IN RECENT WEEKS, I have walked each day into a church that seems to be empty, a stark reminder of the vast impact of a tiny virus that has upended our routines and brought distancing into what we have known as community in our parishes and elsewhere. The “Stay-at-Home” mitigation effort has meant that humanly speaking, the building is unoccupied. But Christ is there in the tabernacle — Body and Blood, soul and divinity — surrounded as ever by the angels and saints who unceasingly worship: Holy, holy, holy, Lord.
A cherished memory of seminary days in Rome was making a Holy Hour in a different church in the city on occasion. Those churches, too, were often silent and empty at that time of day, but I came to recognize the consistent presence of Jesus in the tabernacle: that is, that no matter where or when, it is the same Person who is there. Words fail to convey this adequately. But I recognized, as an external fact to my own spiritual beliefs, that regardless of the place, it is simply one and the same Christ who is listening and speaking to my soul.
We have been unable to gather physically for the Church’s liturgy and prayer, and while livestreaming Masses and devotions, presentations and reflections, has allowed us to keep some sense of connection, it is of course not the same. Catholicism is inherently sacramental, uniting the material and the spiritual in ways that communicate divine life to us, beginning with the Incarnation itself, the Word becoming flesh. The sacraments use tangible things and people — along with audible words and song, visual signs and symbols, the aroma of incense and Chrism, even the taste of the Eucharist — to draw us through the body into communion with God who is Spirit (John 4:24).
We miss the people, the places, the sounds. The very act of leaving home to come together to worship God is symbolic of the pilgrimage of faith. This difficult loss of our customary life of communal worship is a deep sorrow.
Yet, go back to those Holy Hours. Christ is truly present in the Eucharist in the full and unlimited reality of His Person. Yet Christ Himself is not limited by the Eucharist as the only form of His divine Presence. I have met Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament, but I have not met Jesus only in the Blessed Sacrament.
This is hard to explain without being misunderstood. It no way downplays or devalues the sacramental order to note that while God has connected the conferral of grace to the faithful reception of the sacraments, He has not limited communication of grace to those means. The Catechism of the Catholic Church, speaking of the necessity of baptism, teaches that while the sacramental ritual is the ordinary way the grace of regeneration is conveyed, the baptism of blood of the martyrs and baptism of desire for those who die before the ritual can be celebrated are not deprived of the same baptismal grace. It states the principle: “God has bound salvation to the sacrament of Baptism, but he himself is not bound by his sacraments” (1257).
Emphatically, the Catechism is not endorsing pantheism (God is everywhere and everything is divine), indifferentism (any religion, or none at all, is just as good), or universalism (everyone is saved in the end regardless of how they live).
Rather, this principle acknowledges that the infinite power and love of God cannot be confined to what is humanly done or omitted, as though we and not God determined the reach of salvation. In other words, when human efforts fail, God is not therefore stymied. He still abides with us.
[perfectpullquote align=”left” bordertop=”false” cite=”” link=”” color=”” class=”” size=”14″]“Those who recognize Jesus in the sacred Host, recognize him in their suffering brother or sister … they work in practice for all who are in need.”[/perfectpullquote]What is central in the distinction here is our freedom. The present reality of COVID-19 does not imply that we can at any time simply ignore the sacramental life, make only spiritual communions, and be vaguely sorry for sins from the convenience of home. We are living our faith in this limited way for now, not because we choose it as an equal alternative, but because we are offering this as a sacrifice for the sake of greater goods: charity towards those at risk of grave illness, obedience to legitimate authority, concern for the common good. As we pray for those who suffer the many effects of the coronavirus — the sick, the families who grieve, healthcare workers, those who serve our basic needs, those whose livelihoods have been impeded — we fulfill words from Pope Emeritus Benedict in his 2011 Corpus Christi homily: “Those who recognize Jesus in the sacred Host, recognize him in their suffering brother or sister … they work in practice for all who are in need.”
The Mass is still offered each day as the prayer of the universal Church for the salvation of the world. This fast from Communion can remind us that when we receive the Eucharist, it is always a gift from Jesus, not something He owes us. Our “Amen” says to Christ, not “you are now mine,” but “I am now Yours.” This is what allows us to be united as a Church and not simply a collection of individual devotees. As St. Athanasius wrote in an Easter letter to his diocese some 1,600 years ago:
This feast guides us through the trials that meet us in this world. God now gives us the joy of salvation that shines out from this feast, as He brings us together to form one assembly, uniting us all in spirit in every place, allowing us to pray together and to offer common thanksgiving, as is our duty. Such is the wonder of His love: He gathers to this feast those who are far apart, and brings together in unity of faith those who may be physically separated from each other.
Another aspect of those seminary Holy Hours seems relevant: the silence. The churches are still, but silence lived in faith is never emptiness; it can allow God to speak. All of the greatest mysteries of God’s plan to redeem us were fulfilled in silence and darkness: from a silent night in a cave in Bethlehem, to the darkness of a Friday afternoon, when the sun was eclipsed and the voice of Jesus was silenced on the Cross; and on to the predawn darkness on the third day, when the Risen Christ emerged from another cave, unseen and unheard, victorious over death. Isaiah invites us into this silent trust: “By waiting and calm you shall be saved; in quiet and in trust your strength lies” (Isaiah 30:15); as does Zephaniah: “Silence in the presence of the Lord God! for near is the day of the Lord ” (Zephaniah 1:7). St. Joseph teaches us this silence, and Mary, Mother of the Church, models it for us: “She kept all these things and reflected on them in her heart.”
In the abundant new life of nature, and the far greater promise of new life in union with the risen Christ, take some silent moments to be aware of His presence that could not be confined by a tomb, kept out by locked doors, or eliminated by death. The baptismal homily recorded in 1 Peter 1:6-9 seems especially fitting:
“In this you rejoice, although now for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold that is perishable even though tested by fire, may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Although you have not seen him you love him; even though you do not see him now yet believe in him, you rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, as you attain the goal of faith, the salvation of your souls.”
FATHER TOM KNOBLACH is pastor of three parishes in St. Cloud: Holy Spirit, St. Anthony and St. John Cantius. He also serves as consultant for healthcare ethics for the Diocese of St. Cloud.