2 weeks Ago By Roxane B. Salonen
I’d come to the Holy Cross Catholic Church dedication Mass in West Fargo mainly to collect some “people in the pews” stories for an Easter article. From the nearby Rustad Arena walking-track windows, I’d watched for many months, with others, the progression of the church, with its large steeple jutting up impressively from the low-lying prairie — now a permanent part of our flat, city skyline. As both a reporter and one also appreciative of the evening’s significance from a spiritual perspective, I was grateful to spot an unclaimed seat among the throng just a few pews back from the front and calmly readied myself to witness the beautiful christening of a new church.
But just minutes into Bishop John Folda’s homily, some panicked shuffling became evident just a few rows ahead, and it was apparent someone was in distress and needed help. Picture now a bishop in brightly colored vestments delivering a homily for a long-awaited celebration of a new sacred space while a flurry of medically trained participants begins slowly, yet with urgency, filing to the front. “Someone call 911,” I hear, sending those closest to the distressed man scrambling for their phones.
By now, the sanctuary is filled with the voices of hundreds of people praying, in unison, for God’s assistance. Now aware of the emergency, the bishop pauses his sermon, and in advance of the emergency medical team’s arrival, a woman begins administering chest compressions to the victim in row two, apparently to revive his heart. Soon, the EMT crew arrives with equipment, acting swiftly but in a focused, professional manner to reach the front of the packed church, zeroing in sharply on the victim while hundreds of worried eyes watch.
I find myself touched and impressed by their fast actions and intent demeanor, and as they carry on doing what they’ve been trained to do, I lift my camera phone discreetly to do the same, taking a few photos of the harried scene. As a reporter, I understand that this unexpected moment has become part of the story I’ve come to tell. I watch with gratitude as a deacon approaches the man with blessing oils, as the young crew takes his vitals and carries him to a gurney, and as our bishop steps down to pray over him before he is led to the waiting ambulance.
A collective exhale from both pews and altar alike soon leads us back into the planned moments, shaken but grateful. Continuing his homily a short while later, Bishop Folda says, “My friends, never forget that this place is sacred,” naming the new church building “a foreshadowing of God’s own dwelling in heaven ..
. a place, you might say, where heaven comes down and touches the earth.” Heaven does touch the earth, more often than we realize, and sometimes in an unexpected way, making us acutely aware of God’s merciful consolations: “I am with you always, dear ones, with a heart ready to reach the suffering world with my love.
”.
