Good Friday, Pandemics, and Great Aunt Jorsey

My Great Aunt Jorsey lived with us when I was growing up. Her name was Joyce, but she was called Joycie. I pronounced it with an r and never knew that was wrong until I was grown. Anyway, Aunt Jorsey liked to sit on the sofa, crocheting and dipping snuff. Sometimes I would plop down beside her and listen as she told stories about the olden days. One of those tales recounted the death of her sister, Cinda. That sounds like a horrific event to describe to a child, but I found it fascinating. You see, according to Aunt Jorsey, when Cinda took sick and died, there were others in the house who had been stricken with the same illness. Those who were well didn’t want the sick folks to know what had happened, so they slipped Cinda’s body out of the house through a window. As a kid, I knew nothing about the Spanish flu pandemic that took Cinda’s life. The account seemed other-worldly. A far-fetched fable from long ago and far away. It certainly had nothing to do with the life I knew. To be honest, I continued to see it that way until recent days. 

     Lately, I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I wish I knew more details, but no one who was actually there is still alive for me to question. Although the rest of the family survived the flu, everyone in that generation eventually succumbed to one thing or another. Even Aunt Jorsey, who lived into her nineties, ultimately left this earth.

     Death is the global health crisis from which no one escapes. We are all infected. We know that, of course, but it’s stressful to think about. So we distract ourselves in all sorts of ways, attempting to slip that reality quietly out the window. But then something like the Corona virus comes along, the world grows dark with death, and we are forced to stay put and think about it.

     In a way, it seems appropriate that the observance of Good Friday should occur during this time, when life as we know it has come to a halt. On a much greater scale, that’s what happened on the day Christ was crucified. The sun ceased to shine, and in darkness mankind was forced to be still and contemplate death. 

     So here I am today, doing just that. I’m thinking about Cinda and Jesus and COVID-19.

     It occurs to me that, when Aunt Jorsey told me the story of Cinda’s death, I knew I could believe her, even though it sounded far-fetched, because she spoke of her own experience. 

     The account of Jesus’ death is far more horrific than that of Cinda. His resurrection is far more fascinating, unlikely and far-fetched. Yet, I believe those events actually happened for the same reason I believed my aunt. As I read the account in scripture, the very One who experienced it speaks to my heart.   

      I’ve been wondering what Cinda’s family thought about in the days and years following her death when they saw the window her body had passed through. I hope they didn’t look at it, but rather through it. I hope they felt the Holy Spirit speak to them of life in a blade of grass. And sunlight dancing through trees.

     If a person had never seen those things and someone described them, would that person believe? Is it harder to trust that a tiny seed, buried in the dirt, can grow into a beautiful flower than that the one who created seeds and flowers can lay down his life and pick it up again? 

     I hope Cinda’s family knew that it was only her body they carried out that day. I hope the experience was a picture to them of another window, one that Cinda, as a follower of Christ, simply slipped through to begin her true and eternal life.

You can read the account of Jesus’ death and resurrection in Matthew 27-28, Mark 15-16, Luke 23-24 and John 19-20.