Quarantine

Wow. It's been a long time since I updated this blog. But I was thinking about our parish priest saying he feels like a semi-cloistered monk right now, and then I thought of you. That you and pretty much all the other priests in the country (and in large parts of the rest of the world) are alone right now. Of course, you have any other priests who live with you and you're probably still visiting the sick and dying, but the daily Masses with the same old people who go day after day, the weekend Masses with all the huge Catholic families, and all the other activities that make up the life of your parish family have suddenly ground to a halt. We've all gone home to be with our families and you are left bereft of your family, for in a very real sense, your family is the Church.

When I first heard that bishops were lifting obligations and then canceling Masses, I was angry. I kept saying that even in a time of plague, no matter the risks to our bodily lives, we should not be deprived of our Church community and the sacraments. The Eucharist is what sustains us through every moment of our lives, so how are we supposed to get through one of the most difficult times this current civilization has ever seen without access to the Eucharist? My anger waned as I thought about how difficult a decision this was for our bishops, and as I listened to my own bishop speak about spiritual communion, and as I realized more and more that this was in no way permanent or absolute - the sacraments still exist and anyone in dire need of them would surely be granted them.

Last night, my parish held one last public adoration hour with confessions followed by one last public Mass before the bishop's restrictions went into effect. I went to confession and stayed in adoration for only a few minutes, since I had left Joseph sitting in the car with Leo (who was finally napping!) and had promised him that he could into adoration after I went to confession. As I sat there staring at the Eucharist, I cried, not just because I was scared of the future or because I would miss going to Mass, but because I realized that I had taken Him for granted. I've always just assumed that I could go to Mass, confession, or adoration any time. After all, there are more daily Masses in this city than pretty much anywhere else in the world. And if I meant to go to daily Mass or meant to go to confession or adoration one week but then something came up, I just said "Well, I'll go tomorrow" or "I'll go next week." And now there is not tomorrow; there is not next week. I cannot receive Him, unless I happen to be on my death bed, anytime soon. The rest of Lent might go by without me being in the physical presence of Christ. And I wept because I did not want to leave His presence, and because I had passed up so many opportunities to be with Him already.

Quarantine just means 40 days, so Lent is a fitting time for all of us to be trapped apart from each other, to wander alone in the desert without the Living Bread. I've heard a lot of suggestions about how to make the most out of this time, such as praying Liturgy of the Hours, watching live streams of Mass, calling your friends and relatives, and even taking up new hobbies. These are all great suggestions, but maybe the best thing we can do is to feel ourselves in the desert, to sink into the realization that we are far from God, not merely because the church doors are closed, but because we have wandered far away without even paying attention to what we are doing. Maybe we should just sit in the silence and let God sit with us in the desert of Lent, let God speak to our hearts as we have not allowed him to do for so long. I've always shied away from quiet, afraid of what I might hear if I silenced my own thoughts for ten seconds, but it is in those moments of silence that God speaks, and maybe He is using this time to try to reach through to all of our hearts. I cried because I had thrown away all my opportunities to be with Him this Lent, and I thought my last chance was going by too quickly, but perhaps I now have a chance to be with Him more fully than I have been in a long time.

There was a moment yesterday where I felt a little jealous of all you priests around the world, because although public Masses are suspended, you still carry through your ministry of making Him present on every altar and worshiping Him, being in His presence. That is a wondrous gift, to be in the presence of God even when no one else can be there. I realized though, that the priests and the laity are merely in two different kinds of deserts. You are alone in the desert with Christ present at your side but your family cast away from you. And we are in a desert wandering with our families feeling the absence of God. But Christ is with all of us, albeit in different ways, and maybe this is our best chance to recognize His presence in our lives. Maybe the priests can spend more time in contemplative prayer, being able to adore Christ during moments when they ordinarily would be focused on tending to His sheep. And maybe we can spend more time tending to each other and listening to Christ's voice in the silence when we ordinarily would be focused on finding all the excuses our world offers us to push Him away. 

Know that I am praying for you! May this Lent be a blessing and may God bless you and keep you safe, both when you are alone and when you are ministering to all those in need.