Yesterday, for Easter, I asked my wife if she wouldn’t mind hanging home with our belligerently hyperactive 18-month-old so that I could attempt to take our 4-year-old to our parish parking lot for Mass. They were offering radio broadcast into church parking lot from the capped-capacity nave, along with a chance to come to the church doors for communion. I packed my daughter’s bible, magnetic Mass kit, and some snacks and saddled up.
We snagged a spot along the outside, second from the end so that we could put some folding chairs on the concrete and listen to the Mass through the open windows with the engine off. Swarms of springtime flies hovering around us quickly torpedoed that idea.
So we got back into the car, windows up, starting to get toasty on a sunny April morning, with the temperature climbing into the 70s. The radio signal broke through the silence two minutes after Mass starting, looping us in just before the Gloria began. Spoken, not sung, it was still refreshing to hear the congregational murmuring.
The readings delivered the Easter joy, at least as best I could follow them on my hastily pulled up USCCB.com link — the ambo microphone made the lector’s words sound more like heavy rain than human English. Lucy restlessly hung in there, bouncing between fascination with unfamiliar and alluring car gadgets in the front seat and passing questions about audio transmission and Mass mechanics.
During the homily, we were realistic and turned down the radio volume — that way Lucy and I could read her abridged version of the Gospel and talk about some of the things from Jesus’ life, including the empty tomb and Easter morning.
We were glad to be able to hear the Eucharistic Prayer a bit clearer. As we chatted over one of her side questions, we missed the directions. We could all hop out of our cars now and slowly and socially-distanced-ly make our way to the north door to sanitize our hands, receive Communion, and consume the host after stepping away from the line.
Lucy and I masked up, climbed out, and headed forward. From beside and behind us, the young and old, the parents and children, the able-bodied and the handicapped all made our way to funnel toward the Eucharist.
We watched an elderly woman in need of a wheelchair wait for her assistance. Her family member got out of the driver side, walked around toward her door, and staged her chair safely. Another family member jogged over from a different car and opened her door to assist her in climbing out. They got her seated and helped push her onward. In some way, I saw glimmers of Mark 2, echoes of the faithful friends who want their paralyzed loved one to meet Christ so badly that they climb the roof where Jesus is, break through the ceiling, and lower him down into the crowded room with Christ. Yet in another way, it was beautifully mundane — just a family caring for one another and participating in Mass.
Seeing the throng of communicants emerge from all directions of a spread-out array of cars projected a beautiful image, too. In a way, it called to mind the gathering of the elect, the joining of the communion of Saints and their marching with candlelight toward the Lord. Yet, it was also wonderfully simple, just another version of the pews and chairs emptying into a respectful line.
 |
| John August Swanson, JohnAugustSwanson.com |
Entering the vestibule, and knowing we’d go no further inside, was an odd feeling. As was receiving the Eucharist there, almost a la a drive-through. But that was just fine! There was no particularly visceral burst of luminous grace to my perhaps fatigued heart and mind — just a pang of peace and relief, a rest in familiarity. What more acutely warmed my soul was once again being in the midst of a tender older person showing love for a young one: the sweet woman ministering Communion leaned down to my daughter and said, “I’m not going to touch you, but know that God loves you and cares about you today and every day.”
I’m not sure how or when our family can start going to Mass the old-fashioned way. And these varied and unconventional adjustments certainly can challenge and strain. But this Easter, all of this was a welcome gift.
