“For the entire law is fulfilled in keeping this one command: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'” — Galatians 5:14

“Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit. Rather, in humility value others above yourselves.” — Philippians 2:3

Over the Memorial Day weekend, I got involved in yet another debate over the merits and ethics of mask-wearing and vaccination. I witnessed but did not participate in a second such conversation, and quietly listened to a third.

I saw tears.

I heard anger.

I heard frustration.

I contributed some.

I grew tired.

And I thought, as I often have over the past year of crisis in the coronavirus pandemic, about past American/global tragedies and how Americans responded.

My only knowledge of World War II is secondhand, of course. And I recognize that, perhaps, the history books paint a rosier picture than reality, and my grandparents’ stories waxed more sweet nostalgia than actual memory. But my mental images of the homeland at that time are ones of national sacrifice and service, of Victory Gardens and rubber and can drives, of war bonds and factories converted to the war effort, powered by Rosie the Riveter.

My Vietnam War knowledge comes secondhand, too, and I recognize that, perhaps, the history books there paint a grimmer picture than reality, my grandparents’ stories more frustration than recollection. My mental images of that period are ones of division, of protests and demonstrations and the National Guard on the home front, police lines and sit-ins.

The first international tragedy through which I’ve lived was the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001.

It happened early my junior year of high school. My school’s cafeteria had two big TVs up in the corners, and the teachers let us out of class after the second plane hit the World Trade Center and we all watched from the cafeteria. I remember a couple kids laughing as CNN replayed the images over and again. I don’t know if they laughed at what they saw on TV or something unrelated. I remember it bothered me.

My memories of that time are ones of collective indifference. I and my mother sat glued to the TV for weeks after 9/11, but, for the most part, most everyone seemed mostly back to normal by New Year’s Day 2002. Yes, gas prices shot up. Yes, new, permanent security measures slowed us down at the airport. And, yes, brave young men and women signed up for military service, and our July 4 and Memorial Day and Veterans Day parades took on a more somber tone as some of those brave young men and women failed to come home.

But, by 2002, it seemed much of the country had largely switched off the news and turned to the latest episode of “Survivor.”

Then came the pandemic, and I know already I will remember this tragedy as something different, entirely.

Yes, the pandemic spawned the “mask-making armies,” volunteers swarmed food banks, donors gave readily to foundations, distilleries converted their plants to make hand sanitizer and carmakers and others converted factories to make personal protective equipment and medical supplies. Yes, our health care industry, educators, and other frontline workers stepped up beyond expectations.

But all that seemed countered — in some ways overshadowed — by the mass rallies and small, individual protests against coronavirus-related restrictions and mandates, that picture of a man yelling into a Michigan State Police trooper’s face. By the angry denunciations you hear at the grocery store, the gas station, the bank, on Memorial Day holidays.

I feel no sense of collective national sacrifice for the good of the whole, and too much anger against those who make the sacrifice from those who refused to make the sacrifice, and against those who refused to make the sacrifice from those who sacrificed.

Maybe I’ve just grown pessimistic, but it seems our nation has been tested once more, and, this time, we were found wanting.

I wore my mask the last year because I believe the science that says it protected me and others, and I got vaccinated for the same reason. Even for the smallest chance that doing those things might save a life, I found the discomfort well worth it.

Doing that sort of thing is biblical, I believe.

But so, too, is loving your neighbor, and I haven’t always done as well at that. I’ve let myself get sucked into debates that turned into arguments. I’ve harbored anger.

I’ve been found wanting.

Here’s hoping that, as we climb out of this mess, we can move on together, forgive one another, let go of the anger.

That the good Lord will be pleased with what he finds.

Justin A. Hinkley can be reached at 989-354-3112 or jhinkley@thealpenanews.com. Follow him on Twitter @JustinHinkley.