Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.
– Isaiah 43:1
This past Friday night, I learned that one of my high school classmates, Steve Anderson, died due to the Coronavirus. Just last week, a mutual friend had talked with him by phone, and they had made plans to see each other later this summer. But on Wednesday afternoon, Steve was taken to the ER, diagnosed with COVID-19 and placed in ICU. Two days later he was dead.
I was stunned to hear the news and surprised at how hard it hit me. Although Steve and I were friends in high school and hung out with some of the same people, I had lost contact with him over the years except when high school reunions brought us together. I knew that he had chosen Law as his career, that he had gotten married and had a couple of kids, and that he was a practicing attorney. But I wasn’t aware that 14 years ago, Governor Pawlenty had appointed Steve as a district judge. “The Honorable Steven A. Anderson,” a fitting title for a truly honorable human being. (Coincidentally, on Grace Lutheran’s ZOOM call Sunday morning, I learned that one of our members had worked for Steve. She spoke of what a wonderful man he was. This news has hit her hard, too, and we are sharing one another’s grief.)
I remember Steve well from our high school days. He was bright, kind, and determined; a talented athlete and a fine trumpeter. It hadn’t surprised anyone that Steve graduated from college in three years and went on to earn his Juris Doctorate, becoming a successful attorney and eventually, judge. And it is certainly no surprise that Steve was so dearly loved by his family, friends, and colleagues.
In part, Steve’s death is hard because even though years have passed, I feel that I still know him. It’s hard because he was my peer, and his death is a reminder of my own mortality. It’s hard because I am seeing how deeply our mutual friends are grieving, and one of them just lost his wife last year. But I think it’s also hard because Steve is the first victim of COVID-19 that I know personally. I’ve read many of the stories of those whose lives have been claimed by this terrible virus. But now I know the story of one of its victims without needing to read it.
On Saturday night, I watched the two-hour broadcast, “One World: Together at Home.” The fundraiser, which brought in almost $128 million for healthcare workers and coronavirus relief, featured a star-studded cast including the likes of Elton John, Paul McCartney, Jennifer Lopez, Taylor Swift and the Rolling Stones. The show ended with the most beautiful rendition I have ever heard of “The Prayer,” sung by Lady Gaga, Celine Dion, John Legend and Andrea Bocelli.
But as stirring as many of the performances were, what has stayed with me is the response from Sanam Ahmed, a critical care physician working on the front line at Mt. Sinai Hospital in New York City. Stephen Colbert asked her: “What’s the one thing you want people to know about the work you’re doing right now?” Dr. Ahmed answered: “I want people to know that if you can’t hold your Mom’s hand, I’m there to hold her hand. The nurses and the doctors – – we’re all there to tell your Mom, your Dad, your loved one that you love them and we’re there for them.”
When Steve was admitted to the ER last Wednesday, it was the last time his wife, Karen, would see him. She was instructed to go home and remain in quarantine for 14 days. I want to believe that one of the physicians or nurses attending to Steve at Bethesda Hospital in St. Paul held Steve’s hand since Karen couldn’t. I want to believe that one of them told Steve how much he is loved, since his wife and sons weren’t able to tell him themselves. Of course, I will never know if this happened. But whether it did or not, I do believe that in ways we can’t even begin to understand, God was there in Steve’s room, not only holding Steve’s hand but lovingly embracing his whole being even as he was dying, and calling Steve by the name that was surely music to his ears and balm to his soul: “Beloved.”
Loving God: When we are filled with doubt, remind us of your faithfulness. When we feel alone, remind us of your presence. And when we need reassurance, remind us that we are your beloved, now and forever. Amen.
