Little Does She Know: Change Starts Here

When I think of God’s Justice, I tend to find it intimidating. When I think of God’s Justice, I tend to think of a long stint in Purgatory that I’d really rather avoid. When I think of God’s Justice, I tend to think of punishment for sin. Then I think of he riots across the country, and I find myself praying, “Let justice be done.” I realized that Mercy alone isn’t what’s needed. Justice would mean consequences for those who have damaged people’s property. It would mean jail time for the policeman who murdered George Floyd, and consequences for those who stood by and let it happen. It would also mean tangible action taken  to solve the problems of not just racism, but all discrimination  in our country. I realized that, actually, sometimes justice is the merciful thing.

No one is in the right in this situation. Protests that started as noble, peaceful demonstrations have devolved into chaos that proves nothing. I fear, too that innocent men and women in our nation’s police force will suffer hate and violence because of the actions of a handful of bad men. To be honest, my family has had a handful of encounters with police who have been arrogant and unkind. This does not mean that all police are jerks. I prayed for justice, but I also prayed that society would have mercy on police because the many good people shouldn’t have to take the hit for the terrible few.

I think justice and mercy get confused sometimes. Mercy is defined in two ways; “love in action,” and “kindness, or leniency where it is not deserved or earned.” When I think of justice, I think of fighting for those who can’t fight for themselves, and in this sense, it seems synonymous with mercy. It also means making sure those who treat others poorly face consequences. When the riots first broke out, I was sad. It felt like I was watching a rerun. Every time something like this happens–and it happens far too frequently–there is a lot of anger and in many cases, violence. A lot of people post “Black lives matter” on Facebook and then go on with their day. There is a lot of rhetoric by police and politicians, and nothing changes.

I don’t have a solution. On occasion, I have felt the effects of able-ism. People have made assumptions about me based on the fact that I use a wheelchair without even speaking to me. Often in media, if there is a Catholic character, it is to make fun of the Catholic Church. The character is portrayed is stupid, bigoted, or hypocritical. Our world was not built for someone with multiple disabilities, and though I have a pretty easy and comfortable life, it is only because my parents are kind and relatively wealthy. Our culture is one that flees from absolutes and objective Truths, and religious liberty is something churches, Catholic service groups, and individuals often have to fight for.

Persecution and discrimination of anyone, to any extent, for any reason, is wrong. The demonstrations in city streets started because of the murder of George Floyd, but this  has become bigger than that. I saw an article someone posted on Facebook about police officers in various places standing in solidarity, and in some cases, praying with peaceful demonstrators. People need to see that, especially people who devalue others because of their skin color.

To be perfectly honest, I would have proposed a solution that involved actively and publicly shaming anyone I encountered doing or saying anything racist. It would have been easy. It wouldn’t solve the problem, though. It would only make more people angry and would probably just grow into more hatred and maybe even more violence. I was sad when this whole thing started, and to be honest, now I am a little angry. This is a problem that requires justice, but it also does require mercy. In the past several nights, people on all sides–rioters and police–have done wrong. They’re all people, though.

Whether you’re stuck inside in some small town somewhere, or you’re cooling off, reading this as someone who’s been directly involved, remember that the person you threw stuff at, or shot tear gas at, is somebody’s brother, sister, father, or mother. Remember that they’re angry and scared, just like you are. Before going out tonight, consider what Jesus said on the Cross; “Forgive them.” The ultimate injustice was that the most innocent Man ever was unjustly sentenced to death, tortured, and killed.

I’m not saying that anyone should just “take it.” I’m saying that any good solution starts with forgiveness. It also requires dialogue. This might mean being extra annoying so that you’re heard, but it doesn’t mean setting things on fire. It means listening. Too often I see posts on Facebook that say “I’m listening.” Too often I hear politicians say it on the news. Don’t just say it; do it. Shut up, and listen. Once you’ve listened, pose solutions; do something with what you’ve heard. It needs to go beyond that, though.

This is a heart problem. Everyone needs to look at the other and really see a person before them. We need to stop labeling people. A person who belongs to the republican or democratic party is not just a republican or democrat, for example. I am a white woman living in suburbia. Knowing that can lead my readers to make assumptions about me in the same way that it might lead some to make assumptions about a black blogger from somewhere closer to Boston.

There’s a literary device when the author is writing in the third-person omniscient; “Little did he know.” This is used when the narrator knows something the protagonist of the story doesn’t. I think it is useful to apply this to ourselves when looking at other people. We must see the other as good, beautiful, and unique; an opportunity to discover, to learn, and hopefully, to form a new relationship. We can’t just stop at the label. We can’t just stop at “democrat,” “republican,” “black,” or “white.” Imagine looking at this through God’s eyes; the Author of every person’s story.  Meet a new person, and imagine the Author of your story saying, “Little does she know.” It can be humbling to keep in mind our ignorance, and that humility is important. Change starts with humility, hope, admitting one’s culpability, and forgiveness offered and accepted.

Study Notes 1 (June 2020)

Blessed are those who hunter and thirst for justice, for they will be satisfied
Excerpted in part from the writings of Sr. Patricia of Mary Magdalene

Historical context: The Jews hungered for liberation from Roman rule and a restoration of the Davidic kingdom
-they wanted a savior who would liberate them

There is still injustice in the world, and the innocent and vulnerable still hunger for a “savior”

Justice is one of God’s attributes, along with Mercy, Love, Beauty, Compassion, Goodness, etc
-humans are made in the image and likeness of God with free will to distort these attributes

“As contemplatives, it is our ideal and goal to ‘feed the hungry’ through our prayer, to ‘quench thirst’ through our meditation, and to appease justice through penance and sacrifice.”

The hunger for justice builds/strengthens the virtue of patience

“Our first and primary model for this virtue is Jesus Himself. The ultimate example of injustice was this loving and forgiving Savior being slapped, spat upon and nailed to the cross by the very people He came to save. Yet, the richest example of patience was His silent humility as He accepted the insults and physical blows to His most precious cheeks. If ever there had been a time for the vengeance and justice of God, it was then.”

“…patience is the main intermediary between justice and mercy.”

“If justice is thought of in its good or proper aspect, it will lead us to the hunger and thirst spoken of in the beatitude: a hunger and thirst that desires to feed the starving, assist the downtrodden, bring freedom to the oppressed, instill peace where there is strife, establish unity and fellowship among all peoples.”

“As contemplatives, our “action” is prayer. As contemplatives, our prayer should be
continuous, night and day, without ceasing. We, like St. Therese, should be missionaries of justice by our example of honesty, integrity, morality, and spirituality in a world hungry for all of these.”

“Being just doesn’t only mean being severe in punishing the guilty, it also
means recognizing good intentions and rewarding virtue.” St Therese

 

Works Of Mercy, Quarantine Edition

Lately I’ve been thinking about the Works of Mercy because of the very real circumstances people are facing due to the pandemic. The Works of Mercy are split up into two categories: Corporal, and Spiritual. As Christ’s followers, we’re meant to do these things in imitation of Him. He says in Scripture, “What you do for the least of these, you do for me,” and He speaks of many of the Works of Mercy.

The Corporal Works of Mercy are:

  1. Feed the hungry
  2. Give water to the thirsty
  3. Clothe the naked
  4. Shelter the homeless
  5. Visit the sick
  6. Visit the imprisoned or ransom the captive
  7. Bury the dead

The Spiritual Works of Mercy are:

  1. Instruct the ignorant
  2. Counsel the doubtful
  3. Admonish the sinner
  4. Bear with wrongs patiently
  5. Forgive offenses
  6. Comfort the afflicted
  7. Pray for the living and the dead

It is important to do all of these things as much as we can, but I want to focus on the Corporal works of Mercy for now. In Quarantine, we can still fairly easily do the Spiritual Works, online, in our bedrooms, in our basement, in the shower, or what have you. We can talk to friends and family online and while we’re all in uncharted territory and maybe suffering emotionally, we can comfort each other.

The other Works are often harder to do in general. I think right now, though, they are especially important. Right now, depending on where one is, it is more difficult to get resources (food, cleaning products, etc), and where many are losing their jobs, it is important to do what we can to help. This may mean, if we can, donating to food banks, for example.

As one progresses through the list, it seems that the Works get noticeably more difficult. Again, it is relatively easy to “clothe the naked” because one can donate hand-me-down clothing. To shelter the homeless is probably the most difficult, but I think, possibly the most important. I think with much more free time on our hands it is easier to become more introspective, and even selfish. Jesus said to love our neighbors as ourselves. This literally can, and should mean the people living next door to us. If we know they are struggling to pay the rent, for example, and we know they have quarantined for several weeks, for example, it would be merciful to either offer them a room to stay in for free, or simply offer financial assistance.

To visit the sick and imprisoned are both extremely dangerous right now, but they remain important things to do. I think in this case, it is important to use technology to offer friendship and comfort, even from a distance. Especially where hospitals and prisons are some of the most dangerous places, it is important to be a source of hope to those who are scared. Obviously this is no substitute for being there in person, but it is still necessary.

Lastly, though it’s a bit of an ugly thing to think about, it is a Work of Mercy to bury the dead. I think this means a couple of things. It means making sure a person dies with dignity, and it means making sure they are honored at their burial. To be clear, when I say that a person should “die with dignity,” I do not mean that assisted suicide should be an option. I mean they should be respected and taken care of until the moment of death. No matter what condition they are in, they are a valuable human being. When I say that they should be honored at their burial, I mean that they should have a proper funeral, regardless of how many people can attend.

Right now, the world seems a bit out of control. It can be tempting in such a world to fall into a purely survivalist mindset. It is in such a world, however, when mercy is needed most. It is extremely important to teach the faith, and to pray for people, for example, and if this is what we can do, we have even more of a responsibility to do it, but if we have the means, freedom, and ability to provide for the physical or financial needs of those less fortunate than us, it is vitally important to help. It is a sign of our own humanity, and a recognition that the life of the other is just as important as our own.

I have defined “mercy” before as “love in action.” Another definition, however, is “kindness to those who don’t deserve it.” This is God’s love for us; He didn’t owe us anything, but He came to save us; He died for us. It doesn’t matter if you “owe” anything to your friend, or even a stranger living across town. If we are to be like God; if we are to arrive at Heaven’s gate, we need to be merciful, too. I did not cover every way in which we are to do these Works of Mercy, but they need to be done. This is a time to be creative and to love each other as God loves us.

Mercy In Boston

As soon as I finished writing my last post, I checked my email. One of the members of our Carmelite Community had sent everybody an article about a team of priests in our diocese who had volunteered to go and administer the anointing of the sick to Covid-19 patients. It had nothing to do with me, but I was grateful. Being so sick that you need that sacrament has got to be terrifying.

I have been praying for God to have mercy on us. I didn’t realize that He is. On Friday I checked the news and saw that two churches (I forget where) have decided to open back up, and now the sick have access to priests in my own diocese. The Church is the body of Christ, and what helps one, or some of the “members” helps everybody.

I wrote in my last post that sometimes God’s answer to our prayers is “No,” or “Not yet.” While that is true, it’s also true that sometimes His answer is “Yes,” but He doesn’t always do things the ways we expect. I’ve been asking for His mercy, and to me, that meant miraculously curing everyone. Before Jesus ascended to Heaven, Peter asked Him, “Are you going to bring your kingdom now?” Jesus told him that He wanted the apostles, and later, all priests (and lay people to some extent) to spread the Gospel and baptize people. Effectively, He was saying, “No, you are.” He gave them authority to do things in His stead. With that in mind, I recognized that through His priests, He is going into Boston hospitals and answering my prayer for mercy.

In the article I read, one of the priests was quoted as saying that medicine is great, but it can help only to a point. We need God in these situations, and this gave me hope. This was a concrete example of how God does not abandon anyone. I wanted to share it to give anyone who reads this a little hope, too. Keep praying for mercy, be patient, and let yourself be surprised by His love.

A Time Of Mercy

Four years ago, Pope Francis declared a Jubilee of Mercy. I have a weird memory. I can remember what we did in my first guitar lesson, but my mind is foggy when it comes to just a few years ago. I do know that a lot has happened in the past few years, but I don’t remember what happened in what year, etc.

Last month, the Vatican granted an emergency plenary indulgence because of the coronavirus. This forgives sin, but also any punishment due to sin. A lot of people can’t receive the Sacraments because they’re sick, or because they’re stuck at home, or because there’s no churches open near them. That doesn’t mean we’re cut off from God’s mercy.

Fr Chris Alar at the National Shrine of The Divine Mercy explains the extremely simple way to receive this or to offer it for someone else. If you have the virus, if you are caring for someone with the virus, or if you are praying for those with the virus, all you need to do is one or, some, or all of the following:

A: Watch the Mass online
B: Pray the Rosary
C: Pray the Chaplet of Divine Mercy (my favorite)
D: Pray the Stations of the Cross
E: Some other devotional prayer

You also need to go to confession, if possible, and if not, make an act of contrition (I’ll explain), and receive communion, if possible, and if not make a spiritual communion (I’ll explain). Finally, you need to pray for the intentions of the Pope (just pray an “Our Father,” “Hail Mary,” and a “Glory Be,”) and have no attachment to sin.

A few days ago I had to read several articles and watch the video from the Shrine several times, and pray about it to actually believe it. It’s so simple and such a kind gift of God given through the Church. I expect I’m not alone in that I sometimes wake up too early in the morning, and can’t fall back asleep because I’m immediately thinking too much. I texted my cousin who I knew wouldn’t be awake yet because she lives in a time zone three hours behind mine, read the aforementioned articles, scowled at the wall, and then said (in my soul), “Can we talk?”

The Lord pointed me to Luke 5 when He gets into Peter’s boat. He tells Peter to cast his net into the lake, and Peter says, “I’ve been fishing all night and haven’t caught anything, but I’ll do what you say.” He casts his net and catches more fish than he can physically carry in his boat alone, so he needs James and John to help. He then says, “Leave me, Lord. I’m a sinful man.” Jesus then says, “Don’t be afraid. You will now be fishing for people.”

Peter had been fishing all night and hadn’t caught anything. When he does what the Lord says, he catches more than he can carry himself. Mercy has been defined as love in action. Jesus saw that Peter’s boat was empty, so He miraculously filled it. I think Peter recognized this as an act of mercy, and I think he feared that mercy. There have been times when I have feared God’s mercy. It can be tempting to think, as Peter thought, “His mercy is too good for me,” and to push Him away. That’s the opposite of what He wants, especially right now.

I started being “fuzzy,” meaning my epilepsy was acting up, so I offered that for an end to the pandemic. Then I finally got up, ate a very weird breakfast, and did my Morning Prayer. I actually laughed because the antiphon (line you say at the beginning and end of each psalm) for the first psalm was, “Have courage, my son; your sins are forgiven, alleluia.” I’m a girl, but I got the point.

I mentioned the Jubilee of Mercy a few years ago. I think this will be a year most of us will remember much more than 2016. Obviously this is a crappy time for most people. Many are sick, many have died, and many know someone who is suffering, who has been sick, or even someone who has died. Our family knows someone who just lost his mom, and someone else who is just getting over the virus.

I really do think this is a time of mercy, though. God really is close to those who suffer, and He is a God who provides. He always hears and answers our prayers. Sometimes, the answer is “No,” and that’s hard to hear. I, like many others have been praying for the “plague” to go away, and the answer has been, “Not yet.” This is a broken world in which even the worst happens; a world in which lives are lost. It might not be much of a consolation, but in this time, the indulgence really is a gift. It remits all sin, but also all punishment for sin. If offered for the dead, they won’t face purgatory. Again, I know it doesn’t take away the separation, the hurt or the tears, but it should be a source of hope.

God does not want our suffering, and He did not create death. Many are asking why God is letting this happening, and I don’t have a satisfying answer. It isn’t satisfying to believe that He always brings some greater good(s) out of every evil, even if it’s true. The fact of the matter is, we might not ever even see what good does come of this. God sees a bigger world than we do, on a longer timeline. It can be tempting to turn away when things are terrible, especially when this has personally affected us, but don’t. He loves you more than you could know or even understand, and wants to comfort you.

As I said, if you are unable to receive the Sacraments, you should make an act of contrition and a spiritual communion with the intention of receiving the sacraments as soon as possible.

An act of contrition is simply saying you are sorry for your sins directly to God. This can be in your own words, or a more formal prayer. This is one I say in the confessional:

O my God I am sorry for my sins. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against you whom I should love above all things. With your help I intend to do penance and sin no more.

An act of spiritual communion is simply inviting the Lord into your heart, and you can do this anywhere at any time. This is one I make since I watch Mass online.

My Jesus, I believe that you are present in the Most Holy Sacrament. I love you above all things and desire to receive you into my soul. Since I cannot, at this moment, receive you Sacramentally, come at least spiritually into my heart. I embrace you as if you were already there and unite myself to you. Never permit me to be separated from you. Amen.

Even if you weren’t in the habit of going to daily Mass before, I’d encourage you to make a spiritual communion every day. When Jesus gave the Divine Mercy message to Saint Faustina, He emphasized to her that He desperately wanted His disciples–all of us us–to trust Him. Making a spiritual communion, I think is a way of saying, “Jesus, even in this mess, I trust you.” This isn’t a wall; it’s a tunnel. It might be a long, scary tunnel, but He’ll get us through it. One thing that has seriously helped has been the Liturgy of the Hours. Because I’ve been praying the same psalms for over a year now, I’ve internalized many of them. Psalm 42 comes to mind these days. It’s written from a place of exile where it seems like the world is falling apart. The writer isn’t afraid to complain to the Lord, but he ends with:

Why are you cast down, O my soul,
    and why are you disquieted within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
    my help and my God.

Gethsemane 2020

Thursday marks the beginning of the Easter Triduum. We’ll celebrate the institution of the first Eucharist and the Lord’s entry into Gethsemane. For many, this time of quarantine feels a bit like our own Gethsemane. We’re cut off from what we’re used to. The news is overwhelmingly bad. The number of cases continue to grow by the thousands. In Gethsemane, Jesus was left alone to take on the weight of the world.

In Gethsemane, Jesus prayed for hours. I live in New England where we have the world’s best doctor’s and hospitals. Medicine and medical research will eventually get a handle on this disease, but prayer will help those doctors and researchers, whether they know it or not, and it will carry us through this.

The Fathers at the Shrine of the Divine Mercy have been putting a lot of encouragement on Facebook. Something that I’ve had to have drilled into my head by them, as well as Pope Francis himself is that God is merciful and understand the circumstances. Before Mass was suspended and churches were closed, I realized I had to go to confession. Then I couldn’t. God had to use several voices to convince me that I was forgiven because I really am sorry and intend to go to confession As soon as I can.

When I first joined the Carmelites, I was naturally curious, and I already knew a little about Saint Therese of Liseux, so last year, my mom and I listened to her autobiography in the car. After that it was like she wouldn’t leave me alone. She kept dropping quotes on my Facebook page, or I would accidentally find references to her in searches of completely different topics. At my clothing ceremony, the congratulation cards my community members gave me all had her picture on them.

In some ways, Saint Therese reminds me of myself. She’s playful and innocent, but also stubborn in her faith. On Saturday I came across another quote. She said that it is obviously grace when we receive the sacraments, but it can also be a source of grace when we can’t. I’ve had to think about it, but I think she’s right. Not being able to receive the sacraments means having to trust the Lord more, and to appreciate the sacraments more. You can’t miss what you’ve always had easy access to.

God doesn’t let bad things happen for no reason. When bad things happen, it’s usually because He can bring some greater good(s) out of them. I wondered what good(s) could possibly come from a pandemic. That had me stumped. Bishop Robert Barron had some insight into this. It’s hard to know if there’s an “umbrella” good for all of humanity in this, and if there is, it might be unrecognizable for a while. It is easier to see personal goods that have come of this. For me, the goods aren’t even difficult to see. There are really several goods that have come of this for me.

1. I’ve learned that God’s mercy and love are even deeper than I previously understood or believed.

2. Since I gave up shows and movies for Lent, I’ve had a lot more time to read. Granted, I’m reading a ridiculous fantasy story, but I enjoy reading, and I often lament that I don’t have enough time to. Really I do, but I end up watching Netflix instead.

3. I’ve come to better appreciate things I took for granted before: my health, takeout, going to the studio, Saturday night Netflix party with my friend, etc.

4. I know more clearly what I really want. When Mass got suspended, I said to the Lord, “I don’t even want Heaven; I just want You.” It seemed weird saying that, and I second-guessed myself. I’ve been praying the Chaplet of Divine Mercy with the priests at the National Shrine at 3:00 every day, and they have the Eucharist exposed. I realized that for half an hour every day, I can at least see Him, and I realized that this in itself is His Mercy. Yesterday, it came to me again, and I realized that if Heaven was an empty room with just Him in it, then that is sincerely what I want.

5. I’ve actually been able to talk to my extended family more than I did before. Since we started our virtual book club, I’ve been talking to my aunt, two cousins, and my grandmother once a week, and because we’re using Zoom, I can actually see their faces instead of just reading texts.

6. I’ve been seeing people use social media to connect with each other and make each other laugh instead of pointing fingers and spewing political nonsense.

When Jesus prayed in Gethsemane, He asked His Father, “Take this cup from me.” I’ve been asking the Lord for the same thing. God could have sent lightning bolts from heaven and zapped all of Jesus’ enemies so He wouldn’t have to endure the Cross. Jesus Himself said He could summon an army of angels to defend Him. Instead, the Father allowed the Jewish authorities and the Roman soldiers to exercise their free will, and Jesus allowed them to do this to Him so that humanity could be returned to right-relationship with God.

This is our Gethsemane, and probably for a multitude of reasons, the Lord is allowing it. That is not a reason to stop praying. Prayer keeps us connected to our God, and while it might not bring an immediate end to the pandemic, it can help individuals, it can help us in smaller, personal ways, and it will bring this to an eventual end. I’m convinced of that.

Jesus said that to be His, we would have to take up our crosses and follow Him. Easter couldn’t have happened without The Agony in the Garden. In Gethsemane, Jesus was scared, He was lonely, and He was terribly sad. To varying degrees, I think these are things we’re all feeling right now. This Sunday, Easter will still liturgically be celebrated, and we have to find ways to celebrate at home because Jesus is still risen. We don’t know exactly how long our Gethsemane will last, whether it’s weeks or months, but at the end of this, we will go back to the studio, back to the gym, back to the salon for a much needed haircut, back to school, back to work, back to each others’ houses, back to the movies, and we will go back to church.

I think Saint Therese is right in saying that there is a grace in this. In Gethsemane, an angel came to comfort Jesus. We’re not alone because He’s still here to comfort us. He doesn’t abandon His friends. Trust Him, and use this time. Slow down, pray, and look for greater goods. I’ll leave you with this:

Celebrate Anyway

Last night my dad and I watched The Giant Mechanical Man. It was a cute, simple romance about two quirky people who fall in love working at the zoo. As it started, I smiled and I realized something. I told my dad, “This is the first time I’ve smiled in, like three days.” I haven’t left my house in a week, and I didn’t realize how hard that would be. It’s hard not to watch the news when you’re stuck inside with not much else to do. The news is never hopeful, so at dinner time I go to the kitchen where my mom has the TV on and hear about more cases and more deaths because of of the Corona virus.

My plan for this Lent was to give up a game I play on my phone and read The Way of Perfection by Saint Teresa of Avila. Then my dad decided to give up shows and movies. Since he’s my movie buddy, I did, too (we watched one last night because it was a feast day in the Church). Then the Virus got serious and we quarantined ourselves. I’m a very picky eater. My mom has been pretty creative about food, and I have to give her serious credit. Still, I very much miss takeout.

This past weekend was the first in a very long time that I didn’t receive the Eucharist. I’ve been telling myself that this waiting will make receiving Him for the first time once this is all over that much sweeter. I had planned on at least going to Adoration and praying with my friend at the studio, but everything has been shut down. The priests at the National Shrine of Divine Mercy have been streaming the Divine Mercy Chaplet at 3:00 every day, and I’ve made a commitment to do it with them. My Lenten plans got seriously messed up, but I’m doing the best I can.

I prayed a lot last weekend wondering, since I couldn’t go to Mass, what I should do. A strange idea came to mind, and I think it was from the Lord. The Mass is, among other things, a celebration, and I got the sense that I was supposed to “celebrate anyway.” I struggled with this. I reminded myself that priests are still celebrating the Mass with or without the people there. I tried. I thought, “What do you need to celebrate…? Usually when you’re celebrating something, you need food and people.” I ate a cookie. I was not in a celebratory mood.

This thought that I should celebrate anyway has stuck with me, though. When things started getting really serious, I realized that we wouldn’t be celebrating Easter–at least not at our parish. Ultimately, that doesn’t change facts. At the Easter Vigil, which I’ll watch online, I’ll still say, “Christ is risen,” and it’ll still be true. My mom will probably make cookies, but it’ll just be the four of us–my parents and my brother and me; no aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, or grandparents. I’ll make a spiritual communion, and eat a couple of cookies.

I won’t feel like celebrating. That isn’t the point, though. The point is to honor and worship the Lord; our God who beat death and who can certainly beat this stupid virus. I think there’s more to this, though. When things like this happen, the question is bound to arise: why does a good God let bad things happen? I have wondered that myself in the past. This time, though, it just isn’t a factor for me. I know that a) He doesn’t want our suffering b) He’s with us through it, and c) He can bring about some greater good(s).

When Boston and then Portland suspended Mass in their dioceses I was, and still am upset. Then I remembered a book that sits on my desk. I pray Morning and Evening Prayer from the Liturgy of the Hours, which is the official public prayer of the Catholic Church, every day. I’m not cut off from the Church–the Body of Christ. This especially feels like a lifeline. My personal prayer lately has been, “As long as You’re here, I’m here,” because I know He is faithful. In a way, it’s more of a promise to myself than to Him. He is faithful to me, so I have to be faithful to Him. He’ll be with me–with all of us–through it, but we have to go through it.

I think this is an opportunity, albeit an unpleasant one, for us to really do some self-evaluation, spiritually speaking. I worried when I heard Mass was being suspended. Unfortunately, I think there will be some with “lukewarm” faith who will just “drop out,” and won’t come back. I decided that I would do the opposite. I decided that I would “lean in,” and intensify my prayer. I have to since I can’t receive the Eucharist. I discovered a live stream of perpetual Adoration on YouTube. It seemed too weird, or not “authentic” at first, and then I thought, “A computer screen isn’t going to stop You from doing what You do,” so I’ve gone to internet-Adoration a couple of times this week.

Several saints have written about consolation and desolation; in other words, when God seems very present and seems to be “love-bombing” you, and when you can’t exactly “feel” Him, or when you just don’t get any warm-fuzzies when you pray. The latter can happen particularly when external things aren’t going well. They ask this question: do you love the “gits” more than the Giver? I think He might be using this time when we’re cut off from the Eucharist to ask that question.