All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.
–Julian of Norwich
To say the least, things have changed a bit since the last time we met in this space. Our experience in this world-wide pandemic has made us all partakers in the Lentiest Lent of our time, and perhaps the most meaningful (albeit forced) practice of honoring the dignity of the human person within recent memory.
Without question the sacrifices we have each been asked to make are unique. Work has continued in our household, school has not. I have been grumpy, anxious, and inconvenienced, but have remained blessedly unscathed, aside from being unable to attend the funeral Mass for my grandmother.
We all have our stories.
In my attempts to keep looking ahead and remaining positive, I have taken to the internet to purchase seeds: Native, heirloom, perennial, vegetable, flower; you name it. At our house, we refer to this as my ‘Jack-and-the-Beanstalk remedy.’ With the newly-developing silver streak at my temple, I am my own Miss. Rumphius and I will make ugly things more beautiful– scattering physical and metaphorical seeds anywhere I can in an effort to do so.
My husband, though not a medical professional, continues to work serving those on the street, who do not have the luxury of sheltering in place. He is just one of thousands of the social service providers that are working non-stop to integrate the input of evolving guidelines and protocol to meet the needs of those whose needs were unmet before the pandemic began; with the addition of those whose needs have multiplied because of it. My worry for him is connected to the well-being of every person who steps into their shelter each day…by last week’s count, 1,000 individuals per day.
The longer this goes on, the more I add to my litany of gratitude to those whose roles are simultaneously invisible and vital: For grocers who provide us with staples, those who help us to educate our children—especially children with special needs; those people and facilities which help us maintain our physical health; those who provide cleaning services at our workplaces, folks who grow and prepare our food. For the social workers and counselors who continue to meet with clients; for the food banks who have setup curbside pickup for their patrons who cannot come inside, those in the hospitality industry whose hours have been cut as stadiums and convention centers remained empty. For those who keep our water clean, toilets flushing, technology running; for mail carriers and those who deliver packages to our doors when we are unable to go out. To say nothing of those currently interviewing for jobs at risk of their own health, to put food on the table after their own stunted employment. There list goes on.
And yet…
Maybe it’s fitting then that we have already entered into the holiest week of the year. No, we’re not ready. Yes it will be different.
We are about to fumble our way into the most solemn, holy days of the year (the Triduum) in the only way we know how: As we are. In our characteristic, unpracticed, distinctly human way. Had we known this was coming, we might have taken care to invest in a nice set of candles, a white table cloth, a worthy basin. Likely we would have scheduled haircuts, replaced the ink in our printer, or made a trip that bakery for Easter dessert. The only tangible difference between this year and last, or this year and next, is our presentation. When we are stripped of the non-essentials, what remains?
It seems that this authentic participation, is the crux of it all. This is what Jesus entered into; His real presence for ours. Christ is not interested in what we’ve curated, rather, I suspect He is most interested in what we are cultivating. Whether that be the bare minimum of remote learning requirements, make-shift home sanctuaries, backyard symphony performances, drive-by birthday parties, chalk driveway hearts, baby introductions through windowpanes; goodbyes via Skype.
Here we are.
And because we are here, it would seem that God is doing a new thing in us. God is, after all, still in the business of doing new things–
Perhaps we raised our voices in the Palm Sunday readings this year, and felt the Word of God proclaimed from our own lips in a new way. Instead of watching the foot washing ritual on the altars of our parishes on Holy Thursday, complete with shining pitcher and basin, we might be dusting off that large serving bowl in the back of the cabinet, and maybe for the first time, washing the feet of our spouse/parent/child/grandchild/whomever. Rather than gathering together and welcoming the newly-Baptized into the Church on Easter Vigil, we’ll be watching live stream, anxious for the time when we can make a point to physically welcome those who have had to postpone their reception into the Church, instead of brushing by in the hurry of the day.
Rather than fasting from chocolate or social media, we’ve been asked to fast from the Bread of Life itself (by way of the Eucharist). I wonder, when this is over, will we conceive of how assuredly we (I) have partaken in this sustaining nourishment on the regular without having realized it? And in the meantime, will we be attentive to the many other ways Christ’s presence is being made manifest to nourish us–and will continue to do long after we’ve returned to our vacant sanctuaries?
None of this is to say that this time of isolation has been positive. It has been positively terrifying. It has brought out the best in us, and no doubt, it has brought out the worst.
Being church in the world.
The point is we are very much in the desert, hungering and thirsting in a way we find unfamiliar. If we had doubted our utter dependence on God previously, perhaps we are cured of that now. Our next few days have the potential to give us a glimpse at the beauty and possibility of the domestic church & a glimpse at the new thing God is doing in us. As many have rightly put it: “The church isn’t closed—the buildings are. We are the Church!” Our isolated celebrations will not replace what we are missing now, though they may serve to introduce us to a new way to be church in the world—at least I hope so.
I’m not sure if you were able to participate in Pope Francis’ Urbi et Orbi blessing on March 27 (still available, here). But it was powerful,consoling, and I’d recommend it. It was strikingly celebrated in a dark and empty St. Peter’s square, meanwhile the world held its breath and begged for help, prayerfully united in what feels the first time in a long time. The most significant moment of the liturgy for me was the Litany of Supplication, a prayer that captured so well the emotions we are feeling.
A blessing.
In addition to St. Julian’s reassuring mantra that ‘all will be well,’ I’ll leave you with this prayerful intercession to accompany you on your journey through the Triduum, and beyond. I pray that you and yours are well and that celebrating this ‘new thing’ is grace-filled and distinctly nourshing.
We adore you, O Lord True God and true man, truly present in this holy Sacrament. We adore you, O Lord Our Savior, God with us, faithful and rich in mercy We adore you, O Lord King and Lord of creation and of history We adore you, O Lord Conqueror of sin and death We adore you, O Lord Friend of humankind, the Risen One, the Living One who sits at the right hand of the Father. We adore you, O Lord
We believe in you, O Lord Only begotten Son of the Father, descended from heaven for our salvation We believe in you, O Lord Heavenly physician, who bows down over our misery We believe in you, O Lord Lamb who was slain, who offer yourself to rescue us from evil We believe in you, O Lord Good Shepherd, who give your life for the flock which you love We believe in you, O Lord Living bread and medicine for immortality, who give us eternal life We believe in you, O Lord
Deliver us, O Lord From the power of Satan and the seductions of the world Deliver us, O Lord From the pride and presumption of being able to do anything without you Deliver us, O Lord From the deceptions of fear and anxiety Deliver us, O Lord From unbelief and desperation Deliver us, O Lord From hardness of heart and the incapacity to love Deliver us, O Lord
Save us, O Lord From every evil that afflicts humanity Save us, O Lord From hunger, from famine and from egoism Save us, O Lord From illnesses, epidemics and the fear of our brothers and sisters Save us, O Lord From devastating madness, from ruthless interests and from violence Save us, O Lord From being deceived, from false information and the manipulation of consciences Save us, O Lord
Comfort us, O Lord Protect your Church which crosses the desert Comfort us, O Lord Protect humanity terrified by fear and anguish Comfort us, O Lord Protect the sick and the dying, oppressed by loneliness Comfort us, O Lord Protect doctors and healthcare providers exhausted by the difficulties they are facing Comfort us, O Lord Protect politicians and decision makers who bear the weight of having to make decisions Comfort us, O Lord
Grant us your Spirit, O Lord In the hour of trial and from confusion Grant us your Spirit, O Lord In temptation and in our fragility Grant us your Spirit, O Lord In the battle against evil and sin Grant us your Spirit, O Lord In the search for what is truly good and true joy Grant us your Spirit, O Lord in the decision to remain in you and in your friendship Grant us your Spirit, O Lord
Open us to hope, O Lord Should sin oppress us Open us to hope, O Lord Should hatred close our hearts Open us to hope, O Lord Should sorrow visit us Open us to hope, O Lord Should indifference cause us anguish Open us to hope, O Lord Should death overwhelm us Open us to hope, O Lord Amen -Litany of Supplication //
For those of us wracking our brains to celebrate Easter well within our own homes, here is a lovely resource from Liturgical Press that I plan on incorporating.
Here is one last resource worth sharing–with kids or grown-ups, an Easter story a la The Grinch.