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The Wayward Son Longs To Return

I don't know what you are feeling, but I am feeling lost. This pandemic is intensifying the feelings of being superfluous, and even in the way of something, or someone. We tend to call the famous story, "the parable of the prodigal son," but as has been pointed out to me in numerous sermons since I was a very young adult, perhaps the heart of the story is the generosity of the father. I will not absolve myself of responsibility, but largely we are in a "far country" not of our own making.

I have never felt as nostalgic as I do right now, but it seems different than nostalgia at other places and other times. I am longing for something very simple and very normal, for a life we knew and understood only months ago. I have no heart or courage for a culture war, with respect to what we ought to do; I only know that I don't think things can stay the same for much longer.

I am a strong personality, with a well-defined sense of purpose. It seems as though that purpose has been snatched away. I cannot say that I was full of joy and purpose before the pandemic came. I had been relying on the certainty of faith, because I am not aware of a great reservoir of sensible consolation.

I hesitate to make any grand promises, but I don't think I will ever grudgingly go to Holy Mass ever again. How central to my sense of reality is the Holy Sacrifice! What a refuge in time of trouble! Simply to be present near the altar. I must confess, I have hardly watched any live stream of the Mass. If the sacred pastors require it of me, I will comply. Short of that, it's not the same. If we should ever doubt our sacramental sense of the world, we would do well to remember this time, when the empty gnosticism of a disembodied Christianity was laid bare for all to see.

Comfort your people, O Lord! Please start with me.
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