By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
Years ago, I watched the 1939 movie version of Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame. I was entranced when Quasimodo (Charles Laughton) flew into the Cathedral square, and rescued Esmeralda (Maureen O’Hara) into the church and away from an unjust public execution while yelling, “Sanctuary!” Lately church—a place bedeviled for the last few years by a horrible child abuse scandal—has hardly seemed like a sanctuary. The coronavirus pandemic, however, just may help change some of that negative perception.
The notion of sanctuary in Victor Hugo’s classic 1831 novel is that of asylum, a haven, freedom from outside persecution and affliction. It was a place for second chances and redemption, available to saint and sinner alike. Notre Dame gave Quasimodo sanctuary because people mistook his physical disability for a monstrous character or demeanor, failing to see his pure heart. Esmeralda got asylum, for a time at least, because she was falsely accused of a crime. In both cases, Notre Dame the church was a place of respite, comfort, and safety.
Of course, the principle of legally-recognized church sanctuary in Hunchback fell away many years ago. Yet, Biblical principles still foster the concept of church as a safe house, as a spiritual haven, as a respite. Matthew 11:28 beckons: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” And there is Psalm 23: “The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters, he refreshes my soul.”
This comforting image of church took a beating at the turn of the millennium. For many, the child sex abuse scandal shredded the notion that church was a sanctuary. The horrid spectacle of priests assaulting innocent children—and bishops covering it up—rightfully made many question whether church could ever be a safe place again.
The jury is still out on whether church leaders have adequately responded to the sex abuse scandal. Yet slowly, and in various ways, at least some churches are trying to earn back our trust. Indeed, the reaction of my own parish (St. Thomas More in Cottonwood Heights, Utah) to COVID-19 helps me believe church might again be a safe place.
Our pastor, Father John Evans, is perfectly cast to lead the charge against a pandemic. Born in North Carolina, he grew up in a military family and moved around a lot, including a stint at Hill Air Force Base in Northern Utah. He graduated from the University of Utah in 1991 with a degree in economics and then worked as a computer programmer and manager before entering the Dominican School of Philosophy and Theology in 1996. Ordained in 2004 as a Dominican priest, he now is affiliated with the Diocese of Salt Lake City.
He is compassionate and caring, but also very analytic and quite systematic, and he is very innovative. He could teach a course about how to operate a facility in the middle of a pandemic. During the worst parts of the red alert lock down, and even thereafter, he has been a constant online presence, a font of useful information and communication. As the lock down restrictions have eased, he has designed and implemented practices and procedures to ensure the safest possible live worship experience at our church.
It has been a unique and surreal time. We have had streaming Mass, spiritual communion, Zoom ministries, drive-through confession, take-out Palm Sunday, and online Easter. It’s not ideal, but it’s pastoral and secure, and it’s working.
Sunday Mass at St. Thomas More parish is an exercise in sound pandemic risk avoidance practices. You reserve a spot, arrive early, observe the floor markers to socially distance, sit spaced apart in designated safe pews, wear a mask, use hand disinfectant, take turns moving around, join an overflow room when the church reaches its reduced capacity, and follow all other instructions as outlined for your security and that of others.
I have not gone to very many places the last few months. There are only few spaces where I feel safe—one is at home, but another is at our church. There are no guarantees during a pandemic, but right now, church feels like a haven, a place of respite, an asylum from the threat of COVID-19.
None of this approaches Victor Hugo’s flair for pathos and drama. Our Catholic priest has not had to leap from flying buttresses or sail down from tall stone steeples to rescue us from an angry COVID mob or a corrupt viral magistrate. Still, thanks to the diligent and devoted efforts of Father John and his team in the face of a relentless pandemic, church is starting to feel, once again, like a sanctuary.
*Mike O’Brien is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. He is writing a book about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah.
