The following is the opinion and analysis of the writer:
Last weekend for Easter, some of my family ventured inside a church for the first time since COVID-19 hit Arizona. I remained home, huddled up with a headache and chills, courtesy of my Good Friday dose of the Pfizer vaccine.
As my husband reached the front doors, a woman in front of him paused to reach into her purse. She pulled out a mask and said loudly to the man accompanying her, “I better get this on before the Nazis make me put it on.”
Lord have mercy.
The “Nazis” she’s referring to are priests and staff at any Catholic parish in the Diocese of Tucson, all of whom follow the directives of Bishop Edward J. Weisenburger.
On March 27, the bishop reminded Catholics via the online diocesan newspaper that the mask requirement on church grounds remained in effect.
This proclamation irked a small but mighty segment of Catholics who thought Gov. Doug Ducey’s March 25 executive order forbidding local government mask mandates translated to no more masks at church.
Those Catholics took to their keyboards, sending angry emails to pastors right before Holy Week demanding Catholics be allowed to worship mask-free, which made for some awkward Palm Sunday pulpit announcements reminding Catholics that church spaces are under the purview of the bishop, not Ducey.
It’s been a long, Job-like year for Catholics yearning for normal worship, and everyone — including yours truly — is dog-tired of it. That said, most Catholics have acted with grace and patience toward the inconvenience of masks and the loneliness of social distancing necessitated by public health decrees.
However, every family has its group of crankypants, and that small but loud assembly is convinced public-health restrictions are an attempt by the government to restrict the right to worship.
They’ve been complaining for months now to beleaguered priests who are working overtime to make sure worship is super-available: Masses on Facebook Live, Zoom prayer groups, outdoor confessions and even indoor masses with masks and distancing. In other words, lots of freedom to worship.
But that doesn’t appease the “Let me pray my way!” crowd. Filled with righteous fury, they demand clergy stand up against perceived government overreach while Weisenburger does his level best to thread the teeny, tiny needle between public health and public worship. God bless him.
Yes, there are people with medical conditions that preclude them wearing masks. People with severe emphysema, morbid obesity, end-stage heart disease and survivors of certain horrid childhood abuse fall into this category.
But most people complaining about masks are not resisting due to a medical condition.
They’re resisting due to a “Don’t tread on me” condition. It isn’t a great look on people who claim to follow a man who admonished his disciples to “Love your neighbor as yourself.” (Mark 12:31)
Catholics aren’t the only believers having hissy fits about COVID protocols in churches. But because I’m Catholic, I’m allowed to preach to my choir. So here goes: Catholic family, get a grip.
Pima County Supervisor Chuck Huckelberry isn’t trying to keep you from Mass. Indeed, he’d probably love everyone to be in church on Sunday mornings so The Loop would be less crowded for his cycling group.
And Weisenburger isn’t kowtowing to fear or government officials. If you believe that, you haven’t spent much time with the man. He’s just trying to make sure his entire flock — including his stressed-out stable of priests — stays alive.
Government and church are simply trying to avoid another infection surge while we work our way toward the 80% vaccination rate experts say will get us to herd immunity. This, Catholic family, is a good thing.
So, if you don’t want to wear a mask, just attend Mass online. It’s as easy as that.
Then, recall that our catechism teaches that Christianity is other-focused. When done well, discipleship is about looking carefully at a situation and then asking, “How can I do the most good here?”
Is referring to fellow Catholics as Nazis as you walk into Mass doing the most good? Is sending your priest an angry email doing the most good? Is running on the “You can’t make me!” treadmill of pride so long your feet bleed doing the most good?
I didn’t think so.
