Last weekend, Cardinal Vincent Nichols criticised the government’s refusal to allow churches to reopen for public worship. But for many women, the coronavirus crisis has already broken their dependence on a traditional form of Church life mediated by an exclusively male priesthood

A few weeks before lockdown, I was asked to contribute a short piece to the Christian magazine Reform, offering a Catholic perspective on the topic, “This is my body. Really?” The editor Steve Tomkins approached me recently, asking if I wanted to tweak my closing paragraph before it went to press in the light of how things had changed. I asked him to withdraw the piece, because I have no idea what I would say now.

Here is how I had ended that piece: “… the real presence of Christ in the Mass requires my real presence. In these days of televised worship and the individualism of a spirituality which resists the communal dimensions of worship, there is a deep desire in me to go to where others gather, and to be really present in that place where the eternal mystery of Christ becomes really present in the time and place of the Eucharist. Here, matter is divinised by grace, eternity ruptures chronology, and the body of Christ gathers up and redeems all Creation – even me!”

I read those words now – written with such confidence three months ago – and I realise that this crisis has brought me nearer to the edge of the Catholic Church than at any time since my conversion in 1986. It’s been a rocky ride, but for the first time I feel like an outsider. I can never regret becoming a Catholic – belonging within this vast tradition has changed my way of being in the world, it has given me an inspiring and eclectic group of cherished friends and it has made me feel part of a worldwide community – but I wonder if I’m about to become one of those people sociologist Grace Davie describes as “believing without belonging”. I know I’m not alone in feeling this sense of dislocation and alienation.