This is the way.

2 Corinthians 3:18

And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.

My husband and I started watching ‘The Mandalorian’ at the start of quarantine. If you don’t know much about the series, it follows the Star Wars genera and is about a sect of people called “The Mandalorians.” The Mandalorians are people who wear a very specific type of armor and are generally contracted bounty hunters. They have a code that each Mandalorian is to follow and one of the rules is that they are to never show their face. Whenever asked to take off their armor or why they do things the way they do, a Mandalorian’s response is always; “This is the way.”  

I wonder if the writers of the Mandalorian knew what 2020 had in store. I imagine that this series might help children feel safe and empowered behind masks. I have to admit that I hate masks, in fact I would rather get Covid for two weeks at its worst than to have to use a mask for the next year. The mask for me has caused discomfort, difficulty breathing, anxiety, and even facial irritation, and that is just on a personal level. Externally, it seems that in the past ten months we have been dehumanizing one another, name calling and lumping everyone into groups of “selfish,” “reckless,” or “self righteous”. The masks have become more of a symbol for individuals to identify where they stand in this pandemic as opposed to a simple aid in preventing the spread of a virus. Masks have become a dividing line for many, and perhaps given confidence to others to fight battles they otherwise wouldn’t fight. For me the mask represents oppression, I would shut up and deal with it if the statistics made sense and showed that they were in fact preventing the spread. Instead, the mask has become a power trip, a moral high ground, an anxiety inducer, and an obligatory pain in the butt for so many. This is the way.  

mask on during preaching

This past Sunday was the first time our church gathered (legally) since last March. My husband had to sign an agreement with the government of Argentina back in March. The agreement basically stated that he had been informed of the new laws and that the church could be fined and shut down should they fail to comply with the laws (holding worship was against the law at the time). The laws are constantly changing and as of recent we have been allowed to reopen the church under certain limitations. There are several rules in place including; no more than 10 people in the church, the windows must be open, there must be a towel on the floor covered in bleach at the entrance, and accessible hand sanitizer. In addition, everyone must practice social distancing, and wear a mask (even the pastor, at all times). I expected this day to be a day of rejoicing as the body of Christ reunited and joined together under one head. Instead, it was rushed, due to a law mandating we allow 30 minutes of vacancy in the church between activities. I was going to take a stand and not go to worship since I didn't want to worship with a mask on but I recalled a valid point stating; "If you have an excuse for not going to church, you probably weren't going for the right reasons in the first place." I felt out of breath saying the Lord’s prayer and creed behind a mask, my mouth and skin have been breaking out which makes it even more uncomfortable. We are getting into summer so we are all uncomfortably sweating behind our masks. What should be a time focusing on the Word of God and a time to boldly confess Christ and the many and various ways He has and continues to care for us, has become a pageantry of “who wears it best” or rather; who is most faithful to God and government? The pastor is difficult to hear as the members fidget with their masks. We no longer see each other unveiled but hidden behind masks. The mask for me is representative of a law that has held back worshipers from enjoying hymns of praise without baited breath and to hear the word of God without strained and labored ears.  

After the worship I did as I have been doing for most of the pandemic, I put on my home congregation’s  worship service and I cleaned my kitchen. As each hymn I knew was played on the organ I sang at the top of my lungs unencumbered by the unsanitary, and ungodly piece of cloth I am required to wear in public but not in crowded restaurants. I sang as if the words we were singing should usher in the second coming of Christ. I sang as if by singing with God’s people our healing was being imposed upon us with far greater welcome than the imposition of all the laws put before us. I sang, remembering that we await a better country, that this is not all that there is. We sing together even though we are far apart recalling that one day, laws, borders, and governments shall be destroyed and we will live under Him in His kingdom and serve Him in everlasting righteousness, innocence, and blessedness forever. 

Come quickly, King of kings!

The King shall come when morning dawns and light triumphant breaks, When beauty gilds the eastern hills and life to joy awakes.

Not as of old a little child, to bear and fight and die, but crowned with glory like the sun that lights the  morning sky. 

Oh brighter than the rising morn when Christ, victorious, rose and left the lonesome place of death despite the rage of foes. 

Oh brighter than that glorious morn shall dawn upon our race the day when Christ in splendor comes and we shall see His face.

The king shall come when morning dawns and light and beauty brings. Hail, Christ the Lord! Your people pray: Come quickly, King of kings!

LSB 348