I prayed. Of course I prayed. I spoke to God of my guilt, of my regret and of my suffering. I prayed for my loved ones outside, that they might be spared from Covid. I prayed for myself, that I might survive prison and find some way to build a new life after it. I prayed for other men trapped there with me. My prayers then were simple pleas, or conversations. Often, I struggled to find the words.
Get Instant Access
Register for free to read this article in full
Subscribe for unlimited access
From just £37.50 quarterly
Print copy of The Tablet delivered directly to your door.
Complete access to all Tablet website content including all premium content.
Access to the weekly digital copy of The Tablet.
Full access to The Tablet’s archive – over 180 years of back issues.

Already a subscriber? Login

MOST READ ARTICLES
1
Archbishop of Cardiff-Menevia meets with other worldwide Catholic Church leaders to discuss liturgy
2
Let there be light
3
World Humanitarian Day: aid workers face a ‘crisis of protection’
4
Ruling allows French private hospitals limited exemption from assisted suicide
5
A tract for our times
6
The wisdom of the saints
FROM THE EDITOR'S DESK