Second Sunday of Lent, 2022

On Wednesday, I was already thinking about the quiet, relaxing environment of the regular Mass that I was planning to attend on the upcoming Sunday morning. It would be the second Sunday of Lent. I knew it would be a balm for my mind and my soul.

I frequently go to a particular church because it is a smaller parish with a more intimate group of parishioners. There is usually only one singer. The lighting is a bit darker. The priests always remind me of the values of my faith – loving our neighbors, taking care of those who are poor and marginalized, and following the basic tenants of what Jesus taught.  

In recent news, we are all reading about Ukraine, which has everyone on edge. The images are horrific; the turmoil is palpable, and the feeling of despair seems to be felt around the world. If you live in Manhattan, you also read about the daily upset to normal life. There is violence, social discord, and general malaise in the air. Recently someone attacked two people at a nearby museum. Museums are supposed to be places of quiet contemplation of art. Even these spaces are different now. Many are on the lookout for potential danger, and there is a sense that nowhere is safe.

So, when Sunday morning came, I prepared for the Mass I had been anticipating. The priest was someone I enjoy listening to. There were fewer people than normal, and I wondered if it was because of the cold March weather or because of daylight savings. I always sit in the back, and today there was more space around me.

During the homily, the priest spoke about fear, and specifically, that Jesus tells us, “Do not be afraid.” It was a lovely sermon on the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountain, the foretelling of things to come. It also was very pertinent to what we are seeing in the global and local world around us.

Then, it was like it had been planned. A person who looked and acted differently walked into the parish. He walked in a strange way. He may have been homeless or poor or in need. Because he was different, he seemed a little scary. Then he sat down about four rows from the back in proximity to me. I thought of the attack at the museum. Then the man got up from his pew and approached a teenage boy about five rows ahead of him. The boy didn’t seem to mind or even notice him. The man sat back down, and then he got up. It was unclear if he left the building.

It’s hard for me in moments like this – as a woman sitting by myself – to not look for my purse, wonder if I should leave, and have concern about my safety. Meanwhile, the pastor was still talking about fear and Jesus’s words asking us to “not be afraid.”

The service came to a close, and parishioners started to stand up and gather their things to leave. The man who had entered halfway through the Mass walked up to the family of the teenage boy. The family seemed to know him, and it looked as if they had a brief conversation. It also looked as if the dad of the family gave the man some money.  

At this point, when I saw the interaction, I was filled with emotion. It is hard to be on guard all the time, especially in a house of worship. I was in shock to realize my own judgment, my own fend-for-myself mindset, and my own fear. I come to Church to be changed and to contemplate the small and large things in my life. I learn about myself every day, but especially when I am listening to a pastor or priest deliver the Gospel of the Lord. I thank the man who walked into Church today because he taught me something about myself that I don’t like. His interaction with the family taught me that there is no shortage of people from whom I can learn.

Finally, I was getting up to leave. The man walked by me and said, “How ya doing?” I said, “I’m fine,” and smiled at him under my mask. 

March 13, 2022