Jubilee of Workers

 The days 1st-4th May are being marked as a Jubilee of Workers. As the present Labour government came to power in the UK last summer, promises made with regard to "working people" prompted a debate about exactly who were the people being referred to by that phrase "working people". Whilst that debate had a very specific political context, it nevertheless indicated a change in working lives that has taken place over time. When Pope Leo XIII first addressed "the social question" in his encyclical Rerum Novarum it was a matter of addressing the impact of industrialisation and the move away from an agricultural or artisanal experience of work. Today, in many countries, it is a question of the development of a service economy alongside a reducing manufacturing base. The delineation of who is intended by the term "worker" might now be very different than it was in the past.

Pope St John Paul II marked the ninetieth anniversary of Rerum Novarum with his encyclical Laborem Exercens, on the nature of human work. The encyclical is a wide ranging account of the nature of work understood in the light of Biblical and Catholic teaching, and of the contrary trends that face such teaching. A notable distinction is drawn between work in the subjective sense, that is, seen as the person who acts in working; and work in its objective sense, that is, the type of work that is carried out.

When dealing with human work in the fundamental dimension of its subject, that is to say, the human person doing the work, one must make at least a summary evaluation of developments during the ninety years since Rerum Novarum in relation to the subjective dimension of work. Although the subject of work is always the same, that is to say man, nevertheless wide-ranging changes take place in the objective aspect. While one can say that, by reason of its subject, work is one single thing (one and unrepeatable every time), yet when one takes into consideration its objective directions one is forced to admit that there exist many works, many different sorts of work. The development of human civilization brings continual enrichment in this field. But at the same time, one cannot fail to note that in the process of this development not only do new forms of work appear but also others disappear. Even if one accepts that on the whole this is a normal phenomenon, it must still be seen whether certain ethically and socially dangerous irregularities creep in, and to what extent.

.... the primary basis of the value of work is man himself, who is its subject. This leads immediately to a very important conclusion of an ethical nature: however true it may be that man is destined for work and called to it, in the first place work is "for man" and not man "for work". Through this conclusion one rightly comes to recognize the pre-eminence of the subjective meaning of work over the objective one. Given this way of understanding things, and presupposing that different sorts of work that people do can have greater or lesser objective value, let us try nevertheless to show that each sort is judged above all by the measure of the dignity of the subject of work, that is to say the person, the individual who carries it out. 

 Madeleine Delbrel (1904-1964) lived and worked for many years in a suburb of Paris that was dominated in political terms by the Communist party. She can perhaps be described as a social worker and activist, recognising that, though she disagreed with Communism as an idea, the people who were Communists were nevertheless her neighbours. In 1961 she gave a talk in which she compared Communist hope (in French, espoir, a word expressing a human aspiration) and Christian hope (esperance, a word expressing more precisely the theological virtue of hope). The text of the talk can be found in the collection We, the Ordinary People of the Streets; it can represent for us a conversation between Christianity and a world of work where a practical atheism and materialism exists even if it is not supported by an explicitly Communist ideology.

The word "hope" [l'espoir] is too modest to express what the Communists wish for the future. It is also too weak. The French word "hope" [l'esperance] works better, but we cannot lose from sight even for a moment that Communist hope and Christian hope are two fundamentally different and opposed things.

The word "hope" applied to the Communists designates a human hope, a hope that concerns human objects. The word "hope" applied to the hope of the Christian is a reality that comes wholly from God, to which we do not as human being have a right. It concerns a supernatural hope, a divine hope, a hope that is bathed in the very mystery of God's inner life.

Madeleine Delbrel spells out the elements of the hope of the Communist - a hope for the poor, a hope for the future, a hope by the individual Communist for all those ways in which life might be better.  She explains how this hope is expressed in a Communist understanding of an evolving world.  She suggests that the encounter with Communist hope should prompt the Christian in a conversion towards genuinely Christian hope, a thought we might take up in a slightly different way in the context of our neighbour of today.

... it is not a matter of seeing in it a sort complement or even less a corrective of Christian hope. I would rather say that it is by a sort of backlash that Communist hope leads us to reexamine our hope and to reexamine the realism of our hope.

She concludes by suggesting that Christian hope needs to be attentive to the human hope for which it is a fulfilment.

... The Lord proclaims the eternal Beatitudes by appealing to those who weep and hope to stop weeping, who hope for peace, who hope for justice, who hope to escape from the extremes of poverty. These are the people he calls to Christian hope.

Jubilee of People with Disabilities

Following immediately upon the celebration of the Jubilee of Teenagers (25th-27th April) are the days dedicated as the Jubilee of People with Disabilities (28th-29th April).

For many years Alison Davis worked for SPUC, in their division that advocated for people with disabilities and their families. Alison's obituary at the Catholic Herald website describes a life marked by serious physical disability. Whilst Alison is probably best known in Catholic circles for her work with SPUC, there are a couple of other aspects of her obituary that I think are worth noting.

The first is Alison's determination as a young adult to live as normal a life as possible, even though she had to use a wheelchair. Perhaps the thing for us to note today is that, though it might be necessary to use aids and medication in order to do so, a person with a disability is still able to live life. The need to live life in a way that is different than it may be for others is not a denial of that capacity to live life.

In 1987 Alison met Colin Harte, who became her companion and carer for the rest of her life. The person with a disability is an opportunity for the other to express their dignity as a person who cares; there is a reciprocal relation between the two in the act of caring. Whilst in the lives of Alison and Colin this reciprocal relation is seen at an individual level, it should also express that relation at a societal level in the like situations of others. As Pope Francis' indicated in the Bull of Indiction for the Jubilee 2025 n.11 (my emphasis added):

Inclusive attention should also be given to all those in particularly difficult situations, who experience their own weaknesses and limitations, especially those affected by illnesses or disabilities that severely restrict their personal independence and freedom. Care given to them is a hymn to human dignity, a song of hope that calls for the choral participation of society as a whole.

Still Alice is the title of a book by Lisa Genova, which became a successful film with the same title. The book/film tells the story of a professor who begins to suffer from early onset Alzheimer's, from the perspective of her own experience. It traces the gradual progress of the disease and its different effects on her family members. My own review of the film when it was released to cinemas can be found here: Film Review: Still Alice.

In one scene towards the end of the book/film, with Alice already significantly affected by her Alzheimer's, she presents a talk to a conference of professionals involved in the clinical care of people experiencing dementia.  It reads, as does the entire book/film, as a manifesto for those who experience dementia. There are excerpts from this talk at the very end of this trailer for the film.

We, in the early stages of Alzheimer's, are not yet utterly incompetent. We are not without language or opinions that matter or extended periods of lucidity. Yet we are not competent enough to be trusted with any of the demands and responsibilities of our former lives. We feel like we are neither here not there, like some crazy Dr. Seuss character in a bizarre land. It's a very lonely and frustrating place to be....

.... My reality is completely different from what it was not long ago. And it is distorted .... I struggle to find the words I want to say and often hear myself saying the wrong ones. I can't confidently judge spatial distances, which means I drop things and fall down a lot and can get lost two blocks from my home. And my short term memory is hanging on by a couple of frayed threads....

Being diagnosed with Alzheimer's is like being branded with a scarlet A. This is now who I am, someone with dementia. This was how I would, for a time, define myself and how others continue to define me. But I am not what I say ro what I do or what I remember. I am fundamentally more than that.

I am a wife, mother, and friend, soon to be grandmother. I still feel, understand, and am worth of the love and joy in those relationships. I am still an active participant in society. My brain no longer works well, but I use my ears for unconditional listening, my shoulders for crying on, and my arms for hugging others with dementia.... I am not someone dying. I am someone living with Alzheimer's. I want to do that as well as I possibly can....

Please don't look at our scarlet A's and write us off. Look us in the eye, talk directly to us. Don't panic or take it personally if we make mistakes, because we will. We will repeat ourselves, we will misplace things, and we will get lost. We will forget your name and what you said two minutes ago. We will also try our hardest to compensate for and overcome our cognitive losses...

My yesterdays are disappearing, and my tomorrows are uncertain, so what do I live for? I live for each day. I live in the moment. Some tomorrow soon, I'll forget that I stood before you and gave this speech. But just because I'll forget it some tomorrow doesn't mean that I didn't live every second of it today. I will forget today, but that doesn't mean that today didn't matter.

I'm no longer asked to lecture about language at universities and psychology conferences all over the world. But here I am before you today, giving what I hope is the most influential talk of my life. And I have Alzheimer's disease.

Thank you.

[More recently, the title of the 2024 film I'm Still Here references that its central figure, Eunice Paiva, struggled with Alzheimer's during the last years of her life. The memoir on which the film is based was written by Eunice's son as she began to experience Alzheimer's.]

Holy Saturday 2025: " O night, my finest invention ..."

 If we read the last pages of Charles Peguy's The Portal of the Mystery of Hope we might, at a first glance, feel that he is ending his poem about "the little girl hope" with a reflection on the death and burial of Jesus. However, if we start our reading a few pages earlier, we encounter the beginning of a reflection on the theme of night that becomes, at the end, to focus on one night alone.

He starts with night as a part of God's creation - remember that it is the voice of God who speaks through the narrator of the play that is The Portal .. :

Nights follow each other and are linked together and for the child, 

nights are continuous and form the very basis of his being.

He falls back on them. They are the very basis of his life.
They are his being itself. Night is the place, night is the being 

wherein the child bathes, wherein his is nourished, wherein he is 

created, wherein he is made....

 

Night is the place, night is the being wherein he rests, wherein he 

retires, wherein he collects himself.

Wherein he comes home. And leaves again refreshed. Night is my most 

beautiful creation...

Night is for my children and for my young

Hope what it is in reality. Children are the ones who see and who 

know. My young hope is the one who sees and who knows. 

What being is.

And a couple of pages later there is an announcement of night as the place of hope :

O night, my finest invention, my most noble creation of all.

My most beautiful creature. Creature of the greatest Hope.
You give the most substance to Hope.

You are the instrument, you are the very substance and the 

dwelling-place of Hope.

And also, (and thus), you are ultimately the creature of the greatest 

Charity.

Because it's you who gently rock the whole of Creation
Into a restoring Sleep.

 And in the last two pages, the hymn to that one night that was like no other:

But above all, Night, you remind me of that night.
And I will remember it eternally.
The ninth hour had sounded. It was in the country of my people of 

Israel.

It was all over. The enormous adventure.
From the sixth hour to the ninth hour there had been darkness 

covering the entire countryside.

Everything was finished. Let's not talk about it anymore. It hurts me to 

think about it.

My son's incredible descent among men.
Into their midst....

Those three years that he was a sort of preacher among men.
A priest.
Those three days when he fell victim to men.
Among men.
Those three nights when he was dead in the midst of men
Dead among the dead....

It was then, o night, that you arrived.

O my daughter, my most precious among them all, and it is still before 

my eyes and it will remain before my eyes for all eternity.

It was then, o Night, that you came and, in a great shroud, you buried
The Centurion and his Romans,
The Virgin and the holy women,
And that mountain, and that valley, upon which the evening was 

descending,

And my people of Israel and sinners and, with them, he who was 

dying, he who had died for them.

And the men sent by Joseph of Arimathea who were already a

approaching

Bearing the white shroud.

The Church celebrates that night which gives substance to Hope in the Easter Vigil, where the Exultet sings its praise with the repeated invocation - "This is the night" - and its praise of the "night that shall be as bright as day",  the "truly blessed night", the night that is "your night of grace".

Good Friday 2025: "And it's from us that God awaits the crowning or the uncrowning of one of his hopes"

 The following passage from Charles Peguy's The Portal of the Mystery of  Hope (pp.82-84 in David Schindler's translation) seems appropriate for Holy Week. The startling suggestion that God himself has to place a hope on his part in sinners is placed in the context of references to the texts of St Paul's Letter to the Philippians read at Mass on Palm Sunday and to the Passion narratives of Palm Sunday and Good Friday. 

Such is the situation in which God, by the virtue of hope
In order to wager hope,
Allowed himself to be placed.
Before the sinner.
He stands in fear of him, because be fears for him.
You see what it is I'm saying: God stands in fear of the sinner, because he fears for the sinner.....

That is the situation that God made for himself.
He who loves becomes the slave of the one who is loved.
Just by loving.
He who loves becomes the slave of the one he loves.
God did not desire to evade this universal law.
And by this love he becomes the slave of the sinner.....

God put himself in this situation. As the most miserable creature was freely able
To slap freely the face of Jesus,
So the least of creatures is able to make God to be a liar
Or to make him speak truly.
Terrible delegation of power.
Terrible privilege, terrible responsibility.
As Jesus through centuries of centuries has given over his body
In the poor churches
To the discretion of the least of the soldiers.
So God through centuries of centuries has given over his hope
To the discretion of the least of the sinners.
As the victim surrenders his hands to the executioner,

So Jesus has abandoned himself to us.

As the prisoner abandons himself to the prison guard,

So God has abandoned himself to us.

As the least of the sinners was able to slap Jesus,

And it had to be so,

So the least of the sinners, a miserable, weak creature,
The tiniest of sinners is able to bring to failure, is able to bring to fulfilment

A hope of God;

The tiniest of sinners is able to uncrown, is able to crown

A hope of God.

And it's from us that God awaits

The crowning or the uncrowning of one of his hopes

Jubilee 2025: The little girl Hope

Charles Peguy's The Portal of the Mystery of Hope (Le porche de mystere de la deuxieme vertu in its original title) appears a necessary read for the Jubilee 2025. The extracts below are taken from the early pages of David Schindler's translation, and offer a kind of taster for the whole.

The faith that I love the best, says God, is hope.

Faith doesn't surprise me.
It's not surprising.
I am so resplendent in my creation....

Charity, says God, that doesn't surprise me.
It's not surprising.
These poor creatures are so miserable that unless they had a heart of stone, how could they not have love for each other ....

But hope, says God, that is something that surprises me.
Even me.
That is surprising.
That these poor children see how things are going and believe that tomorrow things will go better....

What surprises me, says God, is hope.
And I can't get over it.
This little hope who seems like nothing at all.
This little girl hope.
Immortal....

It's faith that is easy and not believing that would be impossible. It's charity that is easy and not loving that would be impossible. But it's hoping that is difficult.

The little hope moves forward between her two older sisters and one scarcely notices her....

In his translator's preface, David Schindler explains that the Portal is not just a poem but in fact a play. The "portal" refers to the entrance of a medieval cathedral, above whose doors might be depicted a Christian mystery. The cathedral portal was also the place where mystery plays were typically enacted. 

If we keep in mind that the Portal is a play, we are better able to appreciate the conversational quality of the writing. Madame Gervaise, God's "mouthpiece" in the poem, address her monologue to the young Joan of Arc, who remains silent throughout. She speaks in short phrases, pausing after each one as if to make sure that "Jeanette" has understood it.

The presence of Joan of Arc can be presumed from Charles Peguy's earlier work The Mystery of the Charity of Joan of Arc.

David Schindler also observes that Charles Peguy approaches the Christian mystery by way of the experience of it in life, a theme that Hans Urs von Balthasar explores in greater detail using the term enracinement, to articulate a rootedness of Christianity in history and time (cf The Glory of the Lord vol III pp.465 ff):

His language is filled with images drawn from the basic experiences of life, rather than sophisticated argumentation aimed at an elite few. There is no trace of condescension in his tone: God does not speak from the sublime heights of heaven, looking down on the world from an infinite distance. Rather, having assumed everything human, he speaks from within the world; he speaks, as it were, as "one of us".

An endnote to the penultimate extract cited above makes the suggestion that we might see the inspiration for the image of the "little girl hope" in Charles Peguy's own daughter, who would have been nine years old at the time of the writing of the Portal. This would perfectly exemplify the author's approach.

Pope Francis' words for the Jubilee of the Sick and Health Care Workers

The following are the concluding paragraphs of  Pope Francis' homily at the Mass to celebrate the Jubilee of the Sick and Healthcare Workers. The homily was read by Archbishop Rino Fisichella. At the end of Mass, Pope Francis made an unexpected appearance to greet the congregation gathered in St Peter's Square, in a wheel chair and receiving oxygen via a nasal cannula.

Sisters and brothers, we read these texts as we celebrate the Jubilee of the Sick and Health Care Workers. Illness is certainly one of the harshest and most difficult of life’s trials, when we experience in our own flesh our common human frailty. It can make us feel like the people in exile, or like the woman in the Gospel: deprived of hope for the future. Yet that is not the case. Even in these times, God does not leave us alone, and if we surrender our lives to him, precisely when our strength fails, we will be able to experience the consolation of his presence. By becoming man, he wanted to share our weakness in everything (cf. Phil 2:6-8). He knows what it is to suffer (cf. Is 53:3).  Therefore, we can turn to him and entrust our pain to him, certain that we will encounter compassion, closeness and tenderness.

But not only that. In his faithful love, the Lord invites us in turn to become “angels” for one another, messengers of his presence, to the point where the sickbed can become a “holy place” of salvation and redemption, both for the sick and for those who care for them.

Dear doctors, nurses and health care workers, in caring for your patients, especially the most vulnerable among them, the Lord constantly affords you an opportunity to renew your lives through gratitude, mercy, and hope (cf. Spes Non Confundit, 11). He calls you to realize with humility that nothing in life is to be taken for granted and that everything is a gift from God; to enrich your lives with the sense of humanity we experience when, beyond appearances, only the things that matter remain: the small and great signs of love. Allow the presence of the sick to enter your lives as a gift, to heal your hearts, to purify them of all that is not charity, and to warm them with the ardent and gentle fire of compassion.

I have much in common with you at this time of my life, dear brothers and sisters who are sick: the experience of illness, of weakness, of having to depend on others in so many things, and of needing their support. This is not always easy, but it is a school in which we learn each day to love and to let ourselves be loved, without being demanding or pushing back, without regrets and without despair, but rather with gratitude to God and to our brothers and sisters for the kindness we receive, looking towards the future with acceptance and trust. The hospital room and the sickbed can also be places where we hear the voice of the Lord speak to us: “Behold, I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Is 43:19). In this way, we renew and strengthen our faith.

Benedict XVI — who gave us a beautiful testimony of serenity in the time of his illness — wrote that, “the true measure of humanity is essentially determined in relationship to suffering” and that “a society unable to accept its suffering members... is a cruel and inhuman society” (Spe Salvi, 38). It is true: facing suffering together makes us more human, and the ability to share the pain of others is an important step forward in any journey of holiness.

Jubilee of the Sick and Health Care Workers

 The days 5th-6th April 2025 are being marked by the celebration of the Jubilee for the Sick and Health Care Workers. One feature of these days is an evening conference dedicated to considering how palliative care can bring hope to patients who are terminally ill and to their families, hosted by the Pontifical University of the Holy Cross: Hospice=Hope. This report at the Jubilee 2025 website includes an account of a wide range of events that will be taking place across Rome during the Jubilee addressing such issues as the encouragement of blood donation, promoting awareness of issues around addiction and including moments of prayer and Eucharistic adoration: 20 000 people flock to Rome for Jubilee of the Sick and the World of Healthcare.

To reflect on this Jubilee we can take two motifs, one from Pope St John Paul II speaking to the sick in Lourdes in 1983, and the second from the opening words of Pope Francis' message for the World Day of the Sick in 2023:

Before all suffering, those in good health have a first duty: that of respect, sometimes even of silence.... Neither fair, nor unfair, suffering remains, despite partial explanations, difficult to understand and difficult to accept, even for those who have faith.

Illness is part of our human condition. Yet, if illness is experienced in isolation and abandonment, unaccompanied by care and compassion, it can become inhumane.

 When we look at the experience of illness in the life of Blessed Chiara Badano (known in the Focolare by the name "Luce", light), we can see something of both of these motifs. What we can also see is that accompaniment works in two directions: not only did Chiara's parents accompany Chiara in her illness but, in a very real sense, Chiara accompanied them during that time. It was an experience that they lived together. The two most remarkable aspects of Chiara's last weeks of life were, firstly, the extent to which, though unable to leave her bed, she kept in touch with friends from the Focolare movement; and, secondly, her refusal of morphine so that she could remain lucid and offer her suffering to Jesus, as she had no more than that to offer. Chiara exemplifies the three "small lights" - knowledge of the situation, acceptance and oblation - that Pope St John Paul II speaks of during his address to the sick in Lourdes. A full account of Chiara's life can be found here: Chiara Luce Badano - a radiant life. My own earlier posts about Chiara can be found here: Chiara Luce Badano.

Few of us will live the charism of an ecclesial movement with the depth and to the extent that Chiara Badano was able to do. The way in which she lived the time of her illness manifests a formation in that charism that, when her illness occurred, meant that she was able to live it to a heroic extent. 

Professor Jerome Lejeune provides us with a testimony of life of a doctor whose approach to his patients (and their parents) was one of profound respect. His daughter gives an account of the experience typical of families that sought his care when a new born had been diagnosed with Downs Syndrome, with the observation that it was a story they had heard countless times (Clara Lejeune, Life is a Blessing, p.35):

.. we went off to see this famous professor in a big hospital in Paris. It was both intimidating and reassuring. At the same time we thought to ourselves that it was no use. After all, the child's life was ruined.

The professor greeted us with a smile. He was courteous, friendly, but respectful. He turned to the baby, asked his name, and said to him, "Little Pierre, will you come with me?". He took him in his arms, asked the mother to put on a hospital gown, and offered her a seat. She sat down; he put little Pierre in her arms, sat down across from her and the father, and with a stethoscope examined the  child on his mother's lap. For us these simple gestures were like a revelation. It wasn't a patient this doctor was examining; it was our child.

Then he explained everything. What this illness is, what the future will be for the child and for us. He reassured us, responded to all our questions and fears.

Before leaving us he said to us, "If you wish, for your next appointment bring his older sister along. They, too, have the right to know and to understand." We left with our baby, all of us much calmer. He helped us to discover our love as parents.

In the Bull of Indiction (n.11) for the Jubilee Year, Pope Francis identified the sick as being among those to whom a particular sign of hope should be shown in the Jubilee year:

 Signs of hope should also be shown to the sick, at home or in hospital. Their sufferings can be allayed by the closeness and affection of those who visit them. Works of mercy are also works of hope that give rise to immense gratitude. Gratitude should likewise be shown to all those healthcare workers who, often in precarious conditions, carry out their mission with constant care and concern for the sick and for those who are most vulnerable.

Inclusive attention should also be given to all those in particularly difficult situations, who experience their own weaknesses and limitations, especially those affected by illnesses or disabilities that severely restrict their personal independence and freedom. Care given to them is a hymn to human dignity, a song of hope that calls for the choral participation of society as a whole.