On Religion
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Concerning the coronavirus crisis and these Darwinian days in faith-based higher education

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Concerning the coronavirus crisis and these Darwinian days in faith-based higher education

Every week or so, John Mark Reynolds does something that presidents of academic institutions rarely do – he cleans his office at Saint Constantine School.

This isn't a symbolic gesture in an age of ominous trends, and now a global pandemic, that threaten private education. Reynolds always takes his turn – with other members of his team – cleaning administration offices at this classical school in Houston.

"We have no administrators who are just administrators. Everyone teaches. Everyone shares many of the jobs that need to get done," said Reynolds, reached at his "sheltering in place" home office. "We have a maintenance team, but we all help out. The first lady and I plan to water some plants later today. …

"We call this the economy of small."

Saint Constantine is a K-16 Orthodox Christian school, which means it offers four years of college credits. College tuition is $9,000 per year.

"Our whole model was created to survive the collapse of liberal arts education, while striving to preserve the core of liberal arts education through an Oxford-style tutorial system," said Reynolds. "This pandemic is only exposing the weaknesses of what was already a business model fraught with peril."

College educators have long known that painful challenges were coming in 2025, due to falling birth rates and the end of high millennial-generation enrollments.

Now, the coronavirus crisis is forcing students and parents to face troubling realities. A study by McKinsey & Company researchers noted: "Hunkering down at home with a laptop … is a world away from the rich on-campus life that existed in February."

What happens next? The study noted: "In the virus-recurrence and pandemic-escalation scenarios, higher-education institutions could see much less predictable yield rates (the percentage of those admitted who attend) if would-be first-year students decide to take a gap year or attend somewhere closer to home (and less costly) because of the expectation of longer-term financial challenges for their families."

This could crush some schools. In a report entitled "Dawn of the Dead," Forbes found 675 private colleges it labeled "so-called tuition-dependent schools – meaning they squeak by year-after-year, often losing money or eating into their dwindling endowments."

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Where is God in coronavirus crisis? Yes, that ancient question is part of this news story

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Where is God in coronavirus crisis? Yes, that ancient question is part of this news story

Queen Elizabeth II has seen more than her share of good and evil during her 68 years on the British throne.

Candles shining in the darkness just before Easter are familiar symbols of the presence of good, even in the hardest of times, said the 92-year-old queen, in a recent address about a single subject affecting her people – the coronavirus crisis.

"Easter isn't cancelled. Indeed, we need Easter as much as ever," she said. "The discovery of the risen Christ on the first Easter Day gave his followers new hope and fresh purpose, and we can all take heart from this. We know that coronavirus will not overcome us. As dark as death can be – particularly for those suffering with grief – light and life are greater."

An ancient question loomed over the queen's remarks: Where is God during this global pandemic that threatens the lives and futures of millions of people?

Theologians have a name – "theodicy" – for this puzzle. One website defines this term as "a branch of theology ... that attempts to reconcile the existence of evil in the world with the assumption of a benevolent God."

In his book "God in the Dock," the Christian apologist C.S. Lewis of Oxford University argued that "modern man" now assumes, when evil occurs, that God is on trial. This process "may even end in God's acquittal," he noted. "But the important thing is that Man is on the Bench and God is in the Dock."

This tension can be seen during news coverage of tragedies, wars, disasters and pandemics. Ordinary people involved in these stories often address "theodicy" questions, whether journalists realize it or not. This is a pattern I have observed many times – since this past week marked my 32nd anniversary writing this national "On Religion" column.

The late Peter Jennings of ABC World News Tonight noted that, whenever news teams cover disasters, reporters often ask questions that sound like this: "How did you get through this terrible experience?" Survivors frequently reply: "I don't know. I just prayed. Without God's help, I don't think I could have made it."

What happens next, Jennings once told me, illustrates the gap that separates many journalists and most Americans. There will be an awkward silence, he said, and then the reporter will say something like: "That's nice. But what REALLY got you through this?"

Here we go again.

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Painful choices: Coronavirus lockdowns threaten some familiar Passover traditions

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Painful choices: Coronavirus lockdowns threaten some familiar Passover traditions

Passover Seders include one moment that is especially poignant for grandparents.

Early in this ritual meal they look on as one or more of their grandchildren sing or recite the "Ma Nishtana," the "Four Questions" that frame the lessons Israelites learned from their bondage in Egypt and Exodus to freedom.

The first line echoes from generation to generation: "Why is this night different from all other nights?"

This year, Jews everywhere are wrestling with the fact that – in a world wracked by the coronavirus – this Passover is radically different from other Passovers.

"There's no way to replace having Passover with your parents, your grandparents, your friends and loved ones," said Rabbi Yaacov Behrman, founder of the Jewish Future Alliance and director of Operation Survival, a drug abuse prevention program in the Crown Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn.

"A grandmother looks forward to seeing her grandchildren at the Seder. Fathers and mothers look forward to seeing their families around that table. … There's no way to ignore the pain of what is happening this year."

Prayers and symbols describing suffering and liberation are at the heart of Haggadah (Hebrew for "telling") texts that guide the Seder meal and interpret the eight-day Passover season, which began this year at sundown on Wednesday, April 8.

Why is matzo the only bread at Passover? Because the Israelites didn't have time to bake leavened bread as they fled Egypt. Why dip bitter herbs into chopped apples, dates, nuts and wine? Because this paste resembles the clay Hebrew slaves used to make bricks. Why dip parsley into salt water? This represents new life, mixed with tears.

One ritual will have special meaning this year, as the leader of the Seder prays: "Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments, and commanded us concerning the washing of the hands."

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Coronavirus crisis creates a legal, doctrinal minefield for priests and their flocks

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Coronavirus crisis creates a legal, doctrinal minefield for priests and their flocks

Every now and then, while a priest is traveling or out running errands, a stranger will approach and ask: "Father, will you hear my confession?"

This can happen on a city sidewalk or in a quiet corner of a big-box store. Often the question is urgent – because something disturbing has shaken someone's faith.

"I've been asked for confession in a taxi. I've been asked while on a train," said Father Fergal O'Duill, part of the Dallas-Fort Worth branch of the Catholic movement Regnum Christi. His name is pronounced "O'Doul" and he is originally from Dublin, Ireland.

These requests happen, he added, because "people see you and they know you're a priest. We're priests no matter where we go."

Hearing confessions is crucial during the penitential season of Lent, which precedes Easter, which is on April 12th this year for Catholics and Protestants (and April 19th for Eastern Orthodox Christians). Centuries of Catholic and Orthodox tradition urge believers to go to confession during Lent, before receiving Holy Communion on Easter.

The irony, right now, is that O'Duill can hear confessions during chance encounters, but not during scheduled times at the school where is serves as a chaplain.

The evolving coronavirus pandemic has turned Lent into a confusing minefield of legal and doctrinal questions for pastors and their flocks. In many communities, but not all, state or local officials have ordered people to "shelter in place" – staying home unless they have "essential" needs elsewhere. This has raised an obvious question: Is going to confession "essential," even if Catholics are preparing for Holy Week and Easter rites they will have to watch on digital screens at home?

For most of March, O'Duill was one of several priests who heard confessions in a giant parking lot, or in a pair of tents, near the Highlands School in Irving, Texas. Every effort was made to provide enough privacy to maintain the "dignity" of the sacrament, he said, while priests remained a safe distance from the penitents. Priests offered similar "drive-through" confession opportunities in a few other parts of America.

Then, on March 22, Dallas County Judge Clay Jenkins issued a "shelter in place" order effective through April 3 and, perhaps, beyond.

The ground rules changed.