Even with social distancing, their was lots of room at the 5:30 p.m. Mass May 30 at St. St. Elizabeth Church, Aiea. (HCH photo | Patrick Downes)
By Patrick Downes
Hawaii Catholic Herald
“Do you want the 4 p.m. or the 5:30 p.m.?”
Because of social distancing rules, St. Elizabeth Parish in Aiea had added a second Saturday vigil Mass to the schedule as it anticipated a potential rush of parishioners coming back to church on Pentecost weekend when parishes were allowed to welcome worshippers after being shut down since March 17 to prevent the spread of the coronavirus.
Parish staff seated at a small table outside the church the day before wanted to know which Mass ticket to give me. As the pastor, Father Arnold Ortiz, looked on, parish secretary Bernie Teson shuffled through envelopes of colored tickets and pulled out a yellow one with “May 30, 5:30 p.m.” printed on it.
Father Ortiz was not sure the extra Masses were necessary. Another was added for Sunday, too.
“We’ll see,” he said.
Mass attendance by ticket is how many parishes are solving the problem of fitting parishioners in the church with enough space between them to satisfy pandemic safety rules.
The next day, driving into the church’s auxiliary parking lot for the second Saturday vigil Mass, I wondered if that would be a problem. I saw only three cars where there normally would have been a few dozen. Usher Reno Remigio greeted me with a wave at six feet.
Hanging around the church entrance were Father Ortiz, parochial vicar Father Romple Emwalu, deacon Fred Carahasen and a number of other ushers, some regulars, others deputized for the reopening.
Father Ortiz, through an aloha-print face mask, said that the 4 p.m. Mass that just ended, the parish’s first of the reopening, went well, though the congregation seemed a bit unsure of itself.
Celebrating Mass was “awesome,” the pastor said, “but everybody seems to be a little reserved, holding back. I didn’t see eyes smiling (above the masks). Everybody seemed a bit nervous.”
Communion was a little clumsy, he said, because of the lack of clear directions regarding what to do with your face mask, a situation corrected in the Mass that followed.
I saw some of that same hesitation in the 5:30 p.m. Mass. I figured it was partially due to adjustments in the liturgy, which threw off the routine. The goal, said the pastor, was to keep the Mass to 40 minutes, to allow time afterward for sanitizing the pews.
Without the musical cues of the “Holy, Holy” and the “Great Amen” — and minus the herd mentality of a full church — the people were unsure of when to kneel and when to stand.
There was no offertory procession. No altar servers. The music was limited to three hymns: entrance, Communion and recessional, sung by a keyboard player, an electric bass player and two vocalists.
The offertory was collected in the old-fashioned wicker baskets attached to a long handle that some previous pastor had the foresight to save. The missalettes were gone, so were the hymnals and prayer cards.
Only 46 attended the 4 p.m. Mass, Father Ortiz said, six without tickets. Not that tickets mattered. There was plenty of room. Measured for social distancing, the church still can hold 120, about one fifth of its normal capacity.
I asked Father Ortiz how the post-Mass sanitizing went. “That was easy,” he said, “and quick.” Four volunteers sprayed a fine mist of disinfecting solution over the previously occupied pews where it would settle, do its job, and evaporate. No wiping. No fuss.
Eighty volunteer ushers and cleaners had been trained in procedures two days before.
I counted 35 people at the 5:30 p.m. Mass, clustered mostly in the front, a few couples, a few families, the rest singles.
St. Elizabeth Church has four rows of pews. A strip of blue masking tape blocked every other pew. Blue “Xs” six feet apart ran down the centers of the three aisles to space the Communion line.
Father Romple Emwalu distributes Holy Communion at the 5:30 p.m. Mass May 30 at St. St. Elizabeth Church, Aiea. (HCH photo | Patrick Downes)
Excited to see people back
In the sacristy, vested and waiting for the 5:30 p.m. Mass to begin, Father Emwalu said he was “excited to see people coming back.”
Though, he added, “some people are still afraid to come out” with the coronavirus still out there. “Some still prefer the livestreaming.”
The priest, who had been celebrating Mass by himself for two and a half months, said, “It has been a little bit lonely.”
Deacon Carahasen, who had not been to Mass the whole time, said, “My heart aches for the Eucharist. It is our whole faith.”
He then joked, as he was about to assist Father Emwalu at the altar, that it has been so long, “maybe deacons need refresher courses.”
Keola Kalani, the parish’s stewardship chairman, now temporary usher, greeted me with an elbow bump. He said returning to church is “wonderful, exciting, like a homecoming.”
“The void is filled,” he said. “Nothing takes the place of the Eucharist.”
After a microphone adjustment and announcements by the lector, Father Emwalu processed to the altar. The young priest looked happy to be in the sanctuary. “Welcome back home,” he said.
Applause. Light from the low afternoon sun streamed through the stained glass windows. The open windows and ceiling fans kept things cool.
“It is wonderful to look out and see people in the pews,” the priest said.
Wearing red vestments for the Feast of Pentecost, Father Emwalu said he would try to keep the homily within the three-minute limit set by his pastor. “We come to church to experience true freedom, to experience God’s love, mercy and justice,” he said.
“We should not be afraid.”
His homily went overtime as he pressed his message home. “You cannot have love without mercy, or mercy without justice, or justice without love.”
And again. “We should not be afraid.”
Father Emwalu instructed his congregation on the proper way to receive communion — remove the face mask completely before extending your hands to receive the Body of Christ.
Ashley Duenas sanitizes pews in St. Elizabeth Church after Mass May 30. (HCH photo | Patrick Downes)
Not only did it make practical sense, but taking off the mask allowed the consumption of the precious host to be accompanied by a literal breath of fresh air. It was revitalizing.
And it was the reason we were there, to physically encounter the Lord once again in the Eucharist, the pinnacle of our worship, our heavenly nourishment.
Of course, there was more to the experience. This Mass reminded us what it was like to feel lifted by the hum of a congregation, to have your prayers buoyed by the voices of real people, really present. To be comforted by familiar faces (even those obscured by a mask). To be thankful for song leaders, happy for a thoughtful homily, grateful for Scripture proclaimed aloud and quietly pondered. To appreciate that connection, that solidarity, with the larger church, our Holy Father, our bishop and the vast communion of saints. To be present — justified by faith and a piece of blue masking tape — as a part of the Mystical Body of Christ.
“Welcome home,” Father Emwalu said.
Amen.
PS: In a post-weekend assessment, the pastor and his staff arrived at several explanations for the “relatively small numbers” — the added Masses, virus-anxious seniors, the suspended Sunday obligation, the continuing livestream option and difficulty picking up tickets.
