If you are sick, but not bedridden or throne-ridden with fever, G.I. distress, etc., definitely still go to Mass.
Make a Spiritual Communion instead of Sacramental. (More on this soon.)
Sacramental Communion isn’t your “right”, nor is it a “participation trophy”. Assistance at Holy Mass does NOT necessitate Sacramental Communion for ANYONE except the celebrating priest. Period. You are there to worship God. God does not come down upon the altar to worship you.
If you have to go to a Novus Ordo, do not participate in the horrid “Peace” thing. You shouldn’t participate in it anyway. Christ Jesus, crucified, is LITERALLY on the altar: this is NOT the time for socializing and (shudder) GLADHANDING.
Folks, be SUPER suspicious of ANYONE who tells you to NOT go to Mass.
Our Lord told a mystic (that I can’t look up at this second) in response to the question, “Lord, I am so filled with gratitude to You and Your infinite mercy. What can I do to express my thanks?”
Do you know what Our Dear Sweet Lord said?
“Go to Mass ONCE.”
Our Lord wasn’t saying that the person could blow off The Third Commandment and Mass for the rest of their life. No. Only a truly wretched soul would try to GET OUT OF GOING TO MASS. Remember that.
Our Lord was saying how incredibly, incomprehensibly important it is to Him for us to BE THERE at Mass – at the foot of the Cross. Every time you go to Mass, Our Lord’s Sacred Heart Rejoices. Yes, He is God and has known from all eternity that you would be there on that day, BUT His Heart STILL races with joy at the sound of your footfalls entering the church. Because… INFINITE LOVE.
If you will indulge me on this beautiful Sunday, may I reprint my favorite excerpt from one of my favorite literary works, “The Little Prince”? The Fox is Our Eucharistic Lord. The Little Prince is you.
It was then that the fox appeared.
“Good morning,” said the fox.
“Good morning,” the little prince responded politely, although when he turned around he saw nothing.
“I am right here,” the voice said, “under the apple tree.”
“Who are you?” asked the little prince, and added, “You are very pretty to look at.”
“I am a fox,” the fox said.
“Come and play with me,” proposed the little prince. “I am so unhappy.”
“I cannot play with you,” the fox said. “I am not tamed.”
“Ah! Please excuse me,” said the little prince.
But, after some thought, he added:
“What does that mean–‘tame’?”
“You do not live here,” said the fox. “What is it that you are looking for?”
“I am looking for men,” said the little prince. “What does that mean–‘tame’?”
“Men,” said the fox. “They have guns, and they hunt. It is very disturbing. They also raise chickens. These are their only interests. Are you looking for chickens?”
“No,” said the little prince. “I am looking for friends. What does that mean–‘tame’?”
“It is an act too often neglected,” said the fox. It means to establish ties.”
“‘To establish ties’?”
“Just that,” said the fox. “To me, you are still nothing more than a little boy who is just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you, on your part, have no need of me. To you, I am nothing more than a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, then we shall need each other. To me, you will be unique in all the world. To you, I shall be unique in all the world . . .”
“I am beginning to understand,” said the little prince. “There is a flower . . . I think that she has tamed me . . .”
“It is possible,” said the fox. “On the Earth one sees all sorts of things.”
“Oh, but this is not on the Earth!” said the little prince.
The fox seemed perplexed, and very curious.
“On another planet?”
“Are there hunters on that planet?”
“Ah, that is interesting! Are there chickens?”
“Nothing is perfect,” sighed the fox.
But he came back to his idea.
“My life is very monotonous,” the fox said. “I hunt chickens; men hunt me. All the chickens are just alike, and all the men are just alike. And, in consequence, I am a little bored. But if you tame me, it will be as if the sun came to shine on my life. I shall know the sound of a step that will be different from all the others. Other steps send me hurrying back underneath the ground. Yours will call me, like music, out of my burrow. And then look: you see the grain-fields down yonder? I do not eat bread. Wheat is of no use to me. The wheat fields have nothing to say to me. And that is sad. But you have hair that is the color of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat . . .”
The fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.
The Fox gazed at the little prince, for a long time.
“Please–tame me!” he said.
“I want to, very much,” the little prince replied. “But I have not much time. I have friends to discover, and a great many things to understand.”
“One only understands the things that one tames,” said the fox. “Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things all ready made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me . . .”
“What must I do, to tame you?” asked the little prince.
“You must be very patient,” replied the fox. “First you will sit down at a little distance from me–like that–in the grass. I shall look at you out of the corner of my eye, and you will say nothing. Words are the source of misunderstandings. But you will sit a little closer to me, every day . . .”
The next day the little prince came back.
“It would have been better to come back at the same hour,” said the fox. “If, for example, you come at four o’clock in the afternoon, then at three o’clock I shall begin to be happy. I shall feel happier and happier as the hour advances. At four o’clock, I shall already be worrying and jumping about. I shall show you how happy I am! But if you come at just any time, I shall never know at what hour my heart is to be ready to greet you . . . One must observe the proper rites . . .”
“What is a rite?” asked the little prince.
“Those also are actions too often neglected,” said the fox. “They are what make one day different from other days, one hour from other hours…”