She places the mask on her face making sure it is covering her mouth and nose. Pain erupts in her chest, and she swallows hard. With each step, her feet drag along the asphalt as she forces herself to move. At least she does not have to plaster a fake smile on her face. Now that everyone has to wear masks, no one can see the corners of her mouth sag.
***
He trudges up the steps of the church longing for a friendly gesture, but most people just nod. If someone speaks, a simple “hello” is as far as it goes. The masks seem to complicate real conversation. He lives alone and spends every day in isolation. His loneliness is not by choice, but the cards life has dealt him. Each week he always looked forward to that sincere fellowship on Sunday mornings. Now, the world has taken that from him too. He might as well stay home and watch on television alone. It is all the same except at home he does not have to wear the mask.
***
These scenarios play in my mind as I lay down in bed. An experience I had at my son’s ballgame tonight has left me with a sick feeling in my stomach.
After the third out at the bottom of the fifth, I had made a mad dash for the restroom. Of course, a line snaked outside the door. As I stood waiting my turn, the lady in front of me called out my name from beneath her mask. Right or wrong, the game was outdoors, and I had ditched my mask the second I had walked through the entrance to the field. I stared at the woman with a mask covering most of her face. The wheels spun in my mind at warp speeds as I tried to place a name with the face that I could not see. I really did not want to admit that I had no idea who she was. It was no use. The search engine in my brain came up with no matches. I did not have a clue who the woman was. The blank expression on my uncovered face motivated her hand to unhook one side of her mask. Immediately, I recognized the mother of one of my son’s teammates that he has played summer ball with for several years. We burst into laughter at my sudden epiphany.
But the more I think about my inability to identify a person that I see so often, the less humor I find in it. These masks may protect our physical health, but what about our mental and social health? As Christians, how many opportunities to witness are we missing? Before the pandemic and the masks, a trip to Walmart might include a conversation with a complete stranger. Those conversations sometimes revealed a prayer need. But now, masks make it too hard to even share a greeting much less a chat. Add the six-foot distancing in, and discourse is now impossible unless we want to yell. Maybe I am getting carried away and overthinking my experience at the ballgame. Then again, maybe I am not.
What do you think?
