An Increase of Faith at My Last Mass to Date

The last time I saw my godmother Eliza was at my parents’ 50^th wedding anniversary dinner – January 10, 2020. It seems like a lifetime ago, made especially so because of the uniquely time-altering nature of this pandemic which seems to have had a near paralyzing grip on our world. It was the last time I was with her – and it will be the last time until my earthly life ends. Eliza, a kidney transplant recipient, entered the hospital in Manila, Philippines at the beginning of April 2020 – and died of Covid-19 on April 27, 2020, having caught the virus while in hospital for treatment of pneumonia.

I recall that anniversary party with a twinge of regret. I had made the point of arranging the seating so that I could be beside her. In the end, I was so busy running around, trying to be present for as many other people there, that I did not spend as much time catching up with my godmother as I now wish I had. If I had known it was to be our last time together, what would I have said to her? Would I have even been able to say anything at all if I had known then that she would be gone from this world nearly four months afterward? Perhaps not. However, I recently found myself trying to cram as much as I could into a moment, which I knew would be the last one for at least several weeks – maybe even longer.

The Third Sunday of Easter

On April 18, 2021, our family was blessed to be able to physically take part in the celebration of the Holy Mass at our local parish, St. Barnabas. A few days earlier, the stay-at-home order in the Canadian province of Ontario was extended, with the addition of new restrictions for gatherings. What I had been dreading would happen again finally did: gatherings in churches and other places of worship were now restricted to a maximum of ten people. This particular limitation on religious services was to take effect on Monday, April 19. Our last opportunity for in-person Mass was on the third Sunday of Easter.

Mind and Soul

For all the talk and buzz there is about mental health, I often wonder why caring for one’s personal spiritual needs has not been considered essential to it. Yes, we live in a world which is growing more and more secular by the minute. Many loudly protest any mention of God and religion – let us not impose our beliefs on others, after all. Yet, we who do profess to believe in God – who are “faithful” – number more than a few. I know I am not alone in having this strong need to be able to practice my faith in the church and in communion with others.

Our archbishop, Thomas Cardinal Collins, wrote in his letter to the faithful of the archdiocese of Toronto, just hours after the announcement of these new restrictions was made:

While I firmly believe we offer an essential service and have demonstrated our ability to welcome the faithful safely given our stringent WorshipSafe measures, we must also recognize the serious nature of the current situation and respond out of love for our neighbour.

While I did understand this and support my archbishop, I could not help but be a bit anxious about the fact that this Mass on the third Sunday of Easter would be our last for some time.

A Communion of the Saints…and Sinners

On the Saturday evening before that last Mass, I took advantage of our time around the dinner table to remind our family of how special the next day’s Mass would be. We talked about how important it is to focus and really be present – not just physically, but mentally as well. We named the many different people we were praying for, both living and deceased; those who were healthy and those who were sick; those who had lost loved ones, and those who were suffering.

In the Catechism of the Catholic Church, there are several points about the communion of saints. One of them (point 962) reads: “

We believe in the communion of all the faithful of Christ, those who are pilgrims on earth, the dead who are being purified, and the blessed in heaven, all together forming one Church; and we believe that in this communion, the merciful love of God and his saints is always [attentive] to our prayers” (Paul VI, CPG § 30).

This sinner felt so blessed to belong to a family such as the Church! All the intentions my family and I mentioned around the dining table – and more which were tucked away in the quiet recesses of my heart and mind – filled me with great purpose.  I was looking forward to Sunday Mass with great anticipation. There was so much to pray for.

Reality Check: A Three-Year-Old is in the House!

In my fifty years of earthly existence, there are very few things I know to be certainly true. Death will come to me at some point is one of them. Another one is that each one of my twelve children, with no exception, had or has the attention span of an excitable and easily distracted circus flea at the age of three. A third truth I often say, either smilingly or while shaking my head, is that God has a great sense of humour. On that most special of Sundays – the third Sunday of Easter – I experienced two of those three certain truths. Can you guess which ones? (Spoiler alert: I lived to tell this tale….)

To clarify a point: our family had been able to go to Mass by taking shifts, leaving some at home to be with our three-year-old daughter. With the limited numbers allowed inside the church and the need to wear a mask the whole time, it seemed the best arrangement to have. For this third Sunday of Easter, I had thought it would be nice to all go together as one, big, happy family. In this temporary moment of delusion, I registered all of us who live in our home (seven children plus my husband and I) for the Sunday Mass. I thought then, “How bad could it be?”

Scripture Comes Alive

The readings of that Sunday Mass gave me much food for thought and material for prayer. It also helped that my little daughter was restless. I ended up praying more. I had imagined a very intense time of prayer and worship to really maximize the time we had at this Mass. It was intense, although not in the peaceful way I had thought it would be. So very appropriately, I heard in the first reading: “Repent, therefore, and turn to God so that your sins may be wiped out.” (Acts 3:19) It was my first divine reminder.

The Psalms helped me cry out to God:

Answer me when I call, O God of my right!

You gave me room when I was in distress.

Be gracious to me, and hear my prayer.

Once again, our Lord spoke to me through the second reading:

“Now by this we may be sure that we know him, if we obey his commandments. Whoever says, “I have come to know him,” but does not obey his commandments, is a liar, and in such a person the truth does not exist; but whoever obeys his word, truly in this person the love of God has reached perfection. By this we may be sure that we are in him.” (1 John 2:3-5)

Remind Me Again….

I was reminded of who and where I was, and why. I was in the church – in my Father God’s house – with the family He had blessed me, including the three-year-old bundle of energy who had climbed all over the pew, attempted to hoist herself onto the pew in front (she may yet have a future in gymnastics) and tugged on my arm several times throughout the Mass. God had not left me alone – I had also been blessed with my ever-patient and loving husband, who as well shared in the joy of trying to keep our toddler’s mask on even as she repeatedly took it off.

I am a wife and a mother – I was exactly where I should be. Although it was not the scenario I had hoped for at this Mass I had been greatly anticipating, it was right that I should be there with those around me. Why had I been anxious, almost desperate for what I had wildly imagined could be our last Mass? My penchant for overthinking everything until it snowballed into the most massive dilemma in the world had been in high gear. I was on a roll – until God’s sense of humour kicked in and reminded me of what really mattered to Him.

Trust and Joy, Not Fear

The Gospel of that third Sunday of Easter spoke directly to my anxiety:

“He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. (Luke 24:38-39)

In as much as I thought I realized the true value of the Mass – the “source and summit of the Christian life”, as the Catechism of the Catholic Church refers to it – I had, in fact, fallen short and given in to a sense of desperation. It was true that I did not want to be without the Holy Mass. However, it is also true that my Father God asks for me complete trust and abandonment to His divine Providence, even when circumstances or events do not make sense to me.

One Mass

This one Mass celebrated well, offered up with great love, hope, faith, and everything else my life has in it – the good, the struggles, and the noise – in union with the prayers of those in the church and all over the world – this one Mass could not be one of desperation. Easter is a reminder to me – to all of us! – that Jesus triumphed over evil and death. “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” (Psalm 27:1)

At this one Mass – which I fervently pray will only be one of many, many more to come! – I prayed for all of those whose names filled our dinner conversation the previous night and those who somehow came to mind by the loving grace of God: my husband and each of my children, my parents and relatives, friends, and those whom our friends love. I prayed for those who remain faceless and nameless, but whose presence and actions make life in this world better. I felt my heart would burst and still – there was so much more to pray for! How truly priceless the sacrament of the Holy Eucharist is and how much we have to be grateful for it!

Jesus, I Trust in You

At the moment of the Mass when the priest gave us a moment of silence to think and pray for those who had gone before of us to the next life, I focused on those close to my heart: my parents-in-law and my sister-in-law, my grandparents, the parents of friends who have suffered their passing and continue to grieve quietly – and my godmother Eliza, whom to this day I think of with great fondness and thanksgiving for her warmth, joy and larger-than-life persona. My last memory of her is of her face lit up with a huge smile, and I pray at every Mass, as I did at our last Mass to date, that our Lord keeps her in the palm of His hand where her joy will never end.