Photo by Michael McCarthy
Riding up the highway to daily mass again this early
morning, the wind is neutral and bike shocks disengaged for easier miles on
main road blacktop shoulder.
Five miles
to St. Eds and five miles back.
It's one of about 3
different morning mass treks I try to do regularly.
Mass schedules are fluctuant with the
pandemic, and the priest shortages.
Still
good exercise for body and soul.
Having been an episodic daily mass goer since early
childhood, I’ve been well blessed with health work and family. Looking about the other faithful attendees
I’ve always thought I was amongst the youngest there, so much grey hair about. Now at age 72 I’m still pushing youngest, but
most all of us grey heading towards eternity.
As I pedal along Lake Huron shores I pass by a hundred long
little lanes leading to houses on the lake.
These entries wind through the forest that borders the shore. Bright green narrow passages each leading to
a sunburst lake household of individual lives.
Beautiful expensive and difficult to sustain.
n the highway’s other side I see, many less spectacular
dwellings, and two spacious nursing home complexes, open and communal, front
sides blazing in the morning sun, no tree canopy shading access. Many of us are on the route there, together
yet more isolated from the rest of society.
At mass the sun pierces the stained glass, and ancient
scripture enlightens the current political darkness and our individual quandaries. Familiar faces now wear masks to protect each
other. There is no sermon, but the
Gospel is from the Sermon on the Mount, my favorite. God continues to confound, and inspire. In this time our Catholic church launches a
New Evangelization to promote this Good News, we are all pummeled with the
pandemic.
In our local parishes a full year before this health crisis,
the intentions of the Prayers of the Faithful, which had invited the people to
voice their personal petitions, have now been sanitized to only the
pre-prepared list. This verbal social
distancing discourages an evangelical spirit. With the pandemic the congregation’s interaction
to greet each other with a sign of peace, has been dropped altogether. The common handshake could have been
supplanted by an open-palmed acknowledgement of each other from our 6 feet
spacings. Instead, we’ve quickly kissed
goodbye to the Kiss of Peace.
Skywriting above St. Peters, Rome, Italy
So I’m missing some of the “open windows and doors” of
Vatican II inspired church celebrations.
Riding the miles home the
wind is at my back, and I’m confident the all-merciful God will heal us all if
we’ll only listen to God’s Word, and live God’s socially unifying justice.
Full disclosure—I live on this lakeshore, in an old-school comfortable
home built in 1925. [First photo above -- taken from our house]
Illumination by Kathy Brahney
