COVID-19: At the danger of giving you information overload, I’m sharing three websites, parts of a poem and Tomáš Halík’s theological reflection ‘Christianity at a time of sickness’. Steve Atherton


From NCR (National Catholic Reporter):

The Financial Times offers reflections from an unexpected source:

A comprehensive overview of recent thinking from ‘Together For The Common Good’ (T4CG), not all of the same quality. I particularly appreciated the piece by Maurice Glasman who begins from a different place than the analysis offered by Luke Bretherton:


Excerpt from For One who Is Exhausted, a Blessing.

You have travelled too fast over false ground;

Now your soul has come, to take you back.

Take refuge in your senses, open up

To all the small miracles you rushed through.

Become inclined to watch the way of rain

When it falls slow and free.

Imitate the habit of twilight,

Taking time to open the well of colour

That fostered the brightness of day.

Draw alongside the silence of stone

Until its calmness can claim you.

Be excessively gentle with yourself.

By JOHN O’DONOHUE Published December 22, 2017

A long read:

Tomáš Halík’s theological reflections

Christianity at a time of sickness

Our world is sick. I’m not just referring to the coronavirus pandemic, but to the state of our civilisation, as revealed in this global phenomenon. In biblical terms: a sign of the times.

At the beginning of this unusual period of Lent many of us thought that this epidemic would cause a sort of short-term blackout, a breakdown in the usual operation of society, one that we would ride out somehow, and then soon things would all return to the way they were. They won’t. And it wouldn’t turn out well if we tried. After this global experience, the world won’t be the same as it was before, and it probably oughtn’t to be.

It is natural at times of major calamities that we first concern ourselves with the material necessities for survival; but “one does not live by bread alone”. The time has come to examine the deeper implications of this blow to the security of our world. The unavoidable process of globalisation would seem to have peaked: the global vulnerability of a global world is now plain to see.

The church as a field hospital

What kind of challenge does this situation represent for Christianity and the church – one of the first “global players” – and for theology?

The church should be a “field hospital” as proposed by Pope Francis. The pope means by this metaphor that the church should not remain in splendid isolation from the world, but should break free of its boundaries and give help where people are physically, mentally, socially and spiritually afflicted. Yes, this is how the church can do penance for the wounds inflicted by its representatives quite recently on the most defenceless. But let us try to think more deeply about this metaphor – and put it into practice.

If the church is to be a “hospital”, it must, of course, offer the health, social and charitable care it has offered since the dawn of its history. But as a good hospital, the church must also fulfil other tasks. It has a diagnostic role to play (identifying the “signs of the times”), a preventive role (creating an “immune system” in a society in which the malignant viruses of fear, hatred, populism and nationalism are rife) and a convalescent role (overcoming the traumas of the past by forgiveness).

Empty churches as a sign and a challenge

Before Easter last year, Notre Dame cathedral in Paris burned down, this year in Lent there are no services in hundreds of thousands of churches on several continent, nor in synagogues and mosques. As a priest and a theologian I reflect on those empty or closed churches as a sign and challenge from God.

Understanding the language of God in the events of our world requires the art of spiritual discernment, which in turn calls for contemplative detachment from our heightened emotions and our prejudices, as well as from the projections of our fears and desires. At moments of disaster, the “sleeping agents of a wicked, vengeful God” spread fear, and make religious capital out of it for themselves. Their vision of God has been grist to the mill of atheism for centuries.

At a time of disasters I don’t see God as an ill-tempered director, sitting comfortably backstage as the events of our world play out, but instead I look on him as a source of strength, operating in those who show solidarity and self-sacrificing love in such situations – yes, including those who have no “religious motivation” for their action. God is humble and discreet love.

But I can’t help wondering whether the time of empty and closed churches is not some kind of cautionary vision of what might happen in the fairly near future: this is what it could look like in a few years’ time in a large part of our world. Haven’t we already had plenty of warning from the developments in many countries, where more and more churches, monasteries and priestly seminaries have been emptying and closing? Why have we been ascribing this development for so long to outside influences (the “secularist tsunami”), instead of realizing that another chapter in the history of Christianity is coming to a close, and it is time to prepare for a new one.

Maybe this time of empty church buildings symbolically exposes the churches’ hidden emptiness and their possible future unless they make a serious attempt to show the world a completely different face of Christianity. We have thought too much about converting “the world” (“the rest”), and less about converting ourselves – not simply “improvement”, but a radical change from a static “being Christians” to a dynamic “becoming Christians”.

When the medieval church made excessive use of the interdict as a penalty, and those “general strikes” by the entire ecclesiastical machinery meant that church services were not held and sacraments were not administered, people started increasingly to seek a personal relationship with God, a “naked faith”. Lay fraternities and mysticism proliferated. That upsurge of mysticism definitely helped pave the way for the Reformation – not only Luther’s and Calvin’s but also the Catholic reformation connected with the Jesuits and Spanish mysticism. Maybe discovery of contemplation could help complement the “synodal path” to a new reforming council.

A call for reform

Maybe we should accept the present abstinence from religious services and the operation of the church as kairos, an opportunity to stop and engage in thorough reflection before God and with God. I am convinced the time has come to reflect on how to continue the path of reform, which Pope Francis says is necessary: not attempts to return to a world that no longer exists, or reliance just on external structural reforms, but instead a shift towards the heart of the Gospel, “a journey into the depths”.

I can’t see that a quick fix in the form of artificial substitutes, such as the broadcasting of masses, will be a good solution at this time when public worship is banned. A shift to “virtual piety”, “remote communion”, and kneeling in front of a TV screen is truly something odd. Maybe we should instead test the truth of Jesus’s words: Where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.

Did we really think that we could solve the lack of priests in Europe by importing “spare parts” for the church’s machinery from seemingly bottomless storehouses in Poland, Asia and Africa? Of course we must take seriously the proposals of the Amazonian synod, but we need at the same time to provide greater scope for the ministry of laypeople in the church; let us not forget that in many territories the church survived without clergy for entire centuries.

Maybe this “state of emergency” is an indicator of the new face of the church, for which there is a historical precedent. I am convinced that our Christian communities, parishes, congregations, church movements and monastic

communities should seek to draw closer to the ideal that gave rise to the European universities: a community of pupils and teachers, a school of wisdom, in which truth is sought through free disputation and also profound contemplation. Such islands of spirituality and dialogue could be the source of a healing force for a sick world. The day before the papal election, Cardinal Bergoglio quoted a passage from Revelation in which Jesus stands before the door and knocks. He added: Today Christ is knocking from inside the church and wants to get out. Maybe that is what he just did.

Where is the Galilee of today?

For years I have pondered on the well-known text of Friedrich Nietzsche’s about the “madman” (the fool who alone is permitted to speak the truth) proclaiming “the death of God”. That chapter ends with the madman coming to church to sing “Requiem aeternam deo” and asking: “What after all are these churches now if they are not the tombs and sepulchres of God?” I must admit that for a long time various forms of the church seemed to me like cold and opulent sepulchres of a dead god.

It looks as if many of our churches will be empty at Easter this year. We will read the gospel passages about the empty tomb somewhere else. If the emptiness of the churches is reminiscent of the empty tomb, let us not ignore the voice from above: “He is not here. He has risen. He has gone ahead of you to Galilee.”

A question to stimulate meditation for this strange Easter: Where is the Galilee of today, where we can encounter the living Christ?

Sociological research indicates that in the world the number of “dwellers” (both those who fully identify with the traditional form of religion, and those who assert a dogmatic atheism) is falling, while there is an increase in the number of “seekers”. In addition, of course, there is a rise in the number of “apatheists” – people who couldn’t care less about religious issues or the traditional response to them.

The main dividing line is no longer between those who consider themselves believers and those who consider themselves non-believers. There are “seekers” among believers (those for whom faith is not a “legacy”, but a “way”), and among “non-believers”, who reject the religious notions put

forward to them by those around them, but nevertheless have a yearning for something to satisfy their thirst for meaning.

I am convinced that the “Galilee of today”, where we must seek God, who has survived death, is the world of the seekers.

Seeking Christ among seekers

Liberation Theology taught us to seek Christ among people on the fringes of society. But it is also necessary to seek him among people marginalized within the church, among those “who don’t follow us”. If we want to connect with them as Jesus’ disciples, there are many things we must first abandon.

We must abandon many of our former notions about Christ. The Resurrected One is radically transformed by the experience of death. As we read in the Gospels, even his nearest and dearest did not recognise him. We don’t have to accept at all the news that surrounds us. We can persist in wanting to touch his wounds. Besides, where else will we be sure to encounter them than in the wounds of the world and the wounds of the church, in the wounds of the body that he took on himself?

We must abandon our proselytizing aims. We are not entering the world of the seekers to “convert” them as quickly as possible and squeeze them into the existing institutional and mental confines of our churches. Jesus also didn’t try to squeeze those “lost sheep of the house of Israel” back into the structures of the Judaism of his day. He knew that new wine must be poured into new wineskins.

We want to take new and old things from the treasure house of tradition that we have been entrusted with, and make them part of a dialogue with seekers, a dialogue in which we can and should learn from each other. We must learn to broaden radically the boundaries of our understanding of the church. It is no longer enough for us to magnanimously open a “court of the gentiles”. The Lord has already knocked “from within” and come out – and it is our job to seek him and follow him. Christ has passed through the door that we had locked out of fear of others. He has passed through the wall that we

surrounded ourselves with. He has opened up a space whose breadth and depth has made us dizzy.

On the very threshold of its history, the early church of Jews and pagans experienced the destruction of the temple in which Jesus prayed and taught his disciples. The Jews of those days found a courageous and creative solution: they replaced the altar of the demolished temple with the Jewish family table, and the practice of sacrifice with the practice of private and communal prayer. They replaced burnt offerings and blood sacrifices with “lip sacrifice”: reflection, praise, and study of Scripture. Around the same time, early Christianity, banished from the synagogue, sought a new identity of its own. On the ruins of traditions, Jews and Christians learnt anew to read the Law and the prophets and interpret them afresh. Aren’t we in a similar situation in our days?

God in all things

When Rome fell on the threshold of the fifth century, there was an instant explanation from many quarters: the pagans saw it as punishment of the gods for the adoption of Christianity, while the Christians saw it as God’s punishment on Rome, for continuing to be the whore of Babylon. St Augustine rejected both those interpretations: at that watershed moment, he developed his theology of the age-old battle between two opposing “cities”: not of Christians and pagans, but of two “loves” dwelling in the human heart: the love of self, closed to transcendence (amor sui usque ad contemptum Dei) and love that gives of itself and thereby finds God (amor Dei usque ad contemptum sui). Doesn’t this time of civilizational change call for a new theology of contemporary history and a new understanding of the church?

“We know where the church is, but we don’t know where she isn’t,” the orthodox theologian Evdokimov taught. Maybe what the last Council said about catholicity and ecumenism needs to acquire a deeper content. It is time for a broader and deeper ecumenism, for a bolder “search for God in all things.”

We can, of course, accept this Lent of empty and silent churches as simply a brief temporary measure soon to be forgotten. But we can also embrace it as

kairos – an opportune moment “to put into deeper water” and seek a new identity for Christianity in a world which is being radically transformed before our eyes. The current pandemic is certainly not the only global threat facing our world now and in the future.

Let us embrace the approaching Eastertide as a challenge to seek Christ anew. Let us not seek the Living among the dead. Let us seek him boldly and tenaciously, and let us not be taken aback if he appears to us as a foreigner. We will recognise him by his wounds, by his voice when he speaks to us intimately, by the Spirit that brings peace and banishes fear.

Tomáš Halík (b. 1948) is a professor of sociology at Charles University, Prague, President of the Czech Christian Academy, and university chaplain. During the Communist regime he was active in the “underground church”. He is a Templeton Prize laureate and holds an honorary doctorate from Oxford University.


Learning from the past – Anchorites

I enjoyed the perspective in this article but resisted signing up to give the originators a monthly donation! Steve

ebulletin, News

July Edition of the NorthWest eBulletin

Two comments in Becoming, the recent Netflix documentary about MIchelle Obama, seem significant in the light of the killing of George Floyd and its aftermath. Obama said that although she became the most prominent person in the US, she never forgot that her great-grandmother had been a slave. She also expressed profound disappointment that Black Americans hadn’t bothered to vote in the 2016 election: it felt like a betrayal of what the first African American presidency had hoped to achieve. If the Black Lives Matter movement is to have real and (we hope) lasting success it will come through the ballot box, establishing strong support for change in Congress and the Senate, but this will only happen if Black and Hispanic communities turn out in force to vote in November. Following the weekend protests across the UK in solidarity with our brothers and sisters in the US, it was disappointing but sadly not surprising to see the government’s reaction. Focusing on ‘damage‘ and ‘thuggery’ completely misses the point; likewise implying it’s a US issue only. A failed opportunity to engage with the many many people in the UK who suffer racial abuse. And a failure to read the signs of the times and show some much needed empathy.
The July edition of the NW NJPN E Bulletin is dominated by the brutal murder of George Floyd with several hard-hitting opinion pieces. Book reviews also feature as well as a look at how the poor have been adversely impacted by the Covid19 virus.
Please read and pass on.

Best wishes and stay safe

ebulletin, Liverpool, News, Uncategorized

June Edition of the NorthWest eBulletin

The June edition of the NW NJPN E Bulletin looks at ways in which the coronavirus is changing the way we view the world and our interconnectedness with all creation with a mix of inspiring opinion pieces, prayers and reflections. As always, it is the poor who suffer most as reports from the UK and overseas indicate.
There’s a tribute to the late meteorologist Sir John Houghton, one of the first to raise the alarm about climate change. His name will be known to many activists, especially in connection with Operation Noah whose patron he became. But we also salute one of the countless men and women who quietly ‘do their bit’ to bring about a better, fairer world: Will Cochrane, a tireless and dedicated campaigner for over forty years who remains very close to our hearts here in Shrewsbury Diocese, who has died due to Covid-19.
Liam Purcell from Church Action on Poverty offers some resources to keep us occupied during lockdown and there resources on Laudato Si’ to help us celebrate the feast of Pentecost on 31 May.
Please pass on to others. Stay safe; stay alert!
You can read this edition by clicking here.
You can find past issues by clicking here.

Joachim Rego on HOPE

1The virtue of hope responds to the deepest human desire for happiness which has been placed in our hearts by God. Hope takes up the human desire for happiness and purifies and shapes that desire toward God. The virtue of Christian hope, then, directs our minds and hearts to God.

As such, a world without God is a world without hope. In his beautiful encyclical on Hope, Spe Salvi (Saved by Hope), Pope Benedict XVI’s opening claim is that “a distinguishing mark of Christians is the fact that they have a future.” They do not know the details of that future, but they know that “their life will not end in emptiness.”

In the Scriptures, hope is the virtue that keeps us from discouragement in the face of life’s anxieties and challenges. Hope re-directs our tired, troubled hearts towards God, opening our heart in expectation of eternal happiness with God. In the NT, the virtue of hope is linked to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Those who place their trust in the saving power of Jesus’ life, death and resurrection, are filled with renewed hope which comes from the Father.

The virtue of hope is also linked to faith. In the Letter to the Hebrews we read: “…faith is the realization of what is hoped for and evidence of things not seen” (Heb.11:1). Our faith deepens when we place our hope in God; and our hope is strengthened and fulfilled when we see the world around us with the eyes of faith. Hope is also linked to a peaceful confidence, an enduring patience, a deep-seated conviction which is the fundamental attitude of a Christian.

Christian hope is very realistic. It is built on the realization of our weakness, the limitations of human nature, the many difficulties of human life, and the absolute necessity of God’s grace. The Christian’s hope is not in himself/herself, but in Jesus Christ. Christian hope is not a wish or a feeling; it is a rock-solid certainty, a guarantee, an anchor – “the hope set before us…a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul”(Heb. 6:18-19).

2As Passionists – people on mission – we must reflect a hopeful spirituality, i.e. a spirituality trusting in God’s help: “Unless the Lord builds the house its builders labour in vain” …a spirituality hoping in the One who made the promise. Such hope is beyond rationality; it allows us to take steps beyond what is purely secure and reliable, trusting only in the One who calls us. The foundation stone of a spirituality of hope is surrender.

A spirituality of hope and trust lived to the full is a witness that the Gospel is Good News, and that Jesus is not a moral reformer of humanity but a manifestation of the unlimited and boundless love of God. (“The Passion is the greatest and most overwhelming work of God’s love” ~ Paul of the Cross).

We can be prone to confuse Christian hope with a worldly/secular optimism which believes that things are going to get better in a worldly sense. For example, we feel optimistic when we see many new vocations, our ministries expand, our churches full, when people sing our praises. We tend to measure our ministries by how successful we’ve been. But even Jesus’ ministry did not end on an optimistic note.

Jesus did not ask us to be ‘successful’; he asked us to be ‘fruitful’. Christianity does not promise success.

In fact, Jesus only promised his disciples that the cup he drank of, we would drink. He promised us the Cross: “If anyone wants to be follower of mine, let him/her take up their cross every day and follow me.” So, I guess, if we are to measure ourselves, it should be on how we have shared in Jesus’ Cross. On the other hand, if we trade true hope for a secular optimism, the Cross of Christ will become a stumbling block for us.

“Christian hope is not a wish or a feeling; it is a rock-solid certainty, a guarantee, an anchor.”

3There is an important distinction between the virtue of Christian hope and optimism. Hope encompasses more than wishful thinking. It must be solidly rooted in reality. Hope remains steadfast even when things are not going well. Hope drives us to action, even in the darkest times. Hope does not dwell in the moment, but clings to God’s promise of a better future.

Hope is rooted in a blessed future promised by God, secured by Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, guaranteed by Jesus’ resurrection, and sealed by the gift of the Holy Spirit. Hope allows us to remember that no good deed is done in vain, rather our efforts will bear eternal fruit. The theologian Jurgen Moltmann has said it well: “Genuine hope is not blind optimism. It is hope with open eyes, which sees the suffering and yet believes in the future.”

The virtue of hope is a call to action; it impels us to get to work rather than simply to hope in a shallow and passive manner. When Jesus teaches us to pray in the ‘Our Father’: “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven”, when he says that “the kingdom of heaven is at hand”, he is inviting us to join with God, in partnership, to make God’s dream for our world come true.

The virtue of hope demands human effort. We must work as if it all depends on us and hope as if it all depends upon God.

Pope St. John Paul II expressed it like this:

“The basic attitude of hope, on the one hand encourages the Christian not to lose sight of the final goal which gives meaning and value to life, and on the other, offers solid and profound reasons for a daily commitment to transform reality in order to make it correspond to God’s


“Our hope is strengthened and fulfilled when we see the world around us with the eyes of faith.”

As we commemorate our Congregation’s 300 years of foundation in a historical moment which presents great challenges for the church and religious life, we must re-find hope. Without true hope, we will not feel energized; we will not feel excitingly alive; we will lack energy and a compelling vision. When we re-find true Christian hope, when we experience the powerful presence and work of God all around and in us, we will become alive with the

Spirit, we will bring life to others and be generators of life in its many forms, and we will be united in a joy that is attractive and convincing.

“I know the plans I have in mind for you… plans for peace, not disaster, a future full of hope for you” (Jer. 29:11).

Embracing the Lord in order to embrace hope

“The Lord asks us and, in the midst of our tempest, invites us to reawaken and put into practice that solidarity and hope capable of giving strength, support and meaning to these hours when everything seems to be floundering. The Lord awakens so as to reawaken and revive our Easter faith.

We have an anchor: by his cross we have been saved.

We have a rudder: by his cross we have been redeemed.

We have a hope: by his cross we have been healed and embraced so that nothing and no one can separate us from his redeeming love.

The Lord asks us from his cross to rediscover the life that awaits us, to look towards those who look to us, to strengthen, recognize and foster the grace that lives within us. Let us not quench the wavering flame (cf. Is 42:3) that never falters and let us allow hope to be rekindled. […] Embracing the Lord in order to embrace hope: that is the strength of faith, which frees us from fear and gives us hope.”

Pope Francis, Homily, Extraordinary Moment of Prayer, 27 March 2020.

Covid 19, Covid-19, prayer, Uncategorized

My God – A Response to What is God Saying to us Today?

The following is a response from John to the prayer What is God saying to us today?, which you can read here

A prayer in despair and hope


If God is speaking to us through our present experience, why is it that I cannot hear you?


  • In the locked-in home of the woman beaten and bruised by her violent partner
  • In the disturbed schedule of the autistic child who craves a certain and reassuring routine
  • In the cast away bottles of the struggling alcoholic separated from the support of her group
  • In the empty crematorium as a loved one’s coffin enters the burners with only echoes in attendance
  • In the hollow grave as a dead child is lowered before an absent, grieving family
  • In the bed of the infected care worker gasping for breath
  • In the exhaustion of the doctor working an endless shift
  • In the pain of the nurse switching off the life support equipment
  • In the refugee camp fighting to keep the virus out of its tents
  • In the bemused gaze of the East African farmer staring at another failed crop, and fearing what next


I do not hear your voice speaking to me in any of these places. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?


But, my God, perhaps when you were speaking to me, I wasn’t listening.  Those times, and they were often enough, when you spoke and told me…


To look after the weak

To tend to the sick

To shelter the homeless

To feed the hungry

To protect the poor

To love my neighbour

To give up all I had…


…so that we would build a society that cared for its weakest members, a society that promoted health and not wealth, that valued service not profit, that sought justice in our relationships together, and not power and privilege, that provided for the common good and our common home, and not our individual gain.


If I had listened, I would not have stopped this virus, but I might have better provided for the communion of our saints, those in the National Health Service, those in our care homes, those key workers tending to the dying, keeping us alive. I might have helped them with more resources, a willingness to pay more taxes; I might have helped them with more respect for the dignity of their labour; and with gratitude before the event, and not during and after it. I might have looked further to feed the world. I might have tried harder to stop wars. I might have lived out some decent values that translated into some decent actions. I might have truly loved my neighbour.



O that yesterday I had listened to your voice, and hardened not my heart.


My God, my God, why have I forsaken you? Forgive me; o that today I will listen to your voice.”