A reflection from my latest column, "Together we embrace the cross: paschal mystery during pandemic" in the Global Sister Report:
A little over 40 days ago, I reflected on these pages about
the signs and symbols of our faith lived out during the Lenten season.
"The refrain of 'repent and believe in the Good News' rang in my
ears." I wrote on the Friday after Ash Wednesday, "That is the good
news of Lent, each step is another opportunity to be marked by the cross, to
receive the grace of God not in vain but in the glory of the moment."
Little could I have known then the opportunities that this Lenten season would
present to be marked by the cross.
Like many, I've marveled these past weeks as news has
developed, as life has radically changed, as businesses shut their doors and as
ministry became a delicate balance between the call of charity and the demands
of safety. With mortality and diagnosis figures from COVID-19 still on the
rise, each day is marked by a surreal feeling — what many have termed the new
normal and what is astonishing in its unbridled mix of mystery and anxiety.
In the midst of all of this, we, as a people of faith, have
made our annual pilgrimage to the cross. This year's journey was quite
different than others. Death was more palpable; despair more available;
isolation more regular.
In these circumstances, the Passion takes on new meaning.
Just as I now cringe as I notice the distance (or lack thereof) between people
in everyday life, on television and in movies, I immerse myself in the way of
the cross in a new way. The isolation and abandonment Christ experienced takes
on new shades in a world where people admitted to hospitals are prohibited from
having visitors and those living in nursing homes and on their own are confined
by mandatory lockdowns, let alone the many who are dutifully obeying stay at
home orders. In these situations, the isolation of the cross becomes more real,
contrasted with the sacrifice made by those whose jobs and livelihoods won't
allow them to enter such isolation.
The stress and trauma of this moment in our history is
difficult. For most people, it is unlike anything they've ever experienced
before. The uncertainty of each moment and the unknown sense of what is to come
or when/ how it will all be resolved is draining. The weight of the world, it
would seem, is on our minds and hearts. In this climate, we come to see that
our daily living, the reality of our current situation is a cross.
We don't get to pick our crosses. If we could, we would
certainly endure them differently. Rather, the crosses we bear, both
individually and communally, stem from the deepest recesses of our being. They
press on our deepest wounds and needs, highlighting our individual and communal
blind spots and shortcomings.
As we weather this extraordinary season of life, the crosses
that present themselves call forth in us resilience in the face of adversity.
These crosses cannot simply be endured as burdens but invite us to encounter
them as experiences to be in union with God, most especially with Christ and
his cross.
Like Jesus, we walk this way stripped of control. Our only
choice, it would seem at this moment, is how we will experience it all. The
unexpected nature of our current reality and the mysterious way we travel (and
will continue to travel for the foreseeable future) are the crosses we bear. As
we encounter the many emotions of these days — from loneliness and isolation to
gratitude and awe — we must ask ourselves: Can we offer these to God? Not so
they might be taken away but so that we might share these emotions (and moments
of light and darkness they bring) with God, trusting that Christ is here with
us.
This question is one of connection in the cross, connection
in and through Christ crucified, resurrected, and alive among us, even now. In the
words of Caryll Houselander, the "realization of our oneness in Christ is
the only cure for human loneliness." Together, we will weather this
pandemic and the many tides of emotions and realizations it brings. As we
experience the absence of traditions this Holy Week and scarcity of formal
sacraments for weeks to come, we can hope to be in union with people the world
over for whom this absence is not a new reality. Without minimizing our own
struggle we can embrace and be with others, strengthened in walking together,
and lighter for having held each other's crosses.
The image etched in my mind as I consider all this is a
solitary figure moving slowly, not without labor, across an abandoned,
rain-soaked St. Peter's Square. There, in falling darkness, Pope Francis
offered his extraordinary Urbi et Orbi blessing March 27. Behind him as he
spoke, the miraculous crucifix from the Church of San Marcello. Watching the
blessing live, I marveled at the scene before me, my eyes transfixed by the
body on the cross, strewn not just with painted wounds but with streams of
water dripping from its body as if like tears from the whole world.
As I absorbed the image, I thought of people throughout the
world watching the scene simultaneously. In that moment, the universal body of
Christ felt real and united in the cross that drew us together. The shining
screens that for weeks have delivered us the hard news of the virus drew us in
and from our isolation into communion with one another. Together we joined in
prayer and were reminded that together we bear the cross of our current reality
with grace and mercy.
On this Good Friday of our lives, in a space that feels much
more like Holy Saturday than Easter Sunday, the lesson is simple: We are not
alone.
Now more than ever, we may be separated and feeling the effects of isolation but we are not alone. Jesus has walked this way and we walk with him now. We are united by our faith in a God who can hold it all and are urged to remember that the glory of the cross is in our union with the One who is with is in such suffering. With Jesus we are united, never alone, to the glory of the One who made us and walks with us no matter the circumstances. Together we embrace the cross today and always, knowing that through it we are led to new life and the Easter joy that, in time, surely awaits us.
