Remembering those we have lost

by Angie Sherer

As of this particular moment, we are almost one full year into the reality of this pandemic…
Comfort, O comfort my people— says our God… 

Over 2.5 million have died from this virus —over 500,000 of those deaths have been here in the US…over 16,000 of those have been our fellow Ohioans.
Comfort, O comfort my people— says our God… 

On March 20th last year, the virus claimed our first church member—a young vibrant man who was a beloved father and a devoted friend to many in our community and beyond… I’ve often wondered if that’s what took my friend Carolyn’s son, or my friend Sarah’s mom. So many were sick before we realized it was really here.
Comfort, O comfort my people— says our God…

Then throughout the spring and summer, we heard of cases. We lost friends and loved ones.  We said final good-byes through nurses, over FaceTime, on the iPad…  I officiated covid funerals in which the protocols traumatized the grieving in unimaginable ways…We’ve postponed memorials until we can gather safely… Still, feeling useless and near hopeless, we prayed for friends and family members.
Comfort, O comfort my people— says our God…

We’ve stood in hospital parking lots praying over buildings… In the fall, our church prayed over all our community schools and continued our regular parking lot prayers at the local hospitals, nursing homes, rehab centers, and assisted living communities…
Comfort, O comfort my people— says our God…

For this year,I haven’t held the hands of my people while praying…I haven’t prayed with a beloved from this life to the next.. I haven’t looked into the eyes of my beloved flock while reminding them they are drinking from the cup of life…I haven’t hugged my favorite curmudgeons or schemed and giggled with my “Seasoned” Sisters from the Monday morning small group…
Comfort, O comfort my people— says our God…

We recognize that the loss we are experiencing is more than relational—it’s time and space and memories and innocence and security…it’s a stark reminder of our own complicity in the brokenness of the world and of our own mortality. We grieve for this lost time, for all that has been lost and all that will never be.
Comfort, O comfort my people— says our God…

Lord, we ache with loss. We mourn the wives, husbands, partners, beloveds, mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, grandparents, relatives, friends, coworkers…all of those who have been lost to this virus.

Comfort, O comfort my people— says our God.

Let it be so. Amen.