Spiritual Insight: Online Church & Community

Dear Heavenly Father,

There is a woman in Phoenix who logs into Mass every Sunday from her living room. She is seventy-three. Her husband died in March, and the drive to St. Francis Xavier became unbearable — not because of the distance, but because of the empty passenger seat. So she watches from her couch, rosary threaded through fingers that still reach for a hand that is no longer there. And yet, when Father opens the liturgy, when the chat fills with "Peace be with you" from strangers in Tucson and Flagstaff and a soldier stationed in Okinawa — she feels it. The Body of Christ, scattered and pixelated, but unmistakably alive.

Paul wrote to the Philippians from a prison cell — his own kind of isolation — and somehow produced the most joy-saturated letter in all of Scripture. "Do not be anxious about anything," he urged, "but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus."

That Greek word for "guard" — phroureo — is a military term. It means to garrison, to post sentries around a city. God does not merely comfort the anxious heart; He fortifies it. He stations His peace like soldiers at every gate.