Emptiness

Today, Holy Saturday, is the Church's day of emptiness. In Sacred Scripture, the events of the first Holy Saturday are described by Matthew:

The next day, the one following the day of preparation, the chief priests and the Pharisees gathered before Pilate and said, "Sir, we remember that this imposter while still alive said, 'After three days I will be raised up.' Give orders, then, that the grave be secured until the third day, lest his disciples come and steal him and say to the people, 'He has been raised from the dead.' This last imposture would be worse than the first." Pilate said to them, "The guard is yours; go secure it as best you can." So they went and secured the tomb by fixing a seal to the stone and setting the guard [Mt 27:62-66].

Of course, by the next morning, on the third day, the tomb was empty. Jesus Christ had risen, just as He had told all who would hear. It's that emptiness we experience today, an emptiness encountered in our churches as well.

When I was a boy, my mom would usually stop by our parish church during the day on Holy Saturday. Sometimes she'd take me along. I suppose she wanted me to experience how different the Church was compared to other days. We'd enter the church and kneel in one of the back pews and pray for a few moments. Then we'd leave.

St. Augustine Church in Larchmont, NY was a beautiful neo-Gothic church. I've included below two photos taken a few years ago when Diane and I attended a reunion -- really just a luncheon -- with a few members of my 1958 eighth-grade class from St. Augustine School. I suppose I wanted Diane to see my childhood church where I served as an altar boy, along with the adjacent school which I attended for four years. Sadly, the parochial school is no longer open, but the church still thrives. The photos, particularly the interior photo, give you an idea of the kind of emptiness we experienced on Holy Saturday.

If you visit a Catholic Church today the emptiness is apparent. The holy water fonts are empty, awaiting the evening blessing of baptismal water. In many churches statues are also covered only to be uncovered before or during the Easter Vigil. More telling, though, the sanctuary lamp is extinguished because the tabernacle is open and empty in anticipation of the Easter Vigil Mass. Without the Eucharistic Presence of our Lord, the emptiness becomes very real indeed.

Today, unfortunately, in light of the COVID pandemic many Catholic Churches are unlocked only for the celebration of Mass (with very limited attendance) or on a few other special occasions; otherwise the doors are locked up tight. I find that odd and disturbing, especially during a pandemic when people experience a greater need to visit their parish church, to take time to pray in a sacred place. It's not as if hordes of parishioners will suddenly descend on the church and willingly violate the "social distancing" protocols. Even more disturbing, as a Eucharistic Church, we have denied the Eucharist to thousands of Catholics who, because of age, illness, or injury, are unable to attend Mass or suffer from conditions that might result in serious health issues if they contract the virus. Hospitals and healthcare facilities have developed the means to safely treat those in their care. It would seem the Church could apply some of these same protocols to address the spiritual health of its people. All that's needed is a little creativity. But I suppose it's much easier just to listen to the politicians and attorneys and shut things down.

Some months ago, a parishioner, an elderly, home-bound woman, phoned me just to chat. During our conversation she challenged me with, "My Methodist neighbor visits and prays with me several times each week. I get the feeling my own Church simply doesn't care about me at all. They used to bring me the Eucharist. Now, nothing. When I call them, I'm told to go online, something I can't do." She, too, is experiencing a kind of emptiness, but not just on Holy Saturday. How many others sit at home, forced into spiritual loneliness, while struggling to keep the faith?

I don't know the answer. I'm not that smart. But I'm sure there are those in our Church, creative and faithful people, who can come up with better ways to care for God's people than by locking the doors. Otherwise, we run the risk of coming across like the chief priests and Pharisees described by Matthew. Are we trying to hide our Lord by securing the churches, fixing a seal, and setting the guard?