Monday Morning: A Reflection on How We Celebrate the "Lord's Day"

St. John Bosco where we pray our virtual Mass.

Sundays in this crazy time, shine as beautiful days of prayer, family, and rest. They always were, but now, in the midst of the insanity of COVID 19, we're blessed to be immersed in the reality of "the Lord's day"  It truly belongs to Him. Our "ordinary" Sunday now looks like this. 

We rise around 7:00 and get dressed for the day. Around 7:45 we arrive at our local parish church where Jesus is there waiting in the monstrance. I pray morning prayer in my Magnificat and then pray the Holy Mass.

What a new appreciation for the prayers! And what an opportunity for my imagination to "hear" and "see" everything I'm reading. There is no organ music, but I already "sang" the hymn in morning prayer and I value silence, too rare in our noisy world.

I "hear" the bells ring as Father "enters" the church. Who is it this morning? Our pastor? The associate? A visitor? A priest from my past? Fr. James Haley? Fr. Robert Bradley, a holy Jesuit, too rare a reality these days? Fr. Hugh Monmonier, the Benedictine who witnessed our marriage? Jesus Himself? The priest climbs the few steps into the sanctuary, kisses the altar, and begins "In the name of the Father...." He invites us to "acknowledge our sins" and I examine my conscience. 

Who is the lector today? Usually, in my mind's eye, it's my husband, one of the few men who serve in that role. I "listen" to the readings. Father approaches the altar in preparation for the Gospel. He NEVER in my imagination has his back to Christ in the tabernacle when he bows to the altar. He always goes in front of the altar so that, as he reverences it, he bows to Jesus, the true celebrant.

The "homily" is a selection from the Eucharistic meditations of St. Jean Vianney. What a precious book! There are 27 and I'm on my second journey through it. Things I "missed" the first time are impressed on my mind. No marshmallow fluff in these words. Every meditation invites me to a deeper love and appreciation for the "Bread of Life." 

As my virtual Mass continues, I "watch" all the gestures of the priest and altar servers. I "see" Father remove the humeral veil, and prepare the altar. He lifts the paten with the host to offer it to God. I choose from among the optional readings and "sing" the Sanctus in Latin. Which of the four Easter prefaces will I choose today? Which of the Eucharistic prayers" I love the Roman canon with its litany of the saints, but I've grown to appreciate the others as well. 

"Communion" arrives. "Lord I am not worthy...." I "approach" and "kneel" to "receive" the Precious Body of our Lord on my tongue. How easy it is to kneel on the floor in my imagination and then get up without aid. Would that I could do that when Mass returns for real. 

All is still -- no Communion hymn to distract me from union with Christ -- only beautiful silence, Thank you, Lord. "Take and receive all my liberty, my memory, my understanding and my entire will...."

The post Communion antiphon, the blessing, and the "Mass" ends. Father leaves the sanctuary as I recite the St. Michael the Archangel prayer. I'm filled with gratitude to God that our church is still open unlike so many dioceses where the bishops have barricaded the House of God against His own children. Where are those who walk in the footsteps of the saints who ministered during plagues? Too many workers for the vineyard are hiding in the barn.

At home, we begin preparations for our guests, the little congregation who will "attend" Mass at the virtual Basilica Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in our living room. I set up my tablet with the Mass on the piano. Relics of the saints are there including St. Jean Vianney, patron saint of parish priests. They are my legacy from dear Fr. Haley. I light candles and set them up on either side of the "altar" and arrange the piano bench where some of the children will sit. 

Our daughter and her family and a friend and her daughter all arrive and after hugs and a brief hello they gather  in our little "chapel." While they "attend" Mass, Larry and I continue our preparations for brunch. Larry sets the table and makes coffee while I prepare the food. When Mass ends we hear the rustle and chirpy voices of the children. They're all hungry and eager for breakfast like the apostles on the beach after their futile night of fishing on the Sea of Galilee. "Children, have you caught anything? Let down your nets for a catch." How we love to catch our little ones in the net of family love!

Grace ends. Food passing and conversation begins. Did I make quiche? A big smile from one over the platter of bacon. We hear about everyone's week. Piano lessons continue to be face-timed as well as "meetings" with the reading tutor. We catch up on all the news as we eat. What books are they reading? Have they started a new puzzle? The children are excused to go ride bikes or jump on the trampoline on a nice day. Yesterday was rainy so all the games were indoors. The three-year-old wants to play Sesame Street Dominoes. After three games, we move on to "Spot It." After three more games, I suggest a new partner. "Why don't you ask Paka." Daddy steps in instead. The visit continues until one or two when our guests say good-bye.  

But our Sunday isn't over. We leave about three to pick up a friend and head to the Traditional Latin Mass at the fairground at 4:00. I have my old St. Joseph's Roman Missal battered, held together by packing tape. Most Sundays I read once again the inscription by my mother on the inside cover, "To Mary Ann on her ninth birthday." How could I ever think of buying a "new" missal to replace this well-worn treasure. The only think new are the ribbons, a gift from a dear friend.

I read the Mass as we sit in the car. We usually arrive early and are in the first row where we can see the priest clearly. We hear him on our smart phone through conference calling. I lower the volume when I read the English as he prays the Latin. Communion is long because each car exits and returns before the next is invited. The priest and server mask for Communion and the priest sanitizes his fingers between groups. During the long wait, our friend leads us in a scriptural rosary. 

We chat on the way home thankful for the SSPX priests who travel a long distance to bring us Our Lord every Sunday. Thanks to them we have not missed a Sunday Mass since the shutdown.

Some criticize our decision, but Canon Law allows the faithful who are denied the Eucharist from their own priests to attend any valid Mass offered by priests not in full Communion with Rome. This is certainly such a situation. And we join with the priest in praying for the pope and our bishop.

Sunday dinner has become a makeshift affair, usually leftovers which are quick and easy. The day will end with evening prayer at the dining room table and gratitude for a day of rest and the blessing of our precious "domestic church."