Rubrics for Reopening

We do not presume, to come to this blog, trusting in our own wisdom. I am not worthy to lead my own parish, much less a diocese or archdiocese. Therefore, while I have opinions on everything, that does not mean they are all informed or wise. Opening the doors of churches for public worship during a pandemic comes with a risk that is above and beyond the constituent risks we have long accepted as the cost of doing God’s business.

As dioceses are working out their plans for how to return to public worship, there will no doubt be suggestions and statements made with the best of intentions, that run contrary to the godly order that has formed Anglicans for 500 years. Perhaps there is some ancient wisdom from a time that was no stranger to pestilence and politics. I offer the following thoughts rooted in the rubrics of the 1549 Book of Common Prayer: 

Congregation Size

So many as intende to bee partakers of the holy Communion, shall sygnifie their names to the Curate, ouer night: or els in the morning, afore the beginning of Matins, or immediately after.

[So many as intend to be partakers of the holy Communion, shall signify their names to the Curate, over night: or else in the morning, before the beginning of Matins, or immediately after.]

The first rubric for the 1549 Massse (mass) requires those desiring to receive communion to notify the priest before the celebration. This rubric, slightly modified, remains in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. As we will likely be asked to adhere to numerical limits in our gatherings, it is clearly in our tradition to ask for a registration beforehand. Granted, this was not done to limit the numbers of those present, but this seems to be the only way to ensure government compliance with social distancing and the size of gatherings. The upside to registration is that those who register are making a conscious decision in advance and must prepare themselves and their families. The potential downside, depending on the size of the parish, is that not all who wish to register may be able to attend on a particular Sunday.

The Future of Livestreaming

Then so manye as shallbe partakers of the holy Communion, shall tary still in the quire, or in some conuenient place nigh the quire, the men on the one side, and the women on the other syde. All other (that mynde not to receiue the said holy Communion) shall departe out of the quire, except the ministers and Clerkes.

[Then so many as shall be partakers of the holy Communion, shall tary still in the choir, or in some convenient place hear the choir, the men on the one side, and the women on the other side. All other (that mind not to receive the said holy Communion) shall depart out of the choir, except the ministers and Clerks.]

I draw attention to this rubric, prescribed during the offertory, as a possible solution for the theological confusion we find ourselves in broadcasting or livestreaming our masses. We know that the Holy Eucharist is the “new rite” where previous types and shadows come to an end. But we also know that a YouTube mass is not the same thing. Without meaning to, we have added a type and shadow. We want people to know the Sacrifice is being offered, even in their absence, and we want their spiritual participation, but we are discovering unforeseen consequences: ‘virtual communion,’ expectation of on-demand liturgy, etc. Perhaps the way forward is to broadcast the mass, but not show in its entirety the liturgy of the altar. Those who cannot receive aren’t banished, this is not punishment, but an act of charity preserving both the mystery of the sacrifice and the recognition that some, through no fault of their own, cannot receive. I think this might be a better solution than altering the ceremony and theology of the Eucharist and not broadcasting at all – which seems to be the two most common options.

Communion on the Tongue

And although it bee redde in auncient writers, that the people many years past receiued at the priestes hades the Sacrament of the body of Christ in theyr owne hands, and no commaundemet of Christ to the contrary: Yet forasmuche as they many tymes conueyghed the same secretelye awaye, kept it with them, and diuersly abused it to supersticion and wickedness: lest any suche thynge hereafter should be attempted and that an uniformitie might be used, throughout the whole Realme:  it is thought conuenient the people commoly receiue the Sacramet of Christes body, in their mouthes, at the Priestes hande.

[And although it be read in ancient writers, that the people many years past received at the priest’s hand the Sacrament of the body of Christ in their own hands, and no commandment of Christ to the contrary: Yet forasmuch as they many times conveyed in the same secretly away, kept it with them, and diversely abused it to superstition and wickedness: lest any such thing hereafter should be attempted and that an uniformity might be used, throughout the whole Realm: it is thought convenient the people commonly receive the Sacrament of Christ’s body, in their mouths, at the Priest’s hand.]

To state the obvious, I am not an epidemiologist. However, I do not care for germs. I know that good ole fashioned hand washing with soap and water is preferable to hand sanitizer. I also know that at the offertory, the priest’s hands are washed with water. It is usually convenient during the offertory, if the sacristy is close, to wash hands again. All thing being equal, the priest’s hands should be the cleanest in the church. In addition, if the traditional ceremony is followed, the priest wipes his fingers on the corporal before touching the host and keeps the fingers together never touching anything else until the ablutions after Holy Communion. Done properly, administration to the tongue is more hygienic than on the hand. People are touching everything; bulletins, hymnals, purses, children, chairs, etc. From the offertory to the ablutions, the priest’s hands should shine like the top of the Chrysler Building. The above rubric addresses the confiscation of a host to keep at home for superstition. This is the reason why you must receive on the tongue at Papal masses, so no one keeps the Host as a souvenir. We can be superstitious with hand sanitizer. Anti-bacterial is not anti-viral.

Communion in One Kind

The last bit is not from the rubrics of the 1549, but from the Sacrament Act of 1547, the relevant parts still have the force of law in the United Kingdom today:

Primitive Mode of receiving the Sacrament; The Sacrament shall be administered in both Kinds, Bread and Wine, to the People: After Exhortations of the Priest, the Sacrament shall not be denied. Not condemning the Usage of other Churches . X1

And forasmuche as it is more agreable bothe to the first Institucion of the saide Sacrament of the moste precious bodye and bloude of Savyour Jesus Christe, and also more conformable to the commen use and practise bothe of Thapostles and of the primative Churche by the space of Five hundred yeres and more after Christs assention that the saide blessed Sacrament shoulde be ministred to all Christen people under bothe the kyndes of Breade and Wyne, [X2then] under the forme of breade onelie; And also it is more agreable to the first Institucion of Christe and to thusage of Thapostells and the primative churche that the people being present shoulde receive the same with the preist [X2then] that the Priest should receive it alone; Therfore be it enacted by our saide Souvarigne Lorde the King with the consent of the Lordes spirituall and temporall and the Commons in this present parlament assembled and by thauctoritie of the same, that the saide moste blessed sacrament be hereafter commenlie delivered and ministred unto the people, within this Churche of Englande and Irelande and other the Kings Dominions, under bothe the Kyndes, that is to saie of breade and wyne, excepte necessitie otherwise require: And allso that the preist which shall ministre the same shall at the least one day before exhorte all persons which shalbe present likewise to resorte and prepare themselfs to receive the same, and when the daie prefixed comethe after a godlie exhortacion by the Minister made, wherin shalbe further expressed the benefitt and comforte promised to them which worthelie receive the saide hollie Sacrament, and daunger and indignacion of God threatened to them which shall presume to receive the same unworthelie, to thende that everie man maye trye and examynn his owne conscience before he shall receive the same, the saide minister shall not withowt laufull cawse denye the same to any parsone that wool devoutelie and humblie desire it, anny lawe statute ordenance or custome contrarie therunto in any wise notwithstanding; not condempninge hereby the usage of anny Churche owt of the Kings Majesties Dominions.

 Offering the Sacrament in both kinds is a foundational result of the Reformation, English and Protestant, and is enshrined in the Prayer Book. However, the legal context of the 1549 Prayer Book acknowledges that necessity may otherwise require a suspension of this right, such as a Pandemic. The law does not suspend the administration of the chalice to the celebrant, but to the people. Fighting over the chalice too much for the sake of the Prayer Book is to miss an important, and common sense, exception.

The Book of Common Prayer, 1549 or 1979, did not envision our present circumstances, but that doesn’t mean its rubrics and customs are of no use to us now. Quite the contrary, the stability of prayer and the constancy of ceremony, is good medicine for our anxiety. While not exactly a vaccine against the vicissitudes of Coronatide, following our rule of prayer will certainly mitigate the symptoms.

Should I say Mass in an Empty Church?

What does it mean if I celebrate the Holy Eucharist in an empty church?

It depends on who you ask. For some, it means, or could mean, I am exercising a unique clerical privilege at the expense of solidarity with not only those under my cure who are sheltered-in-place, but also those around the world who are denied regular access to the sacraments.

For others, it means I am responding to my responsibility and duty to offer the Holy Eucharist, as the Sacrament of Christ’s Death, for the life of my parish, and for the life of the world.

These two positions seem worlds apart. I claim the position of the latter, and less popular one, at least in the United States. I understand (at least I think I do) the position of the first, but I do not recognize it as remotely representing my motives, theology, and practice. My aim here is to present the theological rationale as to why I say mass in an empty church. Not only that, but I hope to argue why we should.

It seems that at the heart of the divide are at least three questions: 1) what is the difference, if any, between clergy and laity, 2) what does solidarity mean, and the most important 3) is the Holy Eucharist a sacrifice?   

What is the difference between clergy and laity?

I do not, for one minute, believe my ordination makes me better than someone who is not ordained. I believe my ordination has set me apart for a specific role in Christ’s Body, and I believe I have been set apart, not above, for this role as long as I am alive. If those in the ordained state, not caste, are guilty of suggesting or perpetuating the notion that our authority and responsibility elevates rather than humbles, we must repent.

In the ordinal of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, the ordinand is reminded at the beginning of the examination that “the Church is the family of God, the body of Christ, and the temple of the Holy Spirit,” and that “all baptized people are called to make Christ known as Savior and Lord.”

St Paul speaks of the Body of Christ; a body that has diverse members that function for the whole. The eye does not see on behalf of the eye, but on behalf of the whole body. The hand does not open for the sake of the hand, but for the whole body. The parts do not exist independently of the others. Yet, if the eye were removed, the body could not see. If the ear were removed, the body could not hear. “Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. And God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers…” He then asks, “Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers?” (1 Cor. 12) The answer is no. We should not forget these words directly precede his famous exhortation on love.  

The priesthood, like the laity, is an organ of the body. It does not function for itself, but for the whole body. The priestly organ is not granted greater value, but a specific function. As organs, to quote Fr. Robert Moberly, they do not confer life on their own, “working organically for the whole Body, specifically representative for specific purposes and processes of the power of the life, which is the life of the whole body, not the life of some of its organs” (Ministerial Priesthood, pg. 68). The result of eliminating the roles between clergy and laity would result in not in greater unity, but disunity. Instead of feet and hands and eyes, there would only be elbows. The effect would be defect.

Baptism is a kind of ordination into the priesthood of Jesus Christ. We are all called to offer ourselves (a priestly action) to God: “And here we offer and present unto thee, our selves, our souls, and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice unto thee.” The ministerial priesthood does not compete with the priesthood of all believers. Both are participations in Christ’s Priesthood.

This is a long quote, but one worth reading, by Henry Liddon:

“The Christian layman of early days was thus, in his inmost life, penetrated through and through by the sacerdotal idea, spiritualized and transfigured as it was by the Gospel. Hence it was no difficulty to him that this idea should have its public representatives in the body of the Church, or that certain reserved duties should be discharged by Divine appointment, but on behalf of the whole body, by these representatives. The priestly institute in the public Christian body was the natural extension of the priesthood which the lay Christian exercised within himself; and the secret life of the conscience was in harmony with the outward organization of the Church…Where there is no recognition of the priesthood of every Christian soul, the sense of an unintelligible mysticism, if not of an unbearable imposture, will be provoked when spiritual powers are claimed for the benefit of the whole body by the serving officers of the Christian Church. But if this can be changed; if the temple of the layman’s soul can be again made a scene of spiritual worship, he will no longer fear lest the ministerial order should confiscate individual liberty. The one priesthood will be felt to be the natural extension and correlative of the other” (University Sermons).

It is a real abuse of clericalism to suggest that we all must be the same in our function in the Body of Christ.

What is solidarity?

What, therefore, does it mean to be in Eucharistic Solidarity? Among the more puzzling responses during the pandemic has been the suggestion that, since the laity are not allowed to receive the Holy Eucharist, priests should not as well. Furthermore, since Christians around the world are unable to have regular access to the sacraments, demanding such access is an act of Western Privilege.

If there were no divinely appointed functions within the Body of Christ, I would agree. I also understand, and appreciate, the pastoral impetus in the above statements. When one part of the Body grieves, as St Paul reminds us, we all grieve. And we should. We must. I do not, however, think that grief, solidarity, and the priestly function need to be exclusive of one another.

If the people cannot receive the Holy Eucharist, I argue it is even more important that the priests offer the sacrifice for them. To not stand at the altar, representing them and their prayers and sufferings, in union with Christ’s Sacrifice would be an act of greater privilege, in the sense that privilege means ‘private law’ unto myself.  While so many are isolated and many are forgotten in the world, they are remembered at the altar. I’m certain priests who are saying mass daily (or weekly) are still receiving requests for prayer. It’s not because they have a special line to the Almighty or that their holiness will deliver petitions with greater clarity. It’s because they can take those petitions to the altar to be joined with Christ’s offering to the Father. Again, I argue that we are greater solidarity at the altar than at home. Never have I said mass in a nearly empty church and felt good about it. It’s always difficult. And that’s why I need to be there.

Is the Holy Eucharist a Sacrifice?

If the answer to this question is no, then it makes absolutely no sense to say mass in an empty church. I would even go further and say, if the answer is no, the mass makes no sense. This question, I believe, is at the heart of the first two asked in this offering. For if the Holy Eucharist is a sacrifice, independent of the reception of Holy Communion, then the role of the priest is clear and the question of solidarity is answered. Perhaps the reason why there’s so much diversity in opinion is because this most important aspect of the Holy Eucharist is also the most neglected.

The Prayer Book clearly acknowledges that the Holy Eucharist is a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, but it is also much more. Rather than re-sacrificing Jesus Christ, an accusation made during the Reformation, the mass re-presents the one sacrifice once offered. The Holy Eucharist places us at the foot of the cross with the Blessed Virgin Mary and St John, but even more, we are given the great gift of uniting our prayers with the one sacrificial act that was ever efficacious before the Father.  

Prayer B in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, “Unite us to your Son in his sacrifice, that we may be acceptable through him, being sanctified by the Holy Spirit.” The action of the Holy Eucharist is still complete even if the laity do not receive Holy Communion. Is Holy Communion ideal? Of course it is, assuming they are properly prepared. Let us remember that the Prayer Book neither assumes nor suggests that everyone should take communion. The climax of the Eucharistic action is the presentation of Christ’s separated Body and Blood under the forms of bread and wine. His sacrifice is given to us so that we may offer the same to the Father.

This justifies saying mass without communion. The presentation of the Crucified Lord, sacramentally, also justifies spiritual communion. What are the ‘benefits of Communion’ as stated in the Prayer Book? The catechism teaches it is the forgiveness of our sins, the strengthening of our union with Christ and one another, and the foretaste of the heavenly banquet. These benefits come when we come in contact with the sacrifice of the cross, made present to us in the Eucharistic Sacrifice.

This is not done easily via YouTube. You’ll receive no argument from me. What worries me more about livestreaming is not that it’s online, but that it can be accessed on demand. At least with St Charles Borromeo erected pillars to let people know where masses were said (and I presume bells were rung) they could look at their windows and unite themselves to the mass offered in solidarity with their isolation. Once upon time, a priest could ring the bells during mass, and all in the village, whether working the fields or inside their home, could stop and kneel in prayer in union with the Sacrifice. If I ring my church bells, it’s barely heard outside the parking lot. Watching the mass later is perhaps a re-presentation of the re-presentation. I’m not sure what all that means.

Yet I am more worried about the results if I stop saying the mass and stop streaming, whatever form that might be. If priests shift from offering sacrifice, then what is the function of the priest? Have we shut off an important organ to the Body? If priests stop offering the sacrifice (the priestly function and responsibility), will the church abandon her priestly character, as a participation in Christ’s Priesthood? I don’t have any good answers. But, if I’m not at the altar, where will I be? I can’t be in the hospital, I’m not allowed in the soup kitchen, and it’s too dangerous to sit at someone’s kitchen table. Where’s the one place where all these places intersect?

I will go the altar of God.

When this is over...

On the other side of this pandemic, most every priest may well be a church planter.

We will have congregations on the other side of the coronavirus, of this I have no doubt. The question is: what will the congregation look like? How large? How formed will they be by the ‘new normal’, the practices and routines forged by stay-at-home orders for weeks or months?

From the beginning, I’ve been anxious about worship moving online. Not against, mind you, but anxious. For all the deficiencies found in live-streaming and/or pre-recorded liturgies (I do both), I think it is far worse to offer nothing. What have we learned one month in?

Using myself as an example, and one that has watched many, many online liturgies, I can count on select fingers on one hand how many I’ve watched from start to finish. The digits are fewer when I try to count how many liturgies I watched without distraction. We’ve always known that people tune out at various times during the liturgy. We know some don’t care to sing and eyes glaze over during parts (or all!) of the homily. Now, YouTube and Facebook will tell us for certain when people, literally, tune out. A friend recently sent me a screenshot of live-stream’s analytics that showed a series of peaks and valleys. The peaks occurred during music and the valleys during spoken parts. Of the hundreds or thousands of views we might have on our videos, before we start celebrating the next great awakening, we need to look further. Most of those are 3 to 10 second views. My hunch is that the number of those who consistently tune in at the time of the initial broadcast will decrease. Why get up and watch at 10:30am, when I can watch at 4pm? If they haven’t already, priests will discover this, and it will influence how they produce the online liturgy.

This is an observation, not a criticism. When I’ve asked these questions on social media, some members of my parish, the ones who do watch from beginning to end, are defensive. When we focus, appropriately, on the centrality of the Holy Eucharist as the source and summit of our life, it should be no surprise that people aren’t tuning in at record numbers It’s not the same thing. That, I pray, is the result of sound catechesis. I am, however, suggesting that when we all come back, we will be, to some extent, church planters. This is not a bad thing. But we need to remember our spiritual history, and the challenges and temptations, as we start to build.

There are many stories of the Church and Plague with the luminous examples of St Charles Borromeo, Constance and her companions, and the Sisters of Mercy in Plymouth England during the cholera outbreak. What is different now is that we are producing and offering a different experience of the Church. Yes. St Borromeo erected stone columns with crosses on top so people could have a connection with the masses and devotions that were going on throughout the city, but that was a visual connection across distance and not a virtual connection across Wi-Fi. When the plague was over, people went back to church. When our pandemic is over, what will happen?

The books of Ezra and Nehemiah have been on my mind and I wonder if that is the closest parallel for us at this moment. Even though these books address the complications regarding a return from captivity and not coronavirus, the questions raised are important. How do you reconstitute a community that has been dispersed? How do you reinstitute a sacrificial (or for us, sacramental) cult? What happens when the people have become accustomed to a new normal?

First, the good. While the exiles returned to rebuild the Temple, the focus was more on the recovery of the Law. Catechesis was key. In Nehemiah 8, Ezra (who was a priest) reads Torah to the people, in what may be the first recorded public reading of Torah. Not only did Ezra read Torah to the people, but the task was delegated to other priests to help interpret the Law. These priests also read the Law, “clearly, and they gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading” (Nehemiah 8.8).

The silver lining in this Covid Cloud has been a dramatic increase in catechesis. Clergy are looking for any and every way possible to teach. Zoom, Facebook, podcast, whoever will listen. In all my life, I’ve never seen more teaching. While there is no substitute for in-person Bible study, we are reaching more people through these new methods. Not everyone can come to the 10:30am Wednesday study or the Wednesday night 6pm class. But they can download the podcast on their morning run. They can join a Zoom call at 9pm after the children are in bed.

So much of formation occurs organically, almost through osmosis. On an afternoon walk, my daughter was telling me how she doesn’t feel as if she knows the Bible as well as an evangelical author she’d been reading. I asked her to recount the events of the Triduum Sacrum. I asked her to recall the words to various liturgies and devotions. “Honey, that’s Scripture, through and through.” You do know it. But you know it more from Amen and sign-of-the-cross than chapter and verse. Removed from that context, the osmosis can’t happen. Now, we have to teach everywhere and often.

The bad. In Ezra, as the foundation of the Second Temple was laid, “many of the priests and Levites  and heads of fathers’ houses, old men who had seen the first house, wept with a loud voice when they saw the foundation of this house being laid, though many shouted for joy” (Ezra 3.12). The weeping, as Ezra intimates, was not of joy, but of great sadness. Why? Shouldn’t they join their voices with the others and rejoice? One would assume that rebuilding the Temple, even if it’s not the same as the first, would be better than not rebuilding at all. Maybe not. Margaret Barker makes a compelling argument that the old religion of the Jews suffered two major blows. The first being the reforms of Josiah and the second being the rebuilding of the Temple. The old priests, who remembered, were gutted.

Clearly the sacrificial system continued with the Second Temple, but it was different. Exactly how, we are left to guess. Barker makes an argument that it was built on a different site as the first. In addition, the orientation of prayer (formerly east, now west) had changed and even the inclusion of oil for anointing the Messiah and his throne was omitted.

How will our “exile” change our sacramental orientation? I think it is fair to say that our Eucharistic theology has been stressed during this time. Questions and arguments for virtual communion have emerged. Practices such as consecrating, but not consuming the Body and Blood, and also been elevated and in some cases, encouraged. Strong debates, both here and the UK, about the private masses, solitary masses, and fasting from communion have elicited both likes and blocks in the virtual Areopagus, which is social media. 

Attempts to communicate the sacraments which, by its very nature, is a physical encounter into a virtual one, is a very uncertain enterprise and one we should be very, very cautious about. The attempts need to be made, but with great jealously over the integrity of the nature and purpose of the sacramental system. We have a heritage that teaches us the Holy Eucharist is a sacrifice and a sacrament. Even if we can’t all receive, the sacrifice must be offered.

This is a broad generalization, I know, but for a long time Anglo-Catholics have been mocked for being stuck in the past with traditions and practices that are outdated and irrelevant. This pandemic has proved quite the opposite. There are little things, like the scrupulous way in which catholic celebrants guard their fingers, the use of the lavabo, the wiping of the corporal, and the fastidious way in which they touch nothing but the Host is now quite relevant. Our understand of Spiritual Communion has been a real pastoral balm to our people unable to attend mass. Our familiarity with masses celebrated with tiny daily congregations makes live-streaming less awkward, because, in a real way, nothing has changed. We know what to do. This is a real gift to the wider Church who, heretofore, may not have been as interested into our practices and theology. Our catholic tradition has sustained the Church through plague, war, and everything in between. We should embody this tradition with quiet confidence and encourage others to trust as well. The well-intentioned theological missteps that I have noticed by our leaders have almost all come because they did not appear to trust the stability that the foundation of our tradition provides.

The time will come, when all of this is over. Cyrus (Dr. Fauci) will release the exiles. Assuming things will continue without interruption is naïve. We will need to rebuild. And this, I think is a great opportunity. We need to be missionaries. We need to be catechists. But as we rebuild the temple, which is our parish, let us not forget the original foundation, so that those who have gone before in war and pestilences will see our efforts, and weep.

Bishop Weston, in concluding his address to the first Anglo-Catholic Congress, said, “There then, as I conceive it, is your present duty; and I beg you, brethren, as you love the Lord Jesus, consider that it is at least possible that this is the new light that the Congress was to bring to us. You have got your Mass, you have got your Altar, you have begun to get your Tabernacle. Now go out into the highways and hedges where not even the Bishops will try to hinder you. Go out and look for Jesus in the ragged, in the naked, in the oppressed and sweated, in those who have lost hope, in those who are struggling to make good. Look for Jesus. And when you see him, gird yourselves with his towel and try to wash their feet.”

When this is over, we must be church planters.

Coronatide

I have been very appreciative of those who have posted on social media reminders such as “Today is Tuesday.” All joking aside, it’s been helpful. Somedays I’m not sure. Rhythm is tied to space and movement. If we are limited in our movement and denied certain spaces, our rhythm loses its orientation.

Many have called the ecclesiastical implications of this loss of rhythm during the pandemic, Coronatide, not only as a way to acknowledge that everything during this pandemic is unprecedented, but to also acknowledge that time in Coronatide feels no obligation to remain linear.

I have chosen to pre-record most of our liturgies as opposed to livestream them. This was a choice driven not by theology but technology. This means that Sunday is often celebrated on Wednesday. The Triduum Sacrum took place with 14 hours this week, and out of order. Good Friday was at 5pm, Maundy Thursday followed at 7:30pm, and Easter Day was at following sunrise.

But that’s not all. Along with bending time, Coronatide multiplies it. I may have recorded the Easter Mass on Wednesday, but I will still celebrate it on Sunday. Many priests now live in multiple, alternative universes. My senior warden sent a text on Wednesday to ask if I dug up the Alleluia. “It’s not Easter,” I replied. “But you said Easter mass this morning.” We were both correct. Sometimes I need to log on to Facebook for someone to tell me what day it is.

Rhythm, as I said, is tied to space and movement. If we tinker with the space, or remove it all together, and alter to the motions, we lose orientation. I’ve said my prayers daily, but barely. And certainly not with the same devotion as when I’m with a daily community and we are called to pray by the bell and the heretofore certainty that space and movement are guaranteed daily.

Still, as much as I dislike it, there may be something for us to learn during Coronatide. The late Fr. Herber McCabe wrote:

The can be no succession in the eternal God, no change. Eternity is not, of course, a very long time; it is not time at all…eternity is timeless because it totally transcends time.

He goes on to challenge what every linear-minded Christian assumed to be true: before the Incarnation, the Son of God existed as spirit. After the Incarnation, the Son of God existed as the God-Man in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. That serious flaw, according to McCabe and now, Fr John Behr, is this assumes God, to use McCabe’s words, as a ‘story.’ From his side of the matter, God has no story. A story implies (requires) development and development demands time. God does not.

McCabe says, “There is no story of God ‘before’ the story of Jesus.” We only know God through Jesus and we only know Jesus through the Cross.

“The simple truth,” McCabe writes, “is that apart from the incarnation the Son of God exists at no time at all, at no ‘now’, but in eternity, in which he acts upon all time but is not himself ‘measured by it’, as Aquinas would say. ‘Before Abraham as, I am.””

This is not easy for us. Time is our scorecard.

Philosopher Paul Virilio wrote that “speed is power itself.” And what is speed if not a measurement of time? He goes on, “because the nature of absolute speed is also to be absolute power, absolute and instantaneous control, in other words an almost divine power.” And if we can only find a way to travel fast enough, we too can transcend time.

Time (speed) may be our generation’s Tower of Babel. 5G, Amazon Prime, livestream, etc., our subtle and unconscious efforts toward divinity. Coronatide may be the thing that slows the advance. Perhaps the gift of Coronatide is that very reminder: the Son of God acts upon all time but is not himself measured by it. Christians have always kept time by the person of Jesus Christ. This pandemic may bend our observances or even multiply them, but Our Lord has not moved.

If we want to keep time with Our Lord, we discover the Lord does not keep time. Coronatide is a profound disruption of my routine, my schedule, my rhythm, my control. In other words – my power.

Jesus Christ met Abraham with bread and wine. Jesus Christ met Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fire. Jesus Christ, outside of time, disrupts our time.

Coronatide has forced me to think about and celebrate the Resurrection on multiple days. I’ve had to keep Good Friday on a Tuesday and again on Friday. I’ve stopped writing things in the calendar, because I’m not sure it matters. And maybe that is the gift of this season. Instead of trying to fit Jesus Christ into our calendar, I have no calendar at all.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.  

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See Herbert McCabe’s essay, The Involvement of God and Paul Virilio’s Politics of the Very Worst