Quarantine Continues

Working from home without distractions (and no social life nor other obligations) makes it exceedingly easy to find time to write. It is also coming easily when there is much to process, and I feel a real need to stay connected to people - to you. To share what is good and helpful that I am seeing, and to share my questions and learn about yours.

Today I have a few things to share. One is that I learned you can send your guardian angel to Mass for you. Insert crying eyes emojis and heart eye emojis.

Sorry this is huge. I still can’t figure out how to make images smaller.

I am also enjoying the results of how some people are spending the quarantine.

If you have not already, sign up for Pray More Novenas’s coronavirus novena, which starts Friday.

The coronababies are coming. Hooray!

Also, it is the feast of St. Patrick. Here is a prayer I wrote on the occasion: St. Patrick, come drive the coronavirus from our world, just as you drove the snakes out of Ireland!!

How is your virtual Mass-watching going? I watched Fr. Charles’s 9:30 Mass livestreamed from the Catholic Information Center this morning. Over 200 people were on the livestream. It was an incredibly gratifying experience and I genuinely felt connected to Fr. Charles, who is clearly taking his role as shepherd seriously right now. Thanks, Fr. Charles!

Lastly, here is something I should have shared one million years ago when I started watching it (idk, that was probably around August last year). It is an incredibly unique adoration chapel in Niepokalanów, Poland. Its full name: The Star of the Immaculate, World Centre of Prayer for Peace in Niepokalanów. I think the center was founded by St. Maximilien Kolbe.

Jesus, carried in Mary’s heart. The lights change throughout the day. Pray-ers come and go. Keep it open in your tabs and check in with Mary every once in a while.

Tonight is another appropriately socially distanced walk, and seeing if I can get into a local church to pray. I am fortunate to have friends living within walking distance, and a whole pack of miniature Nutty Buddy ice creams.

The "Pandemic" Poem

A roundup of a few interesting and introspective takes on the current global crisis:

Let’s start with this image of Pope Francis in deserted Rome, making a pilgrimage on behalf of the people.

Kathryn Lopez writes in National Review, “Will coronavirus change us?” I think it is what everyone is asking. After this, our lives may not be what we think they are. She questions how people already living paycheck to paycheck will carry on, and also notices how families are delighting in newfound time spent together. A silver lining, if indeed there could be one. She also asks whether having no access to the Mass and church will remind Christians what our heart longs for, what we are missing. Maybe this will result in wonder and gratitude once we do have access again.

Over at Foreign Policy, Lyman Stone writes that “Christianity has been handling epidemics for 2,000 years.” His opening line in particular echoes something I have been thinking: “The modern world has suddenly become reacquainted with the oldest traveling companion of human history: existential dread and the fear of unavoidable, inscrutable death.” In general, as far as pandemics go, those of us in the west are living hugely comfortable, connected, unstressed lives. It is still mostly true that whatever I want, I can get; my apartment is warm, the water is running, I have truly limitless entertainment options. Our lives, in general, are like that, and so the longer, healthier life spans that modern medicine has, praise God, afforded us, means we are less likely to be acquainted with discomfort, let alone our own impending death. His article is a beautiful summary of not only how Christians care for the sick, but how times of plague have led to Christian flourishing.

Lastly, a friend shared the below poem with me last night, which I have since learned is called “Pandemic” and was written by Lynn Ungar just a few days ago. It is many of the thoughts that I have had, or should strive to have, right now, about how to seize this moment to slow down; to cherish the time as something special of its own and see in it an opportunity to pray and live (rather than cry and stop).

Pandemic

What if you thought of it
as the Jews consider the Sabbath—
the most sacred of times?
Cease from travel.
Cease from buying and selling.
Give up, just for now,
on trying to make the world
different than it is.
Sing. Pray. Touch only those
to whom you commit your life.
Center down.

And when your body has become still,
reach out with your heart.
Know that we are connected
in ways that are terrifying and beautiful.
(You could hardly deny it now.)

Know that our lives
are in one another’s hands.
(Surely, that has come clear.)

Do not reach out your hands.
Reach out your heart.
Reach out your words.
Reach out all the tendrils
of compassion that move, invisibly,
where we cannot touch.

Promise this world your love—
for better or for worse,
in sickness and in health,
so long as we all shall live.

Keeping Lent During Coronavirus; National Day of Prayer

My article, “How to Stick with Lent During Coronavirus,” is up at Catholic Stand. When I began writing it Thursday, I at first focused on the “how to” part of this - how to adapt what you’re doing to stay in the actual practices of Lent. Virtual Mass, increased prayer, particularly for an end to the pandemic, and so on.

What ended up happening, though, is that I became extremely interested in the broader, metaphysical opportunities for solidarity within a global crisis like this. Specifically, the way it unites all mankind, not just in the current day-to-day suffering, but across time. So we are comfortably quarantined with WiFi and Klondike bars (if you were smart): what about the very first Christians in hiding in the days following Jesus’s death and Resurrection? One can imagine them all huddled together, awaiting the Romans (I recall the 2016 Joseph Fiennes movie Risen did a good job portraying this. There’s an entertainment idea for your days spent indoors). We can also remember Christian communities around the world practicing their faith in secret on a daily basis where the Church is underground. China is an obvious example. Or even think of those who are homebound for health reasons and never have access to the Eucharist, unless someone remembers and has the time to bring it to them. Remembering these people opens up opportunity for prayer, meditation and reflection.

That was something the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius taught me: sometimes it is good to meditate on suffering because it is as if you are being with a friend who is suffering. Specifically, Jesus.

Then something else happened this weekend: President Trump declared today a national day of prayer. About time.

I called this, let me tell you. A couple days ago he gave an address at 9 pm - I think it was Thursday night - and I jokingly texted a couple friends , “Do you think he’s going to announce a period of fasting and prayer"?” I had in mind the White House’s Ash Wednesday message proclaiming the tradition of Ash Wednesday as a reminder to “repent and accept the Gospel more fully.” In case it wasn’t clear, President Trump has a few Catholics working for him.

Anyway, obviously, I believe prayer is very much a part of the solution to what is happening in our world. Always, not just now. And calling on God as a nation has been a fundamental part of our culture and tradition since day one.

Just two weeks ago - as all of this was beginning to break - I was at the Capitol and got to see the Chapel, part of the US House of Representatives Office of the Chaplain, where members of Congress can pray. There is a stained glass window with an image of George Washington kneeling and praying (I would have preferred Our Lady of Guadalupe, Patroness of the Americas, but that’s fine).

I picked up a brochure on the way out, which explains the role of the chaplain, the office’s history, and a few key quotes. Here’s one:

“I have lived, sir, a long time, and the longer I live, the more convincing proofs I see of this Truth: that God governs in the Affairs of Men…” Benjamin Franklin, June 28, 1787, from a speech to the Constitutional Convention

And also this prayer from Episcopalian Rev. Jacob Duche, the first prayer of the Continental Congress in 1774:

“Be though present, O God of Wisdom, and direct the councils of this honorable assembly; enable them to settle things on the best and surest foundation. That…truth and justice, religion and piety, prevail and flourish amongst the people. Preserve the health of their bodies and vigor of their minds; shower down on them and the millions they here represent, such temporal blessings as Thou seest expedient for them in this world and crown them with everlasting glory in the world to come.”

That seems just as appropriate a prayer for today’s leaders in government as it was in 1774.

So, as for me on this National Day of Prayer, I made pancakes for breakfast because Sunday is a feast, and plan to do what I can to support a local business by ordering a takeout burger and milkshake from one of my neighborhood restaurants for dinner (again, Sunday is a feast). I did go to Mass in Arlington last night, as our Diocese is still open, so I may put off watching a virtual Mass until I have no choice (which I suspect will be as soon as this week). Going for a walk with a friend and her little girl (though I don’t think we will share our usual hugs due to #socialdistancing). Writing a few snail-mail letters (and sealing them with a wet washcloth!). These are all strange little adaptations, which amount to nearly no inconvenience. And I will think about this if and when things get worse and I do feel a tendency to grumble, and remember that no matter what, God is with us.