For a long time, I didn’t understand why the virtual Masses of the pandemic were so wearisome to me. Theoretically, shouldn’t it be a tired mother’s dream, fulfilling her Sunday obligation from the couch, not having to worry how much noise the kids are making?

But it wasn’t. Seeing Mass without experiencing it left me hungry. It left me starving.

I am writing this on a Saturday morning. Saturdays are my writing days, when my husband takes over the kids and the house and I disappear into the office with an enormous cup of coffee and noise-canceling headphones. Saturdays are sacred — if work can be called sacred.

But Saturday morning is also the only time I’m able to consistently get to confession. Every other time the sacrament is offered in my area during the week, I seem to have unavoidable commitments — but on Saturday morning, all I have is work, and how can I let work come before a sacrament, as much as I might secretly want to?

My mother and father fell in love with each other rather quickly. It was only a span of two months between their first meeting and quiet betrothal. They waited for a significant period of time before going public with the happy news. It simply wasn’t time. Love’s strength and speed can sprout scandal in public. Until the big reveal, they gave the outside world only little hints, gestures, and riddles.

Look here: there is no one more family-oriented than me. I drive a minivan. I wear mom jeans. I wipe unidentified gunk off of kids’ faces without a second thought.

I’m all about family, but I’m not always a fan of what “family” has come to mean in the modern lexicon. Family values. Family-friendly. Family-oriented. It’s usually a synonym for “non-offensive.” Soft. Moderate. Nice.

A friend in high school once asked me why I wore a Crucifix around my neck. She was a Christian and very devout, so I was surprised at her confusion. “To remember Jesus’ sacrifice,” I said.

Her upper lip curled in disgust. “The cross is a sign of Jesus’ sacrifice,” she said. “He’s not on the cross anymore. It’s really weird that you wear his dead body.”

Dear Parishioners,

What a joyous and unforgettable celebration we had for Pentecost last Sunday! Our liturgy was a beautiful tapestry of languages and cultures, embodying the true spirit of Pentecost. We celebrated the Mass in English and Spanish, with prayers offered in Polish and Italian. The music added a special touch, featuring songs in English, Polish, and Spanish, all wonderfully performed by our Mariachi group from Mexico.

Following the Mass, we gathered on the Academy grounds for our parish picnic, themed “A Taste of St. John Paul the Great.” The event showcased the incredible diversity of our parish, with desserts prepared by various ethnic groups and delicious food provided by the Oliver Wolcott Technical High School in Torrington. Our Knights of Columbus and Holy Name Society members skillfully cooked hamburgers and hotdogs for everyone to enjoy.

Once I was at a meeting with representatives of various religions. On a coffee break, a man from another religion mused to me: “You know, with all our differences, all religions are really about being good people.” I lowered my cappuccino and said as warmly as I could, “That’s not what mine’s about.” His quizzical look begged for clarification. “Mine is about plunging into the life of God,” I said.

When I was twenty-two years of age in August of 2000, I experienced World Youth Day in Rome. As for many of my generation, the event was life-changing for me. Surrounded by joyful, hope-filled young people from seemingly every nation and tongue, we were gathered around the Pope, sharing a common Faith and love. The Pope spoke to us of our shared family bond in the Church and invited us to give our lives in service to others.

A few months ago, I had the singular privilege of a private meeting with Pope Francis. We were a small group of pastors, composed largely of non-Catholics. The Holy Father wished to discuss our work for Christian unity. The phrase I remember him saying with greatest frequency was: Tutti dentro. It means, “Everyone in.”

Once a man came to the Vatican and asked to see Pope John Paul II, claiming that they had been friends in Poland. When told of the man, the Pope said, “He is mistaken about our friendship. I don’t recall ever having suffered with him.” As it turned out, the man had never known the Pope.

It’s a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite Christmas movies. It only occurred to me recently, though, that this film, for all its yuletide aesthetic, is actually more of an Easter story.

I love this movie because it’s a very Catholic film — not overtly, although we do see the main character, George Bailey, going to Mass. No, it’s the themes that are Catholic, not the set dressing.

Recently I was with my little dog Libby at a retreat center in the Arizona desert. I sat in a chair near a ravine filled with shrubs. Unbeknownst to me, Libby wandered down there and disappeared. Suddenly an animal’s wild shriek erupted from the area. Without thinking, I bolted down into the ravine fully expecting to see coyotes, javelinas, or rattlesnakes. I didn’t care.

When I was a kid, a friend at my home parish told me, “If you get to Mass by the Gospel reading, it counts!” As a lifelong late-arriver, it’s something I have told myself many times, especially in my earlier years as a Catholic. If the “it counts” is justifiable on a pathetically minimal scale of liturgical legalism, then the Gospel reading today shows how insanely wrong-headed it is, and how helpful it is to re-think the Mass in its light.

For all the condemnation Thomas the Doubter has received in 2000 years of homilies, I think there’s something to admire in him. Thomas is not unique. We all waver at some point, overcome by hesitation, distracted by the clamor of the world which seeks at every turn to shout above the whisper of the divine.