In God's name, let us go on bravely. ~ St. Joan of Arc
It's a bit chilly today. The weather we've been having as of late is kinda not...April. Temps this morning in Central PA dipped to 29 degrees. I didn't even have any decent coffee in the house to warm me up! I'm currently 1.5 weeks from giving birth to our number 8, and my husband has taken #s 1-7 on a ride to give me some much-needed quiet, which may or may not be legal right now amidst the strangest government mandate of a quarantine. I can't keep up with the ever-changing rules, and at this point, I do not care. This pregnancy has been the most stressful, angst-filled one I've ever endured. As a matter of fact, I never felt this way before my last pregnancy took a downturn at 36 weeks. Added to that memory during this pregnancy is the stress of being stuck at home, our freedoms and rights- both divine and constitutional- being quickly stripped away. So I've been a little anxious and as soon as I hit week 36 this time around, my anxiety kicked into overdrive, and in an attempt to combat, my prayers kicked up a notch.
Jesus, I trust in You.
But sometimes I need more than prayers. I need the Mass. I need the sacraments. I need my friends. The anxiety abates at times, but at others, clings and discourages. I spent weeks after my last birth on my couch, wrapped in a pink and white prayer shawl gifted to me by a ministry at my mother's church, trying to stay alive, while one of my daughters took care of my new baby except when I had to nurse. The prayer shawl became a part of my wardrobe, its imperfect lines and soft threads (lovingly stitched by women who don't even know me) daily enclosed me and my nursing baby in a cocoon of warmth and safety. When Spring came, and we were healthier, I put the beloved shawl away.
As the chill in the house got to me this afternoon, I pulled out that same shawl and wrapped it around my shoulders. The cold I feel is a mixture of both the low temps creeping through the 70 year old windows of my home and the chill I feel deep in my heart. I was just told that because of the on-going quarantine, baptism, as with everything else, is not allowed for our baby right now. I kinda lost it. If not for a dear friend who texted with me for awhile about it, I would probably still be crying. The idea of not having the sacrament of baptism bestowed upon my son soon after birth was kinda the last straw for me. You see, for the past five weeks, we have not been able to attend Mass in person, have not been able to receive the Eucharist, and except for one instance of what felt like a covert operation to have Confession, we have missed even that. Every Sunday, we've wept and prayed through Mass as it live-streamed through the television, technical issues and fuzzy pictures interrupting the sacredness of the time, illuminating all that is wrong with right now.
Acts of Spiritual Communion have their merit, true, and I try to make them frequently, especially during Mass, but they do not replace the actual Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of our Savior. They just don't. And sitting on our couch in the comfort of our home, even if still dressed in our Sunday best and sitting, standing and kneeling at the appropriate times, falls so short of the wooden pews and squeaky kneelers of the church, the atmosphere of holiness, the Lord present in the tabernacle mere feet away. There is so much about the Mass in its entirety, within the hallowed walls of the church, in all of its ceremony and tradition of thousands of years, that speaks to all of the senses, and infuses the soul with the presence of God. In His perfection, He made it so. It isn't about feelings so much as about the fullness of His Truth, and when you have experienced that, it's hard to settle for anything less.
As I sit here, contemplating what we will do about baptism for our son, I wrap the prayer shawl tighter around me, and a sense of both comfort and longing fills me. I remember when my entire family was sick just after I had our last baby, another splinter added to the immense cross of all that had happened before and after the birth. The shawl reminds me of all the prayers people said for us in that trying time, each person a Simon of Cyrene in their own way. And I am reminded of one of our priests, who visited me in the hospital during my induction to offer Confession and comfort. And of that same priest risking sickness himself to bring us the Eucharist and offer Confession in our home because we were all too sick to go to the church. Of the meals that were made for us, lovingly dropped off by generous and wonderful friends who, while cautious of germs, risked the visit anyway to care for us and love us, catch a glimpse of our tiny, premature baby, and offer prayers for our recovery.
The longing I feel, so heavy and deep, is for what should be: To be able to receive our Lord in the Eucharist, and our ability to have our baby baptized soon after he is born, most definitely. But also for the faithful of a Church already in turmoil to rise up and defend the idea that our souls are to be cared for first, above our earthly body, not the other way around. And for the hierarchy to make decisions not based on fear or government mandates but on the Catholic Church's wisdom and teachings, Her laws and Her love. It is a sin to presume God's mercy. It is a sin to lead others astray from the Truth. I am devastated by these mandates from the hierarchy, tying the hands of our priests and relinquishing us to the emptiness and sorrow of daily life without the sacraments, without even the Eucharist, without the community of support most needed in such a strange and difficult time.
How will this time make us saints? How can we reflect back on this and confidently say that we did exactly as we should have, cowering in our homes and doing the very little we still can do to attend to the sanctity of our souls, and those of the children in our keep? How do we justify the utter loss of access to almost everything about our Catholic identity? When we've been taught our whole Faith journey thus far that the sacraments are necessary and important for the sanctity of our souls, but right now, for some reason, they magically are not. How many will fall away at this time? How many will lose hope? If those of us who are faithful are hanging on by a thread, teary-eyed and white-knuckling it through this dark time, what about those who have already been on the fringes, disillusioned and luke-warm in their faith because they just haven't been convinced of the Truth quite yet? Or the ones new to the Catholic Faith? Or the ones who peer in from the outside with interest, but through this time see nothing more extraordinary than what they currently know?
And- If we are but wayfarers in this earthly life, and the Church, our ship to carry us through to heaven, how do we remain confident when Her sails have been ripped to shreds, and our captains have all but jumped overboard?
We are the Church Militant, are we not?? And yet, here we are, wandering like lost sheep, commanded by bishops who should know better how to shepherd their flocks with not just the concern- but also the loyalty and faithfulness- of the Good Shepherd. In the beginning, my battle cry, shared with my friends to bolster their faith and lend comfort, was a quote from the book, The Spiritual Doctrine of Sister Elizabeth of the Trinity:
"When they tried to console her at being no longer able to receive the Blessed Sacrament,
she said, 'I am finding Him on the Cross; it is there that He is giving me life.'" And this was
followed by my further attempt to encourage: Hang in there my sweet, fellow Catholics
longing for our Beloved.
And while it is yet true that we can- and are- finding Him on the Cross daily in this, and we can- and are- given life through that, the unrest is rising, the emptiness spreading, because in all honesty, none of this makes any sense to any of the faithful, and we were given the sacraments as gifts, the principal way to obtain a certain communion with God, His graces heaped upon us to help us through daily life. Some counter our questions with heretical ideology, vitriol spewed in blogs and comboxes with what essentially equates to the idea that our bodies are more important than our souls. People who allude to such things should not be listened to, but oh, how so many Catholics are falling in line with this thinking because it's easier to swallow, and it's safer for our priests. And because our bishops are saying the same sort of things with their mandates. But is it not our priests' and our bishops' duty to attend to the needs of our souls? Why would we expect them to do any less? Why would we want the care of our bodies to outweigh the care of our souls? We shouldn't want that. I don't want that- not for me or my family. And I don't think our priests want that, either. In the words of General George S. Patton, I'd rather "live for something than die for nothing." We are to be living this life only to reach the promise of Eternal Life. But, we could die an eternal death because we didn't take care of our souls. And in reality, perhaps the General's words should have been, "die for something rather than live for nothing."
I can't help but feel a sense that, especially because the Church has been in such turmoil, there is a diabolical nature to what is being mandated currently. We are in the midst of battle. I am thankful, though, that when Christ instituted the Church, He promised that the gates of hell will not prevail against Her. Two thousand years and counting, despite splintering into thousands of different heretical factions, and despite some of the shepherds falling away, She remains solid and Her Bridegroom, Jesus, has remained faithful to Her, guarding the Truth, and keeping Her from permanent detriment. So She may come out of this haggard, desperate, weary, poorer, and smaller, but the gates of hell have not- and will not- prevail. Deo Gratias!
So we press on, I guess. Maybe my daily armor in this will have to look less like a pink fluffy prayer shawl and more like the chainmail of my beloved Confirmation saint, St. Joan of Arc. One thing for sure, though, we will be baptizing our baby...somehow.
Oh...And my new battle cry? St Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, oh prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, cast into hell satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls.
