Surviving the Plagues We know as Trump & COVID

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The other day I found myself beseeching God for an explanation of why he has brought two plagues, Trump and COVID, down upon us, and I realized that this sort of thing is not without Biblical precedent. I am hardly a religious scholar, but I do recall that in Genesis and Exodus God has shown a tendency of become fed up with the poor mortals he had created and let loose his frustrations.

In ancient Egypt, Pharaoh et al suffered ten plagues, not just two. In Sodom & Gomorrah, it was impossible to find even ten souls worth saving, so the Boss took out his anger in the form of fire and brimstone on the twin cities (no, not Minneapolis and St Paul). It was not a pretty sight, just ask Lot’s wife. Then, in the time of Noah evil had spread so far across the globe that God released the perfect storm in the form of a downpour that didn’t end until everything, except for the two-by-two’s in the ark, had drowned beneath the waters.

Now, it seems, we are again in the eye of another semi-perfect storm. We have an orange-colored Pharaoh in charge, incapable of leading and equally incapable of caring. He is backed by legislators who possess an anatomical anomaly: They manage to survive, even to walk upright, without the benefit of a backbone.

Then we have the downpour of COVID-19. Though not quite as extensive as Noah’s liquid virus, this one attacks and kills the old and the vulnerable without the least hesitancy, and it has begun to infect the uncaring and uncautious at rates that make us wonder when the downpour will ever end.

As bad as this situation is, it’s important to note that my concern is about when the downpour will end, not whether it will ever cease.

I await an election in November that I believe will erase the plague we call Trump. And I await the scientists’ discovery of a vaccine, perhaps by the year 2021 AD, in the belief that if I am thoughtful about my behavior I will be one of many survivors.

Till then, how do I manage a life without travel, without restaurants, without the possibility of hugging my grandkids? I tell myself to imagine that I’ve had a serious operation and my doctors have told me that I will thrive eventually, but not for another six months. I tell myself that I succumbed to some strange, illegal urge, and that I am now under house arrest. So I suck it up and do without, in the firm belief that with good behavior, my sentence may be short or even commuted (you know, like Roger Stone).

Like the ancient soothsayers, I foresee Donald Trump off to Mara Lago–or even better, to Sing Sing. In my crystal ball I see myself getting vaccinated in the not-too-distant future, at which point it will be safe to go out into the streets—without a mask. One of the first things I will do is to buy two tickets to LA to see my grandkids, and hold them close to me without fear of their health or mine.

I can see how a Superior Being (no Donald, not you) could be pretty fed up with our many and major imperfections and take matters into his own hands. I believe, however, that I and many others have the three major ingredients that will actually get us through this. They are: caution, patience, and hope (and perhaps a small donation to the Biden campaign).

In the meantime, stay well.