Although I have not been an Anglican for a significant length of time (6 years, since you ask), I do consider myself to have been very much formed by what I learned there, and how I learned to do things, which continues to effect me, and I affect it at times, as I feel my Catholicism is a major part of who I am. The recent, wonderful, marvellous, stupendous events in places such as Allen Hall, Westminster Cathedral and the illustrious church of St. Aloysius in Oxford, and also the pesterings of people to write more frequently on this blog have been important factors in my deciding to put some thoughts down about how I feel about the Anglican Patrimony.
I must confess, I am slightly puzzled as to where “Anglican” Patrimony begins (I think Fr. “Patrimony” Hunwicke and I are in agreement on that, which is re-assuring); and is it Anglican Patrimony which I am most interested in, or rather Anglo-Catholic Patrimony? Where does one begin and the other end? Alright, what do I think of as Anglican Patrimony? Well...
The English Hymnal (I was reared on it)
The English Missal (the finest work of liturgy never approved by any Ecclesial Community)
the Book of Common Prayer (obviously not the Black Rubric though) and especially Prayer Book Evensong.
The Authorised Version
Cassocks with 39 buttons and 5 pleats
Taking Liturgy seriously.
Sir Ninian Comper.
The Great Fathers (Ancient and Modern- I'm thinking of People like Lancelot Andrewes, Thomas Ken, the Oxford Movement, the slum Fathers such as Fr. Stanton, Dom Gregory Dix, and the monks of Nashdom and many others)
The Parson's Handbook
Ritual Notes
Martin Travers
The Restored Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham.
Moving the hand back to the centre when making the Sign of the Cross (so it goes head, middle, left, right, centre)
The “Catholic” Societies of the Church of England.
National Pilgrimages.
These are just some disorganised jottings, but those things do largely sum up what I feel is/was best about Anglicanism. They do have an Anglo-Catholic flavour to them, but then my Anglicanism always had an Anglo-Catholic flavour to it. I think they are a list of things that I miss about the Church of England; I have not included hymns I miss- most of them are in the English Hymnal anyway. I also think that this list would be slightly different from former Anglican to former Anglican- something which I do not miss about the Church of England, which I think Anglo-Catholicism had a lot to do with: no two churches did things in quite the same way- Gf the poem “Oh it's just the usual thing”. Most of it is transportable to the Ordinariate as well- though I can't see the Parson's Handbook putting in a re-appearance somehow! It would be nice though, if the 39 buttoned, 5 pleated cassock became the cassock of the Ordinariate though, I think- some distinguishing mark. And of course, most right thinking people, both sides of the Tiber, would admit to feeling most at home in Fr. Hope Patten's Chapel of Ease dedicated to St. Mary the Virgin, just down from the Friday Market. I can't go in there without feeling utterly overcome with emotion, and I hope I always do: I do think there are very few places which are closer to heaven than that Shrine; especially when you learn something of the characters who were responsible for its establishment, and those who beautified it. But it's atmosphere is one of the most overpowering prayer. But I digress- The Shrine is worthy of at least one post of its own.
None of these things is especially Anglican, it must be said- with the exception of Prayer Book Evensong; but I wonder what percentage of normal parish churches still use it- and how many Anglican Clergy are able to say the Communion service competently.
So I wonder if, instead of the Patrimony being “things” it is more a mentality, and upbringing. Of not reducing everything to the lowest common denominator (something of which the Catholic Church, certainly in this country, seems distressingly guilty of)- of taking pride and time in what is done, and how it is done- preaching for example: the average standard of preaching used to be an awful lot higher in the Church of England than in Rome. I suspect this is changing though- but I always felt that Anglican clergy took it far more seriously than their serperated brethren. Also, and this is one of my great bugbears- liturgy. Doing it as well as possible- taking it seriously and doing it well. There was a very telling picture in the set of the Ordinations at Westminster Cathedral on Saturday- it showed the three ordinands sat next to each other, all bolt upright, looking straightforward, hands on knees, feet planted squarely on the ground- sat smartly, tidily and uniformly. If you look at secular clergy concelebrating it is difficult to find five out of 20 who are sat in the same way- unless its with arms folded and legs stretched out, looking relaxed and comfortable, and not akin to being sat in front of the telly. Alright, this is an exaggeration, but not much of one. But this seemliness in liturgy is something which is very, very Anglican. I wonder if this is part of the reason why there are such strong friendships between the Oratories and Anglicans.
Since writing the above paragraphs, I have listened to the press conference of the first Ordinary of the Ordinariate of Our Lady Walsingham (I said she was Patrimony: Fr. Hope Patten & Fr. Fynes-Clinton would be pleased, I'm sure): The Rev'd Fr. Keith Newton. He makes a very good point, which, I must confess, in my narrow-minded and blinkered way I had not considered: Anglican Patrimony is not just liturgical. What does this mean? I'm not sure: Fr. Newton speaks of the Church of England communicating to the unchurched masses, as that oh so important “presence” in the local community, and hopes that the Ordinariate will bring something of the Established Church's respectability with it. So do I- it's another little step towards the conversion of England. However, what is forgotten (or may be not realised) is that yes, the local parish church is a presence in the “community”, but it is a largely irrelevant and ignored one. I strongly suspect that the vast majority of people will not have any idea of the name of their local Vicar, or their Bishop (if indeed they have a local Vicar- they may be in a 6 parish benefice, which sees it's Vicar once in a blue moon, if there's an “R” in the month). Now it is true, these same people probably have not the foggiest who their local chaplain to the Papist Mission is either, but it is not the Established Church.
I must confess, that, when Fr. Newton mentioned non-liturgical patrimony, my thoughts ran to a poem, which oozes patrimony in abundance: the Anglo-Catholic Congresses and a certain verse in particular:
We, who remember, look back to the blossoming May-time
On ghosts of servers and thurifers after Mass,
The slapping of backs, the flapping of cassocks, the play-time,
A game of Grandmother’s Steps on the vicarage grass-
“Father, a little more sherry? - I’ll fill your glass”
You see; I'm too steeped in Anglo-Catholic Patrimony. I'd also like to finish with the last verse of the above poem:
Yet, under the ‘Travers baroque’, in a limewashed whiteness,
The fiddle-back vestments a-glitter with morning rays,
Our Lady’s image, in multiple-candled brightness,
The bells and banners – those were the waking days
When Faith was taught and fanned to a golden blaze.
I do hope so. I really do hope so.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
Tuesday, 25 January 2011
What is Truth?
By popular acclaim, I have decided to write another post. It has been quite a while.
I might go a bit Patristic on this...
I have been attempting to engage a self-proclaimed “atheist” in debate. This isn't an easy thing to do: without being snobbish (well trying not to), I find it very difficult to engage in debate with anyone who hasn't been taught how to, or indeed, has an Arts degree, where you tend to pick up the basics. It started, as many things do on Facebook: a friend of mine had linked to the Holy Father's recent words on social networking sites, and the care we should take when approaching them: not creating a persona for ourselves, engaging in them in a Christian manner, and so on; much of which he has said in one form or another over the last few years or so of his Pontificate. A friend of my friend then posted a somewhat derogatory comment on the Holy Father's most illustrious words, without any qualification, I think the words were “utterly ridiculous” or something of that nature. I took offence at this on one count, having always been taught “if you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything at all”*, however, it was not so much that she was criticising the Holy Father that irritated me (a great many people do, as well we know), but rather it was the absence of any qualification to the statement: three years of a degree, and a good many years spent in the company of Dominicans have taught me to back up my arguments with evidence, reason and logic: this she did not do.
I therefore felt within my rights to point out that the Holy Father was actually making a few very good points about decent use of the internet. One or two other people, one of whom I did not expect to chime in support for His Holiness, did so. From the comments of the Holy Father's most recent detractor it became apparent that it was not his comments she took issue with (I doubt she read them through to the end) but rather the person who made the comments. She accused him of being naïve and out of touch, and that his “opinions” were “outdated”. Each comment she made ignored any previous questions she made, which were answered. She then did the most wonderful thing. She said that it didn't really matter what he or anyone else said, she would not change her opinions. This was something akin to dynamite for myself (less charitable than whom there are not many) and I must confess to a sin against charity by pouncing on it and accusing her of being somewhat narrow-minded and bigoted in her refusal to listen to Truth. She then stated that we had no clue as to what the Truth was. And there it was, shining down the millennia: Pilate's question to Jesus: “what is Truth.”
It was something that had been occupying my thoughts for a while: seemingly that every successive generation of government has played Pilate (and I can't help feeling, especially in the last 100 years) and stood before the Church to ask her “What is Truth?” and then, as Pilate did, not hung around, but gone out to the crowd to ask their opinion instead, who would rather see the criminal released than the Christ.
Why?
Why is it that the secular world will seemingly never listen to the voice of the Church? I cannot help suspecting that it is the voice, rather than what is said. Par example. The Church has said for yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeears beyond telling that life begins at conception and that contraception doesn't work overly well in stopping spreading STDs. Now, many trendy lefty types (I use this term advisedly) have scoffed at these out of touch, stuck in the mud celibates. What could they possibly know about sexual morality and human life, and it's beginning and end? Well, as it has turned out, quite a lot, as I'm sure we all know. But this is sadly irrelevant, because morality has overtaken science: it doesn't really matter if life begins at conception and ends at death- quite often life wouldn't be very nice for them, so it's best if we bump them off now, to save us, I mean them, embarrassment and pain.
Talk about a voice crying in the wilderness... However, I do rather suspect that the Church will still be answering the question at the top of this page long after the current political and moral ideas have faded from memory. We always have before.
*And latterly: “if you haven't got anything nice to say about anybody, come and sit next to me”
I might go a bit Patristic on this...
I have been attempting to engage a self-proclaimed “atheist” in debate. This isn't an easy thing to do: without being snobbish (well trying not to), I find it very difficult to engage in debate with anyone who hasn't been taught how to, or indeed, has an Arts degree, where you tend to pick up the basics. It started, as many things do on Facebook: a friend of mine had linked to the Holy Father's recent words on social networking sites, and the care we should take when approaching them: not creating a persona for ourselves, engaging in them in a Christian manner, and so on; much of which he has said in one form or another over the last few years or so of his Pontificate. A friend of my friend then posted a somewhat derogatory comment on the Holy Father's most illustrious words, without any qualification, I think the words were “utterly ridiculous” or something of that nature. I took offence at this on one count, having always been taught “if you haven't got anything nice to say, don't say anything at all”*, however, it was not so much that she was criticising the Holy Father that irritated me (a great many people do, as well we know), but rather it was the absence of any qualification to the statement: three years of a degree, and a good many years spent in the company of Dominicans have taught me to back up my arguments with evidence, reason and logic: this she did not do.
I therefore felt within my rights to point out that the Holy Father was actually making a few very good points about decent use of the internet. One or two other people, one of whom I did not expect to chime in support for His Holiness, did so. From the comments of the Holy Father's most recent detractor it became apparent that it was not his comments she took issue with (I doubt she read them through to the end) but rather the person who made the comments. She accused him of being naïve and out of touch, and that his “opinions” were “outdated”. Each comment she made ignored any previous questions she made, which were answered. She then did the most wonderful thing. She said that it didn't really matter what he or anyone else said, she would not change her opinions. This was something akin to dynamite for myself (less charitable than whom there are not many) and I must confess to a sin against charity by pouncing on it and accusing her of being somewhat narrow-minded and bigoted in her refusal to listen to Truth. She then stated that we had no clue as to what the Truth was. And there it was, shining down the millennia: Pilate's question to Jesus: “what is Truth.”
It was something that had been occupying my thoughts for a while: seemingly that every successive generation of government has played Pilate (and I can't help feeling, especially in the last 100 years) and stood before the Church to ask her “What is Truth?” and then, as Pilate did, not hung around, but gone out to the crowd to ask their opinion instead, who would rather see the criminal released than the Christ.
Why?
Why is it that the secular world will seemingly never listen to the voice of the Church? I cannot help suspecting that it is the voice, rather than what is said. Par example. The Church has said for yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeears beyond telling that life begins at conception and that contraception doesn't work overly well in stopping spreading STDs. Now, many trendy lefty types (I use this term advisedly) have scoffed at these out of touch, stuck in the mud celibates. What could they possibly know about sexual morality and human life, and it's beginning and end? Well, as it has turned out, quite a lot, as I'm sure we all know. But this is sadly irrelevant, because morality has overtaken science: it doesn't really matter if life begins at conception and ends at death- quite often life wouldn't be very nice for them, so it's best if we bump them off now, to save us, I mean them, embarrassment and pain.
Talk about a voice crying in the wilderness... However, I do rather suspect that the Church will still be answering the question at the top of this page long after the current political and moral ideas have faded from memory. We always have before.
*And latterly: “if you haven't got anything nice to say about anybody, come and sit next to me”
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
Forgive my absence...
But I have had a rather busy month or so.
I had a rather nasty attack of pancreatitis, which saw me in hospital for the best part of a week, and which was painful to say the least. Thankfully I was dosed up to the eyeballs with painkillers (who says modern medicine is a bad thing?), and slept for the majority of the first two days. I also had an ultrasound exam, and an endoscopy: not the most enjoyable experience of my life, but it was somewhat fascinating to see what my insides looked like. It turns out I have neither stomach ulcers, nor gall stones; and since I haven't been near any scorpions this only leaves one reasonable option, which is alcohol intolerance, which is somewhat upsetting, as I do enjoy the occasional Gin: I have been told not to drink for at least the next six months, possibly never again. This is something of a shock, but is emerging as not a bad thing.
The other thing which has happened is that I have moved house, job and city, all in one go. I have returned to Leicester, where I spent many formative years, to take up the post of Sacristan and cleaner to my home parish. I had an e-mail from Fr. Prior, offering me the post, as their Sacristan has gone on to pastures new, for whom I was very pleased, as he has been a wonderful inspiration and example to me.
I was somewhat shocked to be offered the post: it is a very difficult job to do well, as I'm discovering; but the community have been very kind and welcoming, and understanding of my mistakes &c, as I settle in.
The days are quite long, and fairly hard work- both physical and mental work, as well as prayer: as well as three- four Masses a day (at least one in the Extraordinary Form) there is Office twice daily, and also there is an active devotional life in the parish, with exposition on Wednesdays, and perpetual novena on Saturdays. I am also taking some getting used to the change in timetable and having to get up and got to bed two or three hours earlier than I'm used to. However, once I'm up, and have sung the Office and served Mass and it's not even 9am, it does feel all very constructive, and very worthwhile as well.
This is also where the not drinking comes in handy, as it means I'm less inclined to slip out for a pint or what have you. I am working to the principle that God has created me for some definite service, and, since He knows what He is about, has decided to remove this particular pleasure from me, for one reason or other, which I may not like in the short term, but he knows what he is about. It also means I'm more likely to make it to Lauds.
I had a rather nasty attack of pancreatitis, which saw me in hospital for the best part of a week, and which was painful to say the least. Thankfully I was dosed up to the eyeballs with painkillers (who says modern medicine is a bad thing?), and slept for the majority of the first two days. I also had an ultrasound exam, and an endoscopy: not the most enjoyable experience of my life, but it was somewhat fascinating to see what my insides looked like. It turns out I have neither stomach ulcers, nor gall stones; and since I haven't been near any scorpions this only leaves one reasonable option, which is alcohol intolerance, which is somewhat upsetting, as I do enjoy the occasional Gin: I have been told not to drink for at least the next six months, possibly never again. This is something of a shock, but is emerging as not a bad thing.
The other thing which has happened is that I have moved house, job and city, all in one go. I have returned to Leicester, where I spent many formative years, to take up the post of Sacristan and cleaner to my home parish. I had an e-mail from Fr. Prior, offering me the post, as their Sacristan has gone on to pastures new, for whom I was very pleased, as he has been a wonderful inspiration and example to me.
I was somewhat shocked to be offered the post: it is a very difficult job to do well, as I'm discovering; but the community have been very kind and welcoming, and understanding of my mistakes &c, as I settle in.
The days are quite long, and fairly hard work- both physical and mental work, as well as prayer: as well as three- four Masses a day (at least one in the Extraordinary Form) there is Office twice daily, and also there is an active devotional life in the parish, with exposition on Wednesdays, and perpetual novena on Saturdays. I am also taking some getting used to the change in timetable and having to get up and got to bed two or three hours earlier than I'm used to. However, once I'm up, and have sung the Office and served Mass and it's not even 9am, it does feel all very constructive, and very worthwhile as well.
This is also where the not drinking comes in handy, as it means I'm less inclined to slip out for a pint or what have you. I am working to the principle that God has created me for some definite service, and, since He knows what He is about, has decided to remove this particular pleasure from me, for one reason or other, which I may not like in the short term, but he knows what he is about. It also means I'm more likely to make it to Lauds.
Monday, 23 August 2010
On the Worthlessness of Mary
Will great round to writing the next day of Downside up in the near future. In the meantime, here is a little something on our Lady- my first attempt at anything homiletic/ theological.
Our Lady has a great many, very beautiful titles: Mirror of Justice, Seat of Wisdom, Tower of Ivory, Ocean of Bitterness, House of God, Morning Star, Mother of Perpetual Help, and so on ad infinitum. For every conceivable aspect of human need, there is a title of Our Lady that we may name her, and beg her help and intercession and gain what we require, either for spiritual or material aid.
This is all well and good- I have an especial devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, who’s intercession I have sought a great many times, and never without success. She is also Patroness of my diocese (Middlesbrough) - but one title we never hear is “Mary most Worthless”. I was suddenly, through misreading “worthiness” struck by this; that Our Lady, the Mother of God, and Assumed and Glorious Queen of Heaven, conceived without sin, and first of all creation, is in fact, of herself of no worth.
Except for Grace.
Through the operation of Grace; that is through the loving kindness of our God; all generations call her blessed. It was Grace that rescued her from ever being in original sin, and from ever committing the slightest sin making her the fairest of all women. None of this is achieved by herself through her own merits. Without God deigning to bestow on her an infinite number of Graces, and making her the Theotokos, she would have been no better than she ought to be; just like the rest of us.
And yet she is just like the rest of us; she was created by God, in His image and likeness, as we all are; she is a God bearer- as we all are whenever we receive Jesus Christ in the Blessed Sacrament; she is a recipient of God’s mercy and loving kindness; and many, many other ways.
I am nervous of the term which seems to be so prevalent among the Orthodox Churches of “Deification”. I don’t know why, it is a very good term for what God desires to happen to us, that over time, as with John the Baptist, He increases, as I decrease, we draw closer, and closer to the Godhead, until we become God: until we are so lost in God, so hidden in the face of the Almighty (to quote Bernard of Clairvaux) that all our flaws have been lost, even our littlest sins and peccadilloes are smoothed away that we achieve (I don’t want to use the phrase, but work with me on this) perfection- we become one with the Godhead.
This is what, I think, has happened to Mary; she has become so intimate and so close to God; not just because she bore Him for nine months in the womb, not just because she was the one who taught Him his religion, because our Lord says in response to “Blessed is the woman who bore thee”, “Nay, Blessed rather is he who hears the word of God and keeps it”. Would our Lady be so worthy of praise if she had not been the perfect example she was? What if she’d gone off the rails and hit the Gin? Who knows? Does it really matter? Probably not. I suspect that was nor part of the Almighty’s plan, to which she was utterly submissive.
But the impression I get is that she is worthy of praise and adoration because she is the most perfect follower of Christ, more so than for her having borne our Lord in the womb. But she did, and she is and she was, if that makes sense. And through this, through her pondering all things in her Immaculate Heart, she drew ever closer to God and closer and closer and closer, until she had diminished to the point where she only displays the will and love of God- can one think of Mary except as the God bearer? Would we think of her at all if she had not been the God bearer, if she had instead become a proud and domineering housewife, feared and respected in Nazareth? I suspect not; her name would have died with the last person who remembered her. So through her humility, through her utter obedience to God, through her loosing herself totally in Him, she has become Mirror of Justice, Seat of Wisdom, Tower of Ivory, Ocean of Bitterness, House of God, Morning Star, Mother of Perpetual Help, &c., &c. And not Mary most worthless, Mary most unremembered.
This may all be abundantly clear to everyone, but it had never really occurred to me.
Our Lady has a great many, very beautiful titles: Mirror of Justice, Seat of Wisdom, Tower of Ivory, Ocean of Bitterness, House of God, Morning Star, Mother of Perpetual Help, and so on ad infinitum. For every conceivable aspect of human need, there is a title of Our Lady that we may name her, and beg her help and intercession and gain what we require, either for spiritual or material aid.
This is all well and good- I have an especial devotion to Our Lady of Perpetual Succour, who’s intercession I have sought a great many times, and never without success. She is also Patroness of my diocese (Middlesbrough) - but one title we never hear is “Mary most Worthless”. I was suddenly, through misreading “worthiness” struck by this; that Our Lady, the Mother of God, and Assumed and Glorious Queen of Heaven, conceived without sin, and first of all creation, is in fact, of herself of no worth.
Except for Grace.
Through the operation of Grace; that is through the loving kindness of our God; all generations call her blessed. It was Grace that rescued her from ever being in original sin, and from ever committing the slightest sin making her the fairest of all women. None of this is achieved by herself through her own merits. Without God deigning to bestow on her an infinite number of Graces, and making her the Theotokos, she would have been no better than she ought to be; just like the rest of us.
And yet she is just like the rest of us; she was created by God, in His image and likeness, as we all are; she is a God bearer- as we all are whenever we receive Jesus Christ in the Blessed Sacrament; she is a recipient of God’s mercy and loving kindness; and many, many other ways.
I am nervous of the term which seems to be so prevalent among the Orthodox Churches of “Deification”. I don’t know why, it is a very good term for what God desires to happen to us, that over time, as with John the Baptist, He increases, as I decrease, we draw closer, and closer to the Godhead, until we become God: until we are so lost in God, so hidden in the face of the Almighty (to quote Bernard of Clairvaux) that all our flaws have been lost, even our littlest sins and peccadilloes are smoothed away that we achieve (I don’t want to use the phrase, but work with me on this) perfection- we become one with the Godhead.
This is what, I think, has happened to Mary; she has become so intimate and so close to God; not just because she bore Him for nine months in the womb, not just because she was the one who taught Him his religion, because our Lord says in response to “Blessed is the woman who bore thee”, “Nay, Blessed rather is he who hears the word of God and keeps it”. Would our Lady be so worthy of praise if she had not been the perfect example she was? What if she’d gone off the rails and hit the Gin? Who knows? Does it really matter? Probably not. I suspect that was nor part of the Almighty’s plan, to which she was utterly submissive.
But the impression I get is that she is worthy of praise and adoration because she is the most perfect follower of Christ, more so than for her having borne our Lord in the womb. But she did, and she is and she was, if that makes sense. And through this, through her pondering all things in her Immaculate Heart, she drew ever closer to God and closer and closer and closer, until she had diminished to the point where she only displays the will and love of God- can one think of Mary except as the God bearer? Would we think of her at all if she had not been the God bearer, if she had instead become a proud and domineering housewife, feared and respected in Nazareth? I suspect not; her name would have died with the last person who remembered her. So through her humility, through her utter obedience to God, through her loosing herself totally in Him, she has become Mirror of Justice, Seat of Wisdom, Tower of Ivory, Ocean of Bitterness, House of God, Morning Star, Mother of Perpetual Help, &c., &c. And not Mary most worthless, Mary most unremembered.
This may all be abundantly clear to everyone, but it had never really occurred to me.
Saturday, 21 August 2010
Technology
I love a certain type of technology, that which is operated by clockwork- you can see everything that goes on in it, and a man can usually be found, in adiscreet shop somewhere, who will call you "sir" and fix it for you if it goes wrong.
So today I trolled off into town to have a jacket adjusted, and my pocket watch repaired, it having stopped functioning some time ago, and I quite fancying having it functioning again. So along I went- just as I reached the counter, I took the watch out of my pocket, and dropped it on the floor, with a suitable gasp of horror, expecting springs to ping out of it and what have you; but no! It was now functioning perfectly! So the man gave it a little polish for me, in its workings, and gave it back to me for no charge.
I'm coming to the conclusion my guardian angel has a sense of humour...
So today I trolled off into town to have a jacket adjusted, and my pocket watch repaired, it having stopped functioning some time ago, and I quite fancying having it functioning again. So along I went- just as I reached the counter, I took the watch out of my pocket, and dropped it on the floor, with a suitable gasp of horror, expecting springs to ping out of it and what have you; but no! It was now functioning perfectly! So the man gave it a little polish for me, in its workings, and gave it back to me for no charge.
I'm coming to the conclusion my guardian angel has a sense of humour...
Part 3: Downside Revisited
Day 3: Feria
By now I was getting nervous. We had a Bishop arriving, to sing Pontifical High Mass at the Faldstool. Well; maybe. A whisper had gone round the night before to say he hadn’t been on his plane; hope sprung eternal in my heart of hearts, that maybe we wouldn’t have to go through with all this after all. The Sacred Ministers and I had already had a rehearsal, which I was late for (disreputable clergy led me astray with Gin; which I grant is not a difficult thing: I was always a good Anglo-Catholic). Things had gone well-ish; thanks to the presence of Fr. Southwell, who was unique in having done this sort of thing before; though I must confess I was even more nervous after the rehearsal than when I started, with these sorts of things, one tends to feel more nervous when someone knows what you're supposed to be doing better than you do.
However, the day began much as before: masses of early Masses, then a substantial breakfast (there was bacon, joy of joys!) and first round of tuition, much of which was spent going through the pronunciation of the Mass responses: Latin with a Scottish accent is not something I’ve encountered before, I must say that people did pick things up fairly quickly. I finished early and went to steal servers from the advanced servers’ class to serve the Missa Cantata. This was very smooth and straightforward, but for the first time, I’ve been rumbled as an MC, because, for the first time, people could see my face during Mass, and the strange shade of puce I would turn as there were occasional slip ups; the reason being that the clergy were today in the Monastic choir, behind the Altar. However, there weren’t too many problems, and the celebrant was a friend of mine, Fr. John Cahill of Scunthorpe, who’s Mass I serve on a Sunday afternoon on a weekly basis, so we know each other well. All went smoothly.
After lunch, more tuition, and the next batch of private Masses. It was shortly after this I heard that His Excellency had arrived at the airport. We were back on for Pontifical High Mass at the Faldstool (hereinafter referred to as PHMaF, because I can’t be doing with typing the whole thing. Like the ceremony itself, it’s too much faff.) My heart sank; but I was glad to know his excellency wasn’t being held to ransom by a coalition of 70s liberals and fundamentalist Muslims (though the difference between the two is that at least one can negotiate with the terrorists), but would rather not have to go through with PHMaF (have you ever noticed how it's those who don't have to implement these things that have the bright idea? "Sergeant?" "Sir?" "Take that Command Post" "Yes Sir.")
I first saw Bishop Athanasius after dinner; when I was going to fetch something from the accommodation. He was coming down the stairs for his dinner with Fr. Southwell. I was duly introduced; quick genuflection (boy that was a refreshing change). He took me by surprise; he was wearing a black cassock, zucchetto and Pectoral Cross; he is not a tall man, and I think quite shy and retiring by nature. His English was very good, bearing in mind that he had flown in that day and was probably very tired. We exchanged a few words; he wanted to know if I was a seminarian; then we went our separate ways. I was then stood outside the accommodation about 10 minutes later, talking to some more disreputable clergy, when no lesser person than Leo Darroch (of Una Voce international) hailed me, and said “because you’ve got the youngest knees, we’ve decided you’ll serve the Bishop’s Mass” “Argh” said I; then I hurried off to learn how to serve a Bishop’s private Mass- very straightforward actually: just pass him the maniple at the indulgentium.
So, off I went to rehearse with the Fathers for the PHMaF for a bit (during which I remarked “I'm beginning to see why we had a Council; which elicited a Look from Fr. Southwell), then had to leave them to get ready the Altar where His Excellency would say Mass, which was the old high Altar, with the relics of St. Oliver Plunkett* situated next to them, in a very impressive reliquary- everything but his head is there.
All was readied, and I was vested and waiting nervously for His Excellency in the Sacristy and in he came at the allotted hour (which we had pre-arranged- typical German, he was on time to the second); I assisted his vesting- his patience was amazing, as I fussed round him, tidying him up, and adjusting the hang of his Alb, etc. as one is allowed to do for Bishops. He looked over the Missal, and I asked the magic question “do you need a card for the prayers at the foot of the Altar?” To which I received a firm “no”, which was encouraging.
So off we went to the Altar- the church was dimly lit, apart from our Altar, and we began- it was one of the most moving and beautiful Masses I have ever served- he was word perfect, and motion perfect, and the sanctity was palpable. He was slow and deliberate, but not the slowness of someone remembering what was coming next, rather then slowness of someone who knew what he was doing and knew it was worth doing well and taking time over. There is really nothing else I can say about this, he truly is a holy man, and the remainder of the time he was with us only confirmed this. And, what really impressed me was that he not only knew the Leonine prayers by heart, he knew them by heart in Latin. Now that is ‘igh!
Straight after assisting the Bishop to divest, I made my way to the chapel were we had been singing the office, for Compline. This is one of the highlights of the conferences for me, as it is, by tradition, my only singing part- I sing the lesson at the beginning of the Office: “Fratres, sobrii estote” et relinqua, which always makes me smile a little bit: the Gin flows freely. 5 minutes in the choir loft practising soon had me sorted (though I suspect I made all the same mistakes I usually make, no matter how much practice I have, though people are very kind and don’t mention it. A bit like my spiritual life, really). I love Compline anyway: it is so peaceful and simple- no cottas even, and reminds me of Wordsworth: “It is a beauteous evening, calm and free/ The holy time is quiet as a Nun/ breathless in adoration; the broad sun/ is sinking down in its tranquillity…” and the hush is wonderful as everyone slips out of church at the end, often pausing a few moments at the image of our Lady.
But the work wasn’t over yet, oh no. We still had a servers’ rehearsal for the PHMaF, which was a very fraught hour, during which I suddenly felt very tired, very ratty and very stressed, I must confess, and just wanted everything to be over. We made it as far as the Epistle in the space of an hour (!) and then called it a night, it being 10.30 by then, and some of us having Masses to serve in the morning. I was so tired I didn’t even stop downstairs for a Gin, but went straight to bed and knew no more until I realised I’d overslept the following morning.
If you’d like to see some photos of the Bishop’s Masses, they may be found here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/josephshaw/sets/72157624592919611/ courtesy of the good Dr. Shaw, who is on pilgrimage to Walsingham at present. On foot.
*A small aside. Whenever I hear the name of the last of the English Martyrs, I always think of a great priest of the Middlesbrough Diocese- also called Oliver Plunkett- better known as Ollie Plunkett. It was said that he was once doing a funeral in January, for a lapsed Catholic. The widow was stood next to him, shivering and remarked “ooo Father! It is cold”, to which dear Father replied “It won’t be cold where he’s going.” Gesturing to the coffin. This apparently true. So much for pastoral care. Now read on.
By now I was getting nervous. We had a Bishop arriving, to sing Pontifical High Mass at the Faldstool. Well; maybe. A whisper had gone round the night before to say he hadn’t been on his plane; hope sprung eternal in my heart of hearts, that maybe we wouldn’t have to go through with all this after all. The Sacred Ministers and I had already had a rehearsal, which I was late for (disreputable clergy led me astray with Gin; which I grant is not a difficult thing: I was always a good Anglo-Catholic). Things had gone well-ish; thanks to the presence of Fr. Southwell, who was unique in having done this sort of thing before; though I must confess I was even more nervous after the rehearsal than when I started, with these sorts of things, one tends to feel more nervous when someone knows what you're supposed to be doing better than you do.
However, the day began much as before: masses of early Masses, then a substantial breakfast (there was bacon, joy of joys!) and first round of tuition, much of which was spent going through the pronunciation of the Mass responses: Latin with a Scottish accent is not something I’ve encountered before, I must say that people did pick things up fairly quickly. I finished early and went to steal servers from the advanced servers’ class to serve the Missa Cantata. This was very smooth and straightforward, but for the first time, I’ve been rumbled as an MC, because, for the first time, people could see my face during Mass, and the strange shade of puce I would turn as there were occasional slip ups; the reason being that the clergy were today in the Monastic choir, behind the Altar. However, there weren’t too many problems, and the celebrant was a friend of mine, Fr. John Cahill of Scunthorpe, who’s Mass I serve on a Sunday afternoon on a weekly basis, so we know each other well. All went smoothly.
After lunch, more tuition, and the next batch of private Masses. It was shortly after this I heard that His Excellency had arrived at the airport. We were back on for Pontifical High Mass at the Faldstool (hereinafter referred to as PHMaF, because I can’t be doing with typing the whole thing. Like the ceremony itself, it’s too much faff.) My heart sank; but I was glad to know his excellency wasn’t being held to ransom by a coalition of 70s liberals and fundamentalist Muslims (though the difference between the two is that at least one can negotiate with the terrorists), but would rather not have to go through with PHMaF (have you ever noticed how it's those who don't have to implement these things that have the bright idea? "Sergeant?" "Sir?" "Take that Command Post" "Yes Sir.")
I first saw Bishop Athanasius after dinner; when I was going to fetch something from the accommodation. He was coming down the stairs for his dinner with Fr. Southwell. I was duly introduced; quick genuflection (boy that was a refreshing change). He took me by surprise; he was wearing a black cassock, zucchetto and Pectoral Cross; he is not a tall man, and I think quite shy and retiring by nature. His English was very good, bearing in mind that he had flown in that day and was probably very tired. We exchanged a few words; he wanted to know if I was a seminarian; then we went our separate ways. I was then stood outside the accommodation about 10 minutes later, talking to some more disreputable clergy, when no lesser person than Leo Darroch (of Una Voce international) hailed me, and said “because you’ve got the youngest knees, we’ve decided you’ll serve the Bishop’s Mass” “Argh” said I; then I hurried off to learn how to serve a Bishop’s private Mass- very straightforward actually: just pass him the maniple at the indulgentium.
So, off I went to rehearse with the Fathers for the PHMaF for a bit (during which I remarked “I'm beginning to see why we had a Council; which elicited a Look from Fr. Southwell), then had to leave them to get ready the Altar where His Excellency would say Mass, which was the old high Altar, with the relics of St. Oliver Plunkett* situated next to them, in a very impressive reliquary- everything but his head is there.
All was readied, and I was vested and waiting nervously for His Excellency in the Sacristy and in he came at the allotted hour (which we had pre-arranged- typical German, he was on time to the second); I assisted his vesting- his patience was amazing, as I fussed round him, tidying him up, and adjusting the hang of his Alb, etc. as one is allowed to do for Bishops. He looked over the Missal, and I asked the magic question “do you need a card for the prayers at the foot of the Altar?” To which I received a firm “no”, which was encouraging.
So off we went to the Altar- the church was dimly lit, apart from our Altar, and we began- it was one of the most moving and beautiful Masses I have ever served- he was word perfect, and motion perfect, and the sanctity was palpable. He was slow and deliberate, but not the slowness of someone remembering what was coming next, rather then slowness of someone who knew what he was doing and knew it was worth doing well and taking time over. There is really nothing else I can say about this, he truly is a holy man, and the remainder of the time he was with us only confirmed this. And, what really impressed me was that he not only knew the Leonine prayers by heart, he knew them by heart in Latin. Now that is ‘igh!
Straight after assisting the Bishop to divest, I made my way to the chapel were we had been singing the office, for Compline. This is one of the highlights of the conferences for me, as it is, by tradition, my only singing part- I sing the lesson at the beginning of the Office: “Fratres, sobrii estote” et relinqua, which always makes me smile a little bit: the Gin flows freely. 5 minutes in the choir loft practising soon had me sorted (though I suspect I made all the same mistakes I usually make, no matter how much practice I have, though people are very kind and don’t mention it. A bit like my spiritual life, really). I love Compline anyway: it is so peaceful and simple- no cottas even, and reminds me of Wordsworth: “It is a beauteous evening, calm and free/ The holy time is quiet as a Nun/ breathless in adoration; the broad sun/ is sinking down in its tranquillity…” and the hush is wonderful as everyone slips out of church at the end, often pausing a few moments at the image of our Lady.
But the work wasn’t over yet, oh no. We still had a servers’ rehearsal for the PHMaF, which was a very fraught hour, during which I suddenly felt very tired, very ratty and very stressed, I must confess, and just wanted everything to be over. We made it as far as the Epistle in the space of an hour (!) and then called it a night, it being 10.30 by then, and some of us having Masses to serve in the morning. I was so tired I didn’t even stop downstairs for a Gin, but went straight to bed and knew no more until I realised I’d overslept the following morning.
If you’d like to see some photos of the Bishop’s Masses, they may be found here: http://www.flickr.com/photos/josephshaw/sets/72157624592919611/ courtesy of the good Dr. Shaw, who is on pilgrimage to Walsingham at present. On foot.
*A small aside. Whenever I hear the name of the last of the English Martyrs, I always think of a great priest of the Middlesbrough Diocese- also called Oliver Plunkett- better known as Ollie Plunkett. It was said that he was once doing a funeral in January, for a lapsed Catholic. The widow was stood next to him, shivering and remarked “ooo Father! It is cold”, to which dear Father replied “It won’t be cold where he’s going.” Gesturing to the coffin. This apparently true. So much for pastoral care. Now read on.
Thursday, 19 August 2010
Downside Day 2: St Lawrence, Deacon and Martyr
The morning dawned bright and early. Well, early, and it wasn’t quite dawn when I awoke at 4.50, after far to little sleep. I can never get to sleep on the first night I stay anywhere, and especially with the se conferences, as so much is churning through my mind: Where are the clergy in choir going to sit, how are we going to do such and such, who’s going to serve, etc, etc. Eventually at about 1.30am I got so fed up of tossing and turning that I got up and went downstairs to check on some bits, and who should I find outside the front door to our accommodation, in pyjamas and a cassock, but the illustrious Fr. Ray Blake of the gloriously outspoken blog St. Mary Magdalene, Brighton, so we stood and chatted for a while, on the funeral rites of a Cardinal, then I got what I needed, then headed up to bed and lay and read until about 2.30, when I finally dropped off to sleep, only to jerk awake five minutes before my alarm went off; it was still very grey outside, and freezing cold (I’d left my windows pen) so I hotfooted it to the bathrooms, hoping for a nice warming shower (I only have a bath at home, so showers are a real treat), only to find the showerheads had been removed, so one was hit in the stomach by a water cannon, with hot water for the length of a de profundis then it turned freezing cold, at which point, as they say, I made my excuses and left. Downside girls (for it was the girls’ house in which we were staying) are obviously made of sterner stuff than I am!
After performing my necessary ablutions in tepid water, I headed down, nice and early to the church, planning on getting before the start of Matins to potter round and sort things out. This was not an unmitigated success. It was raining, and I had many books to carry. I reached the church door to find it looked, so went round to the other door, to find that locked too. Oh the annoyance. So I took shelter in a handy awning for a while, then tried again at the other door. Success! But Matins had started, so I had to potter quietly. Thankfully, Dom Boniface had already done most of the work, so there was in fact very little to do, except see that I knew what was where, and able to answer questions of bleary eyed fathers coming to say their early Masses. I settled down in a corner and tried to say my own Office- halfway through the first psalm, I noticed a figure flitting around- the first ones were beginning to arrive. Blast! Close breviary, slink into sacristy, assist with vesting, and remind clergy to wait until the Office is finished before starting, I then went round and lit candles on Altars and headed back to find a priest to serve. By pure chance it was, once again, Fr. Blake, so off we went to an Altar and offered the holy Sacrifice. I am always very fond of private Masses, especially when many are said at once; it is very peaceful, and very Sacred. . Mascall makes the observation, in his book “Corpus Christi”: which emphasises the unity of the Mass? 20 priests around one Altar, or 20 priests at 20 different Altars all saying the same thing? He also points out that a Protestant could never understand this: why are all those clergyman conducting services with only one person present? However, the privateness, almost secretiveness of private Masses points to something outside ourselves, as the Holy Father points out in the Spirit of the Liturgy: it breaks the circle of our existence, and points to something that is “other” than us.
Anyway, first mass down, one to go; this time a friend of mine, who I know through the conferences- back to the same Altar to do it all over again. We then went off in search of breakfast, which took some doing- I always find the first morning is very fraught, what with sorting Altars and priests, and everything is new, and we always seem to take the catering staff by surprise.
After breakfast, the next thing looming on the horizon was the solemn Mass at 11. I must admit, if I could change one thing, it would be to start with a Missa Cantata- everyone is far more familiar with the ceremonies, and it needs much less rehearsal, and doesn’t cause my blood pressure to go through the roof, but ah well. As it was, it all went smoothly, all things considered, and rehearsal was fairly leisured, so I could practice things like the Gospel procession. Fr. Bede Rowe, LMS chaplain to the West (AKA the Patriarch of the West) celebrated, with the inimitable Fr. De Malleray, FSSP, who has been a great support to me in learning things like Mcing high Mass, and who is a very understanding clergyman in such things, was Deacon, and my friend Fr. Francis of Bury was subdeacon. We rehearsed thoroughly, but all were familiar with the ceremonies. This was the opportunity to see priests I’d not seen for many years- one who new me as a school boy in Leicester, one who could remember me as a babe in arms, as well as many other friends made on the conferences.
Luncheon was a little more organised. Well, a lot more actually. By which time other people had arrived, and food was prevalent. Meal times were lots of fun, and there were several clergy who it was always good to sit near, for the banter and comedy. It was all very unmonastic.
We then proceeded to be formally welcomed and have tuition groups sorted. As well as Mcing the week, I was also looking after a group with Fr. Francis, which was the beginners group- most of whom had never served the EF before, and one or two of whom had only been a couple of times., I’m rather proud of the fact that by the time we were done with them, all of them were capable of getting through Low Mass, possibly with prompting. All of them took a part in serving the solemn liturgies as well.
A final round of private Masses (my serving my fourth Mass of the day), then Vespers and dinner. I do enjoy being able to sing the Office in choir, but I do look somewhat out of place among the biretta’s clergy. One of the choir said I should have a biretta for the office, possibly with one blade, and no pom-pom, just to fit in.; which I was rather taken with.
Recreation following dinner was much fun, with much Gin to go with it, and then a not so early night, only to be ready to be back up at 5 for the next day.
Which I shall tell you more about another time; right now it is time for bed. Noctem quietam…
After performing my necessary ablutions in tepid water, I headed down, nice and early to the church, planning on getting before the start of Matins to potter round and sort things out. This was not an unmitigated success. It was raining, and I had many books to carry. I reached the church door to find it looked, so went round to the other door, to find that locked too. Oh the annoyance. So I took shelter in a handy awning for a while, then tried again at the other door. Success! But Matins had started, so I had to potter quietly. Thankfully, Dom Boniface had already done most of the work, so there was in fact very little to do, except see that I knew what was where, and able to answer questions of bleary eyed fathers coming to say their early Masses. I settled down in a corner and tried to say my own Office- halfway through the first psalm, I noticed a figure flitting around- the first ones were beginning to arrive. Blast! Close breviary, slink into sacristy, assist with vesting, and remind clergy to wait until the Office is finished before starting, I then went round and lit candles on Altars and headed back to find a priest to serve. By pure chance it was, once again, Fr. Blake, so off we went to an Altar and offered the holy Sacrifice. I am always very fond of private Masses, especially when many are said at once; it is very peaceful, and very Sacred. . Mascall makes the observation, in his book “Corpus Christi”: which emphasises the unity of the Mass? 20 priests around one Altar, or 20 priests at 20 different Altars all saying the same thing? He also points out that a Protestant could never understand this: why are all those clergyman conducting services with only one person present? However, the privateness, almost secretiveness of private Masses points to something outside ourselves, as the Holy Father points out in the Spirit of the Liturgy: it breaks the circle of our existence, and points to something that is “other” than us.
Anyway, first mass down, one to go; this time a friend of mine, who I know through the conferences- back to the same Altar to do it all over again. We then went off in search of breakfast, which took some doing- I always find the first morning is very fraught, what with sorting Altars and priests, and everything is new, and we always seem to take the catering staff by surprise.
After breakfast, the next thing looming on the horizon was the solemn Mass at 11. I must admit, if I could change one thing, it would be to start with a Missa Cantata- everyone is far more familiar with the ceremonies, and it needs much less rehearsal, and doesn’t cause my blood pressure to go through the roof, but ah well. As it was, it all went smoothly, all things considered, and rehearsal was fairly leisured, so I could practice things like the Gospel procession. Fr. Bede Rowe, LMS chaplain to the West (AKA the Patriarch of the West) celebrated, with the inimitable Fr. De Malleray, FSSP, who has been a great support to me in learning things like Mcing high Mass, and who is a very understanding clergyman in such things, was Deacon, and my friend Fr. Francis of Bury was subdeacon. We rehearsed thoroughly, but all were familiar with the ceremonies. This was the opportunity to see priests I’d not seen for many years- one who new me as a school boy in Leicester, one who could remember me as a babe in arms, as well as many other friends made on the conferences.
Luncheon was a little more organised. Well, a lot more actually. By which time other people had arrived, and food was prevalent. Meal times were lots of fun, and there were several clergy who it was always good to sit near, for the banter and comedy. It was all very unmonastic.
We then proceeded to be formally welcomed and have tuition groups sorted. As well as Mcing the week, I was also looking after a group with Fr. Francis, which was the beginners group- most of whom had never served the EF before, and one or two of whom had only been a couple of times., I’m rather proud of the fact that by the time we were done with them, all of them were capable of getting through Low Mass, possibly with prompting. All of them took a part in serving the solemn liturgies as well.
A final round of private Masses (my serving my fourth Mass of the day), then Vespers and dinner. I do enjoy being able to sing the Office in choir, but I do look somewhat out of place among the biretta’s clergy. One of the choir said I should have a biretta for the office, possibly with one blade, and no pom-pom, just to fit in.; which I was rather taken with.
Recreation following dinner was much fun, with much Gin to go with it, and then a not so early night, only to be ready to be back up at 5 for the next day.
Which I shall tell you more about another time; right now it is time for bed. Noctem quietam…
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