East VI, terrible excuses

Slightly pointless post really, but I did want to let anyone who checks the blog regularly know that I am just being lazy at the moment. I had some good ideas in the pipeline for some nice long posts, but the research was exhausting. Apart from working full-time I've got volunteer work on Saturdays and obviously on Sundays I'm normally in Church for most of the day. Hopefully I'll find the time before too long because it'd be a shame to see Ex Fide ex-blog. :-(

What a day. We had a lovely Solemn Mass today. Fr. Harker, who often comes to celebrate Mass on a Sunday, being retired, called in sick and our M.C. was away, so we we only had enough bodies for a Missa Cantata. A very dignified celebration too. I recently decided, without warning, and when Fr. Philip was away, to re-introduce liturgical osculations to the Mass. Those are the kisses that one gives to the right hand of the Celebrant of the Mass whenever passing things to Him. First you kiss the object (incense spoon, biretta etc) then his hand. When receiving something from the priest you kiss first his hand then the object being passed. They are normally ommitted during Masses of the dead. In previous discussions with the servers, we reached a consensus that although we've had good experience of serving the Old Rite, we're probably too squeamish to actually kiss our priest's hand. So two weeks ago, when Fr. Harker was saying Mass I just decided I was going to do them. Today, our regular thurifer, having last been with us under the old regime of no kisses, returned to S. Magnus and quite enthusiastically took up the osculations with no fuss. So I suppose they're here to stay. I'll definately have to beef up before I serve an Old Rite Low Mass on the Ascension just to make sure i'm not over or under-kissing.

Another piece of news is that the Papal Blessing I ordered has been framed and put up in the Sacristy. Luckily, its arrival roughly coincides with Fr. Philip's anniversary of priesting, so it can at least seem like the two things are related, a bit like a telegram from the Queen. I left it out in the crypt today and it attracted plenty of interest. It really is a handsome thing and it's nice to have a formal portrait of the Holy Father in the Sacristy. Our Sacristy is screened off from the Narthex, but peopele coming into the church can still see into the Sacristy through the grill, and they are now met with a lovely shelf-full of birettas, a large crucifix, framed vesting prayers and a certificate of apostolic blessing. It really looks like a real Sacristy, a place of silence, prayer and preparation before Mass. I'd like to think that Fr. Fynnes-Clinton, picture above, would approve of us.

Joanna d'Arc

I'm really enjoying watching Joanna Lumley on the news these days. Her campaign work on behalf of Gurkhas whose appliations for settlement in the UK have been rejected for the government seems tireless. In her numerous television appearences and interviews, she comes across as tenacious, focused, compassionate and incredibly posh. Her turn of phrase, when talking about her campaign, always offers a sense of urgency, touched by a flair for the dramatic, such as when she described the PM, seemingly without irony, as the "leader of our nation".

The sight of Joanna Lumley crouching next to elderly Gurkhas in wheelchairs and saluting them with palms pressed together while tabloid photographers snap away, coupled with her announcing such things as "We have to believe in this. This is all we've got to believe in. We wish this campaign was over now" might sometimes look like one of her performances, but that's just Joanna Lumley. In truth, she's done an awful lot to raise the profile of an injustice, an inconsistency in the system, that disadvantages relatively few people and would normally never receive so much attention. It is totally unfair that Gurkhas shouldn't have the same settlement rights as Commonwealth soldiers, and what part of the public has objected to the idea of settling a handful of ethnic Nepalese in Britian? But who else would be fighting their cause right now? One of the best things about the campaign is that it has caused Joe Public to actually think about our immigration laws, and to question the fairness of criteria for settlement in the UK. By providence, Joanna Lumley has managed to wade into meetings with the PM and the Immigration Minister at a moment when the government is severely diminished in the eyes of the Public. When she was interviewed with minister Phil Woolas about the outcome of their meeting, the narrow look of mistrust and frustration in her eyes really reflected a mood that is felt nationally.

I love watching Joanna Lumley's activism on TV and I hope and pray for a good outcome for the Gurkhas. As for New Labour, I'd like to see MPs doing unpaid community work, wearing orange hi-viz vests inscribed with "I was rude to Gurkhas".

Bishop Myles Coverdale - an Anglican Beatus?

As anyone who has visited the church of S. Magnus-the-Martyr will know, the South-East corner of the church is home to the Shrine of the Pietà , the Altar of Christ the King, a Flemish Baroque aumbry and the final resting place of Myles Coverdale, the Great Reformer, Protestant hero, one time Bishop of Exeter and translator of the first complete Bible into the English tongue.

Over the years since the removal of Coverdale’s remains from the now-demolished S. Bartholomew’s to S. Magnus in 1840, the incongruity of his interment in one of the most ultramontane parish churches in London has been the subject of numerous anecdotes. One story is as follows: After singing a High Mass one Sunday morning, the venerable former rector of S. Magnus, Fr. Fynes-Clinton was met in the narthex by a group of Protestants who had come to see the monument to the Great Reformer who translated the first complete English Bible. “How interesting!” remarked Fr. Fynes-Clinton “We’ve just said Mass in the language out of which Coverdale translated the Bible”. Our Parish guide also notes that “a mitre, the bishop's ceremonial head-gear, is shown on one monument. Coverdale had scruples about the wearing of vestments and when Parliament enforced stricter observance of the liturgy he was compelled to resign from the living of St. Magnus”.

So, I was delighted to be told about a short pamphlet published shortly after the translation of his remains to S. Magnus entitled A Correct Account of the Exhumation of the Remains of Myles Coverdale from the Chancel of the Church of St. Bartholomew… which was unearth from the British Library collections by a member of our PCC whilst researching City churches. The author, N. Whittock, describes in detail the process of exhuming the bodies buried beneath the chancel of St. Bartholomew’s in anticipation of its demolition.

The whole process is invested with great importance by the author, and the body of the “great Father of the Reformation” is treated almost as a saintly relic. He wrotes “as the body of Myles Coverdale, Bishop of Exeter, was buried here in 1568, several gentlemen has expressed a desire to be present when the ground was opened, to ascertain if any remains of this great Father of the Reformation could be found.” The gentlemen were not disappointed. After finding the more recently-buried body of a Mrs. Nusum almost entirely decomposed, and carting away “as many as six baskets” of bones from around the Rector’s Vault, the gentlemen were inclined to abandon hope “of finding any remains of Coverdale, but all seemed anxious to discover them if possible; the labourers themselves were evidently interested in the search”.

The mood of devotion surrounding the operation of exhuming Coverdale strikes me as an expression of an almost Catholic piety. Surely the reformed Christian is liberated from the cult of the saints and their relics. But then why write the book? The workmen eventually find the remains.

“An instrument called a searcher, used for boring the earth, was now employed, and in the centre of the chancel the workmen found the searcher strike against a hard substance about two feet from the ground he stood upon. As this was the precise spot where, from tradition and circumstances, we were led to expect the body we were in search of deposited, the excavation proceeded with increased care: and lest the coffin should be injured by the spade striking against it, a great deal of the earth was removed by hand. After digging to the depth indicated by the searcher, the spade struck against the thigh bone of a skeleton, and so sharp was the sound that we all considered that it had struck a stone coffin; on the removal of the earth by hand, the only perfect skeleton we had discovered was seen, the form of the coffin could also be traced, it appeared like a dark red line surrounding the bones, the lid of the coffin and the earth having fallen in upon the body, it was necessary to clear away the earth before the whole of the skeleton could be seen ; the scull alone was decomposed, which was accounted for by it having fallen upon two large lime stones, when the bottom of the coffin could no longer contain it.”

Are we to believe what we read? The sharp sound of a spade on thigh bone…the only perfect skeleton in tomb of decomposed bodies? Are we to understand that the remains of Bishop Myles Coverdale were found in a, dare I say it….state of incorruptibility? Should we assume that, for all his work for the Reformation of the Church, it turns out that the Bishop Coverdale only had one Protestant bone in his body – his skull?

The account continues over the four days of the exhumation, and the remains of Coverdale are left in the vestry of St. Bartholomew’s where “a great number of persons came to see the skeleton”. The account closes, making references to the “venerated remains” and offering thanks to those involved with typical Victorian approbation: “No oaths or unseemly observations were used by the workmen or labourers; each performed the task allotted to him with a decorum highly gratifying to all that witnessed their exertions.”

Seen as (Blessed) Myles Coverdale is “venerated” by Protestant visitors throughout the year, and since we now have this evidence of a possible case of “miraculous” incorruptibility, I wonder if it isn’t time to renovate his tomb at S. Magnus as a shrine. I have in mind droves of pilgrims filing past his remains such as happens with Padre Pio or the Cure d’Ars, and short of exhuming him, kitting him out in a Geneva gown and laying a Coverdale Bible on his chest, we can at least hope that his tomb becomes a site of pilgrimage for Protestant Anglicans, whereat they might come to appreciate the grace of God made manifest by the witness his many, different saintly servants.

S. Joseph the Worker

I've just come back from the lunchtime Mass that it is my custom to attend on Fridays. If I can, I also make my confession beforehand, as this is a nice quiet time before the busy onslaught of the weekend. As everybody knows, today being the 1st May, we Catholics are also keeping the memorial of S. Joseph the Worker. It seems only a few weeks ago that I made my way up to S. Silas-the-Martyr in Kentish Town to keep my patron’s primary feast on March 19th. Just as well my name isn’t Mary!

I know that some people think the 1st May observance is a terrible concession to modernity, a vaguely socialistic hallowing of an occasion that belongs primary to trade unionists, communists and other assorted rebellious types who won’t conform to good old social hierarchy. It is, of course, a modern observance, being instituted by Pope Pius XII in 1955. But on reflection, it seems that Pope Pius acted on a very sound church principle in instituting this feast.

Before 1955, the Church kept a feast of S. Joseph’s patronage of the church on the third Wednesday after Easter, and this feast had an octave of its own. Pius abrogated this observance and replace it with the March 1st observance, originally a double of the first class before being made an optional commemoration in 1969. In doing so, Pius was both blessing and transforming the secular Mayday celebration. As the readings of today’s Mass tell us, our work is in a sense God’s work, inasmuch as we work for His glory. The Old Testament lesson is taken from the Genesis creation story, reminding us that through our work we are granted a share in God’s creation. What we do, the work of our hands, grounds us in that great motion that is God’s sustaining act of creation.

There are times when our work bores us, when we feel constrained by our employment. There are times when we think our work is more important than everything else in life, and there are times when we seek to become God through our work. And yet we are reminded by the story of creation in Genesis that there is dignity in work. We are most in God’s image when we do work, as He does; it is a grace and a blessing to work.

And what is the seal of that dignity, but the Sabbath? At the end of the lesson, we hear that God rested, and commanded us to rest also. We Christians are not slaves, but freemen. Idol worship, by contrast, is a form of slavery. Idols, whether they be clay effigies or more abstract in nature, enslave us to them, commanding us to work constantly and without rest if we ever want to achieve our goals. Worship of the true God means working as He did, and resting with Him on the seventh day, a day he gave to us freely in which to rejoice, relax, recharge.

In the earliest days of Christianity in England, when much of the country was still pagan, a Roodmas, or a Mass of the Holy Cross, would be celebrated on May 1st, to keep people from observing the pagan feast of this day, which eventually became Walpurgis Night. The primary feast of the Holy Cross at this time is now the May 3rd celebration of the Invention of the Holy Cross, but the idea of bringing the Sacred into the everyday remains. Pius XII recognised the importance of work in Christian life, and reminded us of this in the Feast of Joseph the Worker. May you all keep a blessed remembrance.

Canterbury Tales

It seems every business in Canterbury is cashing in on the history of Ye Olde medieval city, pilgrimage hot spot, stomping-ground of the Primate of All England and home to the Mother Church of the Anglican Communion. Anyone who's actually read Chaucer's verse will remember that the pilgrims only get as far as a mile away from the city, but we all know that back in the day, Canterbury was one of the most important pilgrimage sites in Western Europe, if not the world. So when my atheist, femenist Canadian friend offered to take me to Canterbury on a weekend trip for my birthday, I was elated. Who better to go with, I thought, than a comely wench from the New World who could regale me with stories of the profane on our search for the sacred.

Having read in old Pilgrim Manuals of England about the destruction of Canterbury's shrines and Churches , I was keen to see for myself how much of this heritage still existed, and whether Canterbury was still a city that enjoyed vibrant witness to the Catholic faith, the true religion of England. The city has been associated with numerous saintly figures, foremost among them S. Thomas of Canterbury, who was martyred in the Cathedral and whose shrine was the main pull before the reformation. But there is also S. Mellitus, first bishop of London and of course S. Augustine of Canterbury. What remains of their city? Can we, the Church of England, still walk with them?

This is the view from our hotel room. We stayed at the lovely Cathedral Gate Hotel with views of the old city and the cathedral next to it. The good weather meant pubs had tables spilling out onto the street, and the city centre was busy well into the night.

The first thing that caught our attention was this statue of Queen Bertha, the Christian wife of the pagan King Aethelbehrt. This statue tells of the moment when her husband rushed to find her coming from church, to tell her the news of S. Augustine's landing. Although the statue makes her look a but minging, her prayerbook is well executed, and it was a delight to find such a vivid depiction of this seminal event in the history of Christian England. The statue is outside the gate of St. Augustine's college, which is built on the site of the famous Abbey.

After its dissolution, much of the abbey structure was broken up and the stones recycled. Canterbury Gaol is built partly from stones from the site.

The site of the former abbey is now run by English Heritage, and after paying an entrance fee, a free audio-tour is available which gives some idea of what life was like in this great complex of buildings. I couldn't help feeling both impressed and also saddened by what had been lost. Whatever abuses the medieval Church might have been accused of, I do not believe that this holy place of prayer was so awful as to deserve destruction. There is plenty of evidence that this monastery had a vital role to play in the local community of Canterbury. Ordinary lay folk prayed here, received the Sacraments here, sought advice here and when they died they were buried in the lay cemetery. On the many altars of the abbey, the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was offered to the Glory of God, and this no doubt sustained countless individuals throughout the ages.

This was once considered one of the holiest places in England, visited by pilgrims from all over Europe and lovingly covered in gold and gems. Now the site of S. Augustine's tomb is marked by a small slab of stone, barely visible among the grass that grows around it. I knelt here and said a decade of the Rosary, and tried hard to connect the place now with what it must have been like then, when the saint's body was here. It is difficult to think of what has been lost, but even if all that remains is the rubble filling of a stone pillar, that is often enough to evoke a memory that gives us strength. Just the sight of that pile of rocks in a grassy field can bring us to our senses and inspire us to hope that we in the here and now can stand by our faith and, through lovingly preserving its art, symbols, texts and buildings, pass it on to the next generation as our most precious gift.

These pillars once supported the roof of the crypt under the church of St. Mary. Much of this part of the abbey has survived.

Tiles in the chapel of S. Mary and the Angels.

For me, the highlight of the trip was coming across this renovated altar in the crypt chapel of S. Mary and the Angels. The idea that in this holy place, the Holy Eucharist can be celebrated by modern pilgrims on the site of countless Masses is so very encouraging. I hope to make enquiries about the use of this site by pilgrims and perhaps one day Canterbury will be as popular a destination as Walsingham for English pilgrims.

The ruined East End of the church of S. Pancras, which was used by the monks as their cemetry chapel.

Back in town, it was a delight to see this image of the Mother of God in a prominent public position. It is the mark of a true pilgrimage town to see these shrines to Our Lady dotted around the place, inspiring people to piety as they go about their daily business. The sign below points to the local Roman Catholic church.

Greyfriars house, so named because it was once the site of the first Franciscan settlement in England. This was once the sleeping quarters of the friary, and stands over the river Stour. In more recent times, the sight has been reclaimed by the Society of Saint Francis, who have a chapel upstairs where a Mass is said every wednesday at 12.30. There are also Roman Catholic Franciscans in Canterbury who occasionally use the chapel. To me, this was also a living sign of the continuity of faith in this city.

This simple chapel is found in the Eastbridge hospital, a medieval building on the high street which once provided lodgings for poorer pilgrims who had come withouth arranging a place to sleep. The building is well worth a look in. The Chapel was particularly airy and peaceful, and allowed a nice break from the busy streets below. I could just imagine bands of pilgrims scrambling up the stairs at dawn to hear Mass here.

An ikon hangs in the chapel and visitors can light candles and enter names into a book to be prayed for during Masses said here.

The famous Cathedral needs to introduction. I took my atheist friend along to Evensong, and she had plenty of questions about why we said certain prayers and what it all meant. The choir was away so a singing group stepped in. Eh, it was the only way to get into the cathedral without paying so we were happy.

The famous stained glass.

The ornate choir screen of the Cathedral really is worth seeing. I imagine that the common man sitting outside this screen would have had no view of the liturgical action whatsoever, although he must have been able to hear the services being sung quite well. During my visit, a nave altar and some Indaba-style starwars chairs had been set up in the nave. A cuddly liturgical setting I'm sure, but I wouldn't want to get a splinter of those chairs. Ouch!

The cloister.

The nearest thing to a shrine to S. Thomas is the site of his martyrdom, marked by an altar and this weird sword-cross arrangement. I was quite gratified to see a number of people head straight down here to pray, and it was comforting to know that S. Thomas still has modern pilgrims who bear him in mind as they wander around the Cathedral which once held his shrine.

On the return from the Cathedral I had to stop dead in my tracks as I was convinced I could smell Rosa Mystica emanating from a shop-front. It transpired that a Mass was taking place in the Parish church of S. Augstine, which belongs to the Anglican Catholic Church and is built in an old shop. The front part of the shop is open to the street and offers passersby a chance to pick up some literature about this continuing movement. I have to say that I felt inspired by the sight of a faithful few gathered in this tiny church, having left behind all the comforts of the established church as a matter of principle. Their witness to the Catholic faith, right in the shadow of the Cathedral struck me as particularly powerful. They may be small, they may worship in a shop-church, but they have certainly practised what they preach and I admire them for that. I wondered about the "Western" arrangement of the church and what their liturgy might be like. I hear they use their own missal which includes most if not all of the Book of Common Prayer as well as the English Hymnal. I believe they do not accept Papal claims and are not urgently seeking reunion with Rome.

So did I find enough in Canterbury to sate my interest? Definately. Apart from the charm of beauty of the city and that part of Kent generally, Canterbury still keeps the memory alive of its old pilgrimage past, and it is perfectly possible for a modern pilgrim to come here today and tap into that same feeling of the sacred. I think as part of a dedicated pilgrim programme, I'd be willing to re-visit and re-re-visit Canterbury in the future and there is enough of interest to comfortably fit into a weekend with time left over to explore the pubs and restaurants of the city.

One thing I would say, however, is that I found it difficult to find a church of my integrity in the city. I am aware of one FinF church outside the city, but it was too far for me to travel on the Sunday. Instead I took a chance on S. Peter's church in the city centre, which offered very beautiful Catholic worship in the CW format. Still, almost no one understood what Forward in Faith meant and I think churchmanship is generally on the lower side of High. This shouldn't be a problem for pilgrims however, and I strongly advise people to see for themselves what Canterbury has to offer.

Titan prison plans ditched!

Breaking news from the BBC website to be found here.

It seems the government has decided to abandon plans to build three "Titan" prisons, which were to have a capacity of over 2,500 places each, in favour of three slightly smaller institutions. This is something many of us have been hoping and praying for for a long time, and might evince a change in the government's policy on criminal justice as a whole.

Smaller institutions have been consistently more successful in reducing re-offending rates and although 1,500 inmates in any one prison is still not ideal, smaller prisons have a range of benefits over larger ones, which far outweigh the costs of running them. Smaller prisons can be built closer to urban centres and public transport links, which facilitates visitor access and ultimately leads to lower re-offending rates.

The criminal justice system has been severely damaged by Labour government. The readiness to hand out custodial sentances to satisfy public opinion has put pressure on an already overcrowded and under-funded prison system. Another ongoing problem is the detention of asylum seekers and other immigrants in so-called Immigration Removal Centres. Applicants are routinely detained, even whole families with young children, while their asylum application is "fast-trakced". In practice, this can take months and terrible conditions in these prisons, some of which are privately run, have caused more than a few to commit suicide while in detention. Poor access to legal advice means many detainees aren't able to apply for bail.

Anyway, in the meantime we welcome this about-turn by the government, and continue to pray for prisoners and their families wherever they might be.

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.