I’ve been to the grocery store a few times in the last week, and it’s a different place than I’m used to. I’m normally overwhelmed with choices and, subconsciously it turns out, comforted by the sheer number of items on the shelves, and in most cases the depth of items sitting behind the one presenting itself to me on the shelf. What normally is, “How can there be so many kinds of cereal and so many boxes of that particular kind,” has shifted to, “Will they have a box or two of cereal left when I get there?”
It’s certainly not a bad thing to face scarcity, but it’s not super helpful to shift into scarcity mentality, that shift when suddenly my opportunity to grab a lot of what’s in front of me pushes out the impulse to only take what I need, leaving resources for others who will also need them.
As we enter “shelter in place” mode where I live, my wife and I decided that we should have medicine on hand for our kids – six, four and four months – in case they develop normal illnesses in the transition from winter to spring, the stuff of colds and fevers. Our pediatrician has encouraged us to toggle back and forth between Tylenol and Ibuprofen when our kids have fevers, so to be prepared I went to restock our supply. When I arrived in the health section of the store this morning, I was met only by Children’s Tylenol, but as usual there was an ample amount of that item for me and those who might also need it. I grabbed one and moved along with my shopping, noting that I’ll need to stop elsewhere to try to find Children’s Ibuprofen.
In my part of the US (and this is more than likely the case elsewhere, but I won’t generalize) we have a lot of grocery/pharmacy options, so after leaving that store, I stopped by our local Walgreens for the additional medicine. When I got to the shelf, I found what I was looking for, but I found they only had two boxes left. Scarcity mentality kicked in: how long will this “stay in place” stuff last? Should I buy both to make sure my kids are alright in the coming weeks? What will happen if we aren’t able to get to the store for some reason and I only bought one box of medicine?
A moment later a different mentality (barely) kicked in, let’s call it Manna mentality: what will happen later today when a dad in a similar position to me (or maybe a worse one: perhaps his child will actually be sick today rather than how mine might be sick at some point soon) comes here after finding other stores didn’t have the medicine he was looking for? Do I really need two boxes of the same thing? Though I’m pretty sure the second box of medicine, Exodus-like, would not have had maggots on it the next morning if I hoarded it, I decided to leave it there nonetheless, trusting that some other member of my community would benefit from my having done so and trusting that the medicine I did buy would be sufficient for our needs.
In the grand scheme of things people are facing in the midst of the COVID-19 crisis this was admittedly a small inner dialogue to work through, but I think it touched something in me, making me realize that our resilience as a people in the midst of crisis needs to be grounded in both empathy for those we live with and trust in God’s faithfulness to take care of us through that same community – less scarcity, more manna. For, if there’s one thing we learn from how manna, that strange stuff or bread or substance (what is it?), worked throughout Israel’s time of traipsing through the desert, then it’s that trust is a major issue, trusting each other in our communities, trusting our local and national leaders and trusting the faithful triune God who is committed to us and present with us in Christ by the Spirit.
Allow me to add a properly theological caveat or qualification to what might seem a pretty naïve posture to take in the midst of a global health crisis and in a national context fraught with a major lack of both trusting people and trustworthy people/institutions (which is, of course, another very different kind of crisis): trusting doesn’t guarantee a happy or rosy outcome, even if the concluding line of the previous paragraph seems to indicate as much; in fact, as Jesus’s death makes very clear, entrusting oneself to God, who is utterly trustworthy, can very likely result in a negative outcome. But, a Manna mentality, to continue to use that annoyingly kitschy phrase, doesn’t deal in outcomes: deciding not to hoard truly might not go well for us because we really might not have what we need. That’s a future that’s in God’s hands, the triune God who doesn’t have a hidden agenda and who is committed to creation, the God who is for us. What a Manna mentality does deal with is today’s time, because as the clock continues to tick this day, we can make the concrete and risky and seemingly foolish decision to trust, putting someone else’s needs before our own. And we do this because we’re human, and because it is in that human action that Christ’s presence is found for both us and our neighbors.
Jameson Ross is the Director of Fellowships for the Center for Pastor Theologians. He served in pastoral ministry for over 10 years before moving to England to pursue his PhD in Theology from Durham University. He joined the CPT staff full-time in 2019.
