned to the Psalms, and the Lord ministered their healing balm to me. He also, graciously, used my wife to help me process my grief. 

I recently talked with two pastors who acknowledged that they were stuffing their emotions during this crisis. I suspect that’s common. A question we must grapple with is, “Have I dealt with my own loss and grief first?” Jesus didn’t create us to be machines but to carry our laments to Him, the way the psalmists consistently do. Lament is a specific form of grief that says to God, “I am in anguish, and I don’t have answers.” Some of you may need to stop and talk with someone (including God, the one person we should not socially distance from!). Others will need to weep, crying out their anguish to the Lord. But whatever form our lament takes, it must be given over to God, who cares for the afflicted (Psalm 34:19). 

Second, we are called to wait with patience in the “in between” days. Listen to what Psalm 39:11 says (The Message): “When you put us through the fire to purge us from our sin, our dearest idols go up in smoke. Are we also nothing but smoke?” Is it even possible to read that and not see its application today? The Lord is stripping us of our cultural idol of control. Not actual control — we imagine we’re captains of our own destinies — but the illusion of control. 

Feeling out of control feels dangerous. It makes us feel vulnerable and on edge. As Christians, it forces us to decide whether we believe God is sovereign over the affairs of humanity, and if He is good no matter our suffering.

What’s more, a pandemic forces us to embrace a way of suffering the Father permits. St. John of the cross in the 16th century saw suffering as a test of integrity — until you have suffered and have allowed it to draw you to the heart of God, you have not understood the power of the Cross, that wretched, beautiful symbol of suffering love. 

COVID-19 bled the toxin of control right out of me. A few days into my illness, I woke angry and irritable. It was so obvious that my 10-year-old called me on it. I don’t get sick very often, and when I do it rarely lasts more than a day, but this was grinding me down day after day, and I was angry. 

I eventually recognized what was happening and brought it before God in repentance, but in my sickness I saw the gap between my good theology and my actual beliefs. 

This pandemic is testing you, too. Much as Paul does in Romans 8, we groan, along with all of creation (v. 22), as we await God’s complete redemption. But we also know our stories aren’t determined by a virus. For the foreseeable future, we have a “new normal” that feels constricting and sometimes makes us fearful. But in God’s narrative, COVID-19 means that I can worship the Father and see His mighty hand, even in a virus (and, indeed, being able to share the gospel as I have, has been proof that God does not waste pain). And so it begs the question: “What is God seeking to bleed out of you in this now but not yet time of waiting?” 

The beautiful work of Christian faith is to bring the truth of a complete, final redemption to bear upon our present moment.

Finally, God is bringing resurrection life out of death. In John 12:24, Jesus says, “Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” In resurrection life, grieving and loss break us, but they also change us, maturing us if we pursue God in the suffering (James 1:2-4). 

Over the years, I have asked God for revival in the Western Church. I have asked Him to mature my faith and do the same for others. COVID-19 is an opportunity for the church. It is an opportunity to suffer collectively and individually, but in the face of fear and anxiety to offer a different narrative. In the ancient church, amid plagues hitting the Roman Empire, many fled the cities while the church remained. They cared for the sick and needy, and many were converted to the faith as a result. If this life is all there is, it makes sense to flee. It makes sense to squeeze all the “life” out of today if there is no tomorrow. But the incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection of Jesus Christ tell us that God remains behind, not just to care for the anguished but to lament. At the Cross, we hear Jesus utter the words of Psalm 22: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” He knows what it means to be in agony. And the resurrection tells us that God came back, bringing eternal life that can never be destroyed. Indeed, COVID-19 reminds us that a virus can destroy the body but cannot touch the soul. 

I love the hymn “How Firm a Foundation.” It was published in 1787 by John Rippon, though original authorship is unknown. Listen to these words: 

“Fear not, I am with thee; oh be not dismayed
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid
I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand 
Upheld by My righteous,
omnipotent hand

When through the deep waters
I call thee to go
The rivers of sorrow shall
not overflow
For I will be with thee, thy
troubles to bless 
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress. 

When through fiery trials thy pathways shall lie 
My grace all sufficient shall be
thy supply. 
The flame shall not hurt thee;
I only design
Thy dross to consume and thy gold to refine.

The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose
I will not, I will not desert to
its foes.
That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake 
I’ll never, no never, no never forsake.” 

He may purge us like dross, but He never forsakes His people, and He gives us all the resources we will ever need to live without fear. The beautiful work of Christian faith is to bring the truth of a complete, final redemption to bear upon our present moment. Years from now, we will look back and see this pandemic as a pivotal moment in our stories. The question we will ask is, “How did we respond and was the Lord glorified in our response.

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