This past Sunday we celebrated Pentecost at church.

As a church worker, the Chaplain was familiar with the calendar and knew which week it was, so he would always wear the traditional red.

I would show up to Mass, flustered and with our pack of kids, and see a sea of red around me and feel angry because if I’d known, I’d have worn red, too. I love that sort of thing.

Why didn’t the Chaplain ever tell me, I wanted to know. Or even, just send me a link to the church calendar so I could find the information myself?

Newly Catholic, I know there are weeks we wear different colors to symbolize different things, but I don’t always know when, or even how to find the information.

This year, that running argument, our equivalent of who left the toothpaste cap off, was a complete non-issue. I celebrate our church’s live-stream Mass at home with the kids, while the Chaplain plays the music with the socially distant, skeleton crew at church.

Back when we went to church, we were handed worship aides that contained the music for Mass at the door, but bulletins were in a separate place, so I almost never had a chance to grab one. Those bulletins are where information was about where we were in the religious calendar. Now, the bulletin comes to my email inbox during the week.

With access to the bulletin, I actually know what to look forward to on Sundays. So this Sunday, I was aflame in red from head to toe for Pentecost. And because it was the last day of Me Made May, I had made my clothes.

It was a bitter victory.

I’ve felt all the feelings this week.

Perhaps the Chaplain said it best: “Last week, we couldn’t imagine anything eclipsing coronavirus.”

And yet here we are.

We agreed it feels a lot like the summer of 2016 with the unrest in the midst of police brutality.

Our city’s mayor imposed a curfew of 7 p.m. Sunday because of the violent protests that took place the night before. I took some of the kids for a walk Sunday night and felt chagrined when I arrived home at 7:01 p.m., unaware of the time. Our seventeen year old son came flying in a moment later.

I don’t know how to be a human in this world, but I’m trying to learn.

This is so hard. It is so hard to be reminded again and again of the systemic racism that has its claws so deep in America’s fabric. It’s so intimidating to think about how much we will have to deconstruct and build again to make things right.

I think most of us humans are hurting right now.

I’m not sure what I need to do, but I’m trying to keep my heart open to the hard stuff so that this opportunity does not pass us by.

There are tons of resources out there right now for people who want to educate themselves, but if you need a bite-size place to start that includes ways to take action, try The Breakdown, a podcast by Shaun King.