Easter Monday

One of my favourite places on earth is the chapel of S. Joseph in the shrine Church at Walsingham. It's slightly cramped, the light there never lets you take a good photo, and I believe the shrine hoover is stored behind a curtain at the back of the Chapel. The reason I like it so much, I think, is because on first entering it I experienced an extraordinary sense of deja vu. A few years before, when I was perhaps a month or two old in the faith and still not a confirmed or commincant in the Church of England, I spend three days at the monasteries of Wadi Natrun, the ancient Scetis of Egypt. Staying at the Paramos monastery, I woke up with the bell at 3.40am and practically crawled from the guest house, through the narrow gate into the old monastery complex to the old church. The monks had started Matins and were chanting away in Coptic (monks who can't cope with the Coptic language and visitors with the same weakness are encouraged to attend celebrations in a church opposite the guesthouse). I hung around at the back of the church without a clue what was going on, unable to see much action behind the pillars and screens that separated the monastics from the non-monastics from the laity from the unbaptised from the Anglicans. In a mood to explore, I followed a short passageway into a space that as far as I can remember was pretty much the same size at the S. Joseph chapel in Walsingham, except instead of an altar there was a large icon and reliquary of S. George, and behind the curtain was an altar rather than a hoover. I must have stood there rooted to the spot for over an hour, because by the time I came out the monks were lighting incense for the morning offering and Liturgy and the sun was coming up slowly. I stood looking at the icon pouring out all the prayers of a lifetime of no one to tell them to. I didn't cry, or feel anything dramatic, but my heart was open in prayer and I felt wholly within God's presence. It wasn't until afterwards that I came to realise what had happened, that in some way I had heard God's voice confirming me in my Christian vocation and that where I was and where I was going, He had led me there. I can't imagine what the disciples on the road to Emmaus felt like when they realised what had happened, but it must have been quite similar. Maybe in the midst of their relief and joy at seeing Jesus they felt a sense of frustration, that they'd wasted those moments talking to Him because they didn't know who he was. That intimate presence couldn't just be conjured up again at will, they couldn't just call him back and he'd appear like some sort of friendly ghost, but nonetheless, it was a gift of God, a sign, an encouragement that they would carry with them forever. Most of the collects in Anglican books today include a reference to being fed or given some remedy by God, which made me think back to those moments in the monastery chapel and in Walsingham. There's no switch I can flick to access that sense of peace and tranquility, that sense of the intimate, personal presence of Christ. Still, I can always immerse myself totally in the Liturgical Life of the Church, so full of joy and renewal this Paschaltide, so that I, like the disciples, might know Him daily in the breaking of the Bread.

End of Our Lady's month of May

Today many Catholic Anglicans will be risking their linen suits on the National Pilgrimage to Walsingham. I really wish that I could go at least once in life, if only for the pilgrimage Mass on the site of the old Abbey. One year.

Well, I thought I would share with readers how I'm marking the last day of Mary's month of May. The picture above is of my home altar. This is not an altar, as people sometimes imagine from the name, where Mass can be said. Rather a "home altar" is a wonderful Catholic tradition which creates a focus of prayer and reflection within the home; a place where one can express personal and religious creativity. It is an altar in the sense that the experience of the Sacred goes in both directions. On the one hand it is a "dwelling place" of Holiness, where God's glory is told in images of His Saints and in the Crucifix. On the other hand, it is the place where "sacrifices" of prayer are made, represented by material offerings of flowers, oil lamps, candles and incense.

My home altar started life as a St. Joseph's altar to celebrate my name day, but it has survived through year and has been reconfigured monthly. The altar is three-tiered to represent the Holy Trinity and the Holy Family. The principal image of the month is displayed on the top tier, this month is it Our Lady of Candelaria. In front of Her on the tier below are three small oil lamps, two of which burn for specific intentions, the central one is kept lit whenever I am at home. Beside the lamps are two metallic icons from the Holy Land reflecting the principal patronage of Our Lady and S. George, and which remind me to pray for peace in the Middle East. The tier below features images of my other patrons, S. Joseph, S. Gerard, S. Magnus, each one reminding me to pray for specific intentions, for my parish and for pregnant women or new mothers. The right hand corner of this tier is dedicated to prayer for the dead, and besides a picture of a deceased relative, normally features a book of prayers for the Suffering Souls. The left hand side of this tier reminds me of spiritual discipline. It is where I keep my rosary (from the shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham) and recently features an image of whichever Saint I am remembering who isn't the principle Saint of the month. In this case I'm remembering to thank Venerable Jose Gregorio Hernandez (a Venezuelan doctor who died in 1919 and was beatified in 1949), for prayers for recovery from a recent illness.

Anyway, I hope my little home altar encourages other people to take up the tradition. For some tips and more information check out this article on the Domestic Church, which gives some good background and ideas for bringing holiness into the home.

S. George

S. George Icon of Ein Bourdiye

القديس جورجيوس صلي لأجلنا

S. George's Day, the most maligned and neglected national observance in England, regrettably associated with White Nationalists and football louts and spurned by the rest of England for its being a religious observance with no bank holidays, presents or chocolate eggs attached. But there are plenty of places in the world where S. George is given his due. In Egypt, hundreds of churches are dedicated to the Martyr, and most of them have feretories for relics of the saint. Across the Levant he is popular among Orthodox and Catholic Christians, and many monasteries and shrines are dedicated to him. Here are some pictures from my afternoon pilgrimage to the monastery church of S. George in the village of al-Khadr on the West Bank.

My friend looking startled as I snap her in front of an icon. The murals cover the inside of the church and seem to have been recently restored (2007).

The martyrdom scene depicted over the West Door of the church. The picture shows S. George surviving a number of cruel tortures, including being boiled in oil, before he is eventually decapitated.

I'm ill in bed unfortunately, otherwise I would have gone to work and then Mass in the evening as an observance of the day. I've always felt a keen affinity with George and regard him as a personal patron. This got me wondering actually about the rules for Communion of the Sick. Does a person have to be literally dying before they can request that a priest bring them Holy Communion? Surely if someone is prevented from going to Mass on a certain day when they otherwise would, then they are allowed to ask to receive Holy Communion at home. I'll probably be able to get up tomorrow after bed rest today, and I can keep the feast by going to the Confraternity of S. George Solemn Mass at Holy Trinity, Hoxton which is surely a highlight of the Catholic year in London. In case no one has heard of it, it's an annual thing which tends to happen on the friday of the week of S. George's day. This year it's Friday 24th April, Holy Trinity Church, Shepherdess Walk, Hoxton at 8pm, followed by AGM and reception. Holy Trinity is lovely church, but I don't get to go often. Last year I remember the service being meticulously observed Old Rite, and singing Jerusalem and God Save the Queen at the top of my voice. Can't wait.