Dear Distanced Friends:

It’s happened again. I read another social media post from someone who I thought I knew, but this tidbit contained assertions and attitudes completely foreign to my experience of this individual. Never mind the identity of the communicator or the context or content for that matter; my concern is how, after our pandemic isolation, we will reengage. Were we close friends, I’d call, offer a rebuttal and share a piece of my mind, but we’re not; such a focused outburst would not reflect our casual relationship. After months of no contact, I would be reaching out for the first time just to call this person a dufus. Not cool.

Still, I can’t unsee it, and I’m saddened by how divergent our values must be. How did I miss such a fundamental rift in our world views? Simply stated, the particular issue never came up before. That’s a big problem with social distance—we’re not social; we’re just distant. Prior to our current reality, this individual and I interacted regularly, one or two times a month. We would laugh, smile at the kids, inquire about family, show concern for struggles, wish each other well; now, after ten months of non-contact, our relationship inventory carries only one item—a social media post that turns my stomach.

We’re losing—I’m losing—trust.

While musing over this concern, I saw that former Secretary of State George Shultz passed away at 100 years old. Shortly before his centenary birthday he penned an essay on trust, well worth the read. In it Shultz wrote, “Trust is the coin of the realm. When trust was in the room, whatever room that was—the family room, the schoolroom, the locker room, the office room, the government room or the military room—good things happened. When trust was not in the room, good things did not happen. Everything else is details.”

I have no idea about Shultz’s faith, but there is something deeply Christian in his thinking. There seems to be a core connection between our capacity to trust and our responsibility to love. Parallel Shultz’s words with those of the Apostle Paul in I Corinthians 13.4-7: “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” While these words are most often read at weddings, they were intended as a template for every relationship.

This brings me back to my obviously misguided acquaintance. I have a responsibility to build trust, a command to love. I realize I am only reacting to disembodied words on a screen, not a human being whom I know. Even if that individual owns those ideas, and I find those ideas offensive, I am not released from my responsibility to treat that individual with grace and hope and perseverance and trust—the way we used to interact. It is not forcing myself to unsee their words; it is the challenge to see once again a person.

Looking forward to a time when we can be social without distance, I’m struggling to build trust,

With Love,
Jonathan Krogh
Your Pastor