The eucharist and our neighbour

I want to maintain two things: first that the eucharist matters, is the centre of Christian life, so that the ongoing disruption of our celebration of the mass ought to be a source of hurt. But secondly, I want to say that this disruption is justified, and that if we grasp these two points together we learn something about the eucharist itself.

Human beings have an anti-tragic streak in us, there’s a temptation to always see the best in a situation, even when the best isn’t there to be seen. So it is understandable that some people have seen the separation of the faithful from the eucharistic mysteries over the past months as an opportunity. The pages of the Catholic press have been full of stories of people discovering new forms of spirituality during lockdown. Now of course God does bring good out of ill, but to my mind people have sometimes been too quick to see the good and ignore the ill, there’s been a glib sitting lightly to the loss of the eucharist which ultimately runs up against what must be non-negotiable Catholic belief: that here in a unique way, Christ and his sacrificial self-giving are present to us.

But they are not present for the sheer sake of it, rather Christ comes to us in the eucharist – so Aquinas insists – to bring about charity, that love of God and of neighbour that is constitutive of God’s Kingdom. The mass, like all sacraments, does not exist for itself but for the sake of the Kingdom. It is not intended to make of us a religious in-club, but of people who are sent forth to change the world – Ite missa est. And so if the demands of love of our neighbour require restrictions on the celebration of mass, as they clearly do at the moment, far from being in tension with the nature of the eucharist, those restrictions – albeit in a tragic fashion – invite us to a proper living out of the eucharistic life. For the sake of the charity symbolised in our eucharistic communion, we must for a time live differently. When the full practice of regular masses, frequent communion, singing, full Sunday congregations, and so on is restored, we can say ‘this too is for the sake of our neighbour’.

Good Friday in lockdown

Of all the liturgies we have missed since, for good reasons, public liturgies were suspended, I feel the loss of Good Friday’s the most. I think that’s because today speaks to our situation. There is a desolation about the day, acted out in our churches: the empty tabernacle, its door flung open; the stripped altar; the lack of candles; the statues still veiled. The liturgy disorientates us; we don’t do what Christians most characteristically do when they gather together to worship, celebrate mass. Instead we work through a liturgy which is perpetually unfamiliar to even the most seasoned attendee.

Good Friday feels like every day feels in lockdown: separated from the mass, confused. Today’s drama belongs to all of us at the moment. But so too does today’s hope. Because today teaches us that God can bring good out of the most profound desolation. Those priests who, alone at the altar, celebrate today’s strange rites wear mass vestments – the light of Easter shines in anticipation already – there is a hope attached even to the cross. That is a message our world needs right now.

Preparing for Easter

Lent is, above all else, a time of getting ready for Easter. Just as the catechumens use the season to prepare for their baptism, so the whole Church uses it to prepare to celebrate Christ’s passing over from death to life, and to recall our baptism into that mystery as we celebrate the Easter Vigil. We prayed at the office today,

grant us now a single-handed perseverance in keeping your commandments,

and bring us untouched by sin to the joys of Easter.

This year the Easter Vigil will be celebrated by priests alone in our churches. The rest of us will have to associate ourselves with that celebration as best we can, perhaps following some of the readings or saying some of the prayers. It is going to feel very odd, and to be deprived of the public liturgy of the Church at Easter cannot be anything other than hurtful.

It’s important then to be clear that we are still preparing to celebrate Easter, with the emphasis on celebration. In spite of all that is happening, in spite of the coronavirus, God is still victorious over death. The message isn’t a glib one: the God who as a human being rises from the tomb has shared our suffering, lived and died in solidarity with our pain and loss; he still bears our wounds on his body. Yet, in spite of it all, he is risen. And, I think, it is especially important at the moment to orientate ourselves towards this truth.