I took an unusually long look at my daily meds this morning. I peered down into that stupid orange container and did some basic math. And because my medication is for general panic disorder, my thought process worked in the following manner:
I have about three weeks of meds left.
What would happen if pharmacies closed?
I’m going to have a panic attack.
We will be living in a post-apocalyptic movie by the first week of April.
If that seems irrational, that’s because it is. And that is exactly why I take medication, because the medicine has a way of saying, “Hey, man. We aren’t fighting zombies just yet. Have some coffee.”
That said, medicine is only a part of my daily prescription. While my meds can help my brain reside in a more logical place, I have found that no amount of medicine can stop the Deceiver from doing his work. To combat his lies, I preach the Truth to myself by opening the Word. As I read the Bible, I am reminded of God’s promises. I read of a Jesus who touches lepers, heals the sick, provides for the poor, downtrodden, and hungry. I read these stories, and I am encouraged. I am filled up. I do not become invincible or impervious to anxiety, but when I center my thoughts on Jesus, deceptive thoughts are demolished, and I am able to take my thoughts captive and make them obedient to Christ (2 Corinthians 10:5).
But I’m 41 and what doctors would call healthy. I am employed by a local church. I am a part of a 12-person small group that prays for one another and shares thoughts about our Bible reading on a daily basis. I have spiritual mentors and friends I can call on when things get hazy. I see a Christian counselor regularly. My Twitter feed is chock full of pastors and writers who share helpful articles and thoughts. I have those systems in place, and still my fight against anxiety is a daily one. What about our neighbors who have none of those in place? As scary as my look into the medicine bottle was this morning, how much more concerned was my 85-year old neighbor with a pre-existing medical condition when she looked into hers? What about the 55-year-old who lives alone and just returned from an overseas trip? And the teenager who is battling the age-old question, Who am I?
Could the climate of the coronavirus lead to a revival, as some have suggested? That I cannot speak to, but it does feel like we have a great opportunity to share our faith with those around us. Despite what folks might be saying on their social media accounts, our neighborhoods and cities are full of scared people. And as people face days, weeks, and even months without school, work, or their normal daily distractions, there will be much more idle time to deal with private thoughts, which statistics show us will likely lead to an increase in depression, anxiety, and suicide.
As we know, our buildings are not the church--we, God’s people, are the church. How will we respond? How will you respond?