Locked Out of Church

Welcome to Word for the Week, the series in which I:

share my experience of hearing God’s Word in Mass last weekend,
explore what I believe the Lord is calling me to do about that Word, and
ask how this Word might impact your life, as well.

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I began writing this entry on the 1-year anniversary of the last “normal” Mass I attended. What a difference a year makes. In this Word for the Week entry, I'm reflecting on the bookends of the year, marked by two very disparate experiences.

Last year, I was on tour in Portland, OR with my friend, co-author and now co-host, Fr. Matt Fase, CSC. He celebrated the Sunday evening Mass at St. Michael the Archangel in Portland. After Mass, we gave a short concert/keynote together and then talked and laughed with parishioners for hours.

One year later, my family arrived 10 minutes early for Mass at our local parish in Arizona. David brought Mercedes, Serra and Jamal inside while I finished my makeup and had a critical Mom-Talk with Chiara in the van.

When Chiara and I crossed the parking lot and went up to the church doors, bright blue, laminated signs read, "Church at Capacity."

The doors were locked.

A young priest stood outside in his clerics. "We can't let anyone else in," he said as dozens of people came up in hopes of joining the Eucharistic Feast.

He urged people to come earlier in the future or to try a different Mass time. He defended the Bishop's decision to limit capacity to 25% of the building. "Obedience," he said with a laugh. The laugh sounded sad.

Another family arrived about 15 minutes later. Their daughter intended to be present for the scrutinies. The priest exclaimed, "You should have been here a long time ago!"

They were silent. Sure, they were late for Mass. But did they expect the possibilities of being rejected in this manner?

"Hey, you're going to receive your Confirmation?" I said with a smile from behind my mask. The middle schooler in the bright pink tee perked up and nodded. Her cheekbones filled out with a smile similarly veiled behind her mask.

"Oh, yes, that's great!" The priest's tone shifted from security guard to pastor.

The family walked away with their shoulders slumped.

I stood outside with another young couple, Patrick and Jasmine. Chiara played in the well-manicured lawn with their eldest two children (ages 2 and 1 years old). I picked up my phone to text David: “Locked out. At capacity.” Beside me, Jasmine rocked her sleeping infant in a front pack.

Patrick took some deep breaths, then asked the priest about the logic of locking people out. After a while of listening to explanations of policy and procedure, Patrick shook his head and said, "I'm not blaming you, Father."

Finally, it seemed the priest ensured no one from the inside would let anyone else in. He disappeared from our sight.

Patrick turned to his wife and me. Our kids were stepping around the courtyard now, hand in hand. Patrick intermittently glanced toward the children as he described a movie about two young priests. “They risked their lives to bring the Sacraments to Catholics in Japan during religious persecution.”

After another fatherly look toward the kids, Patrick mused, "And I just have to wait until the 10:45am Mass," he laughed, a bit like the young priest had. "But it's the precedent," he added quietly.

On the pandemic-anniversary weekend, I still received the Eucharist. There was an evening Mass at a different parish later. My Word for the Week was, “Die...of thirst.”

During that Mass, the Lord allowed me to experience a bit more of His thirst for me and for every soul He has created. I felt an indescribable longing to welcome every person into the Church. It seemed so crucially important to share the love and the community that we have been given in Christ!

I could most definitely sense the thirst between God and His people more acutely than the year prior. And I can laugh about it now. It’s one thing to hear the call from Luke 14:22, “Go out to the highways and hedgerows and make people come in that my home may be filled.” It’s another thing to be locked out of that home. It would seem there is no other choice but to go out.

Here’s the Holy Spirit, once again speaking to me through very direct imagery.

Perhaps you feel the pull also, to go out beyond the Church walls to share the gospel. Or maybe you’re coming from the other side and have felt removed from or shunned by the Church for a long time. The good news is, no matter where we find ourselves, God wants to meet our thirst with His thirst.

In closing, I’ll invite you to reflect with me on the words of St. Theresa of Calcutta, “He thirsts for you. He loves you always, even when you don’t feel worthy. When not accepted by others, even by yourself sometimes—He is the one who always accepts you.”

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