In this second part of the special COVID-19 edition of Stimulus, we have another feast of articles.

Stimulus welcomes the submission of material for Publication.

The highpoint of the Christian calendar, the festival of Easter, fell in a lockdown period this year.

During the COVID-19 Level 4 period of imposed isolation I found myself reflecting on the parallels between the biblical story of Noah and the flood (Genesis 6–9) and our contemporary global situation.

A found poem based on the article, “On the wait, and the weight” by Leonie Hayden[1]

As I write, the COVID-19 pandemic is sweeping through the world taking lives and causing pain and fear. Such an event raises the question of hope in the midst of suffering.

So widespread was the contagion, one observer reported, that the city’s population began “to fear whom they converse withal, and deal withal, lest they should have come out of infected places.”[1]

It is not uncommon—one might even say it is normal—that in cases of trauma, suffering, and tragedy, people re-evaluate their priorities, commitments, and convictions.

This arrived in my inbox last week: Few could have predicted that we would be reaching Easter this year with more than half the world in either partial or full lockdown. Climate scientists predict that 2020 could see the biggest fall in carbon emissions since World War Two. Yet without structural change, experts warn that these reductions could be short-lived.[1]

“To steer correctly, a system with inherent physical momentum needs to be looking decades ahead.”[1]

Reading: Luke 10:25-37 Jesus told imaginative stories to address real issues of his day. One of these was the parable of the Good Samaritan.

For Christians, hope is ultimately hope in Christ. The hope that he really is what for centuries we have been claiming he is. The hope that despite the fact that sin and death still rule the world, he somehow conquered them. The hope that in him and through him all of us stand a chance of somehow conquering them too. The hope that at some unforeseeable time and in some unimaginable way he will return with healing in his wings.[1]

During World War 2, the British, Anglican, mystical theologian and spiritual director, Evelyn Underhill (1875-1941), encouraged a small “Prayer Group” to pray for world leaders, calling it their “spiritual war-work.”[1]

I ran into Saint Job recently – a guy from the earlier times, and carrying a rather unusual name in these parts.

The church, as the people of God, is like a giant octopus reaching out. The people of God spread out from the centre into the community in all directions. The source of our strength is the gathering where we express our identity in word and sacrament like the head of the octopus. But, presently, we borrow strength from the future when we will gather again, a bit like those imprisoned for their faith. We are harbouring what we have, treasuring the gift of faith and longing for that day when we can celebrate freely.

In the midst of crisis, whether personal or cosmic, many have found solidarity in the voice of Job.