It's Not About You

When the first restriction for Mass where put in place, the bishop requested we not use the chalice, we not shake/hold hands, and we not receive on the tongue. This was a hard guidance for many who feel touching the host in their hands to be profane. Some tried to argue that they had a canonical right. Some insisted they would not offer their hands. Some said they wouldn’t receive at all during this time. I admit it was hard for me too. And I doubt which way is actually more sanitary.

But this wasn’t about my understanding of sanitary or canon law. Nor anyone else’s who was making public protestations. It’s a matter of obedience. The laity is placed under the care of their bishop. It is his responsibility to lead and protect. Some fail. Some fail spectacularly. But sometimes the laity fail too—fail to listen to their bishop when he says things they don’t already agree with, fail obey the rules he has placed, fail to follow where he leads.

And now the rule is don’t go to Mass. It’s hard to imagine a bishop telling his flock to not go to Mass, but hundreds of bishops around the world are making the same heartbreaking decision. For the safety of the community, stay home. The priests will continue the sacrifice of the Mass in private. The laity are expected to pray at home until we can gather again. Will we hold up our end?

I don’t want to watch Mass online and pray along in my living room. I want the familiar faces and my regular pew and the schola music. I want to receive the Eucharist and know exactly when confession is available. But I can’t have what I want. So I must do what I can. I can obey. I can wait. I can pray.

Lent Enters In

It is an unprecedented time. I haven’t been able to stop and reflect. It changes daily. Everything feels normal and abnormal all at once.

The virus is here. I won’t post the latest numbers, because they are bound to double within days, and they are bound to be inaccurate because of lack of testing. The numbers don’t mean anything yet. They will when the number is ICU beds needed.

The schools are closed. Events are canceled. Workers are furloughed or quarantined. Most disappointingly, public Masses have been suspended. But also, here, the stores are still open. Offices are still operating. People are still out and about, though at a distance. It feels as if we’re ignoring the signs in other places, waiting for it to hit hard here before we make changes. But then it’ll be too late.

The virus is here, but the pandemic is coming. And so we wait. We wait for it to pass. We wait for it to come before we hide. We wait for the next announcement, the latest update. It’s odd, anxious, boring, aggravating, and calm all at once.

I didn’t plan much for this Lent. And that’s ok. We’re all being dealt more than agreed to. We’re in uncharted desert, and we don’t know if we’ll be out in 40 days. It feels appropriate for this to be taking place in Lent. It is a test of patience, of obedience, of devotion, of compassion, of prayer. Can we rise to the challenge? Can we survive in the desert and return transformed? Will we learn anything from this, or just move on to the next season?

It’s not the Lent anyone imagined or wanted. But it’s the one that will change us. May Easter come soon.