Called to Community (6.B)

 

Mrs. McMurtry from Christ the Redeemer and Mrs. Antonucci from St. Anthony’s Parish were bragging to each other about their pastors.

“My pastor can speak Italian,” Mrs. McMurtry boasted to Mrs. Antonucci, “but yours only speaks English.”

“Maybe so,” Mrs. Antonucci replied, “but my pastor speaks good English while your Monsignor speaks bad Italian.”

Okay, it’s not a true story. But my rusty Italian is good enough to spot the Italian origin of one of the pandemic’s top ten words: isolation. The first part of isolation, i-s-o-l-a is isola, the Italian word for island.

When someone with Covid symptoms is told to isolate, he or she is asked to stay on an island—a desert island, like a castaway.

But in the immortal words of the English poet John Donne, “No man is an island.” We're not built for isolation.

People who have had Covid tell us how difficult quarantine can be; they’ve felt disoriented and cut off. And it’s no surprise—humans are social, created in the image of God who is himself three persons in unity.

The same is true for countless elderly persons locked down in care facilities or hospitals.

In the Book of Genesis, God said, “it is not good for man to be alone,” and so he created Eve to join Adam—there is something fundamentally wrong with alone-ness.

When our first reading was written 2700 years ago, and when today’s Gospel unfolded 2000 years ago, the leper’s torment was as much the isolation and exclusion from society as the disease itself.

This reading from the book of Leviticus offers a grim picture of the leper’s fate.  Already afflicted by illness—which may or may not have been leprosy—he is ordered to turn himself into something out of a horror movie, ensuring no one would even think of approaching.

Before the invention of antibiotics, which today cure most cases of Hansen’s Disease, the modern name for leprosy, you could call it a fate worse than death.

The curse of leprosy in the ancient world was far grimmer than this pandemic, although it’s hard not to make a connection between the leper’s face covering and our masks, or with his isolation and current quarantine restrictions.

Can you blame the leper in the Gospel story for telling anyone who would listen that Jesus had healed him? What a burden the Lord lifted from him, body and soul! How do you keep joyful news like that to yourself?

So, what’s the key message for us in this morning’s Gospel? Is it that Jesus can work healing miracles, or is there something more?

I think the Word of God today might be telling us that Jesus wants to end our isolation. Even in a pandemic, he calls us into community.

In the first place, he invites us to community with God—to enter into relationship with Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Europe's oldest person, a French nun, survived Covid and a lengthy period of isolation, recovering in time to celebrate her 117^th birthday last week.  I wasn’t surprised to read that prayer helped her face her illness and even the prospect of death itself with great peace.

Even cooped up in her room, she was never truly alone.

In the second place, Jesus wants us to experience Christian community—fellowship with our brothers and sisters in Christ. No man, or woman, is an island in the Church. Almost everyone I have spoken to during the pandemic mentions losing what we might call “family ties” in the parish second only to the restriction of the sacraments themselves.

For some, it’s the after-Mass coffee they miss the most; for others, just the cheery greeting exchanged as the leave church. But for all, the pandemic has underlined the importance of being together on our journey as disciples of the Lord.

Strengthening our spirit of community must be a top priority in the parish as the pandemic drags on.

Solidarity is closely related to community. Christians are called to stand together, united even in our sinfulness. Each year, on Ash Wednesday, we line up together as fellow penitents to receive the mark of ashes on our foreheads.

This year, Ash Wednesday will look different. Instead of approaching the altar and hearing those famous words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return,” parishioners will stay in their cars and have the ashes sprinkled silently on their heads.

It will look different, but receiving the ashes is still an act of solidarity with our brothers and sisters, uniting us in opposition to the isolation of sin.

I did a bit of research this week and discovered that there were more parishioners than I thought who don’t take part in the livestream Mass. Obviously, there is no commandment or Church law requiring people to watch. It’s certainly not the same as attending Mass.

However, the livestream—even without a coffee hour or folks to smile at—keeps alive our community connection. Receiving Holy Communion after the Mass gives us a brief but beautiful moment of physical connection with the parish. Most importantly, receiving the Eucharist deepens our community—our communion—with God.

Our Lenten plan for the parish aims to deepen our connection to one another as we deepen our love for the Lord. We’ll be telling you more in the days ahead.

But for now, just think about two things: First, is there someone you know has become somewhat isolated from the parish?

Second, are you feeling disconnected from the parish, even though you used to be involved?

Father Jeff and I will explore the answers to those questions with you in our homilies for Ash Wednesday and the First Sunday of Lent. Because it’s not good—and not part of God’s plan—for any Christian to be alone.