The Reality of COVID-19

We’re well into our second year of coping with the COVID-19 virus and yet so many people are still overcome by fear. We have a collection of vaccines that offer real protection. Does it protect everybody? No, some vaccinated people have also contracted the virus, but in most instances these cases tend to be rather mild. And many others, who have survived the virus, have enhanced immunity, far greater than that provided by the vaccines. 

But perhaps the most telling statistics relate to deaths as a result of COVID. As of October 6, there have been 700,952 deaths in the United States attributed to the COVID virus — this out of a total U.S. population of 334 million. Over 76% of these deaths were among those aged 65 or over. But how many of these seniors had other underlying health issues that likely contributed to their deaths, or were actually the primary cause of death? Over the past 18 months I have conducted or assisted at dozens of funerals and committal services. Quite a few of those who died had tested positive for COVID, but many of these also had terminal illnesses and were not expected to survive. As one doctor told me, “Follow the money.” Apparently hospitals benefit from COVID cases.

Very few young or middle-aged adults have succumbed to the virus. Those between the ages 18 and 49 account for a little less than 6% of all COVID deaths, or 41,783 of 700,952 deaths. Those Americans between the ages of 50 and 64 account for 17.5% of the COVID deaths, or 122,500 of the 700,952 total deaths. Perhaps most surprisingly, though, is the fact that less than one-tenth of 1% of those who died of COVID were below the age of 18 — a total of 499 deaths out of 700,952. In fact, far more children died from other individual illnesses, accidents, and other causes than from COVID. It appears children, if they contract the virus, tend to have only mild or asymptomatic cases and also do not spread it to others easily. In previous years, for example, influenza killed far more children each year than COVID since it hit our shores in late 2019. Masking children in our schools, then, would seem to be designed not to protect them or their teachers, but to exert control. And always remember, governments like to exert control.

You can view a graph of these statistics here: COVID-19 Deaths as of 6 October 2021.

I include the above to remind those who are fearful that the chances of reasonably healthy people of any age dying of COVID is quite small. I’m currently 77 but am not worried about getting COVID. Of course I believe in exercising prudence and so both Diane and I got the vaccination earlier this year, and will likely get the booster, especially if we decide to travel north to visit family this fall. But fear? No, I have no fear, and neither should you. But my lack of fear doesn’t stem from statistics. 

First of all, if, as a Christian, you allow fear to consume you, your faith is weak. As I so often remind others, perhaps too often, the opposite of faith is not despair; rather, it is fear. Jesus often reminds us of this. Remember that wonderful Gospel passage [Mk 4:35-41] when, crossing the Sea of Galilee, a storm arose causing the disciples to waken a sleeping Jesus and ask Him: “Do you not care if we perish?” Of course, Jesus immediately calmed the sea and storm, but He then asked the disciples that double-barreled question, “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” And He asks you and me that same question today.

I get all kinds of questions about COVID. Some people have asked me, “Is God punishing us by inflicting us with this disease?” I usually answer by saying, “Darned if I know, but I don’t think so. We seem entirely too capable of punishing ourselves without God’s help.” Of course, It all started back in Eden, didn’t it? Our first parents, who had been created “very good” by God [Gen 1:31] decided that wasn’t good enough and ignored God’s warning. They disobeyed and brought death into the perfect, deathless paradise God had created. That sin, that original sin, brought death and all kinds of other bad stuff into the world, and among that bad stuff is COVID. God doesn’t will death and disease, but His permissive will allows it. You see, I don’t believe in coincidence when it comes to God. After struggling through these 77 years I’ve come to the realization that everything that happens in my life has a purpose, and if I remain faithful, it will always lead to good. 

The very core of the Gospel may be found in those wonderful words from John: “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life” [Jn 3:16]. Eternal life, folks. That’s what it’s all about. So, why would any of us who believe the Gospel, who believe in our Lord Jesus Christ, and who live our faith — why would any of us be fearful?

If you’re still plagued by fear, I suggest you spend some time every day in prayer, preferably before the Blessed Sacrament, asking Our Lord to deepen your faith and dissolve your fears. There’s nothing to fear, brothers and sisters, because we’ve been shown the path to eternal life. 

Birthday Numbers

Today is my birthday, my 76th, but I feel much younger...well, most of the time...ok, maybe sometime. They sang “Happy Birthday” to me in church this morning, right after the final blessing. It was a surprise, but very nice. It would have been nicer if Dear Diane had been there, but her shoulder was acting up, so I left her in bed with the ice machine soothing her pain. Dear Diane’s ad:

I think young people tend to forget, or simply ignore, the birthdays of their elders under the mistaken belief that anyone that old wouldn't want to be reminded of it. Here they're wrong. Older folks are really more like little children and take secret pride in their advancing age.

Remember when you were a kid and someone asked, “How old are you...five or six?” How did you respond? “I’m six and a half!” To be seen as only five was a huge insult, and six simply wasn’t good enough. You wanted everyone to know exactly how old you really were. Of course, at that age the years crawled by, so half-years were far more meaningful.

We old folks are much the same. 30 years ago I never would have asked a woman her age. But here in The Villages, they don’t give me a chance to ask. I need only say, “Hi, how are you today?”, and I’m greeted with, “Wonderful! Not bad considering I turn 79 next week.” What do you say to that? You have to say something. Here it’s best to remember how seniors and little kids differ. Both are proud of their actual age, but kids want you to think they’re older, while seniors want to be known as old but viewed as younger. Probably the safest response is something like, “79! You’re kidding! You can’t be 79.” That covers all the bases.

Of course birthdays are linked to time itself, and for me, time is probably the most intriguing aspect of God’s creation of space and time. (Read St. Augustine's Confessions, chapter 11 for one of the better discussion on this.) 

When it comes to space, we can revisit places again and again. They might have changed a bit over time, but they’re still there and usually still recognizable. If I’m planning a future trip to a new place, I can even call up Google Earth and check it out. Oddly, although I’m actually looking at the past as it appears on my computer screen, for me it’s more a peek into the future, a glimpse of the place I intend to visit. 

It’s with time that things get a bit messy. We can’t reclaim the past because it’s irretrievable, but we can call it back as a memory. 

My earliest memories are quite early. I remember watching my dad and brother playing in the snow in our backyard in rural Nichols, Connecticut when I was only two years old...well, ok, two years and five months old. I was sitting with my mom at our bay window looking out at the two of them and wanting so badly to join them. Years later, when I described this memory to my mother, she was amazed that I could recall that day. “You had a bad cold,” she said, “I was very worried about you, and wouldn’t let you go outside. My gosh! That was in February 1947, and you remember that?” Yep.

I have quite a few memories of my third year, again all in Connecticut. I’ve always been an early riser. Even as a young child, I would awaken long before everyone else, leave my room, and sit down in the hallway at the top of the stairway. There I’d be joined by our dog, a German Shepherd named Clipper. He and I would lie down, my head resting on his side, while I rattled on, sharing my thoughts. Clipper was a tolerant beast and feigned interest. Often my voice would waken my parents (I’ve never been a quiet talker) and Dad would come into the hallway and ask me, “Who are you talking to?” I, of course, thought that a silly question and simply said, “Clipper.” I have many other memories of Clipper, a terrific dog whose only vice was his uncontrollable desire to kill our neighbor’s chickens. 

Birthdays generate other thoughts. I was born in 1944, so someone who was my current age then -- 76 years old -- was born in 1868, just a few years after the end of the Civil War. If we repeat this exercise and go back another 76 years, we find ourselves in the year 1792, when the French Revolution was in full bloodbath mode, setting the stage for the far bloodier revolutions of the 20th century. 

Speaking of the French Revolution, when I was 13 I met a 96-year-old man born in 1861 in Philadelphia. His grandfather had left France in a hurry in the midst of the revolution because as an apprentice cabinet maker his shop in Paris had made furniture for French royals. For the revolutionaries this apparently was a capital offence. Born in 1776, he was only 17 years old when he made his way to America thanks to a gift from a wealthy friend. Arriving in Baltimore, he managed to find work in Philadelphia, again as a cabinet maker. He died in 1870, at the age of 94. (His grandson attributed the family's longevity to the daily consumption of French wines.) 

But that's just the background. The interesting part of the story began when the grandson told me his grandfather had made some furniture for Thomas Jefferson and visited Monticello on several occasions during the early 1800s. The old man had also told him many more stories of meeting other famous Americans during our nation's infancy. That's when it hit me. Old age and the compression of time placed me just two people away from our founding fathers. 

Maybe 80 years from now, one of my grandchildren will tell stories to his grandchildren of that strange year, 2020, and what his aging grandfather told him about a world so very different from the world they'll be facing then. 

Cherish the memories, friends. Share them and let the past live in the minds and hearts of those who follow. 

God's peace...and a Happy Birthday to all others who may be celebrating today.