And after?

And it all stopped...

This world launched like a car in its mad race, this world which we all knew was running for its loss but which no one found the "emergency stop" button, this gigantic machine has been suddenly stopped net. Because of a tiny beast, a tiny parasite invisible to the naked eye, a small virus of nothing at all ... How ironic! And now we're forced to stop moving and do nothing. But what happens next? When the world will resume its march; after, when the ugly little beast has been defeated? What will our life look like after that?

After? Remembering what we have experienced in this long containment, we will decide on a day in the week when we will stop working because we will have rediscovered how good it is to stop; a long day to taste the passing of time and the others around us. And we'll call it Sunday.

After? Those who live under the same roof, will spend at least 3 evenings a week together, playing, talking, caring for each other and also calling Grandpa who lives alone on the other side of town or cousins who are far away. And we'll call it family.

After? We will write in the Constitution that we cannot buy everything, that we must distinguish between need and whim, between desire and lust; that a tree needs time to grow and that time that takes its time is a good thing. That man has never been and will never be all-powerful and that this limit, this fragility inscribed in the depths of his being is a blessing since it is the condition of possibility of all love. And we will call it wisdom.

After? We will applaud every day, not only the medical staff at 8pm but also the garbage collectors at 6am, the postmen at 7am, the bakers at 8am, the bus drivers at 9am, the elected at 10am and so on. Yes, I wrote the elect well, because in this long journey through the desert, we will have rediscovered the sense of service of the state, of devotion and of the Common Good. We will applaud all those who, in one way or another, are at the service of their neighbour. And we'll call it gratitude.

After? We will decide not to get excited in the queue in front of the shops and to take advantage of this time to talk to people who, like us, are waiting their turn. Because we will have rediscovered that time does not belong to us; that whoever gave it to us did not charge us anything and that decidedly, no, time is not money! Time is a gift to be received and every minute a gift to taste. And we'll call it patience.

After? We can decide to turn all the WhatsApp groups created between neighbors during this long ordeal into real groups, shared dinners, exchanged news, help to go shopping or bring the children to school. And we will call it brotherhood.

After? We will laugh when we think about before, when we had become slaves to a financial machine that we had created ourselves, this despotic grip destroying human lives and ransacking the planet. Then we will put man back at the center of everything because no life deserves to be sacrificed in the name of any system. And we will call it justice.

After? We will remember that this virus was transmitted between us without distinguishing between skin color, culture, income level or religion. Simply because we all belong to the human species. Just because we're human. And from this we will have learned that if we can pass on the worst, we can also pass on the best. Just because we're human. And we will call it humanity.

After? In our homes, in our families, there will be many empty chairs and we will mourn those who will never see this after. But what we will have experienced will have been so painful and so intense at the same time, that we will have discovered this link between us, this communion stronger than geographical distance. And we will know that this link, which plays with space, is also played out in time; that this link passes death. And this link between us that unites this side and the other side of the street, this side and the other side of death, this side and the other side of life, we will call him God.

After? After that it will be different from before but to live this after, we need to cross the present. We must consent to this other death that is being played out in us, this death much more painful than physical death. Because there is no resurrection without passion, no life without going through death, no true peace without having overcome one's own hatred, nor joy without having gone through sadness. And to say that, to say this slow transformation of us that is accomplished in the heart of the ordeal, this long gestation of ourselves, to say this, there is no word.

Father Pierre Alain Lejeune

Priest in a parish of Bordeaux