Lately I’ve been dumbstruck, and not in a good way, by some of the sentiments expressed on social media regarding:

A) God

B) Faith

C) Death

According to certain factions in conservative Christianity, we who are worried about COVID-19 should just calm down and stop whining about masks and stuff because, to quote one adherent of this view, “Living in fear of death is no way to live life.” This particular fathead referred to people upset about the mounting death toll as “the Corona SS” and then added, just for good measure: “I’ll be happy to tell you about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ if you fear death.”

Okay. Okay. (Fans face in futile attempt to calm down.) Okay. FIRST OF ALL, I have to state flat-out that NOT ALL CHRISTIANS ARE FATHEADS. Not all of us are anti-science, and not all of us are convinced that the best response to a pandemic is to pretend that it isn’t happening and then tell everyone who’s trying to take precautions that they’re all Godless Nazi twits who should shut up and find the Lord, and, you know, SO WHAT if thousands upon thousands of people are dying horrific preventable deaths.

Excuse me, but THIS MAKES ME WANT TO JUMP UP AND DOWN SCREAMING UNTIL MY DOLLAR-STORE READING GLASSES FLY OFF MY NOSE.

Okay. (Fans face again.) Okay. I would like to take this occasion to state flat-out that I believe in:

A) God

B) Jesus and

C) Masks

Yes! All three! I know, shocking, isn’t it? Even more shocking, I am a huge, HUGE fan of:

D) Fearing Death

Let me explain myself. (Clears throat, pulls mic close to mouth.) I believe that the Someone Out There who made us actually wants us to live — and wants us to want to live. I believe our fear of death is God-given, instilled in us to keep us here and keep us striving despite all the sacks of crap that are thrown our way.

Life is a gift, but it’s hard. IT’S HARD. I say this as a person of faith and one who has lost too many loved ones to suicide, my husband and sister included. I know they wanted to live — or, again, wanted to want to live. They fought to remain here with every ounce of their beings, and they did so with the faith that God was present in their pain. But the pain became too much. Fear of death became secondary. And I lost them.

SO DON’T TELL ME I SHOULDN’T FEAR DEATH, MR. FATHEAD. Don’t tell me this fear springs from a lack of faith — whether in God, or in life. That fear is a gift. That fear pushes me to treasure this time I have on earth, these hugs I share with my dear ones, these moments of light and beauty and laughter that dapple the craziness. That fear lends urgency to this life, defines its boundaries, inspires all of us to live and give and love and heal in spite of it — knowing we’re not here for long, groping for answers we know we might not find.

And since we’re on the subject of Our Lord and Savior, I just gotta add one point: EVEN JESUS WANTED TO LIVE. (Shakes fist, thumps bible, adjusts dollar-store reading glasses.) In the Garden of Gethsemane he grappled alone, in agony, in the dark, with his own fear of death. I am baffled why any professed follower of Christ would gloss over this little moment, because that’s why his sacrifice meant something. Meant everything. Meant the literal and figurative world. He gave himself to God, and to us, despite his own urge to let the cup pass him by. It’s kinda, you know, the point.

Does that sacrifice mean the rest of us shouldn’t fear death? Nope. It means WE SHOULDN’T TAKE ANY OF THIS FOR GRANTED. It means we should live and give and love and heal the way Jesus told us to live and give and love and heal: With absolute awareness that we aren’t here for long. With the sense and conviction that death is around the bend, and every sacrifice matters, every gesture of love and generous impulse. With the stubbornness within that says life is worth living even when it hurts like hell.

We’re here now. Let’s cherish what we have, do what we can, and take care of each other.

(Straps on mask.)