March 11, 2020 was a landmark day in Arkansas history. That was the day we were told that a person in Arkansas had tested positive for the covid-19 coronavirus. Every household and institution changed in a visible way. I later heard from a local grocery store manager that people flocked to the store. Shopping carts were filled to the brim with food, sanitizers and paper products, including toilet paper.
The next morning, I stopped by Sam's Club for a few fruit items and I left in shock that occurs when you physically see something you had never seen before. As I passed by the paper products area, all the shelves were empty! So were the shelves in the areas of the dairy products, breads and hamburger.
As I was wondering about these experiences, a friend called and asked us to see if we could order toilet paper online from Sam's Club since we had a membership card. We offered to share with her from our supply, but she said she wasn't desperate, yet. We weren't successful. I had heard that if you go to the store early in the morning, a truck might have delivered paper products the night before. So, I did what I expected me to do. I got up the next morning at dark thirty and headed out.
When I parked, the line had already started to form. An associate with people skills came out and announced that a truck had brought paper products, including 240 units of 45-roll TP packages. We could only purchase one unit per customer. Thirty people at a time would be allowed to enter the store in 10-minute intervals. An associate would take our order and hand it to us to put in our basket. I was number 29.
During the next hour we began waiting in silence; then people started telling their linemates their stories about their predicaments. Not a hoarder in the group! I would reveal a few of their stories, but we had agreed that what was said in the TP line stays in the TP line! When the doors opened, I looked behind me. The line had grown to beyond the end of the building, and our associate guide estimated it included 350 people.
That rainy afternoon I saw an interview and read reports from leading mental health experts. They all agreed that what we were experiencing was not hoarding as much as it was a symptom of another pandemic: loneliness.
"We can separate from one another and do, but we cannot afford to dislocate from our families, friends, neighbors and other human beings."
This type of self-quarantine has been with us for many years.
In 1972, Henri Nouwen, a Dutch Roman Catholic Priest wrote in The Wounded Healer, "We live in a society in which loneliness has become one of the most painful human wounds. We are acutely aware of our isolation. This awareness in turn has left many with heightened anxiety and an intense search for the experience of unity and community."
As I sat quietly wondering about all the present experiences, I was called to read Luke 11.
"Jesus asked, Which of you if your son asks for a fish would give him a snake instead? Or if he asked for an egg would give him a scorpion?"
Then I thought: "Which of you if your neighbor asked for a roll of toilet paper would give her a sack of dried leaves?"
Then I dug down a little deeper and uncovered another question: "Which of you can go to your neighbor and ask for a roll of toilet paper?" The unity of giving and receiving. The unity of intimacy and self-quarantine.
In time, the pandemic of covid-19 will come to some type of conclusion. Would we but claim the same for the pandemic of loneliness?
A sermon on March 23 on this topic by me is on Youtube -- St. Thomas Episcopal Church, Springdale, Arkansas.
-- Ken Parks is the former rector of St. Theodore's Episcopal Church in Bella Vista. He can be reached by email to [email protected]. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 04/01/2020