Notebook
I had a bout of cellulitis this summer, a sore dose. I don’t know where it came from, though my doctor speculated that an insect bite under the skin on my foot probably caused the infection. I have often had cellulitis in the past, so I know the solution: rest with feet elevated, and antibiotics (and moisturising my feet regularly, the doctor added). I was fortunate that this bout coincided with that week of extreme heat in July, in which sitting down with feet elevated might have been my lot anyway — though the cellulitis copper-fastened that decision.
From relative health on a Sunday, by Monday I was reduced to hobbling around with a stick, unable to stand. Bar stools were procured for Mass, one at each of the key spots, and ministers of the word and Eucharist were recruited to carry the load with me.
Spectacle
Most priests are probably like me: we hate causing a spectacle. We hate drawing attention to ourselves and away from people whom we know have far graver problems. We hate the distraction, from the message we are trying to share, to our own situation. But the bottom line is that someone attending a Mass I celebrated in July might summarise the Mass not with tidbits from the homily or pearls from the altar, but with the one sentence summary: “Fr Bernard has a sore foot!” And that would never be the message I would want people to bring home with them. I would imagine many priests know what I mean and how unwelcome it is to be the unwitting centre of attention.
Having said all that, a physical ailment is easier to cope with for a priest than the psychological assaults that come the way of priests in parish ministry. An example: a friend of mine met a ‘man in a pub’, who proceeded to tell my friend what a terrible priest I was, how stubborn and unsympathetic. The trouble was that the instances quoted by the aforementioned man were each of them untrue and unjust, though this did not stop him from continuing to share them. Maybe he didn’t want the truth to get in the way of a good story.
Rumours
Priests in parishes are defenceless against slanders, rumours, stories told with malice and glee. Sometimes these tales pass us by, fortunately; other times we have friends who try to inform and defend, in which case we are fortunate. And the shadow of the cross falls into every life.
Physical ailments are unfortunate and can distract from the Good News we are trying to share, but they never wound us as deeply as the stories put out by those who don’t like us.
All of this is a long way of asking prayers for your priest, asking you to encourage and support him. Your care may bring forth a harvest of vocations to serve the Lord into the future (because only a happy and supported priest will encourage others to share his life).
Sign of the times
Pandemic arrangements for Mass pose a big problem for people used to receiving Holy Communion on the tongue. Government guidelines preclude this manner of receiving, and churches wishing to keep people safe follow the official advice. However, some will not agree. I have heard of one church which keeps a special set of tweezers in the sacristy press, for giving Communion in the sacristy after Mass. Using this, the priest transfers a host from the ciborium lid to the tongue, hopefully avoiding cross-contamination: a sign of the lengths to which some priests will go to, to satisfy the (sometimes scrupulous) flock.
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Earlier this summer, I took to avoiding Garda checkpoints, due to a lack of up-to-date discs on the windscreen (all now rectified, thank God!). A colleague told me a story that encouraged me. A parishioner of his was stopped by the guards after some dangerous overtaking, and was asked for her licence. Not only could she not produce one, but she had to admit to never having one, in over 50 years of driving. That must have meant a lot of checkpoints avoided in half a century (and it put my dilemma into perspective!). People can be so funny.