A Sunday Thought About Empty Churches to Start the Week

I don't know how it is where you are, but our church is not-quite-but-almost-empty on Sunday. Not that I'm surprised. It was closed for months. (Actually it did open for a couple of hours every day in the morning - but no Mass, no Confession.) Then our diocese declared that we could all go back to Mass with a bunch of restrictions that include social distancing and masks. 

We've been to Mass on Sunday at different times of the morning. No matter which Mass, same results: a scattering of people. 

Okay, so maybe you give it time. The summer's been unusually hot and muggy and the church doesn't use the A/C. So maybe when things cool down?

Well, it was a lot cooler last Sunday. No change.

Okay, so you give it even more time. Maybe it's the social distancing and/or the masks. The social distancing limits seating capacity. At first, I was dropping my wife at the door and parking, with instructions to text me if there were seats. Why? You can't stand. Either you get a spot, or you're out. (Hey, the rules weren't my idea.) We did that dropping off/texting routine for a few weeks. No point. There's plenty of seats.

What was I thinking? I realized not everyone would flock back to Mass right away. I knew there'd need to be some sort of "ramping up" time. But not this. Hardly anyone's attending Mass.

Then I remembered something I read about how a lot of Catholics don't really have a strong grounding in their faith or a sure knowledge of their religion. The idea was lots of these, once "locked out" would simply never return. Why bother? They didn't really "believe in it" in the first place. 

Believe in it? Yeah, believe that the Mass is a sacrifice: the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. We witness the offering of Our Lord on the Cross at every Mass. It's not exactly like Calvary. It's called an "un-bloody" Sacrifice. But at the moment the words of the Consecration are pronounced, we somehow mysteriously "touch" Calvary. We're united with that moment in time when Jesus suffered and died - His "bloody" Sacrifice. 

Awesome, isn't it. Profoundly moving. It's a privilege, a great blessing, to be present at this Sacrifice of the Mass. 

But if you don't even know that's what Mass is, then I suppose it's not so moving, and it's not really a privilege or a blessing at all.

So why did they go to Mass before? Maybe they liked the "getting together" part of it. Something like the Protestants do when they go to Sunday service. It's a social thing. In fact, that is, how people behaved before and after Mass. We'd get to Mass a few minutes early and most people were just gabbing with each other. A few prayed quietly, but they were the very few. And after Mass, as soon as the priest walked off the altar, it was time to chat again, catch up with friends and neighbors - right there in front of the Blessed Sacrament.

Now don't get me wrong here. I'm not necessarily blaming those folks. I don't think most of them were ever taught about what the Mass really is. And they likely never hears much about the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass in sermons. Heck, the priests themselves will sometimes stop and chat with a parishoner when they're walking to the back of the church to process down the center aisle to begin the "gathering" (as they call it sometimes). In their vestments, they stop, have a quick chat and giggle. They do that.

So I'm thinking maybe that thing I read was right. Maybe the church won't ever see a lot of these folks.

Which raises the question: How can they keep the church open now? In fact, they closed the parish school, over 50 years old, just this year. Part of some sort of economic trimming and consolidation by the diocese. All those teachers out of work; students looking for a home - and all in the midst of this C-Virus mess.

Will the church be next? They've already consolidated our parish with another. Our pastor runs two churches. But now, between the two of them, there's not really enough to fill one - or even half fill it.

Then again, maybe in a few - what? weeks? month? - it'll all be back to what it was.

Not that what it was was ever such a great situation. But at least we had a church. 

We do now - but for how long?

At the end of the day, though, thinking about all this just wastes time and energy. Frankly, it's out of my hands. And to watch the way our bishops and priests talk and act, it seems they think it's out of their hands too. If they have any plans to deal with the possibility that the churches will not fill up again, they're keeping it to themselves.

In fact, they're keeping a lot to themselves. We haven't heard a peep from our bishop since the mess began. Is he still alive?

Strange that we wind up thinking something like that, isn't it? But hes' nowhere to be found. 

But let's not get into all this. It's Sunday. So best to get on with keeping the Lord's Day holy. Maybe I can't do much about our current almost empty churches, but that's something I can do.