I can see the local Catholic church from my window, but I haven't been inside it since the brief window, mid-pandemic, of supposed normality in July 2021. From my small town in Oregon, I go to Mass first in Chicago and then in Los Angeles.

Perhaps I should say that I go to services in Chicago and Los Angeles, as no one has yet figured out how to go to Communion via Zoom.

I do miss receiving the Eucharist.

In years past, when I worked for a Catholic parish, I often went to daily Mass.

Back then, I couldn't have imagined going without the Body of Christ for months or years, as is the burden of some communities in remote areas of the world.

I always felt blessed to have the opportunity to go to Mass whenever I wanted.

But I was a different person back then.

I think of my Catholicism now as a fragile little bird that I keep sheltered in the nest of my heart.

My life changed when one of my children came out of the closet.

As the parent of a transgender person, I felt called to advocate publicly for civil rights and equal treatment for the L.G.B.T. community, which meant that I had to leave my paid position at the parish.

The sexual abuse scandal was also swirling around the Catholic Church at the time.

My husband, a cradle Catholic, opted out and became an Episcopalian.

The safe edifice of my Catholic family had crumbled.

Long story short: I fell from being a pillar of parish programs to sitting alone in a back pew.

I think of my Catholicism now as a fragile little bird that I keep sheltered in the nest of my heart.

I'm still here. Even as my trans child felt abandoned and reviled by the faith into which they were baptized, even as my husband was no longer at my side during Mass, I stayed.

I was a Catholic, by God.

I was not going to be driven out.

Rather than throwing up my hands and surrendering, I held on by a fingernail.

The personal criticism, the institutional blindness, the wear and tear of alienation, even the lurking guilt I had for not leaving the church to support my child would not win.

But there were many times I wanted to get up and make a dramatic exit during a homily that, for example, compared civil marriage equality to letting monkeys marry.

I would tell myself that one priest's unkindness did not represent Jesus.

In this age of "traditionalist" rhetoric spouted by some American Catholics in the public square—trashing the pope and pretty much ignoring Catholic social justice teaching—I knew that the call of Jesus was not what I was hearing from those sources.

But Lord, they were loud.

Even as my trans child felt abandoned and reviled by the faith into which they were baptized, even as my husband was no longer at my side during Mass, I stayed.

Then came the pandemic of 2020, when going to Mass in person was not a safe option; in some places it was not an option at all.

Catholics looked for Masses in parking lots or on TV.

Searching the internet brought me to two Zoom Masses far from my home.

One was streamed from a large and vibrant parish in a city. Another was broadcast by a friend, a retired priest who said Mass at his own kitchen table.

I felt protected from the virus by using these opportunities, and my little bird of faith felt protected, too, by the love and compassion that informed the homilies given by the priests and deacons at these Masses.

It's not that I felt safe from controversy, or placated in my own bubble of belief, because these homilies were thought-provoking and challenging.

I wasn't only hearing what I wanted to hear.

But I felt engaged.

I also felt focused.

Sitting alone at my table, nothing distracted me from the Scripture readings or the prayers of intercession.

Seeing the digital grid of fellow Catholics—living, breathing worshippers who were similarly isolated—somehow gave me a stronger sense of communion than I had felt in a church building in a long time.

Several of us sometimes stayed online after Mass ended to discuss the homily.

I was finally grasping the meaning of spiritual communion.

I didn't expect it to be enough, but it was.

To be honest, I'd expected to yearn for the Eucharist with a profound physical hunger.

After all, I'd thought it was exclusively the Eucharist that had kept me Catholic throughout the years of personal doubt and wavering.

When that sense of longing didn't come, it surprised me.

The Prayer of Spiritual Communion, however, has moved me deeply.

I've prayed it intensely: Never permit me to be separated from you.

Although I'm alone, I've felt more connected to God and to the Church than I have in years.

I'm afraid that some misguided homily is going to be the straw that breaks me, the last straw that finally makes me leave this church that I belong to, that I say I love.

Now my local parish offers three weekend Masses.

Now I am vaccinated.

Now the mask mandates are being relaxed as the Covid-19 infection numbers and hospitalizations recede.

We can gather.

From my window, I can hear the bells tolling the start of each Mass.

Every week I plan to go.

Every Sunday I do not go.

Why?

I should be running back to in-person Mass so I can embrace the real presence of the Eucharist.

Here is why: I'm afraid, but not of the virus.

Frankly, I'm afraid of what I will see, of what I will hear when I get there and step inside. Continue reading

• Valerie Schultz is a freelance writer, a columnist for The Bakersfield Californian and the author of Overdue: A Dewey Decimal System of Grace. She and her husband Randy have four children and two grandchildren.

Fr Giltus Matias is stranded in Sydney and because of Covid-19 has not been able to get to New Zealand.

Stuff reports Mathias live-streams a vigil Mass each Saturday evening at 5 pm, while the priest in residence, Fr Jacob Kuman helps during the week.

Addressing the parish on the feast of Corpus Christi, Matias describes his situation in Australia as "extremely difficult".

Matias, on Facebook, tells the parish he has been in Australia for more than a year but is unable to work.

"In Australia, I have been unable to do any pastoral work, which I love doing, because of my Visa status."

Matias laments he is unable to greet people in person but says the prospect of being with the people of the Star of the Sea parish helps him to be joyful, and that when he gets to Blenheim he is keen to listen and learn from parishioners.

He says he will be involved with parish committees over the internet and in touch with parishioners through the parish newsletter. He is inviting parishioners to contact him directly or through the parish office.

Matias left New Zealand five years ago and since has ministered in the United States. He is already known to the people of Marlborough.

Star of the Sea Marlborough is one parish with seven communities covering churches in Kaikoura, Seddon, Blenheim and Picton.

A large geographic parish it stretches from Havelock and Picton in the North West, through Blenheim, the Awatere and on to Kaikoura in the South East.

"It's been good for parishioners to be able to see him through the live-stream," Kuman said.

"It's been a bit of a long wait to get him over, but that's no different to anyone else, we're just hoping and praying that it gets sorted soon," he said.

Indicating that Mass over the internet is less than optimal, Star of the Sea parish council chairman, Greg Stretch said the online live streaming services had gotten more popular during Lockdown.

He told Stuff that because of the 50 person 'Delta Alert Level 2' restriction the Archdiocese of Wellington had decided to cancel all masses.

Stretch said the numbers coming to Sunday Mass would even push the normal Level 2 100 person limit, but a 100 limit gives the parish a few more options.

Sunday Masses remain suspended throughout the country after Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern threw what one bishop described as a "curveball", announcing that indoor events are restricted to 50 people under 'Delta Alert Level 2'.

Wellington Cardinal John Dew told priests and lay pastoral leaders that there will be no public Masses or other liturgical events in the diocese until September 21.

"We do not know how long we will be in Level 2 or whether the increased restrictions in this level might be relaxed a little at a later date while still keeping us in Level 2," wrote Dew.

Sources

• Stuff
• Facebook

As this pandemic transforms faith communities, the national conversation among leaders has been too timid and tactical — focused mostly on the logistics of returning to our brick-and-mortar buildings: How soon can we get bodies back into the pews?

How many in the sanctuary at one time? How far apart should worshippers sit?

And, most confounding of all, should we require masks?

I believe these are the wrong questions, formulated from an old-world point of view that not only risks the health and safety of our congregants, but also risks diminishing our relevance in both today's world and tomorrow's.

I submit that the right questions assume that physical and virtual worship can happily coexist and sound more like this: How do we transition fully and faithfully to virtual worship?

How do we reintroduce in-person worship as part of a rich virtual experience once the pandemic is over?

Most importantly, what can COVID-19 teach us about bringing people to God no matter where they are or where we are?

The fact is, COVID-19 has merely hastened the arrival of a new world of worship that has been coming our way for decades. Recent Barna research predating the pandemic found that 22% of practicing Christians and 52% of practicing Christian millennials reported "worship shifting" — replacing traditional worship with virtual options like streamed sermons and podcasts — at least half the time.

The good news is that COVID-19, for all its trials, not only forces us to reimagine the way we will address the worship preferences of our congregations going forward but gives us room to transform our ideas into action.

The key to success, I believe, is to accept that this transformation will be permanent and make the most of it.

I, for one, will not even consider bringing the people we serve back into our buildings until we have a vaccine for COVID-19, however long that takes.

We are ready.

Nearly a decade ago, the leadership of our congregation, the largest African American church in Tennessee, began to shift from only counting footprints to counting fingerprints, too.

We treated gatherings in our sanctuary as the ultimate praise experience, and we put tremendous time and effort into orchestrating them.

But we also viewed the wealth and variety of emerging digital tools as a way to meet the faithful wherever they were.

Every time a new social platform — like Instagram or Periscope — emerged, we asked ourselves how we could make it compatible with our Gospel-centered ministry. Then I willingly took the lead in attempting to master the platform and generate excitement about it.

I still do, and here's why: Digital platforms pick up steam because they're fun!

This strategy has worked for us. Our congregation has grown into the tens of thousands, not only inside our buildings but outside — and, in the latter case, significantly on college and university campuses.

Our youth-focused ministries, many of them online, are among our strongest and most popular.

Interestingly, when we have called the young together for in-person prayer, they have come in droves.

We have every reason to believe they will do the same once it is safe.

We have every reason to believe our older congregants will also return again in large numbers, hungry and thirsty for the in-person fellowship we have nurtured every day with calls to prayer; bible studies; streaming concerts and sermons; gatherings for people on child-rearing or retirement; and wellness checks for those with mental health challenges — all virtual.

Some of these services are old, some are new since COVID-19. None are temporary.

They will not go away once we can gather again. We have chosen to view technology as the friend of a full faith experience.

We will continue to take advantage of advancements.

All congregations can do the same — even if, up until the pandemic, they have largely ignored or decried the worship shift.

It's not too late.

The tools are becoming less expensive, less clunky and less complicated every day. And the likelihood is high that there are people within every faith community who know how to use them effectively.

All that is required is for us to shift our perspectives about the inevitability of worship-shifting. Virtual worship does not have to close our doors. In fact, it can open them wider.

• Bishop Joseph Warren Walker III is the pastor of Mt. Zion Baptist Church, with three locations in Nashville and worldwide access at mtzionanywhere.org. First published in RNS. Republished with permission.
• The analysis or comments in this article do not necessarily reflect the view of CathNews.

Another said, "The first week I stood when I should, the second week I felt comfortable knitting and in the third week I live-paused Mass and went and made a cup of coffee".

COVID-19 impacted just about every aspect of our living from feeding ourselves, going to the doctor, meeting with friends, work, student education and how we interact with services and businesses.

And as Catholics, it impacted our faith lives.

COVID-19 has filled many people full of the fear of infection and leaving some Catholics preferring the virtual to the real.

Unable to physically gather as communities, Catholics in New Zealand gathered "virtually" to foster their faith.

The suggestion has been repeated that the Church must change and the post-pandemic Catholic Church will be very different from the one that went into this global health crisis.

CathNews NZ along with La Croix International engaged with three liturgists from around the world, from secular and religious cultures.

• Dr Carmel Pilcher lives in Suva, Fiji and teaches at the seminary.
• Dr Joe Grayland is dean and parish priest of the cathedral in Palmerston North.
• Professor Thomas O'Loughlin is professor of historical theology at the University of Nottingham in the United Kingdom.

They began by answering the question: so what's the problem with a virtual Mass anyway?

Ten students from three primary schools in Northern Ireland took part in a special video link-up with local parish priest Fr George Begley.

Jane O'Kelly, whose daughter made her First Holy Communion, says it was a lovely occasion.

"She recorded a prayer of the faithful earlier and I whatsapped the video to Fr George who played it during the Communion Mass."

"Other children recorded prayers too. Everyone got involved."

Laoise, who is nine, wore her Communion dress and was joined by her father and sisters while Jane gave her the Eucharist.

"Fr George consecrated the hosts at an earlier mass today and then families were given different time slots to collect them."

Another parent, Anna Marsella Horan, whose eight-year old son Sebastian also took part in the virtual service, says all the parents had trained in the local church on how to dispense Communion to their child.

"It was explained that our child has to say 'Amen' and we were shown how to place our hands correctly for when we gave them the Eucharist."

Sebastian celebrated the occasion with a special family party at home.

Begley says he is delighted with how the virtual Holy Communion service went.

"The parish pastoral council decided to offer local families the option of waiting for a physical celebration or going ahead with one by video link."

"The parents of 10 pupils took up the offer of a virtual Communion. It gave me a real sense of what the early Catholic church must have been like, when people gathered for mass in each other's homes."

"I have not heard of this happening anywhere else and perhaps not every parish would give their blessing but it worked well for us."

Begley says holding virtual Confirmation ceremonies would be more difficult.

"You have to anoint the child with oil and that would be problematic with social distancing."

Source

• RTE

The vast amount of material produced in the run-up to Easter was astounding. It's been a long time since I have seen so much that guided, challenged and questioned our liturgical response to lockdown.

It was as if the liturgical dam that has been built over the last twenty years or more finally burst and the resulting international conversation has revealed how deep the need is for an ecclesial reform that allows liturgical life to grow and ministry to blossom.

Taking the Mass online has shown priests celebrating Mass in empty churches and believers kneeling in front of their television sets.

Questions about the post-Vatican II liturgical renewal

These images have raised important questions concerning presence and reality and the meaning of these words when applied to liturgical-Eucharistic participation in a virtual environment.

They have made me wonder about the depth of the Pauline renewal (i.e. the liturgical renewal carried out by Paul VI), given the propensity to slide back into pre-Vatican II ritual patterns - such as spiritual communion - more akin to the world of the 1962 Missal.

Some priests spoke positively of their experience with virtual liturgies and marvelled that they drew more people than their normal congregation.

This also makes me wonder if any of the key concepts we use to describe Pauline liturgy - encounter, mysterion, communion, participation, meal and presence - have any shared meaning in our liturgical lexicon.

The correspondence raises many questions for me regarding the future of what, over the last fifty years, we have called liturgy. Here are but a couple:

• • Will liturgical praxis be described in pre- and post-COVID terms?
  • Does the online Mass, which began as a stopgap response, reveal a consumerist approach to worship and prayer?

A consumerist approach to Eucharistic participation

The driving force behind COVID liturgical solutions is the need to communicate. Catholics know innately that the liturgy is a means of communication.

I am reminded of an ancient Maori proverb that says: "What is the most important thing in the world? It is people; it is people, it is people."

Liturgy, at the level of rites, is structured symbolic communication. It is an interpersonal, sensate dialogue - on many levels - that uses symbols and signs to communicate its meaning and purpose.

Authentic liturgical communication is essentially a dialogue, and the rites are adapted so that a community can "see" itself mirrored in its liturgical praxis. As a result, authentic liturgical adaptation is always ongoing because the community is ever-changing.

I think our need for religious communication has driven our use of contemporary communication platforms for Sunday Masses, and affluent churches have done this with ease.

As Masses, prayer groups and prayer services went virtual, and daily religious emails doubled, the number of websites offering all sorts of "liturgical wares" seemed to increase.

The Amazon and McDonalds models

Online shopping and online worship seemed to meld into one as we moved quickly to the "Amazon Model" of religious experience. Liturgy became another online product.

I suspect the driving force and desire at the beginning was to keep the "shop open and the lights on", even when all around the world the Church was deemed a non-essential service and religious gatherings potential health risks.

In the United States, thanks to the country's vibrant fast-food and entertainment culture, the "drive-through" confession became operational, and the possibility of a "drive-in-Mass" or a "drive-up" Mass was proposed, raising the MacDonaldization of the Church to a new level.

If the usual Sunday Mass form - not just the ritual, but the context, presentation and participation - can be so easily transferred online to a virtual context, where performance, engagement and spiritual communion are "real" enough for viewers to "feel" or "know" themselves to be connected and fully participating, then what does this tell us about the usual motivations and typical Sunday experience of worshippers and presiders?

If virtual Eucharistic participation in a virtual environment is participatory enough, then we are entering a new phase of post-COVID liturgical renewal for which post-conciliar liturgical and theological concepts are inadequate.

The question then becomes whether virtual liturgical-Eucharistic participation, in a virtual environment, is the new groundbreaking dialogue-form that creates community, sustains a worshipping assembly, and defines ministry.

Good and just good enough

If it is, then sacramental mediation can go online too, and the priest shortage is solved, with one priest in each time zone for each language group. And, if the vernacular language is removed in favour of a single universal language, then one priest in each time zone is sufficient.

Also the necessity of confession and communion could be legislated to a minimum requirement of once per year, perhaps around Easter, just to ensure that people remember the meal part of the Eucharistic participation.

On the hand, if believers are not attending online Masses because virtual reality cannot deliver real physical presence and participation, then we must acknowledge there is a qualitative difference that virtual environments cannot deliver.

They are reminding us that technologized worship can supply an immediate need, but it cannot feed the soul. We need proximate, not virtual, presence, as well as active conscious participation in Eucharistic worship - at least in the Pauline tradition.

So, I still have questions concerning virtual reality as the reality consistent with liturgical mediation. While communication is the key to liturgical praxis, not all communication platforms are proper to the liturgical act, its meaning, history and purpose.

What is essential to Pauline liturgical practice is the full, conscious and active participation of the Church - clergy and laity - in the single act of worship. I remain convinced that this is missing in virtual Eucharistic experiences.

Active participation: A non-consumerist approach to liturgical presence

Most would agree that Sacrosanctum Concilium is the key conciliar document of the Pauline reform that shapes the vision of contemporary liturgical prayer.

It defines the difference between the ritual structures of the 1962 and 1969 Roman Missals and how each understands worship and liturgical ministry.

Within Sacrosanctum Concilium, I would suggest that active participation (actuosa, plena et conscia participatio) is the central principle that defines Pauline liturgical praxis and this principle calls into question the meaning of virtual Masses and their celebration without the physical presence of the assembly.

Sacrosanctum Concilium's vision of active liturgical participation is one that is shared by the entire baptized community (ordained and laity).

Active participation has an inner expression through presence and silence. And it has an external expression through listening together, singing together, reciting together, bringing gifts to the Table and, ultimately, through sharing communion of the Body and Blood of the Lord.

Active participation is the underlying reason for the revision of texts and the use of vernacular languages.

In virtual worship, active participation cannot mediate the balance between the immanent and the transcendent elements of liturgy, as it usually does through the liturgical arts of movement, symbol, music, posture and gesture, which are all elements of active liturgical participation.

Not all can actively participate in virtual Eucharist

Active participation expresses the reality of the liturgical assembly as the subject of the liturgy. In doing so, it puts an end to the pastoral and ritual clericalism that, since the Middle Ages, had marked the Mass and popular Eucharistic devotion.

The necessity of active liturgical participation is raised in online clerical gatherings when the priest (or concelebrants) fulfil all the liturgical functions, while the female cantor and organist supply the music and do not appear to share communion.

The significant move forward in the Pauline reform was to unite the liturgical prayer of the priest and assembly in one, interwoven prayer. No longer do believers go to "hear father say his Mass" while praying their prayers in parallel.

Active participation is the simple and powerful organizational idea that frames liturgy in the Pauline tradition. It articulates the interrelationships of space, place, movement, ritual, presence, assembly and ministers.

Its loss, through the present crisis, has seen a reversion to pre-conciliar thinking, where virtual Eucharistic liturgy is considered as participatory.

I would still argue that a virtual environment is an inadequate environment for liturgical-Eucharistic participation because virtual reality or presence is always virtual. The virtual environment is a simulated environment where interaction is seemingly real or seemingly physical.

Going online has been easy for parishes and communities that are technologically progressive. It has provided a ritual comfort. But it may have missed the greater task of staying with the struggle, of staying with the people.

I suspect online Masses will remain until believers can wean themselves away from their comfy "movie world" Mass. This will happen when they intuit that liturgy requires more from us anthropologically - as work of the whole people, not just some of them - than we can give and get digitally.

• Joe Grayland is a theologian and a priest of the Diocese of Palmerston North. His latest book is titled: Catholics. Prayer, Belief and Diversity in a Secular Context (Te Hepara Pai, 2020).
• Article first published in La Croix International. Republished with the author's permission.

Why?

Clericalism.

For too long — say, 800 to 1,000 years — the sacramental life of the church has been under priestly lock and key.

Around the 10th century, the custom of stipends for Masses arose. Suddenly, the spiritual value of men's prayers gained over the spiritual value of women's prayers and women's abbeys and monasteries failed one after another.

Coincidentally, the cursus honorum ("course of honor") ended the diaconate as a permanent vocation.

Unless one was destined for priesthood, he could not be ordained as deacon.

Very few men became "permanent" deacons and women deacons — even abbesses — were no longer ordained.

Which brings us back to clericalism, the attitude that grace is dispensed to the people of God only by a cleric, preferably a priest.

Thousands of priests are not like that. But thousands are.

Pope Francis alluded to the problem in a recent homily. Eucharistic celebrations on television and radio, he said, create a "gnostic familiarity," but not community.

Virtual celebrations provide some spiritual nourishment, but they are not "church." As Francis said, church means coming together to share the bread.

The deeper problem with electronic Eucharists is they reduce prayer to priestly performance.

What is the difference between today and the 1950s, when the priest with his back to the congregation, mumbled on and on in Latin at "his Mass"?

What does participation in the Mass mean?

Some folks have taken to bringing their own bread and wine to the TV room or even performing do-it-yourself liturgies without a broadcasting priest.

Are these intended to do as the church does? Does either create the communion of church?

Then, there are other sacraments to think about. Drive-by confessions are an interesting innovation, but sacramental anointing of the thousands of dying COVID-19 patients is practically impossible. Marriages can be contracted without a priest, but far be it from chanceries to let that canon out of the book.

Here we go, one by one.

Confession

Recently, the pope pointed out that reconciliation can be postponed until the proper form is possible.

Despite historical documentation of confessing to laymen (notably on the battlefield), to abbesses and deacon-abbesses (within their territories), and to deacons, the canons of the 16th-century Council of Trent reserved sacramental reconciliation to priests granted juridical faculties from their bishops, and that has not changed.

Anointing

The sacrament of the sick, once occasionally administered by laypersons and often by women deacons (to other women), is now restricted to priests.

Confession occurs (if requested) prior to anointing, but only a priest, sometimes using an "instrument" to apply the oils, can anoint. Why can Canon 1000.2 not include a nurse or doctor as an "instrument"? The bishop of Springfield, Massachusetts, thought so, but the Curia quickly slammed that window down.

Marriage

Canon 1116 stipulates that if a proper minister (read: cleric) is not available in the foreseeable future, then two witnesses and the couple's consent create a valid marriage.

Bishops in mission territories often grant faculties for witnessing marriage, and for solemnly baptizing, to lay ecclesial ministers (recall, 60% of Amazon parishes are managed by women), but the legal process can be cumbersome. Could the pandemic remind the church that couples administer this sacrament to each other?

So where is "church" in all this? Continue reading

The pandemic caught most countries and their people completely off-guard and unprepared.

And many are already saying that this global crisis will force all of us to radically re-think many things about the way we live, organize our society, conduct our business, relate to one another…

They say things will never be the same as before. We will have to change.

That includes our Churches, too. Our faith communities were caught blind-sided just as much as any others.

And most religious leaders - especially our Catholic priests and bishops - have been flat-footed in the way they have responded to what soon became the liturgical lockdown.

The idea of "virtual participation" needs to be seriously re-thought

They really have had no idea what to do, except to continue celebrating Mass all by themselves and then broadcast it on television, or live-stream it on the internet, for the rest of the Church to merely watch.

Because that's what this is - something to watch. And while that's not necessarily all bad, it certainly is not participating in any essential way in the celebration of the Eucharist.

Despite many decades of the televised or radiobroadcast Mass for Shut-ins, the last several weeks of cancelled public liturgies should make it abundantly clear that this type of "virtual participation" needs to be re-thought.

You can't have a virtual Mass any more than you can have a virtual Thanksgiving Dinner. The latter would be extremely weird and even absurd, just as the former is proving to be for many Catholics during these days of liturgical lockdown.

Think about it. What if mom and dad were home alone, but wanted to prepare the huge Thanksgiving feast and share it, over TV or live-streaming, with the rest of the family?

From absurd to cruel

To make the analogy work, let's say that the kids and relatives who are joining this virtual feast have no possibility of preparing their own meal. They can only watch as mom and dad perform the holiday ritual. And then they watch their parents eat, while they have nothing.

And to further strengthen the analogy, the parents would strongly urge - if not demand - their children to play along with this charade.

This would not only be absurd. It would be cruel.

True and loving parents would not put their children through such a thing. But even if they dared, only those children who have grown up being abused would put up with such depravity.

Good parents do not deprive their children. If their kids can't eat, neither will they.

Only those who eat can be nourished

Obviously, the analogy is not exact because we are not talking about any normal meal when we are talking about the Eucharist. It is a sacrificial meal; a meal/sacrifice commemorated around an altar/table.

The meal aspect of the Eucharistic celebration cannot be separated from its sacrificial aspect. But it must not be minimalized to the point of almost being completely eliminated, as it is for more than 99% of the Church's members during these virtual Masses.

Only those who eat can be nourished. This is how the Church has always understood the words of Jesus, "Take this all of you and eat of it."

Even when frequent communion was not practiced, the Fourth Lateran Council (1215) established what came to be known as the "Easter duty", obliging Catholics to confess their sins to a priest at least once a year and receive the Eucharist during the Easter Season.

This liturgical season continues until May 31stthis year. And, hopefully, by then Catholics in most places will have been able to begin worshipping together again.

But in the meantime, is virtual Mass really necessary or helpful?

Eucharist theology that's inadequate and schizophrenic

The liturgical lockdown has shown us that the Church is more fully cleric-centered than most of us would like to admit. It has also revealed inadequacies and even a type of schizophrenia in our theology about the Eucharist.

It is caught somewhere between a post-Tridentine legalistic/mechanical view of the sacraments and a post-Vatican II understanding/recovery of baptism as the prime sacrament that makes one a member of, not just the Church, but also a member of the common priesthood.

Those who are ordained to Holy Orders are more properly called presbyters. They have been ordained to organize and lead the community's worship. But the priestly character is shared by the entire community of the baptized and is present in the worshipping assembly.

Our theologians and pastors must discern more attentively and reflect more deeply on this reality. This will certainly lead to wider, though perhaps more subtle ramifications for how we understand and celebrate the Eucharist.

"Extraneous props at a clerical drama"

It was astonishing to read a document that the bishops from the Italian region of Umbria published on March 31 to justify priests celebrating Mass alone without the presence of anyone else.

"The assembly participates in the celebration but is not a constitutive part of the sacramental action, as is the ordained minister, presbyter or bishop," the bishops wrote.

"This is clearly not what the People of God need to hear - that they are extraneous props at a clerical drama," commented a friend, who happens to be a presbyter.

It's not clear who wrote the bishops' document, but the author states some even more disturbing things that underline the Church's theological (and ecclesiological) schizophrenia surrounding the Eucharist.

No matter, the men who lead the 13 dioceses located in Umbria are ultimately responsible for the content.

A cardinal and two former top Vatican officials

And it is alarming that one of them is the president of the Italian Episcopal Conference (Cardinal Gualtiero Bassetti), while another is a former secretary of the Congregation for Divine Worship and Discipline of the Sacraments (Archbishop Domenico Sorrentino).

The person who actually signed and published the text is the regional conference's president, Archbishop Renato Boccardo.

He's a career papal diplomat and longtime Vatican official who rose to become the second-in-command of Vatican City State. He also worked in the papal liturgical ceremonies office for a number of years.

Boccardo wrote to the priests of his own diocese ten days earlier, expressing similar sentiments found in the regional document.

"I urge you not to neglect the daily offering 'pro populo' of the sacrifice of Christ," he wrote.

No need for people. The priest is offering the sacrifice on their behalf. And he's partaking of the meal all by himself, as well…

"Maybe that will come later"

Catholics will have to decide on their own how they will pray and participate in the sacred mysteries of this Holy Week and Easter. There are not many priests or bishops who will be of any great help, except to do the old Mass for Shut-ins routine.

Perhaps we can take a lesson from Edith Stein, the Jewish convert who became a Carmelite nun and was killed during the Shoah.

She knew what it meant to go without the Eucharist.

On August 4, 1942 she wrote these words from a Nazi transit camp in the Netherlands, just five days before she was killed in a gas chamber at Auschwitz:

"We are very calm and cheerful. Of course, so far there has been no Mass and communion; maybe that will come later. Now we have a chance to experience a little how to live purely from within."

• Robert Mickens is English language editor of La Croix International. Republished with permission.