Around the start of the pandemic, I would visit a dying woman. As an Anglican priest, I had already seen her several times and spent time with her family. We were always masked at these meetings and often distanced. Then, one night, the call came. She was close to the end, I was told. Would I pray over her on speaker phone and give the last rites?
Anglicans don’t quite call them last rites, and nor do Roman Catholics, really, but I got the point. I agreed and prayed at length. A pause. “She’s gone,” said her daughter. “She’s gone.” Another pause and I could hear someone crying.
