Quarantined in History

Like you, we are pondering ways to use this bizarre shutdown of our society for the best good. Our own days still follow familiar patterns because we work at home. Thus, the time feels pretty normal. Never fond of errands and ordinarily traveling about a third of each year, I’m actually relieved to put the suitcase away for a while and stay here.

But I acknowledge my situation is not typical. Huge numbers of people are facing circumstances where distress, despair, anger, and anxiety are overwhelming. It is incumbent on each of us to be supportive as possible in whatever ways can make a difference.

Still, as an historian, I find this an extraordinary period. I cannot help but wonder what “they” will write when time has passed. What will sociologists and economists say 10 or 20 years from now when looking back? What will script writers and songsters portray from this episode in our American history?

For that matter, will doctoral students choose aspects of “self-quarantining” for their dissertation topics? Most significantly, what are theologians and church historians going to write about our limpid response to the government shutting down our churches and synagogues?

As Americans we are wired to emphasize the positives (and you have to love that about our pragmatic spirit). We are seeing a great deal about it already: families who rarely had dinner together are now devouring grandma’s recipes for “comfort foods” (chicken and dumplings anyone?). Closets will get cleaned out, photo albums assembled, dusty board games will again exert their magic, and families who never took walks will p0und the paths of local trails or the sidewalks that lead around the block.

Still, how would all this have unfolded 30 years ago without the internet and social media? What might have been different had our guides been the concise news casts of Huntley and Brinkley, or the top-of-the-hour reports from our local radio stations? Anything can be politicized, but surely such panicky politicization would have been harder when our populace was more united and trusted a limited number of solid outlets of information.

Another pressing question is this: what would folks from the World-War II generation say about this time? Their touch point was the 1918 Influenza Pandemic, a time without antibiotics or much else. In fact, Hank’s maternal grandfather died as a result of that pandemic on Christmas Day 1918. That does not even take in the lasting trauma from World War I, the Depression, or the horrors of the Second World War.

You have probably read statements like one I saw, noting that their generation was called upon to storm the beaches of Normandy while ours is being asked to sit on the sofa and watch TV. Such a comment is too simplistic, I grant you. But it also has a message for us.

Meanwhile, let us rejoice at the ways technology is bringing a cascade of high-quality educational material to families across the country. I’ll have to say, our online conference last weekend “in Greenville” was marvelous, with nearly three times the enrollment the original conference would have had, including participants from around the world. I can hear my mother’s voice: “Count your blessings.” And my father’s, “Make hay while the sun shines.”

So, yes, we’re doing it again this weekend. Come with us “to Missouri” for a free three-day event. You can register for it here. Hank revised our landing page to make it easy to find my talks and added some nice videos to our course icons. Plus, each of us speakers has a Zoom Room—a virtual booth where we “are,” following the regular exhibit-hall hours for the GHC conferences.

I (or Hank, when I’m up corralling the grandkids) will be waiting to visit with you. In addition, we’re going to try something new by offering a few mini-sessions (15-20-minutes long) featuring subject matter about music, history, art, Classical tradition, teaching, and life!

Still, like you, I want to be looking at all of this in the rear-view mirror. I want it not to be miraculous that our local independent bookstore (Piedmont Books) was open yesterday so that I could restock on light reading and scoop up a few delights for the grandchildren. On the other hand, it will be a long, long time before any of us walks past a grocery case full of meat, eggs, milk, or paper products and neglects to send up a prayer of thanks to the farmers, producers, truck drivers, stockers, and cashiers. That fact may be one of the biggest blessings we take away from this experience.