A Sunday-Labor Day Thought to End the Summer

This 15th Sunday after Pentecost brings us to the end of summer. Of course, that's technically not the case. Summer runs into September, the 22nd to be exact. But everyone knows summer's done when Labor Day rolls around.

So Labor Day's  a kind of exit door. Those last days of summer that brought some easing up of the work load for some of us have slipped by. Now things start to return to normal.

Meanwhile, most of us are off from work. It's a school holiday for those whose semester haa begun already. We get to hang out, maybe have a final summer barbecue. Back in the day, when school started the Wednesday after Labor Day, you could feel "freedom" fade. Not that I hated school. But once the school bells started wringing each morning your life was not your own anymore.

In our Catholic grammar school, Sister Therese rang that bell by hand. I can still hear it. We'd line up in the schoolyard, where stood a statue of Our Blessed Mother. It wasn't so long ago we lined up and sang songs to her as we crowned her May Queen. And that day would come again in eight months. But for now, it was all business. By the time the bell ceased, you could hear a pin drop; you were in your assigned place. (If not, there was a price to pay!) And the march to the classrooms began.

Aside from the alarm bell in the morning, no other bells will ring to start the September days to come. Sister Therese long-ago departed to her eternal life. And the years have laid down an irrevocable distance between the days of the hand-wrung bell and life on the planet during what has become a recharged C-Virus Mess. Many of our compatriots have been or will be forced to be jabbed - most at least twice, if not more - or lose their jobs. Many of our kids will be forced to wear masks all day in class. Some may even be forced to take a jab if they're over a certain age - forced either by fear of COVID instilled by their supposedly wiser elders, or in some cases by some "mandate."

I once thought the school bell mandate of shut up, get in line, march to class was mandate enough. Little did I know.

And little did I ever suspect that I'd have gone for months without attending Mass or getting to Confession or receiving Holy Communion. Little did I ever suspect that our Bishop would simply disappear into, well, into I don't know where. We haven't heard more than an occasional peep from him since March of 2020, and that mostly a ghoulish declaration spread through his parish minions to "get vaccinated."

The closest Sister Therese and her minions would ever get to medical advice was sending us to the nurse's office if we were sick or hurt. And if our ailment exceeded nurse's capabilities, the call went out to our parents, who were ultimately the ones responsible for our welfare - physical and spiritual. Despite various bouts with measles, chicken pox, the flu and various ear and throat ailments, I don't remember our Bishop ever advising any specific medical procedure.

Times have changed. Little did any of us know back in the day how life would bring us to this point on this 15th Sunday after Pentecost.

Our posts during the week just passed provided spiritual passages to help us navigate through the times God has given us these days. If we read them slowly and let the advice of a good spiritual guide sink in sufficiently, we'll find the strength to forge ahead despite what ails us.

In the end, it's all part of God's Plan. Back in the day, He sent Sister Therese and her school bell. Today he sends...well, we'll leave it at that. You know what you will face after Labor Day. Once I'd call it a return to normal after a summer respite. But now it's anything but anything I've ever call "normal."

Perhaps the best thought for this unofficial end of summer Sunday: Lord, I don't now why You have sent us all this. But I do believe You will make of it something that helps us grow closer to You.

We have to believe this.

Happy Sunday!