Faith Works 6-27-20
Jeff Gill
Future's so bright, gotta wear shades
___
In the heart of the summer, whether out for a walk or driving down the highway, it's the right time for sunglasses. "The Boys of Summer" sing about brands and sport stars display logos, and all the wiser folk have them on when the sun is out.
Not me, though.
At least for a very long time, I resisted wearing them. It didn't help that I started wearing prescription glasses in grade school, which in the Sixties meant you'd need either clip on shades or there were these plastic sheet sunglass inserts you dropped behind your regular glasses, hanging on your frame.
I hated them.
Outdoors, whether hiking and camping as was most of my summer, or later on in life driving, I just disliked the feel of them and thought they obscured my view as much as they helped, and I just wouldn't wear sunglasses. "Don't need 'em" I'd say when a fellow passenger in a vehicle would say as we drove west in the afternoon "can I loan you a pair of sunglasses." "Don't need 'em."
Convenience, more than a little pride, and a certain amount of denial. Sunglasses were fine, but for someone else. Not me. Years going by, and seeing older folks after eye surgeries and procedures wearing the giant wrap-around blocky ugly sunglasses. Nope. Didn't want to wear them.
My eyeglasses became bifocals, and the optometrist notes some faint yellowing starting to hint at procedures to come, and on a long drive I realized my eyes got tired faster than they used to, and an offer of sunglasses was made, and . . . well.
Yes, the world, from clouds overhead to the road angling into the distance, looks different. Not as "real," perhaps as seeing with the naked eye, but hey, what can a guy say about seeing reality straight-on through bifocals and a windshield to start with? And I realized "my eyes are not getting tired now."
Wearing sunglasses suddenly began to feel like a relief, a self-protection, and frankly it made my driving safer for others, too. For my vision down the road, and for my overall alertness and awareness, sunglasses turn out to be a pretty good deal all around. Yes, one more thing to keep track of (wallet, phone, glasses, handkerchief, coffee travel mug, sunglasses) but a part of what keeps me going, not just today but further down the road.
For the time being, as with sunglasses, so with masks. I get the resistance. They are one more dang thing. They can be inconvenient, like sunglasses in different settings, when to take off, when to put back on. And sometimes you feel the pressure differently than other times, as with sunglasses, if you've had them on for a long time, masks or shades. And you want to take them off.
The worst reason, though, to avoid masks is to say "they're no guarantee of anything!" No one said they were. They reduce risk. Seat belts don't prevent all accidents, nor help you in one avoid any injuries. But they do keep you from becoming a projectile, protecting others in your vehicle at the very least. (I do wonder: is mask wearing in public an index of seat belt use? Ah well.)
Reducing risk is a good thing. And the risk reduction is fairly significant, even if it isn't 100%. If we all did something that mutually reduces risk 85%, that's better than half of us doing something that's 100% guaranteed and the other half saying "I'm taking my chances."
And the reality is that face coverings just aren't that bad. In fact, I could suggest that there's a certain kind of spiritual discipline at work here. Like fasting, like intercessory prayer, like service or mission projects, when we do something largely for the sake of others, that is inconvenient or not immediately helpful to ourselves, working through our own resentment and resistance is a good thing. Learning how to set ourselves aside, our own preferences, and accepting the blessing of doing for others.
If you're painting a house for someone else, and think the whole time "I'd rather not be doing this" I don't believe the spiritual value settles in the same way. If you focus on wishing you didn't have a mask on, you'll just irritate yourself.
But if you let yourself rest in the awareness that this is a small sacrifice you're making for others, you're likely to stop noticing the darn thing altogether, and be at peace.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he still has to work at not fiddling with his face covering. Tell him what your mask wearing makes possible at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
