By Father Patrick J. Brady • Posted January 30, 2026

As we’re surviving and digging out of the “snow apocalypse” of 2026, there’s been some confusion about the obligation to go to Mass on Sunday in the midst of a snowstorm. Something to clarify is that your pastor has no power to dispense you from Sunday Mass.

Why? Because Sunday Mass isn’t just another part of the formative and pedagogical aspects of Catholic life: from major things like holy days of obligation; to lesser, meatless Fridays; to minor, genuflecting on your right knee. Sunday Mass is constitutive: It makes the Church the Church (cf. 1Cor 11:26; Heb 10:24-25). It’s not a Catholic thing we do. It’s the thing that makes us Catholic in the first place.

Think of it like breathing. You breathe because you’re alive, and you stay alive because you breathe. Stop breathing, and you’ve got bigger problems than missing your favorite pew.

“Given its many meanings and implications for Christian and human life,” wrote St. John Paul II, “the observance of the Lord’s Day is at the heart of the Church’s life” (Dies Domini, 47). The heart, not the appendix, not even a kidney, which you can technically live without if you’re careful.

The Church determines the practical things of worship: Saturday evening vigil Masses count (thank you, Vatican II), various time slots available, winter coats and questionable Christmas sweaters permitted. But Sunday worship “is based on the will of the Lord and on the apostolic tradition that goes back to Easter morning” (Cardinal Ratzinger, The Spirit of the Liturgy, 67). The Catechism teaches this: “The Sunday Eucharist is the foundation and confirmation of all Christian practice” (CCC 2181).

Exercising Prudence

Because Sunday Mass constitutes our identity as Christians, our default question should always be “How can I get there?” not “How can I get out of this?” We should be planning to make it to Mass the way teenagers plan to attend concerts their parents think are sketchy.

Saturday evening vigil Mass before the real snow hits? Brilliant reasoning. Earlier Sunday morning Mass when roads are less traveled? Strategic thinking. Ride with that neighbor who has four-wheel drive and actually knows how to use it? Excellent planning.

Mass at the parish three blocks away where you can actually walk safely on shoveled sidewalks instead of driving 10 miles to your preferred parish on unplowed back roads? The choice should be self evident.

The first question is always: “How can I get there?” But this question entails prudential judgment as to whether getting there is actually safe, and not just inconvenient or annoying, but actually dangerous.

Can you walk safely?

If your parish is close and sidewalks are cleared, walking might be safer than driving. But if walking means navigating unshoveled paths where one slip could mean a broken hip, or crossing busy streets with poor visibility, then walking isn’t capacity—it’s foolishness.

Grandma Geraldine should not be ice-skating to church under the guise of “fulfilling her obligation.”

Can you drive safely?

Here’s where honesty gets uncomfortable. “Safely” doesn’t just mean “I technically won’t die.” It means, are the roads plowed? Can you see lane markings? If you started sliding, could you control your vehicle? Are you confident enough in snow driving that you won’t be that person going 15 m.p.h. in the middle lane causing a 12-car pileup?

Endangering yourself is bad; endangering others because you’re determined to make it to Mass is worse. If your driving skill level in snow hovers somewhere between “terrified” and “pretty sure this is fine” while your car fishtails like a freshly caught minnow, you lack the capacity.

Note that these are subjective questions; each person can answer them differently.

In extreme and on rare circumstances, bishops have declared Sunday Masses suspended (plague, persecution, natural disasters). Even then, it’s not a “dispensation” (assumes you can do something but releases you anyway for good reason) but a declaration that recognizes that the obligation cannot bind because fulfillment is physically or morally impossible at a particular time and place, in particular circumstances.

You’re not being excused; you’re being recognized as someone for whom the obligation cannot physically bind.

For example, Uncle Uther is laid up in the hospital so he lacks the capacity to attend Mass. The ancient principle ad impossibilia nemo tenetur (cf. Aquinas, Summa Teologia, II, Q. 94, Art. 5) means nobody’s obligated to do the impossible. No text message to the Archbishop is needed.

The same goes for anyone without functioning transportation, anyone with mobility issues, anyone recovering from surgery, anyone who’d be risking life and limb in genuinely dangerous conditions.

No dispensation is needed. You’re already excused. God is not checking to see if you filed the proper paperwork.

Some questions for prudential discernment

Can I walk safely? Can I get a ride with someone who can drive safely? Can I drive safely without endangering myself or others? If any answer is yes, that’s your answer. If all answers are genuinely no—not “I don’t really want to put on pants”—then you lack capacity. You’re already excused.

Stay home, stay safe, pray, reflect on the Scripture readings of the Mass, give the day to God, and we’ll see you when the plows arrive and civilization resumes.

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Father Patrick Brady is vice-rector of St. Charles Borromeo Seminary and parochial administrator of St. Stanislaus Parish in Lansdale.