As the total lockdown slowly eases and churches tentatively open their doors to a new normal, one virtual congregant reflects on her online parish-hopping pursuit of livestreamed liturgy during the past three months of isolation
There seems to be an end in sight. Well an “end” in the, new, partial sense that we approach any changes these days, our lives governed by the R-factor. We will be able to once more sit in church and reflect and pray. Once more smell that subtle mixture of wood polish, woodworm killer and incense, and once more sense that particular calm that comes inside a church door. But maybe not indoor Mass, quite yet, being too socially undistanced. Let’s wait and see.
The last real Mass I attended, standing, singing and praying with real people, was in March. It was in the Austrian Tyrol near Italy, yes, the Covid-19 hotspot that now has the finger pointed at it for distributing its skiers and their stowaway viral loads back across Europe. Indeed, after a week of carefree sitting cheek-to-cheek with strangers on ski lifts, my husband and I experienced a resort shutting down under us. In a matter of 24 hours, shop windows were emptied and shuttered, bars closed, the electronic lift map switched to red, and we were on the last plane out, together with all the suddenly supernumerary and shell-shocked hotel staff.