The joy and alleluia of last week has turned into the joy and worry of this week. The World Series is going full tilt and we are about to have indoor Sunday services in our Church for the first time since January 1st. I know the lock down began in the middle of March but with the renovation of the church building, which began at the New Year, we haven’t been in the building to celebrate for over 10 months…and we are back. (There is a big smile on my face)

But there have also been the early morning wake ups at 3:00 a.m. with the lists and things that need to be done rolling through my head and my sub-conscience like a bunch a bottles being tossed about in the trunk of the car. I usually go to my Holy Hour in the church at 5:00 a.m. each morning but it has been earlier and earlier as I place my worries, doubts and fears before Jesus and ask for his peace and mercy.
One of the things that age has taught me is: I am not in control of much in my life. I try to be in control…I work really hard at it…and my failures are long and legendary. It started when I was 17 and wanted to join the Marine Corps…I quickly found out that although I wanted to join them…they weren’t so keen on them joining me…when I was 26 and for the first time I really fell in love with a woman…I really wanted her to love me and I did some remarkably stupid stuff to prove my love and to “make her” fall in love with me…but soon realized that the falling in love stuff needed to be mutual. And when I was 38 and began to look at my life and began to be comfortable and at peace with being single, teaching 6th grade and thought, “I’ve got this” and then I made the mistake and went on a retreat where God reminded me I didn’t and showed me a more uncomfortable but more joyous way. And I don’t need to talk about baseball and the ups and downs, the joys and sadnesses that come from being a fan, all the lucky rituals you are sure will work because you only remember when they do and find new lucky socks when they don’t.

These ten months outside our worships space, these 7 plus months of pandemic, shelter-in-place and limited life stuff have been moments of out of our control. The sad part is how often I tried to control this time through creating rituals and schedules that had to be adhered to with zealot devotion where they became the “gods” I could depend on rather than the God I was called to serve. And this is where baseball saved my soul just a little bit.

When the 60 game season began, i was bummed. The National League had caved to the evil of the Designated Hitter (DH) and they talked about doubleheaders with just 7 inning games and all sorts of other crazy rules that sounded more like a beer league softball weekend than the sport I deeply and passionately love. It took a while but as I watched the games I began to feel the rhythm, I still detest the DH and many of the crazier rules never came to pass, and the feel and tension of the game once more entered my heart and I let go of the “way I wanted it to be” to the reality of “this is how it is” in my life. I will complain bitterly about the DH the rest of my life and truly hope the National League returns to real baseball next year…but I don’t get to control that aspect of my life.
This Sunday, my field of play, our beautiful worship space at St. Lucy Parish, will once more be alive…it won’t look exactly like I wish, I will still complain bitterly about certain things but the rhythm, the tension and the beauty of the Sacrifice of the Lamb, the adoration of the people and the living presence of Jesus Christ will fill us just the same…and to that we say Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!
God Bless
Fr. Mark