In March there was a bat in our home. We were displaced for a week, and my husband, myself, and our toddler all had to get rounds of rabies shots.  In other words, it was not the best time for a pandemic and a lockdown. To say I was triggered is an understatement. I already felt like I failed to keep my son safe from this bat. And now I was very worried about all the news coverage about a pandemic and having to stay home when my home wasn't yet bat-proof or deep-cleaned i.e., safe.  In the back of my mind were memories of when my home didn't feel safe growing up. 

So on March 15th (Sunday) I went to Mass and found myself looking at our priest for cues of how to take in this pandemic situation.  Our pastor was certainly smiling a lot, not in a fake way, but in a way that came across – to me – as trying to be reassuring and knowing a lot of us were scared. I felt very comforted at Mass, that it would be ok somehow. 

But by the next day, Mass was suspended indefinitely throughout our Diocese.

It was like a punch in the gut. There is this virus, and now we can't go to church? We can't receive Our Lord in Communion?  A very familiar feeling started to engulf me: abandonment. Is God abandoning me? Did I do something that messed up so badly that God no longer wanted me to even have the option of receiving Him in Holy Communion? 

I tried to think rationally, telling myself that God is not like that. But it was so hard not to get stuck in the past. My dad did abandon us. He even stopped and told me as he was packing up that he wasn't leaving my brother and me. And yet he did leave, and we haven't spoken in over a decade. All my life I had been told that he loved us and would even lay down his life for us, but he ended up abandoning us. I couldn't help thinking that in every religion class we learn Jesus loves us and laid down his life for us and would never abandon us, but, like with my dad, would that turn out to not be true?  Both the pandemic and closing of churches were making it look that way to me.

Besides panicking and bugging my poor seminarian friend on messenger (he took it well and tried to talk me down), I figured the only thing I could do now to see how God was still present was exactly what I had found myself doing the day before at Mass: watch what the priests would do. How would our spiritual fathers care for us? Would they care for us?

In the back of my mind, I kept wondering if they would feel relieved that they didn't have to deal with the people for a while, and if we'd be on our own. 

Eventually, the silence from our parish just didn't sit right, so I rechecked our parish website and saw an announcement explaining what was happening. Both of our priests were out of commission: one was sick and the other was having to self-quarantine after having possibly been exposed to Covid-19. The priests from the nearby college were stepping in for confessions. As soon as they possibly could, our parish started livestreaming Masses on Facebook. Our pastor shared various recordings of rosaries said by St. Padre Pio, or Mother Teresa, to encourage people to pray at home. And our DRE got a YouTube page and Facebook page up and running. 

On the first Sunday that Mass would be celebrated at our parish since the church closures, I was really torn. Maybe I would just go sit along the back wall of the church, outside of course. I hoped that by being near Jesus, I'd find some proof that He wasn't using this as an opportunity to abandon me. In the end the idea was too much, and possibly meant breaking the rules. I decided it would probably be best to watch Mass from home with my family anyway. But the fear deep in my heart worried, "What if He just didn't want me there?" And that was a little too scary to confront.

We watched Mass as a family, and towards the end of the livestream Mass, our pastor announced that he would have a Eucharistic Procession after Mass. We live just down the road from the parish, so I looked over at my husband and said, "We can make it!!" We rushed about getting jackets and shoes and darted to the car. We talked about staying in the car, so that we would be respecting the rules. While we drove, I worried that we had missed the procession even though we still had the livestream on and it barely ended as we pulled up to the church. Maybe this was confirmation that I wasn't wanted. But we waited, and hoped. As we drove around the church, we spotted the procession from behind and pulled back in front of the church to wait. 

The small procession rounded the corner and we were able to see Jesus in the Monstrance.  There was such an overwhelming awe being there. We watched and explained to our toddler that Father was carrying Jesus. And Father seemed to see us at about the second I was pointing at him. I was so scared he would be angry; maybe we are not supposed to be here. (I'm sure my dad would have been angry if I had come somewhere without being asked.) But Father looked touched instead. As he got closer to our car he paused, blessed us, nodded to us, and moved on. 

To me, it was like Our Lord was trying to show me that He wasn't abandoning me, my family, or the world. I had wanted to be on the other side of the wall but was too afraid, so He gave me the opportunity to get even closer and to see Him very clearly. 

Thankfully, the procession was also put on YouTube and I can pull it up anytime I want to see that reminder. 

So that moment really helped me. Then it was reinforced with the actions of so many priests! There were tons of Facebook posts about priests setting up drive-through confessions, driving to people's homes to hear confessions with a screen over the car window, or installing a confessional in a rectory window. Or priests setting up Adoration outside in parking lots, through rectory windows, or livestreaming it throughout the night.  Other priests started group chatting together and taking questions live, or doing "rectory chats," taking questions on Facebook for a couple hours. There were so many pictures of priests doing processions in the back of trucks, from airplanes, privately around the parishes or neighborhoods, from mountain tops, and even roof-tops. A friend posted about how her husband saw their priest in a store parking lot and ran up to him. Father heard his Confession on the spot, right there. And of course the Pope's Urbi et Orbi address was astonishing.

There were even more sources of comfort for me. Tons of streamed daily and Sunday Masses with beautiful homilies that were filled with care and encouragement. Other small talks given on new parish YouTube channels, even by priests who I know full well really dislike technology. I've seen priest post their annoyances over the technical difficulties and how awful they are because it makes it worse for the people, not for them. I've seen other priests laugh off accidentally having googly eyes for parts of the Mass because a Facebook filter was on. Instead of being upset, they just laughed about it and said they hoped it brought laughter to people as a funny honest mistake. During Holy Week, I was especially touched by a post by some Dominicans in England who said, "We are keeping watch for you" knowing so many people would want to keep watch at the altar of repose but couldn't.  There were even other priests who went hiking to raise money and pray for those affected.

For me all of these acts of love by spiritual fathers were like a consistent witness to God's love for His children. It has been amazing to see all the ways in which many priests have strove to find ways to still bring God to the people however they could. Instead of being relieved that they would have a break from the people, many priests were working harder to find ways to connect and help the people not feel alone. 

Another huge turning point for me was the homily given by our Parochial Vicar at the Easter Vigil. He spoke very openly about how painful it was for him not to be able to give Communion to the people. He even spoke of it being almost unbearable.  And that echoed deeply inside me. It made it very clear that Father cared very deeply about the people in the parish. 

All of these things that priests have done while this pandemic has kept people away from being able to receive Communion, away from our spiritual homes, is honestly hard for my little wounded heart to comprehend. It's not the way that I ever would have thought of. It’s not the kind of love I witnessed from a father growing up. It has been extremely healing. I obviously still have a lot of work to do, and a long way to go. But on those hard days when I struggle to feel God's love, I think back to all these things that priests have been doing during this pandemic. I think about how their actions have reflected God's abiding presence and His willingness to seek out those who are lost, or even just feel lost.  I know that these will be thoughts that I return to throughout my life. And they will always fill me with hope that God is Love. 

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Heather Strickland is a graduate of Christendom College. While there she spent a good deal of time in the Legion of Mary, where she learned a lot about looking at those suffering in the world through Mary's Motherly gaze. While at College she also met her husband. They have settled down in Northern VA, with their son and are looking forward to celebrating 5 years of marriage soon.