Father Andrew Kurovsky celebrates Mass at Sacred Heart of Jesus Parish in Peckville, Pa. Credit: Courtesy of Andrew Kurovsky

Before the Covid-19 pandemic, I rarely thought about where I would go to Mass.

I was still in high school when the pandemic hit, and prior to Covid, my family’s regular Sunday routine had me reliably showing up in the same place, in nearly the same pew, almost every weekend. 

Our parish routine had a constancy to it. I never had to go alone, since I had my parents and two siblings there with me. There was no need for initiative on my part. The yellowed pews and golden crucifix adorning the altar at my church imparted a familiarity that I took for granted.

Enter the now-trite description of “unprecedented times.”

Mass attendance moved online. Early in the pandemic, the faces of cardinals, missionary priests abroad or pastors we would have never otherwise encountered graced our TV screens. For a while, the variety felt novel, but the freedom to attend virtual services and seemingly infinite available choices meant, in a strange way, I had to put in more effort and decide what Mass was for me. And, unexpectedly, when I could attend Masses around the world, I found myself drawn to one closer to home.

My (third) cousin Andrew Kurovsky is the pastor at Sacred Heart of Jesus parish in Peckville, Pa., close to where my parents grew up, in the northeastern part of the state. Father Andy celebrated my parents’ wedding Mass 20 years ago at a now-closed parish of the same name. I have only met him a few times, but he existed in my younger life as a point of pride. I recall telling my pastor at my first altar server training session that I had a priest cousin, thinking that it gave me some special Catholic clout.

The first time I joined the Peckville virtual congregation, and my cousin Andy was livestreamed into our living room, I felt something akin to what relatives of Hollywood celebrities must feel. He commands his congregation with the charisma of a late night talk show host, joyfully preaching the Gospel message with a unique style I have never seen fully replicated.

Where other pastors might have struggled to adapt to a digital format, he thrived with his ready-for-TV liturgical flow. Andy would seamlessly enter the Penitential Act with an anecdote, weave the congregation into his homily and always speak with sincerity, sympathy, humor and joy. He highlighted his female pastoral associate Gayle and the music ministry, called out parishioners’ anniversaries and accomplishments. We were worshipping virtually, and yet I don’t know if I have ever felt such a welcoming culture in a parish.

I also knew that my grandparents were participating in the same Mass from Florida; and later, over the phone, they excitedly recounted to me additional details of the family stories my cousin had told at Mass. My oldest-child propensity for nostalgia and family lore found plenty to indulge in their accounts. 

For example, I never met my great grandmother, Nana Catherine, but her holiday dinner table, filled with food and screaming, came alive through Andy’s words. I could picture my young grandpop seated at the adult table as the eldest Italian boy while Andy was relegated to the kid’s table, and all the details somehow tied back to promoting the Gospel message of the day.

While everyone watching Andy obviously did not have a family connection, I was clearly not alone in being drawn to his preaching. Andy’s parish remarkably grew during the pandemic—first virtually, but that momentum translated to more people in the pews. His charismatic and joyful style inspired other virtual parishioners. The Peckville parish continues to provide livestreams of their Sunday Mass today, and people from all over the country continue to tune in. Andy shared with me that he receives messages from people telling him that even though they attend Mass at their own parishes in person, they watch his Mass afterward for the sense of belonging they experience. 

Most of us left Zoom Mass behind with the now bygone era of social distancing and masking. In February, a Georgetown poll reported that weekly Mass attendance among Catholics has recovered to nearly pre-pandemic levels (24 percent). 

By the time the pandemic finally waned, I was at college and had access to a new Catholic community. Mass in person was back, but my family was no longer there to accompany me, to spur me to attend in that old familiar routine. Still, the habit (mostly) stuck, and I would drag myself to my school chapel late Sunday night. While the universality of the Mass provided continuity and some corresponding comfort, something was missing. The Eucharist could not entirely eliminate my homesickness.

The cure was Andy. I would sometimes watch his Mass on my laptop from the comfort of my dorm room, headphones on, knowing my grandparents were watching with me. My college chapel was by no means empty, but the pews in Peckville were overflowing by comparison. I wasn’t there in person, but I was spiritually surrounded by young families who were living the regionally defined Catholicism with which I identified.

It wasn’t just my family relation to Andy that made watching his Mass powerful. My Catholic experience has always been colored by the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton area of my parents’ youth. I traveled there from our home in New Jersey for holidays and reunions and was met with a version of Catholicism in which everyone I met seemed to be Catholic, and church bazaars had Super Bowl-level hype and grandeur, complete with fairgrounds and pavilion tents perfumed by pierogies and potato pancakes.

Watching my cousin’s Masses there took me back: Hearing unmistakably Polish or Italian names read during the parish announcements and Andy joyfully weaving in stories about distant family members into his homily felt affirming in a way that was rare even at the home parish of my childhood. 

My occasional virtual attendance at my cousin’s parish is not a substitute for attending Mass in person on Sundays, but it is a powerful supplement that spiritually nourishes me in a way that I didn’t even know I needed. 

Andy helped me recognize a certain regionality in my faith, a more specific cultural aspect within the universality of the church. But more than that, he helped me escape the passivity and naïveté of my cradle Catholic youth and opt into a stronger relationship with God and the church. Not every homily I listen to might have the same charisma and personal flavors as Andy’s, but I still find myself getting more out of each one. I appreciate other priests’ homilies more as windows into my faith.

And if ever I find myself spiritually unfulfilled, Andy is only a few clicks away.

Edward Desciak is an O'Hare Fellow at America Media.