My first impression of college during COVID-19 was not a good one—I suffer from “sweat-staches,” and masks don’t really make that problem go away—but as I scaled Lookout Mountain to return to campus on the first day of classes, I was home.
The night before classes started, I felt all kinds of nerves. Why? I didn’t know. I wished I could be completely excited about the new semester. This is my seventh and final semester at Covenant, I’m not taking many classes, I have all my work prerequisites finished, I had my lunch ready and I even knew what I was wearing. So why was I so nervous?
The only things that stood between me and the last semester of my senior year were a blue wristband that says I’m negative for COVID and a parking decal that I hadn’t yet stuck on my windshield. That shouldn’t make me nervous. Those things are incredibly easy to accomplish—I should know, since I got to campus at 10 a.m. to get my COVID details worked out so I could attend Convocation at 11 a.m., and I sat down on a bench with nothing else to do at 10:09 a.m.
Going back to something like normal is not a bad thing—I don’t think anyone will argue with that. Walking up the hill from the commuter lot felt normal (unfortunately, I’m in worse shape this semester than last, so it was pretty unpleasant, but that’s normal). Walking into Carter Hall felt normal. Hearing the buzz of the Great Hall felt normal. Seeing President Halvorson as I left the building even felt normal. Sitting on a shady bench, alone under the Brock archway with this cool breeze is a feeling I didn’t even realize I missed. It’s normal and beautiful and nostalgic, and I almost cried as I got out of my car to step into my last semester.
There are some things that are abnormally normal, if you know what I mean. A lot of my friends in my department were seniors, so it feels weird not seeing them walking around. It feels weird that campus is so silent right now while people are in class. But those are normal things to feel.
There’s something different, though, about this joyous discomfort. As I’m sure you all remember, Dean Voyles sent us an email with a “cautionary tale” about a college that had to close after one week of classes. When I turned in my negative COVID test, I received masks in return. Walking up that steep hill wearing my cotton mask, I lost any face makeup I had on that morning when I left my house. I was breathing hard, like normal, but it was all going back into my own mouth for the most part (sorry, that’s gross, but it’s true—we’ve all experienced it). Having to pull my mask up when passing people instead of smiling at them seemed wrong. I haven’t yet mastered the art of the “smize.”
Part of me feels like if I could just see people’s full faces, things would feel more normal despite the pall that’s been cast over campus by current events.
This isn’t a political piece about masks—I won’t even state my opinion on whether requiring them is good or bad. This isn’t even a statement about the coronavirus itself. I’m just saying that coming back to some kind of normalcy doesn’t really feel normal.
But isn’t that the way it’s supposed to feel?
Think back to the beginning. I’m reading Genesis right now after just finishing Revelation, and this thought came to me while sitting on this nice, cool bench: all of this is abnormal, but this isn’t how things are supposed to be anyway. Things are supposed to be the way they are in Genesis 1: perfect, harmonious. Things are supposed to be the way they are at the end of Revelation: the new heavens and the new earth. Yeah, things up to maybe February felt normal in the United States. There wasn’t as much racial violence. There wasn’t a pandemic in our country. There wasn’t a looming election (it was still close, but now November is right around the corner). In fact, it’s hard to remember when things weren’t so abnormal.
But things haven’t been truly “normal” since the Fall. As soon as sin entered into the world, all the perfection God created was lost. We can’t achieve it, no matter how hard we try. There are bees that sting us and poison ivy that gives us rashes and limbs that slap us in the face while we’re running. Now, there’s a pandemic, an astonishing amount of unrest and false information circulating.
Even though it doesn’t sound like it, let this be an encouragement to you as you start a new semester, students. Yes, it feels so weird to eat lunch far away from other tables of students, to wear a mask everywhere you go, to be restricted from having visitors in your room, to be placed six feet apart from your friends in your classes. But this is just a reminder that this is still not how things are supposed to be. One day, whenever the Lord has planned his return, there will be renewal. There will be redemption. There will be a stunning lack of sin and death. There will be salvation.
This is a reminder that this world is not our final home. The stark contrast between the world now and the new heavens and new earth serves as an encouragement that, even though things are bad now, things won’t be bad forever for those who believe. In fact, we have the unique ability to find joy in the discomfort we feel.
Please hold on while the world does its thing and gets more and more weird. More change is coming, but that change will be absolutely beautiful.