Latin (De-)Mask

There's a remnant. Always, there's a remnant.

I belong to a Catholic parish in the Midwest. It offers the Traditional Latin Mass and only the Traditional Latin Mass. I joined four years ago for that reason. In submission to Caesar's--i.e., the Governor's--decree, the diocese ordered all churches closed for two months in the spring. No Lent. No Good Friday. No Resurrection Sunday. No sacraments.

No matter. The pastor, dutiful son of the Church, complied.

The bishop issued guidelines governing the re-opening of the churches in May. A small sign on the front door to our church made reference to those guidelines. Something along the lines of "With filial respect toward our Archbishop's directive, we ask that you wear a mask."

The church attracts a cross section of worshippers: young and old, families and couples and singles, mostly white but with a handful of blacks and Asians in the mix. As far as I can tell, all they have in common is a love for the Traditional Latin Mass. Or so I thought.

They don't wear masks! I drove to that post-hiatal Mass, stepped out of my car and shoved my mask in my pocket, bracing myself for the inevitable admonition to put the infernal thing on. I was prepared to comply. I certainly didn't want to make a scene in church! But as I walked through the church and looked around, virtually all the faces were bare. I saw maybe six or seven face diapers in a sea of 120 worshippers.

No priest or cop gave the green light to de-mask. Nobody said anything one way or the other. It just happened. Talk about spontaneous order! That achingly beautiful ancient liturgy isn't the only thing that lifts my spirits Sunday mornings.

In hoc signo vinces.