Being Filled By The Word During Quarantine
By Savannah Willard
*Scripture Translations are taken from the Revised Standard Version, Catholic Edition
This past March, after hearing the announcement that it would be my university’s last in-person Mass for the indefinite future, I recall receiving the Eucharist unsteadily, unsure of what Christ was doing. I’ve never gone for more than a week without your Presence, Lord. What will happen to me? I felt as though I was sailing in the calm before an impending storm, but little did I realize what a storm it would become.
From living on an abandoned campus for a week to returning home to share a room with one of my younger siblings, from being surrounded by the sorrow, protests, and fear in Minneapolis, MN to attending college virtually this autumn, my life has seemed a progression from the crest of one emotional wave to the next. Yet, in reflecting on this spring and summer, I’ve realized Christ never left me and has continued nourishing me in ways I never could have anticipated.
The week following that mass, several high school friends and I reconnected virtually and, after several conversations, began a Bible study. Though I had participated in Bible studies before, all my previous experiences had been awkward, dry, and redundant––reading stories I'd heard for the thousandth time and trying to draw “insights” I’d just borrowed from insightful homilies. I joined this study believing that I’d pretty much gotten everything I could out of the Bible.
But this experience was different. In this particular community of friends, we were all hungering for fellowship and the Eucharist, and this brought extra energy and purpose to our Bible study. We began meeting two or three times a week over video call. During our sessions, each member shared a scripture verse. After every passage had been shared, the group would elaborate on how the passages struck us, find connections between them, and marvel at the beauty or newfound insights in each one, resulting in a sort of seminar about the Bible.
The fruit from this study has been life-changing. I was personally surprised by the continuity of scripture. From the proverbs of Sirach to Paul’s epistles to Christ’s parables, the questions that one passage raised were often answered or brought into sharper relief by another. What’s more, as we grew increasingly comfortable in conversation, our Bible study created a space for us to consider how scripture shed light upon the challenges we were facing individually and as a society; including the horrors of racism in the U.S., the loneliness we faced as we missed college friends, and the desire to foster hope and spread the kingdom of God in our families, even in the uncertainty of the pandemic. To my amazement, it was through breaking open scripture in a community of friends that I found myself entering a new depth of friendship with the Son.
This new relationship began with my realizing the vulnerability in Christ’s invitation to follow Him. For example, in Mark 10:17-22, I was struck by how the eager young man runs up to Jesus, who “looking upon him loved him” and says to him, “sell what you have, and give to the poor…and come, follow me.” The more I reflected, the more I realized how such an invitation did require immense love, and therefore, vulnerability. Here was a young man who had riches, youth, virtue—you name it. The Son of Man did not offer him a place to lay his head, but did offer him everything—Himself. How painful must it have been for Christ when the young man rejected Him and “went away sorrowful; for he had great possessions.”
Christ’s longing for the young man attracted me greatly. In that moment I wanted to respond differently: to be satisfied with Him and Him alone; but with a flashy college degree, clubs, a job, and summer internships to apply for, I hadn’t been willing to enter into this relationship with God before quarantine.
Scripture on its own hadn’t attracted me—my human friendships did, and their love for scripture became contagious. In reality I was no different from the rich young man attached to his possessions, and I now wonder if he would have decided differently if he spent even an hour with Jesus and his friends and tasted their community? When I began accepting Christ for Himself, I realized all He wanted is myself—not someone with a show of riches through virtue, success, and personal accomplishment, but me, in all my poverty.
Acknowledging that Christ longs for me in all my poverty, has allowed me to uncover a much deeper thirst for Him than I was previously aware. Psalm 42:1 which begins with such beauty—“As a hart longs / for flowing streams, / so longs my soul / for thee, O God”—unearths the reality of this longing for God. On the surface, these past six months have felt like a storm: waves of “failure” and “success,” “quarantining” and “normal life” crashing against the shores of my being. Each week brought its highs and lows—mornings filled with birds, outdoor prayer time, and delicious cups of coffee, as well as days when I hardly had the will to get out of bed, much less come to God in prayer. And yet, little by little, studying the Bible each week has revealed and nurtured my own steady, constant, and quiet yearning for God that is filled when I spend time with Him.
Studying scripture also invited me to grapple more intimately with the difficulties happening both in my own life and the world around me. I was drawn to the passage in John where Jesus comes to Mary and Martha two days after Lazarus has died. Martha meets him with immense trust: “even now I know that whatever you ask from God, God will give you” (Jn. 11:22). It was hard to grasp why Christ seemed to test her faith without coming to them with urgency, as Mary and Martha hoped, but two days after the fact. Why would Christ let the sisters suffer in this way? As I wrestled with this question, I realized I would never be able to understand the pain George Floyd’s family must have experienced or the suffering of families of countless others who have died in this pandemic.
I found myself reexamining suffering itself. In the past, I attributed any trials or hardships to God trying to “perfect” me, but this story revealed a different relationship between Christ and my sufferings. When I’m suffering Christ simply draws near to me—to comfort me, and most of all, to love me. Though sometimes hard to trust that He seeks to draw near to anyone who is suffering, the experience of Christ as healer and comforter has given me hope in the agency of His love in my own life and the lives of others.
In the midst of difficulty, the Bible study became a stream of living water in my life. Not only did friendship flourish, but Christ showed himself to be my living water. The truly magnificent reality is that I am His living water, capable of satiating his deep thirst (Jn. 19:28). When I returned to Mass to receive the Eucharist once again, I found that my consolation in physically receiving God’s love had been nourished through scripture. Looking back, I’ve found that the emotions, struggles, and confusion that comprised my quarantine storm became perfect catalysts to head into the deep to meet Him. Christ was not overwhelmed by the stormy waters of emotion or circumstances; rather, he used these emotions and circumstances to illuminate my relationship with him: “Deep calls to deep / at the thunder of thy cataracts; / all thy waves and thy billows / have gone over me” (Ps 42:7). He does not abandon us in the storm; He stands right there with us, calling us ever deeper into relationship with Him.
