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May 7, 2023By Shemaiah Gonzalez, OSV News
On the last bitter morning of winter, with spring just threatening, my husband slipped on an icy pathway outside our home, detaching his quadricep muscle from his knee. The next 12 hours were a whirlwind: emergency surgery, picking up our children from school, feeding them and leaving them with a neighbor before rushing back to the hospital.
When I brought my husband home late that night, it was clear we would need help during his three-month recovery. Exhausted, I posted to social media with a call for support. We live two states away from family, and I hoped a few friends could pitch in, but I felt certain our parish and children’s Catholic school would support us -- isn’t that what the Body of Christ is for?
The next day, I received a call from my priest. As he is not on social media, someone from the parish had alerted him to my post. He offered prayers and said that he would alert church staff.
A few days later, I received an email from the director of children’s ministries. I recounted my husband’s accident and gave her the link to the “meal train” calendar I had set up, so she could share it with the other families. She emailed to me a very welcome DoorDash gift card and let me know she would pray for us.
I did not hear from our church for the next two weeks. I set up a ground-floor bed for my immobile husband and scurried to keep up with the household tasks we used to divide as I cared for him. I attended Mass with my children, as my husband watched from home. The school never checked in with us. The parishioner who originally alerted my priest to my social media post, never connected.
My priest went on a retreat and when he returned, he did check in with a text, to see how we were faring. I let him know that beyond the children's ministry's reach-out, we'd heard from no one. As active members of this parish for 17 years, this was the first time our family had really needed the church, the Body of Christ, to be his hands and feet -- to walk with, assist and comfort us.
My texted reply read, in part: “We have monetary and spiritual resources but are still struggling. What about those who do not? It seems like a lost opportunity and a huge gap in the institution.”
He agreed, but as a cathedral parish, with so many commuters, he texted back, “We just aren’t that kind of parish.”
He promised to bring it up at the next meeting, though, and again promised to pray for us.
Now, don't get me wrong. I sincerely appreciate any and all prayers for my family, at any moment. Prayers are wonderful, and I am grateful. I believe in the power of prayer.
But especially when they lead to action.
We speak at church about helping others. My parish has amazing ministries serving the homeless, those who struggle with mental illness and women in crisis pregnancy. We have a vegetable garden to supplement our cathedral kitchen, which serves meals to hundreds of people a day. We’ve sponsored families escaping Afghanistan and Ukraine and helped set them up in new homes. But after nearly two decades as a parishioner, I couldn't help wondering: Was there nothing in place to insure that someone could bring over a lasagna or take out our trash?
This isn’t about casseroles, though. We can, thankfully, afford to order from DoorDash, if need be. It is about feeling like a true part of a community; feeling really seen, supported, encouraged -- dare I say it: loved. To feel Christ’s loving arms around us through his people as we walk a tough path.
There is a saying, attributed to St. Teresa of Avila, that goes: “Christ has no body but your body; no hands, no feet on earth but yours.”
Lord, show me where I can be your hands and feet to those who sit in the pews next to me.
We are finding a rhythm in my husband’s recovery -- and he will recover, thank you God. When he does, I want to live out what I say I believe. I want to make certain another family doesn’t ever feel this disconnected and unsupported as we sadly have during a difficult stretch.