First Things recently posted the remarks which Peter Leithart shared for the Epiphany Feast at the Theopolis Institute. In his brief, yet rhetorically powerful homily, Leithart points to the truth Christianity teaches that physical life is not the greatest good, and that real life is about more than biological survival. He articulates well some of the vital aspects of human life that lead to human flourishing according to the Christian worldview. He furthermore proposes that feasting and celebration, aspects of life which we have largely and voluntarily abstained from these past eleven months, is the way Christians are to defy the fear of death, particularly in the face of national and global social distancing and the COVID-19 pandemic. Given that Leithart has a first rate mind and an excellent education, he persuasively makes his point with the poetry of the liturgical life, the moving words of the Scriptures, and the assuring voice of one who is unthreatened by his opposition. However, I am concerned that one of the reasons this argument is powerful is because he has set it against a strawman.

Leithart reduces his opposition to those acting simply out of a fear of death. Having done this, it is quite easy to use Scripture, liturgical tradition, and the whole of the Christian religion to defend his point. As the ancient hymn declares, “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.” But Christ’s triumph over death is not what is in question with regards to social distancing or stay-at-home orders, anymore than it is what is in question when considering the best advice on nutrition and exercise, or medical treatment to a disease, or surgical sanitization protocol. It would be absurd to suggest that surgeons “obsessively” wash their hands because they are afraid of death, or that nutritionists have studied their field because they believe that “there is no wealth but life”, or that to operate in cases of treatable cancer is a weakness of the Christian faith and a denial of Christ’s triumph over death. Rather we recognize that we are responsible for loving each other, for caring for each other, and for whenever possible, putting our own cares second to those of our neighbour’s as best we can with the knowledge we have.

Leithart suggests that a group of people may understandably be forced into such deprivation and isolation due to times of war or oppression, but states that doing so voluntarily in an “effort to preserve life by prohibiting the living of it doesn’t work.” Leithart thus puts the needs of the body and the soul in competition with one another and asserts that we must prioritize the needs of the soul over those of the body. We cannot save biological life at the cost of those things which enrich our life and give it meaning. To this I would argue that no such deprivation itself harms the life of the soul. I ask, along with Lewis’s Professor Diggory, have you forgotten your Plato? None can harm the just man. It is sin alone that harms the soul. All other trials and deprivations are opportunities either to receive the grace of God and so be transformed into His likeness, or to reject it. If the solitude of a hermit can be transformed into a communion with all of the people of God, then loneliness itself is no more a hindrance to the spiritual life than celibacy is a hindrance to a social one.

Furthermore, when parents sacrifice much of their own social life, personal needs, and depth of liturgical experience in order to care for the physical needs of their small children, they do so not because they believe that “men and women [are] nothing but detached shards of humanity who can flourish in isolation.” Rather, they fast from these vital, soul enriching aspects of life for a time – sometimes a long time – because they love their children. Because “if a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, be warmed and filled,’ without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that?” (James 2:15-16). Caring for the souls of those we love is not separable from caring for their bodies. We cannot simply say that we love our neighbour but pay no heed to their physical wellbeing. There is a reason that Christ did not only forgive the paralytic’s sins but also healed his body (Matt 9:1-8).

Lastly, Leithart assumes a theology of fasting and feasting that falls short of what Christian tradition teaches us. He states that “We’ve operated by one great commandment: Thou shalt not feast.” This is both superficial and short-sighted. I am quite empathetic to the fact that we are all deeply fatigued by the deprivations we have undergone these many months, and I believe the longevity of this Lent-like experience tempts each of us to feel that the times of feasting are forever gone. But let us not dogmatize our despair. This would be to miss one vital purpose of the fast: the abstaining from sin out of love for our neighbour. It is quite true that the purpose of the Lenten fast is to prepare to celebrate the Easter feast. But the difference between the Lenten fast and say, abstaining from afternoon dessert so as not to spoil one’s dinner, is that the ascetic practice of fasting is meant to aid us in abstaining from sin and in loving our neighbour. The reason we eat less and less luxurious foods during Lent is to practice self-control, yes, but it is also to provide for the hungry. The practice of prayer is for repentance, but it is also for intercession. The practice of alms-giving is to uproot the vice of greed, but it is also to provide for those in need. The Lenten fast is for our own healing of soul, but it is also for the love and care of our neighbour.

This global crisis is an opportunity for all, and a calling for Christians in particular, to fast. This is not the annual Lenten fast that lasts for forty days and then ends. This is a fast of unknown length, and one for which the Lenten fast ought to have prepared us: to fast from plenty when our neighbour is in want, to fast from celebration when our neighbour is in grief, to fast from community when our neighbour is at risk.

We are in a state of global vulnerability and fatigue – not just vulnerability to a deadly virus, but vulnerability to succumb to our own despair, our anxiety, our isolation and disorientation in the world. We are all facing the laborious task of emotionally, socially, and spiritually orienting ourselves in the midst of a global crisis. And we are required to do this without our normal support systems to help us. This is a heavy burden. But unlike war and other types of hardship which call us to band together, in this we are appointed the task of banding together, but doing so separately. This adds to the emotional burden we bear since we are less able to feel the way in which our burden is being carried together with others.

In the midst of such spiritual vulnerability, it is the responsibility of leaders to aid and not to undermine the loving ascetic struggles of their people. Do not cause these little ones to stumble. Do not rob the living martyr of his crown, or tell her in her fatigue that the sacrifice is meaningless – or worse, a weakness of faith. In this sacred fast of love, do not whisper words of temptation that urge those who are struggling to disregard the love they bear for their neighbour because the cross is too heavy, the burden unjust, or the long road endless. Instead, remind them that the feast is coming, remind them that Christ is everywhere present and not only in the Eucharist, remind them that they are loved and their current sufferings are not worth being compared to the glory that will be revealed in them. Remind them, that when they feel alone in their sufferings, and that all of the world is asleep to their cares, that it is there that they sit in the sacred space of Gethsemane with our Lord who holds every tear, hears every prayer, and remembers that we are dust.