Guest contributor, Friday 24 April 2020

Perhaps through this lockdown God is making us more appreciative.

One of the ugliest things about us humans is our capacity to take for granted that which ought to be treasured. God continually casts pearls before us, and we, like swine, trample them under our feet. Maybe now, however, we are starting to notice some of the pearls, pick them out of the soil and hold them up to the light. If so, the lockdown has served a useful purpose.

Some of the delights we are belatedly beginning to appreciate are those which have not been taken from us. Unable, now, to spend a day at the coast, drive up to the Highlands or fly off to Europe’s finest resorts, we have discovered that the beauty of God’s creation is closer to hand. It is there in the delicate white petals floating onto our gardens from blossoming trees. It is there in the graceful constellations briefly glimpsed as we draw our curtains on the incoming night. It is there in the exuberant singing of the birds, sounding louder than ever in this stiller world we now inhabit. Formerly, we overlooked these doorstep wonders, but appreciation is slowly dawning. If, as Calvin said, creation is the theatre of God’s glory, lockdown has made us realise that our own backyards form part of the stage.

More poignantly, however, there are delights which have been taken from us, and it is their sudden absence that has provoked a surge of appreciation. Perhaps chief among these is the experience of being with God’s people. We always knew in theory that it was a precious thing. We would pray on Sundays thanking God for the freedom we had to gather together. But, never dreaming that this freedom could desert us, we did not feel really thankful. Singing and praying, chatting and laughing together as a church family – these were just ordinary fixtures in our weekly schedule.

Now, in the depths of lockdown, we see how we undervalued them. The suspension of our gatherings has left us echoing David’s wistful words written from the state of exile into which Saul had driven him: ‘As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones, in whom is all my delight’ (Ps. 16:3). Communicating remotely with each other, we share the Apostle John’s yearning: ‘Though I have much to write to you, I would rather not use paper and ink [or Facebook Messenger!]. Instead I hope to come to you and talk face to face, so that our joy may be complete’ (2 Jn. 12). We feel that we shall never again jump into the car and speed off to worship on a Sunday morning in a spirit of banal routine; never again take our seats alongside Christian brothers and sisters at 10.30 am as though it were the most natural activity in the world.

But that is just the thing. We may feel that way now, but once coronavirus is a distant memory and things have been back in full swing for months or years, will our Sunday morning outlook actually be any different from what it used to be? That swine-like capacity to trample God’s pearls will easily rear its head again. We must pray that we shall retain forever the lessons learned in these days. We must pray, particularly, that we shall always recognise appreciatively those divine blessings which, during lockdown, we suddenly saw with brilliant clarity.