Some Sundays getting to Mass is trickier than usual, and this weekend, my husband and ended up going to separate services since we were all on different schedules. I was running behind, and I headed to a parish we only visit occasionally.
There was a long line of cars turning into the parking lot, and I couldn’t figure out why it was so crowded. As I circled the lot, I realized every spot was taken. I might have to head to a later Mass somewhere else.
I rolled down my window to greet a parking attendant.
“Any suggestions?” I asked.
“Maybe try one more time,” he said. “I’ll say a Hail Mary for you.”
As I circled the parking lot one more time, I spotted an empty space, pulled in, and parked. I hurried into the church, wondering what could possibly be happening to fill the lot on the Second Sunday of Lent.
There were two priests and two deacons on the altar, and as I learned during the Mass, one had just been ordained a deacon the day before. That sense of newness seemed particularly poignant as I listened to the new deacon read the Transfiguration story, imagining Jesus in dazzling white garments, standing with Moses and Elijah.
That story hits me differently every time I hear it, and this time I couldn’t help but wonder that with the description captured in Scripture, we have no sense of what Jesus discussed with Moses and Elijah. You want to imagine they had some powerful conversation there. Instead, we see the encounter, rather than hear the words. That seemed like a reminder to me, someone who tends to focus on the words of a message, to watch and take Lent in, not focusing on the specifics of the season. There is something about letting God bring Lent to you, just as you are.
Every Mass is special, but this one offered a beauty I wasn’t expecting in my hurried morning. While searching for a parking spot, I had wondered whether I was meant to go to a different Mass, but sitting and standing and kneeling in this space, I felt this was where I should be.
Toward the end of Mass, the pastor shared the deacon’s name, and I realized he might be from China. As a Catholic mother of two children who were born in China, my ears perked up. Then, as Mass ended and I left the church, a smiling man at the door handed me a prayer card featuring Our Lady of China.
If I had been looking for a sign that I was in the right place, there it was. I like to think of how Mary was a mother to our sons long before we ever met them. We have an icon of Our Lady of China hanging in our living room to honor her. Seeing the card took my breath away for a moment. I felt so seen and loved by God.
I hope you can find moments like that on your Lenten journey, too.
It can be easy to feel restless and wonder whether you should be somewhere else, encountering different people, and taking a different path. Maybe this Lent can offer us an opportunity to embrace a sense that we are right where we need to be. God meets us there, wherever we are, ready to walk toward Easter, constantly offering his love.
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