This Isn't Normal.

None of us living in 21st century United States ever thought that we would be in a position where we wouldn't be able to attend Easter Mass.

We never thought the governor would prohibit us from entering our Churches and encountering Jesus in the Tabernacle.

We wouldn't have imagined a Holy Thursday where the Tabernacle would be emptied and no one would be there to witness it.

We felt Good Friday in an even more intense way as we meditated on the Way of the Cross from our living rooms instead of at the Stations that adorn many of our parish walls.

What was an Easter Vigil without welcoming people into the Church and without seeing the light of Christ illuminate the darkened nave?

None of us thought we would have a screen separating us from our priests and deacons as they celebrated Easter Mass in front of empty pews.

The same exclamation must have rung through the hearts of the faithful throughout Lent and during the Easter Triduum: THIS ISN'T NORMAL!

I count myself among those who grieve the freedom to go wherever I please. In my sorrow I started to yearn for years past when we weren't confined to our houses. I looked back at old journals and asked Alexa for the exact dates of past Good Fridays and past Easters so I could remember what a "normal" Triduum was supposed to feel like. I came across this post from Lent 2017:

"The bluish veins contrasted with her pale skin, like rivers and inlets flowing through the desert. It was peculiar - the way that the map of her life seemed to be copied onto her body. The desert. There was so much more desert than there was water. How could one even survive in the desert? It was all a wasteland, really. A vast open space with little variation, little to interest you, little to entertain the mind. Just miles and miles of tiny grains of sand. The same thing over and over again as the hot sun beat down baking those below as they tried in vain to find shelter.

But somehow they survived. They made it through the desert. How? Blood. There beneath her skin, deep within the system that held her together flowed life. Her veins carried that essential life to every part of her body. She had no doubt. She would be dead without it. She would be empty. Dead. Blood saved her."

Of course there was no way of knowing back in 2017 that I would be talking to myself in 2020. The greatest gift that God has given me is life in the desert. The title of this blog alone has so accurately captured who God is to me and how I, in turn, hope to be seen by the world - a sign of Him even in the middle of a dead, dry wasteland of this world. In rereading that post, I realized that it's not the beautiful church buildings or candles or rituals or traditions that have saved me. Those things point me to what HAS saved me: the Blood of the Lamb. Do I miss them? Yes. Do I wish I could experience them right now? Yes. But it hasn't change the fact that Jesus shed every bit of His Precious Blood for me. And now that I am in the desert once again, that is what I cling to - it is His Blood that has saved me. It is His Blood that keeps me alive.

This situation we are in isn't normal. But nothing about the way Christians choose to live is normal because Christ isn't normal. From the Virgin birth to the truth that He ROSE FROM THE DEAD, nothing about Him was normal. He did things that no one else has done: He commands the sea to be calm. The fish follow His voice into the nets. The blind see. The lame leap. The possessed are freed. The dead are risen. He has performed miracles time after time. He has never let me down. Who am I to despair?

At the beginning of Lent, I asked God what he wanted me to do for the 40 days, and He asked me to meditate on the feet of Jesus. From the tiny baby feet in the manger, to the feet that dangled from a chair that was probably too big for him when he was in the Temple at the age of 12, to the feet that walked the dusty roads of Capernaum, to the feet that walked Calvary and the feet that were nailed to the Cross. I can't help but wonder what His feet are doing now. I can only guess one thing: they probably aren't idle, and neither should ours be.

Sometimes I think that the early Christians had it easy because they had the opportunity to be close to Christ, so close that they could touch his garment when he taught. There is certainly one way in which we are like the early Christians, and like Jesus who willingly went to a Cross to die for us: We aren't normal. We believe in a God who we haven't physically seen. We worship Jesus who was stripped of all earthly power but is still adored as Christ the King. We follow a mandate that tells us to love our enemies, and to show mercy to those who have persecuted us. The philosophy of Wall Street and the culture of Hollywood tell us that this isn't normal. And they are right. We aren't normal because we don't belong to this world. Our world is the supernatural one, and our God is one who turns things upside down.

So when I ask myself, "what now? The Church is closed. Where am I to go?" The only answer I have is to follow the feet of the one whose Blood saved me. Like the early Christians, those who encountered the empty tomb, it's time to be true disciples and announce what was proclaimed on Easter: "Do not be afraid! I know that you are seeking Jesus the crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead,and he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. ’Behold, I have told you.” Then they went away quickly from the tomb, fearful yet overjoyed, and ran to announce this to his disciples."

Photo from BetheChurch on Twitter.

***And just one last footnote, in our lifetimes, we've been in quarantine fewer days than we have not been in quarantine. Likewise, as Christians, we feast more than we fast. 40 days of Lent are followed by a 50 day Easter season. This situation is temporary but we have the opportunity to claim eternal life given to us by Jesus Christ.***