Covid — W. Clay Smith Blog

I read an article today that said 2020 has not been the most stressful year in history. I buy that. The years of the Black Plague were worse. Any year of the Civil War was no picnic. Still, this year has had it’s moments.

It’s hard to remember the year began with President Trump being acquitted of an impeachable offense by the Senate. It looked like the election would be the big news of 2020.

I flew to San Diego for a conference at the beginning of March. The plane was packed; we’d never heard of “social distance.” Corona was just starting to be a thing. I haven’t been on a plane since.

A week after I got back, orders went out to shut down stores, restaurants, and gatherings. Churches stopped meeting in person. One meme I saw captured it perfectly: “Just like that, all preachers became TV evangelists.” I learned to preach to a camera instead of a congregation.

When we first went to lockdown, I remember how people wanted to get outside and walk, just to see other people. I did meetings by ZOOM. At my house, thankfully, we never ran out of toilet paper, but there were a couple of times we were down to our last two rolls. We cooked at home every night for a month – it had been a long time since we did that.

I made lots of phone calls to check on members of our church – over 300. Other staff members called through the membership and attendees. We prepared a “doomsday budget” in case giving dropped by 50%. I remember the panic and uncertainty of those days.

About the same time COVID began, my sister was diagnosed with cancer. It was serious. I prayed every day for her healing. She began treatments, which sometimes seemed worse than the cancer itself.

Our church decided to go ahead and build a permanent home for our satellite campus. I polled friends and experts whether it was wise to try to raise money in this environment. Five said “yes.” Five said “no.” So much for clarity.

At the same time this was happening, my son and daughter-in-law told me I was going to be a grandfather. A few weeks later, we found out the baby was a boy. I had trouble believing I was going to be a grandfather; after all, inside, I still feel like I’m twenty-one.

Easter 2020 was the strangest Easter I’ve had as a pastor. I preached three services to the camera. My family did come for the last service. I’m not sure which was worse – preaching to an empty room or preaching to my family who were checking their phones.

We regathered for worship in June. About half a normal crowd came back. Some people were not afraid at all: “I’m not afraid, Pastor, give me a hug.” They were not afraid of me, but I was afraid of them. A knuckle bump became the new handshake.

The George Floyd incident, coupled with Breanna Taylor and Ahmaud Arbery being killed, prompted the pastors and police of my community to come together and plan a march for Racial Justice. Over a thousand people showed up and peacefully marched to declare our support for Racial Justice. Someone later told me it was the most integrated protest march they had ever seen.

I had knee surgery in June. Dr. Ford did a great job repairing my torn meniscus but told me I had arthritis in the knee as well. Arthritis? I’m not old enough to have arthritis.

In July, my brother, my best friend, told me he had cancer. Two of my siblings with cancer was a blow. My prayers took on a new fervor: “Lord, I beg you, heal them both.” Prayer is most honest when it is raw.

My grandson was born in October. God reminded me what unconditional love looks like: When Shep was placed in my arms, I loved him without hesitation, to the bottom of my heart. Every minute I get to hold my grandson is a treasure.

The generous people of the church I serve rose up and gave sacrificially so we could build a new building. Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” Their hearts are with God’s mission.

There was a lot of tension about the election. The Sunday after the election, I preached about “The Sky is not Falling.” I tried to remind people no matter who won the election, God was still in control. No one seemed really happy with the sermon. When that happens, it means you preached poorly, or you ticked everybody off. It’s hard to tell sometimes which is which.

In November, it seemed like people I love started dying. When you pastor one church for more than twenty-six years, you get the chance to love people deeply. I’ve done funerals the last few months of this year of people I treasure.

I was named “Large-Church Pastor of the Year” in South Carolina. When they first called me, I thought it was a joke. Then I wondered if “large” referred to the size of our church or the weight of the pastor.

My sister died the first week of December. I’m still trying to absorb that load of grief. Just the other day, my grandson did something cute and I started to call Clemie Jo to tell her when I remembered she would not answer her phone anymore. I miss her.

I spent the holidays with my family and had the joy of having my grandson fall asleep in my arms. I have a new idea of what heaven feels like.

Through it all, God has walked with me. I sensed his presence, his grace, and his love. Jesus said, “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.” In all the ups and downs of the year, the peace of God has been offered to me. And no matter what 2021 holds, the peace of God is still offered to me and to you. His peace comforts your troubled heart and drives out your fears. Let 2021 be the year of God’s peace reigning in your heart.