The New Norm of Mass

My family and I attended mass on Memorial Day. It was our first time attending mass and receiving the Eucharist since the country shut down in March. Our pastor had been doing a great job of preparing us all for the soft reopening. From his e-mails to the parish, I knew that we could sit together as a family unit, but that we would have to be six feet away from anyone not in our family unit. Pews were roped off. I knew that there would be a new traffic pattern for communion to ensure that social distancing was kept. I also knew that it was going to be challenging for the church staff to sanitize everything before the next mass.

Our pastor didn’t demand that everyone wear a mask to church. He merely wrote that all the bishops of Ohio mandated that masks be worn. This is significant because the Diocese of Cleveland, once more, does not have a bishop. We have a priest filling in as an administrator until we get a bishop assigned to us. But I feel no compunction or obligation to be obedient or compliant to an administrator. I do feel loyalty to my pastor though.

Most people were masked, but there were notable exceptions including a retired doctor and a large family of a local judge. I wore my mask into the church, took it off during most of the mass so that I could breathe, put it on to go up to communion, then took it off when returning to my pew. I put it on once more before I left the building. I think next time I’ll leave it around my neck so I can put it over my nose just in case. I know they are medically and scientifically unreliable. Dr. Fauci agrees. But people are scared to death right now and face coverings seem to be the security blanket of the masses, so I am not willing to abandon it completely. I even bought some more this week.

I had so many thoughts as I sat there in the pew with Mr. Pete and two of our kids. I was grateful that the church was finally open for public masses and that we were well and whole enough to attend. It was wonderful to see so many of my fellow parishioners as well, even if it was only from the eyeballs up. I will never take everyone’s smiles for granted again. I miss the friendly smiles, the kind visages, the hugs, the handshakes.

Our organist wisely played music that was beautiful and liturgical, but not suitable for congregational singing, because singing is not allowed. Vocal singing spreads droplets. I miss playing at mass so much. I never thought I would see the day that I would be mandated not to play my flute at mass. I miss the choir, and I miss having my children participating in the choir. I felt very weepy a number of times just thinking of what we have lost.

Then my thoughts went to all of the things I’d been taught about the church that just are not lining up right now. All the years and years of being told that the people, the community, are the church. That’s not true when there’s a coronavirus with a 99% survival rate. How many times were we told that to sing is to pray twice, and to truly participate in the mass one must participate by singing the hymns – except if the mandated mask, standing six feet from your neighbor is still not enough to stop the aerosol spray that comes from the mouth during singing. Everyone still said all of the responses thought- is 200 people responding with vocal speech safer than responding in song? Tomayto/ tomahto?

Maybe the most puzzling for me is, how can the Eucharist be the source and summit of the Christian life when you can’t get to it for months during a time when the faith is being sorely tested? I’m old enough to remember being hunkered in a church during the Cuban Missle Crisis, and once again after 9/11. I haven’t done the mental gymnastics to make closing the churches fit with this pandemic.

Our priests did an excellent job of distributing communion. I felt that the host was delivered into my hands with almost surgical precision. The priest was very honest with himself too. More than once I saw him stop to sanitize his hands after inadvertently making contact with someone’s hand or tongue. There was no cup. That’s fine with me. When I grew up we just had the host. Then a big hoopla was made over how we were really and truly participating by getting the cup of sacred blood as well. Except now we’re not. Again, it’s hard to process some of these things.

Mass is still not mandatory in our diocese. If you are in a susceptible group because of age or pre-existing medical conditions, or you just do not feel safe coming in a large group, you are exempted from your obligation for mass. Our first Sunday mass will be this week in time for Pentecost. I have no idea what that will look like, but I imagine it will be a lot like the Memorial Day mass.

I guess if I’ve learned anything through all of this, it is how to proceed in teaching the certain things about the Catholic faith to my children and granddaughter. Emphasis on the liturgical year with celebrations in the Domestic Church is even more important when it’s now abundantly clear that you can’t count on the church to stay open. My family never went in to pray at the church during this pandemic because I knew that made other people have to work on the Spray and Pray Committee. Instead, we did our best make our domestic church the place of prayer and place of living the Catholic Faith.

Nor will I pass on cliches that no longer seem to really work. He who sings prays twice? No, he who sings is a biohazard. My whole family is musical. Maybe we put too much emphasis on that. To attend mass you just need half an hour, and not even an organ. Maybe we should emphasize the real substance of the mass instead of finding hymns to go with the readings of the week.

The last one is hard. I don’t know how to overcome a need to be in community with friends and fellow parishioners. I wish I did. When I was “sheltering” at home, I was preoccupied from dwelling on that loss, but it hit me hard to see everyone at church, yet be unable to touch or talk or really gather. It’s a loss, even though we’re still there. Kind of.

I wish so many things. Mainly, I wish this pandemic were over.