Two Sundays, One Octave, No Masses

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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Today I’m reflecting on the two separate “Word for the Week” phrases that stood out during the recent “Octave of Easter.” The days between Easter Sunday and Divine Mercy Sunday are the most jubilant on our Church calendar. This year, jubilation came in a much different form than before. You might say, it’s been in disguise!

Right off the bat: we didn’t have tickets for Mass on Easter Sunday. The seats were spoken for, weeks in advance. We watched the live stream on our phones as the doors to our home parish were locked.

It was striking to watch David and Jamal from across the courtyard on Easter morning. I sat at a bench in the shade with the girls. The boys (David and Jamal) shared a pair of wireless headphones right outside of the church edifice. And I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the feeling of receiving Holy Communion outside of church at the end of Mass.

We stood beside a sign that read, “No tickets line.” We received, along with several others who hadn’t attended Mass in person. And then we were instantly amidst the congregation who, moments before, were inside of the church, singing “Jesus Christ is Ris'n Today” or some other triumphant hymn.

“Happy easter!” They greeted one another. And as I chewed and then swallowed the Host, I looked for a quiet place to pray. There was none. Instead, I looked for a place to hide. The immediate option was to back into an exterior corner of the church. As I did, I began to weep. This was not a cute cry. The grief emerged through full-on sobbing.

Thankfully, there was my face mask! I unlooped the straps from my ears. By simply holding it to my forehead with my chin tripped downward, the cloth converted into a veil for my entire countenance. My shoulders were heaving. If it weren’t such a profusely jubilant moment in the courtyard, I would’ve created quite a scene.

Someone finally approached to see whether I was okay. Moments after I lifted my head and thanked him for his concern, a second person inquired whether everything was all right. She asked if there was anything she could do. I asked if I could go into the church to pray for a few moments. She left but then returned promptly.

“Follow me, this way,” she said as she ushered me into the air-conditioned sanctuary.

As I chose a wooden pew toward the back of the church, I wept even more (albeit quietly). Thousands of flowers adorned the altar. Tapestries hung in graceful arches around the church. My daughters would have loved it! But they weren’t allowed in, not without special permission. It all felt so violating and so wrong.

And on the following Sunday--Divine Mercy--our entire family (with the exception of one child) was recovering from the stomach flu. So we stayed home from church. What a kick off to Easter Season 2021, huh?

I went to Mass the day after the Octave of Easter. That Monday morning, the word that stood out was, “speak the word of God with boldness,” from Acts 4:31.

In mass, as I asked the Holy Spirit what to do about this word. It seemed evident, as it has again and again of late, that the Holy Spirit is calling me beyond the church walls to proclaim the Good News. We can’t simply leave people out in the cold (or out in the heat, as the case may be in Phoenix). It’s not right. I must go.

I’m being called to “go about.” In this case, it seems to be via social media. And what should I do there? “Speak the word of God with boldness.”

I’m starting to realize what it means to not rush back to full-time ministry tours at Catholic parishes. With the guidance of God’s word, I can trust that the Lord has prepared this moment in advance. Even as I’ve gone through the understanding of what it feels like to be physically outside of the church, it’s time to meet those who have felt spiritually outside of the church for far too long.

It’s comforting because...

I have no idea how I’m going to do this. Rather, there’s not enough energy and strength in me to accomplish this task. But I trust that it isn’t by my own strength. If the Lord keeps beckoning me to go farther out, He’ll keep providing the means and the boldness with which to speak.

Perhaps you, like the apostles in the book of Acts, will find yourself called to things that you could never imagine this Easter season. Can you think of any? Want to join me in trusting the Lord to act through us? It seems more than a little nerve wracking. But I suppose the best things in life are a little scary at first.

Amen.

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