I’d long regarded as shallow irony the curse, “May you live in interesting times.” But thanks to the SARS-COV-2 pandemic, I now appreciate its ironic depths: People actively want to think of themselves as living through “interesting times,” and they thus make the times — well, more interesting. Already in mid-March, as civil authorities warned of imminent interventions, my bishop prudently consulted his advisors. My own contribution was limited: “Don’t say, ‘Masses are cancelled.’ Even if now the faithful can’t be present, the priests will offer the sacrifice of the Mass for the salvation of the world.” The bishop responded with understanding. A few days later, the communications team — some of whom had been in the room — put out press releases headlined, “All Masses Cancelled.” Maybe they feared subtler language would not dissuade the faithful from crowding the locked doors of our churches. But when we had the city’s attention, we missed the evangelical opportunity to describe the efficacy of the Mass as a participation in the sacrifice of Christ, whether or not the faithful attend. And I can’t help wonder if a few preferred the hyperbole as a hint of the drama of their leadership through interesting times. I fared no better in my own parish. I’d only arrived 18 months earlier, and hadn’t moved quickly to install effective wifi, live-streaming equipment, or other audiovisual capture tools, so we were reduced to broadcasting Lenten and Easter Masses pitiably via mobile phones and a parish Facebook feed. Unlike other pastors foresighted enough to buy disinfectant sprayers as soon as the pandemic loomed, I delayed my orders until the sanitizing equipment was on months’ backorder. I got one thing right: When public officials still warned us not to use masks needed by healthcare workers, I intuited that even non-medical masks might help slow contagiousness. On March 25, I asked my staff to wear face coverings. (Some of them still need to report for duty to, say, livestream a Mass or aid vulnerable community residents with groceries or medicine.) But my vindication in later policy was short-lived as the anti-mask movement mounted. Once we were permitted to resume publicly-attended Masses, my brother priests and I celebrated them outdoors, under canopies and shelters. The faithful came in substantial numbers — God bless them! — but many began to practice a liberation theology in which the oppressors were those of us keeping them out of the churches and requiring masks and social distancing. I received a steady stream of articles and petitions: