When Once We Were Heroes

One of the most haunting images during the COVID-19 pandemic was the “blackout map” — a grim graphic showing U.S. dioceses turning black as bishops suspended public Masses and lifted the Sunday obligation in the name of public health. Sunday after Sunday, the map darkened, and with it, the heartbeat of the Church’s public worship dimmed.

At the time, I kept asking myself: Where are the saints? In moments of upheaval, God has always raised up heroic men and women of faith to meet the challenge. During the Arian crisis, He gave us St. Nicholas — the same who legendarily struck Arius in defense of Christ’s divinity. In the chaos of the Hundred Years’ War, He called St. Joan of Arc. In the wake of the Protestant Reformation, He raised up St. Ignatius of Loyola and a host of reformers.

Where were they during the pandemic?

I comforted myself with this thought: They are us. They must be. I am here. We are here. That is the Christian’s calling — to be the saint raised up for our time. But the months passed. The churches reopened. COVID faded. And I had done nothing. I had not been heroic. I had accepted it all — the lockdowns, the closures, the silence. No saint rose from my pew.

Now, disturbingly, the map goes dark again.

This time, not for health reasons. The Diocese of San Bernardino has issued a dispensation from the Sunday obligation for undocumented immigrants — not due to illness, but out of fear. Fear of political tension. Fear of deportation. Fear sparked by rhetoric and speculation, not by law or persecution.

Once again, the Church blinks. And once again, the faithful are asked not to be faithful, but to withdraw — to excuse, rather than endure.

But the Code of Canon Law is clear:

Can. 1247 – “On Sundays and other holy days of obligation, the faithful are obliged to participate in the Mass.
Moreover, they are to abstain from those works and affairs which hinder the worship to be rendered to God.”

Can. 1248 §1 – “A person who assists at a Mass celebrated anywhere in a Catholic rite, either on the holy day itself or on the evening of the preceding day, satisfies the obligation…”

There is no footnote that reads: “unless political anxiety renders it difficult.” Of course, the Church rightly allows dispensations in cases of grave reason. But fear of enforcement — without clear, active persecution — should prompt creative courage, not retreat.

So here’s a simple pastoral alternative:

Let priests be priests.

If there are sheep who cannot come to the Church, then let the Church go to the sheep.

Send priests into the fields, into orchards, into labor camps. Let them hear confessions, say Mass outdoors, and bring the Eucharist to the margins — not hide it behind locked chancery doors. If the diocese feels the need to grant dispensations, let it be not from Sunday worship altogether, but from indoor attendance — replaced with missionary outdoor Masses in safer, more discreet settings.

This is the tradition of a missionary Church. This is the heart of a Eucharistic people.

Where are the heroes?

Where are the bishops who stand with their people, not behind legal shields? Where are the priests ready to risk their own safety to keep the sacraments accessible? Where are the laity — the brave men and women who defy fear with fidelity?

When once we were heroes, we did not ask whether we might be exempt from the altar. We found a way to kneel before it. We carried our faith with courage into courts, coliseums, and concentration camps. Now, we blink at bureaucracy.

The saints of old burned brightly in the darkness. Are we content now with dimming the lights?

The time has come — once again — to remember who we are. The heroes are still us. But we must rise.

Before the map goes black for good.