In many countries, Catholics have been protesting against the suspension of public Masses.
There have been demonstrations in France, as reported in the Catholic Herald, as well as in Italy and the United States, and petitions are being circulated in Ireland and here in England.
British Christians were able to resume worship to some degree in the summer, after the churches were closed to the public for almost the entirety of spring. Many Catholic parishes, including my own, resumed Masses. However, as the second wave of Covid-19 infection arrived this autumn, the government ordered a second national lockdown, which meant another month of closed churches.
Catholics will not be able to attend Mass until, we are told, the first Wednesday in Advent. Many of us are understandably frustrated after being prevented from attending the Mass once again, and concerned about the effect that this year’s disruptions will have on the life of the Church.
The problem, of course, is that church services can easily become comparatively high-risk in terms of the transmission of Covid-19. They tend to bring a lot of people together from different households, in enclosed indoor spaces for a sustained period of time. Mass often involves a lot of speaking or singing, which is a big problem when we are dealing with a virus that we now know spreads via airborne droplets in poorly-ventilated indoor settings.
This is undoubtedly a very hard time for Catholics who are unable to attend Mass, public liturgies, and other Church events.
It does seem especially unfair that something as important and meaningful and beneficial as public worship should be forbidden, while many shops remain open. But our sense of fairness and our views of the relative moral worth of various activities can be an obstacle to thinking clearly about the measures needed to contain the spread of coronavirus.
We saw an example of this obstacle in practice when new disease control measures were introduced in September, before this second lockdown. One of these was the “rule of six”, limiting private gatherings, and a brief storm of outrage followed an enterprising journalist’s discovery that shooting was among those activities excluded from the “rule of six”.
At first glance, it was indeed outrageous that the privileged – or, in any case, those who own swathes of land – could continue shooting on grouse moors while large families could not get together with grandparents, or neighbours. But the fact is that shooting, an activity that takes place outdoors, with widely spaced participants, carries practically zero risk for Covid-19 transmission, whereas meetings of different households are one of the most common means of spread.
When a plant is deprived of surface water, it has to put down deeper roots – we are going to have to put down deeper roots of the Spirit. – Cardinal Nichols
It can be hard to process the idea that an activity we see as morally good can carry high practical risks. Getting together with family and friends, or pursuing our hobbies, or just going to the pub; all these are great sources of fellowship and joy and fulfilment. It feels wrong somehow that they should be dangerous. But the virus is just a virus. It is not bound by Queensberry Rules or any sense of fair play, and those making decisions about public health must act in a hard-headed way.
This is undoubtedly a very hard time for Catholics who are unable to attend Mass, public liturgies, and other Church events. But there is great wisdom in a video made at the start of the first lockdown in March, by Cardinal Nichols. He expressed his hope that the suspension of public liturgy would have the upside of igniting in Catholics a new appreciation of the Mass and the sacraments more widely. “When all this is done…we’ll have a greater hunger for the Mass”, he said.
He went on to suggest that we develop our personal devotional lives: “When a plant is deprived of surface water, it has to put down deeper roots – we are going to have to put down deeper roots of the Spirit.” He also exhorted us to acts of charity to those suffering from the pandemic, and to develop solidarity with fellow Catholics abroad who are deprived of the sacraments for long periods of time.
With the Moderna and Pfizer vaccines apparently close to readiness for wide-scale use, and others likely to be available early in 2021, the end is in sight. But while the crisis continues, I think we can all find great comfort in the beautiful words of the 22nd Psalm, which Cardinal Nichols quoted in his March video: “The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want … Near restful waters he leads me, to revive my drooping spirit”.
Niall Gooch is a regular Chapter House columnist. He also writes for UnHerd.
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