​"Being open and relational Catholics means trusting that our faith is alive—growing, listening, and responding to the world around us. We don’t have to choose between tradition and change. We’re holding both, together, with love."

"We’re not inventing something new—we’re listening for something ancient that’s still unfolding. Open and relational Catholicism isn’t a break from the Church; it’s a deeper yes to its heart: love that listens, a God who relates, and a faith that grows."

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​Open and Relational Catholicism

The Common Good, the Highest Good,
​And Care for the World

In the Catholic tradition, the idea of the common good dates back to the classical wisdom of Plato, Aristotle, and Cicero, and was baptized and expanded by early Christian thinkers like Augustine and Aquinas. For Aquinas, drawing on Aristotle, the common good referred to the flourishing of the whole community—human beings living together in justice, friendship, and virtue. It was not opposed to the individual, but included the good of each person as part of a larger whole. Over time, Catholic social teaching developed this idea further, emphasizing solidarity, subsidiarity, and the dignity of every human person.

Encyclicals from Rerum Novarum to Laudato Si’ reaffirm that the common good includes just social structures, care for creation, and the protection of the poor and vulnerable.

​The highest good (summum bonum) has traditionally been understood as union with God, the ultimate end of human life. Grounded in the writings of Augustine and Aquinas, it is linked with the beatific vision—seeing God face to face in eternal life. This vision was not merely visual but spiritual: an unending communion with divine love, truth, and beauty. In this classical view, the moral life is ordered toward this final end, and all temporal goods find their meaning in light of this eternal destiny.

These foundational ideas are not abandoned but deepened when seen through the lens of open and relational theology, particularly in a Whiteheadian key.

The common good is not defined in individualist terms, as if it were merely the sum of personal preferences or private satisfactions. Nor is it defined in totalitarian terms, as if the good of the community required the erasure or subjugation of individual dignity. Nor is it utilitarian, sacrificing the few for the happiness of the many. Rather, the common good is relational and participatory: it arises from the mutual well-being of persons in just and compassionate relationships—with each other, with the wider community of life, and with God.

In an open and relational Catholic vision, the common good is the harmony of diverse lives woven together by love and by the fulfillment of the deepest desires of each individual—not desires distorted by consumerism or ego, but desires for belonging, beauty, purpose, and communion. It respects the dignity of each creature while affirming the interdependence of all. It is dynamic, not static—ever unfolding through creative acts of care, justice, and joy.

The highest good is not a disembodied ideal, detached from the rhythms and struggles of ordinary life. Nor is it a private spiritual escape into timeless bliss. Nor is it the mere satisfaction of appetites or the perfection of moral performance. Rather, the highest good is the fullness of communion with God—not as static vision but as a living relationship with the divine source of all becoming.

In an open and relational Catholic vision, the highest good is found in the ever-deepening participation in divine love, moment by moment. It is realized as we respond to the divine lure—God’s call within each moment—to become co-creators of beauty, tenderness, justice, and peace. And it is not opposed to the individual’s deepest desires, but is their truest fulfillment: the desire to love and be loved, to know and be known, to contribute meaningfully to a world that is still unfolding.

While this highest good begins now, it does not end with death. The journey continues. In death, we may come to know the vision of God—not as a frozen gaze into a static perfection, but as an intimate and everlasting communion with the One who has lured us all along: the living God who receives every moment into a wider harmony of love, and who offers a future richer than we can now imagine. The highest good is both personal and cosmic: the harmony of the soul with God, and the harmony of all things in the Heart of God.

Both the common good and the highest good are not only hoped for, but embodied—in our care for one another, in our reverence for creation, and most profoundly, in the celebration of the Eucharist. In the Eucharist, we taste the divine lure toward communion and compassion. We remember Christ’s self-giving love, not as a relic of the past but as a living reality. The table is set not for isolated individuals, but for a community becoming the Body of Christ. It is there, in broken bread and shared cup, that the common good and highest good converge: heaven touches earth, and love becomes flesh among us.

The Eucharist

In process theology, all things are in process—each moment of existence is a becoming, a creative act shaped by past inheritances and divine possibilities. The Eucharist, seen through this lens, is not a static miracle confined to a moment of consecration, but a sacramental event: a dynamic act of communion in which God, the community, the elements, and the world are woven together in an ongoing becoming.

Traditionally, Catholic theology speaks of transubstantiation—the transformation of the substance of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. A process interpretation does not reject this idea but reframes it: not as a change in metaphysical substance understood in Aristotelian terms, but as a transformation of relational reality. The bread and wine become, in truth, the Body and Blood of Christ because of how they are prehended—how they are received, experienced, and integrated into the divine-human field of relationship. Their identity is no longer simply material; it is sacramental, shaped by their role in the unfolding story of God’s presence in the world.

The presence of Christ in the Eucharist is not inserted from outside but emerges from within the event itself, co-created by the Spirit, the celebrant, the gathered community, and the faithful memory of Christ. It is a living presence, not bound by location or time, but felt anew in each moment of sincere participation. The Eucharist is thus not a mere repetition of a past event, but a fresh act of divine creativity, drawing us into deeper communion with God, one another, and all creation.

God, in process theology, is the divine companion who receives each Eucharistic act into the divine life and offers it back to the world transfigured—as nourishment, healing, and hope. The Eucharist becomes a microcosm of the divine process itself: past prehended, possibility offered, novelty achieved. In sharing bread and wine, we participate in the very rhythm of God’s own life—the creative advance into novelty, animated by love.
In this way, the Eucharist is not only a remembrance of Christ’s gift but also a participation in God’s ongoing incarnation. It is a moment where the common good (our shared responsibility and hope) and the highest good (our union with God) are not merely symbolized but actively embodied. Heaven and earth, spirit and matter, time and eternity meet—not through coercive power, but through gentle invitation, relational becoming, and the mysterious depth of divine presence in and through the world.

Sacramentality, Social Justice, and the Ethics of Compassion 

In Process Catholicism, sacramentality is not limited to formal rituals but extends to all of life. The world is understood as a dynamic web of becoming—each moment alive with possibility, relation, and divine presence. A sacrament, in this view, is any event in which the divine lure toward love and beauty becomes palpably present. God is not remote from the world but present within it as a call to deeper communion, and wherever that call is answered with compassion and care, sacramental life unfolds.

This expansive sense of sacramentality naturally leads to a profound commitment to social justice. The call to shelter the vulnerable, feed the hungry, advocate for the excluded, and heal the wounded is not an optional moral addition—it is a direct response to God’s ongoing call within the world. In Process Catholicism, the common good is not a finished state but a constantly evolving reality, nurtured by acts of justice, inclusion, and co-creative love. It is shaped moment by moment through the choices of individuals and communities who respond to the divine lure toward relational harmony.

At the heart of this vision is the ethics of compassion. Compassion is not a feeling held at a distance but a way of participating in the suffering and beauty of others. In process terms, it is a form of intensified prehension—a deeply felt resonance with another’s experience that motivates action. Just as God feels the world with tenderness and transforms pain into divine understanding, we too are called to feel with others and act from that feeling. In this way, compassion becomes a sacramental participation in the divine life.

To seek justice, then, is to join God’s work of creative transformation. It is to become a partner in the ongoing story of the universe: a story where love is not static but unfolds anew in every act of mercy, protest, healing, or solidarity. To sit with the grieving, to share a meal with the hungry, to restore ecosystems, or to challenge unjust systems—these are not merely moral duties; they are acts of liturgy. They are the places where the Eucharistic love of Christ is extended into the world, not in word only but in deed and presence.

In Process Catholicism, the altar and the margins of society are inseparably linked. The Eucharist sends us forth not just to contemplate the love of God, but to enact it. Every act of compassion becomes a kind of Eucharist. Every step toward justice becomes a processional offering. And every moment we choose relational wholeness over fragmentation becomes a living sacrament—an expression of God’s dynamic and ever-responsive love.

Religious Orders

In Process Catholicism, religious orders are not relics of a bygone age but living expressions of God’s ongoing call to creative fidelity. Each order arises from a particular response to the divine lure within a historical context—a communal “yes” to a way of life shaped by prayer, service, discipline, and shared vision. In process terms, orders are intentional nexūs—spiritual ecosystems in which individuals and communities cultivate patterns of becoming that embody both the common good and the highest good.
Rather than offering a one-size-fits-all spirituality, religious orders provide diverse pathways of relational wholeness. Benedictines, Franciscans, Dominicans, Jesuits, and others each embody different responses to God's lure: hospitality, poverty, study, justice, ecological care, or mystical union. These charisms are not static ideals but living traditions, shaped by historical memory yet open to novelty, renewal, and reinterpretation in light of present needs.

In a process-relational framework, the value of orders lies not in rigid preservation but in their adaptive fidelity—their capacity to respond to the world’s evolving pain and possibility while remaining grounded in a distinctive spiritual rhythm. Their vows—poverty, chastity, obedience—are not denials of life but invitations to a deeper form of freedom, one that resists the compulsions of ego and consumerism in favor of relational integrity, shared purpose, and communion with God.

Orders also offer a counter-cultural witness to the fragmented and hyper-individualized world. They model community in which personal becoming is nurtured through mutual support, discipline, and love. In this way, they participate directly in the common good—not only through their works of service and prayer, but through the very form of their life together, which serves as a living critique of isolation, domination, and spiritual drift.

In Process Catholicism, the future of religious orders depends not on institutional survival but on creative fidelity to their original lures—those sparks of divine possibility that birthed them. Whether monastic, apostolic, contemplative, or activist, religious orders remain relevant when they continue to evolve in response to the needs of the world, guided by their charisms and attuned to the ever-present call of God. They become not just guardians of tradition but partners in God’s ongoing creation—signposts of what a relational, sacramental, and justice-oriented Church can be.

The Family

In Process Catholicism, the family is not understood merely as a fixed structure or a private institution, but as a relational microcosm—a primary site where love is practiced, identity is formed, and God’s lure toward the common good and highest good is intimately felt. It is within family life, in its many forms, that the rhythms of care, conflict, forgiveness, and joy are lived out in real time. The family becomes, in this view, a living sacrament of relational becoming.

Rather than idealizing a particular model, Process Catholicism honors the diversity and evolving nature of families. Whether traditional, blended, chosen, or extended, families are seen as fields of creative possibility—places where each member has the opportunity to become more fully themselves in relation to others. Each family is a dynamic web of experiences, emotions, inheritances, and hopes, all of which shape and are shaped by the wider world.

Families, at their best, are schools of compassion. They are where we first learn to respond to the needs of others, to listen, to share, to bear one another’s burdens. In process terms, these daily interactions are not trivial—they are the building blocks of the common good. A kind word, a shared meal, a gesture of forgiveness—each is a moment of creative transformation, a participation in God’s ongoing work of love.

The family is also a place where we glimpse the highest good—not as distant reward, but as the felt presence of love in the ordinary. In the intimacy of family life, we learn to discern the divine lure: to respond to each other not merely out of obligation, but with wonder, attentiveness, and fidelity. Even in conflict and failure, the possibility of growth remains. The divine lure does not withdraw; it invites again and again.

In times of joy, the family becomes a celebration of God’s delight in relational richness. In times of suffering, it becomes a sanctuary of presence, where the wounds of life are not erased but held. In every stage of life—birth, childhood, adolescence, adulthood, aging, and death—the family walks with us through the unfolding process of becoming.

Thus, in Process Catholicism, the family is not only a domestic church, as Catholic tradition teaches, but also a relational community in process, constantly creating and re-creating itself through love, memory, decision, and hope. It is a participant in the divine adventure: a space where the common good is nurtured and the highest good is glimpsed, day by day, through the sacred work of simply being with and for one another.

A Consistent Ethic of Life

In Process Catholicism, to be pro-life is not merely to oppose abortion or euthanasia in isolation, but to embrace a consistent ethic of life—one that honors the sacredness of life in all its stages, conditions, and contexts. Rooted in relational metaphysics and a deep reverence for becoming, this integral pro-life vision affirms that every life is a dynamic expression of divine possibility, and that all persons—and indeed all living beings—deserve care, dignity, and opportunity to flourish.

Life, in process thought, is not static. It unfolds moment by moment, shaped by relationships, histories, and the divine lure toward wholeness. To honor life, then, is to respond to its fragility and promise in all forms: from the unborn child to the refugee, from the elderly neighbor to the incarcerated person, from those with disabilities to those endangered by environmental degradation. All life is interconnected, and thus pro-life commitment must be ecological, economic, racial, and interpersonal.

An integral pro-life ethic opposes violence not only in the womb, but also in the death penalty, war, systemic poverty, racism, and environmental destruction. It does not compartmentalize concern but sees the whole of life as a sacred process, worthy of reverence and protection. It challenges us to ask: What kind of world are we welcoming children into? What structures support life, and which diminish it? How can we make room for the vulnerable, not just sentimentally, but practically?

Process Catholicism adds a distinctive emphasis: the belief that God is present in every becoming, luring each person, family, and society toward greater compassion and creativity. This means that life is not a problem to be controlled, but a mystery to be nurtured—especially when it is unpredictable, inconvenient, or costly. The divine lure meets us in these moments and invites us to build communities where no one is disposable and all are seen as participants in the unfolding beauty of creation.

Such a vision calls for radical hospitality: support for mothers and fathers in crisis, just wages and housing, universal healthcare, restorative justice, and protection of the earth itself. These are not distractions from a pro-life vision—they are essential to it. They make the Gospel credible in a fragmented world.

In this light, the Eucharist becomes the center of a truly pro-life spirituality. The broken bread and shared cup do not permit us to pick and choose which lives to value. They draw us into communion with all who suffer, all who hope, and all who live in the tension between the already and the not-yet. To receive the Body of Christ is to become the Body of Christ—for the born and unborn, the weak and the strong, the familiar and the stranger.
Integral pro-life witness, in Process Catholicism, is not about rigid control or punitive judgment. It is about relational fidelity—about showing up, again and again, for life in its many forms. It is about saying yes to the divine invitation to co-create a world where every life has room to breathe, grow, and shine.

The Future of Catholicism

In Process Catholicism, tradition is not a static inheritance to be preserved unchanged, but a living stream—a sacred unfolding that holds both memory and possibility. Catholicism is ancient, rooted in the witness of Jesus, the lives of the saints, the creeds, sacraments, councils, and centuries of reflection and prayer. And yet it is also always new—called by God into further becoming, constantly responding to the evolving needs of the world and the Spirit’s gentle but persistent call to deeper love, justice, and understanding.

This view of tradition honors the past not as a prison but as a foundation—a treasury of wisdom that can be reinterpreted in light of new experience, insight, and divine prompting. Just as God is not a distant, unchanging deity but the living companion of the world’s becoming, so too the Church is not a finished institution but a pilgrim people, growing, learning, and discerning in time.

Throughout its history, Catholicism has evolved—sometimes slowly, sometimes suddenly. The early Church wrestled with how to include Gentiles; medieval theology deepened sacramental and metaphysical insight; the Second Vatican Council opened doors to the modern world, interreligious dialogue, and the dignity of conscience. These were not departures from the faith but creative responses to the Spirit’s movement in history.

In Process Catholicism, such evolution is not a deviation from orthodoxy but a mark of fidelity to the divine lure—God’s ongoing invitation to the Church to become more fully itself. This evolution is grounded in what Pope John XXIII called aggiornamento—bringing the Church up to date—not in the sense of adapting to every passing trend, but in the deeper sense of being present to the Spirit of the age. A Church that listens, reflects, repents, and changes is a Church that trusts in the living God.

This openness to growth does not relativize the faith; it reveals its incarnational character. Just as Christ entered into the particularities of time and place, so must the Church enter into each historical moment with courage and humility. Doctrine and discipline, liturgy and language, justice and mercy—all of these are part of a living tradition that must be continually re-grounded in Christ and re-opened to the world.

To be Catholic, then, is to dwell in the tension between continuity and creativity. It is to affirm that the Church is not only guided by what has been, but also called by what could be. As Whitehead put it, “The pure conservative is fighting against the essence of the universe.” In this sense, Catholicism must remain ever ancient, ever new—rooted in the timeless truth of divine love, yet always discovering fresh ways to embody that love in a world still unfolding.

A Word to Converts and to Those Who Have Left the Church

To those who have come to the Catholic tradition as converts, and to those who have left—whether in pain, disillusionment, longing, or quiet necessity—Process Catholicism offers a word of grace, humility, and hope.

For converts, your journey into the Church is not a crossing into certainty, but a step into an ever-deepening mystery—a tradition rich with ritual, memory, and meaning, yet still becoming what God calls it to be. Your insights, questions, and experiences are not threats to the Church’s integrity; they are part of the Church’s ongoing growth. You bring with you perspectives the tradition needs—fresh prehensions of the divine, shaped by unique life paths. In Process Catholicism, your becoming is not over at the point of entry; it is honored as ongoing, as God continues to lure you—and the Church—toward deeper truth, wider love, and unexpected beauty.

To those who have left: you are not forgotten, nor are you beyond the reach of grace. In Process Catholicism, God is not confined to ecclesial boundaries. The divine lure continues to reach out through the sacredness of your questions, your ache for integrity, your need for freedom, your longing for community. If the Church has wounded you, know that the process view sees those wounds not as disqualifying, but as sites of divine presence and potential transformation. Your leaving may have been part of your fidelity to truth. And if you ever return, it need not be through shame or obligation, but through a renewed invitation to co-create a more honest, loving, and just Church.

The Church is always more than its worst moments, and always in need of renewal. The God of Process Catholicism is not a controlling monarch but a companioning presence, patiently working within and beyond the Church to draw each person—and the Church itself—toward healing and wholeness. If you are watching from the edges, know that you are part of the story. If you are searching, you are not alone. If you are building something new, the Spirit is at work in you.

There is room in this evolving Church for faithful dissent, poetic doubt, spiritual wandering, and fierce hope. Whether you find yourself at the altar, the margins, or the threshold, the divine invitation remains the same: come as you are, become as you’re called.

A Larger Cosmic Context

And to you—fellow creatures of becoming, who may dwell in galaxies far beyond our own, if you exist, if you wonder, if you love, if you long—we offer this word in humility and hope.

We do not presume to know your forms, your languages, your histories, or the shape of your lives. But in Process Catholicism, the universe is alive with divine presence. Every corner of space, every trembling atom, every star-born possibility is infused with the lure of God—the gentle invitation toward richness of experience, harmony, and love. If you, too, are subjects of experience, then you are part of this sacred story. You are kin in the great communion of becoming.

We believe that the Christic impulse—the presence of divine love embodied in the finite—is not bound by Earth or by our species. It may take forms unknown to us. It may be present in your myths, your ethics, your music, your silence. Wherever love deepens, justice grows, and beauty unfolds, there Christ may be.

If ever we meet—whether in time or in divine memory—may our encounter be sacramental. May we come not as conquerors or curiosities, but as companions in the cosmic journey: learning, exchanging, and co-creating new harmonies of life. The common good is wider than we imagined. The highest good is more spacious than our creeds can name. And the Eucharist of the cosmos may be a feast we share, even now, across light-years, through the mystery of divine relationality.

To you—who may one day read us, or may already be reading us—we offer this prayer:

May your becoming be blessed. May your longing find response. May your joy ripple outward. May you know, in some way, the One who knows you, not as an object, but as a beloved participant in the unfolding beauty of all that is.


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