On Faith, Anxiety, and Face-to-Face

In a few hours, students will return to our campus after just over seven months of combined remote learning and summer vacation. My counselor’s been on the receiving end of every conceivable emotion regarding our upcoming return to face-to-face: angry tears leaving burning trails down my face, excitement at seeing some of my favorite people again, trembling hands, a voice trapped in the liminal space between panic and confusion. I’ll be as blunt as possible- I’ve struggled over the last few months. The line between healthy caution and all-consuming fear is blurred in my head and has been since the second week of March. My old friend Anxiety returned with a vengeance as our worlds closed in and toilet paper ran out. We’re truly stuck between a rock and a hard place. When our kids come back, I can’t be around my immunocompromised parents. Our staff and students who live in multi-generational homes are put in double jeopardy. Some of our kids desperately need to come back to their safe place. My school was built in 1964. We have no windows to open, barely enough space for all our kids in a good year, we’re sewing our own bell covers to protect our band kiddos.

As a Christian, I am called against the current to see adversity in all its forms as an opportunity to draw near to God, even when it doesn’t make sense. “Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.” (James 1:2-3, English Standard Version). Joy. When James wrote this passage, the early Church, the first generation of Christians, was scattered. Persecution from all sides drove them into seclusion and away from Jerusalem. There were martyrs, there was heartbreak, there was doubt-- yet James still actively sought joy through the cracks. His first reaction was to praise God while things fell apart. From the outside looking in, there was precious little to be joyous about. Situations have changed, sentiments have not. James’ words still ring true. How blessed am I to where this trial is the largest I’ve faced in twenty-three meager years. How ashamed am I that my initial response is to bury my head in the sand and panic, getting caught in the news cycle and forgetting to seek any traces of joy. On the outside, the collision of anxiety and faith seems like an impossible oxymoron, two ends of a magnet that repel each other. I’ve come to realize that my anxiety is inextricably linked to my deep and desperate need for control. I may not be speaking for all of the profession, but asking a band director to give up control is like asking a chef to step out of the kitchen. My favored definition of beauty comprises the best attempts at music our kids can make, my passion is to corral the attempts into a more unified representation of what’s marked on the page. Most band directors are control freaks not by choice, but by necessity; I am the worst of the worst when it comes to this.

It’s taken me far too long to realize that my desire to be in control fuels my anxiety instead of soothing it. The world presents control as the antidote for uncertainty. Spending the vast majority of my energy making sure that things are ‘just so’ takes my focus away from the one thing that truly matters. Jesus never asked for us to be in control. He knows we aren’t, no matter how hard we pretend to be.

He asks for surrender.

When I let go of my need for control, divine peace appears in the hands that once held so tightly to my vision of how things should have been. Where there is peace, there can be no anxiety or uncertainty. Where there is peace, hope can be found, also. James speaks to this later in the same passage quoted above: “Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love Him.” (James 1:12).

God will not forsake us. No matter how nervous I am, there is still a light at the end of this tunnel.

Teacher friends, it is okay to look forward to seeing your students face to face while also feeling uncomfortable with coming back in person in the first place. No matter how I feel about returning on Tuesday, I’ll go. I’ve done what I can to make peace with the fact that there is only so much I can do. Our disinfectant is primed and ready to go, our chairs are six feet apart, our face shields are assigned and numbered. We’ve done our best to create procedures that protect everyone who comes into our band hall while still creating the band environment that they came back for this year.

I may be in control of certain parts of my situation, but God remains fully, truly, and eternally in charge. There is still a greater good to be revealed through the raging dumpster fire that is 2020. My God is still “the Father of lights, with whom there is no shadow or variation due to change.” (James 1:17), even when everything’s turned upside down. God has not changed through all this- He is still love and hope incarnate. He still cares for you, no matter how much you think you don’t deserve it.

At the end of the day, I pray that I remember that all of me and all of this rests in the hands that created it all.