1. religion and spirituality
2. christianity
3. catholicism

The Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ
PASCHA NOSTRUM
Church of the Resurrection, New York
April 2015
My dear People:
Since this will be coming to you before Holy Week arrives, my duty is to remind you
to consider your priorities of time during that week. You will obviously be in church
on Palm Sunday and Easter as is required on any Sunday, but we hope that you will
also take seriously the importance of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter
Vigil, each a unique and vitally important observance. They go back to the very
earliest days of the Church and put us as one with those who were worshipping in
much the same way on those days as long as 1700 years ago, and of course all those who
will be doing so far into the future until the end of the world. The Spanish lady pilgrim
Egeria, travelling in Palestine in the IV century describes all the services she attends
during Holy Week, and they are strikingly similar to the ones we have now, nearly
1600 years later. She travelled all the way across the Mediterranean to make this
pilgrimage at a time when travel was even more odious than now, and much more
dangerous. Is there anything going on in the modern world or in our lives that is this
important or won’t wait a few days? In 28 years since my ordination as a deacon, I have
never heard anyone say he was sorry for having made time for Holy Week! Nor have I
ever heard anyone nearing the end of his life exclaim, “Would that I had gone to
church less often!” I myself gladly take part in these services as a priest, which is only
right, and I regard myself as privileged to do so. But it is also true that I am more than
slightly envious of you who have the gift of attending these services simply as a
worshipper, and abandoning yourself to them entirely, not having to worry about
“what comes next” and who is doing, or not doing, what! I have always thought how
lovely it would be to be in Seville during Holy Week – perhaps one day! In the
meantime, it is my duty to be here in Holy Week, just as it is your privilege. God has
given you a great gift, the gift of dying for you on the Holy Cross and Rising Again to
open to you Heaven, as your own true native land. Will you not consider returning
this gift by attending all the sung services of Holy Week?
I suspect most of you are familiar with this adage, it was quoted to me by my
grandmother many, many years ago, and also in school over the years:
For want of a nail the shoe was lost,
for want of a shoe the horse was lost,
for want of a horse the knight was lost,
for want of a knight the battle was lost,
for want of a battle the kingdom was lost.
So a kingdom was lost—all for want of a nail
The obvious point was that forgetting or losing some small object, or overlooking some
small thing, could cause a great and terrible outcome. I will spare you putting it into
that framework, but such is also the case for your Mass attendance here at all times, but
particularly during Holy Week. If a number of people think, “I don’t need to be in
church on Good Friday necessarily; the church says it’s not obligatory. I’ll stay at work
(or at home).” If several people think this way, what starts to happen? The person who
does the flowers thinks, “Why do I bother with all this work for a small crowd?.” The
person who puts on a reception thinks, “Why did I buy so much food and drink for so
few people? I might as well not bother next year.” The servers might think, “I made
sure I got here in the midst of my busy life to serve at the altar and allow the services
to go forward. A number of these people obviously didn’t care. Maybe I shouldn’t
bother next year.” The Music Department may become discouraged – though they
know they sing for God it is only natural to want people there to hear them. Perhaps
they think, “Why bother to do our best, when so few are here?” Those who do come
will think, “Where are my friends and neighbours? If they thought they could stay
home, maybe I should as well?” You can also see how this becomes a vicious circle: the
more each thing happens, the more the result occurs, which increases the chances of the
original impetus increasing. This is the meaning of mutual support in a Christian
community. When we come to a Mass like Maundy Thursday or the Easter Vigil, we
know that it is not “required”. We know that we have done something over and above
what the church requires, but when we look round and see everyone else there, we are
reminded of the importance of Christ and His Church, and reassured that others think
so too. Our Lord faced this very same feeling in the Garden at Gethsemane, “Why
bother?” Just think for a moment if he had decided not to.
Four new additions have been made to the fabric of our buildings in recent weeks,
which you might wish to know about.
1) The plaque on the front of the Bishop Chambers Building replaces several that were
there over a long period. Bishop Chambers was Rector here in 1959 when the building,
a hospital then, became available. He spearheaded the drive to acquire it, and renovate
it, and the Vestry voted to name it after him in the 1970s after he had retired as Bishop
of Springfield. Unfortunately, in the New York of the 1970s and 1980s, one plaque after
another was stolen, and finally they rather gave up and let it go. Mr Rae always
worried about this, as he had known Bishop Chambers and had been brought into this
church by him, and was the one who suggested the dedication of the building, being
present when Bishop Chambers blessed it in 1962. Before he died, Mr Rae asked me to
promise to get a nice plaque for the front again, so that it was obvious what it was and
that it wasn’t just a school building. I designed one based on the interior stained glass
plaques, and it is very firmly fixed! (And New York isn’t what it used to be - usually
we say that because it’s worse, but in respect of crime, it’s better - so we hope it will
stay there!) We used the same wording from the original plaques.
2) Not long ago, the front door knob fell off. It was found to be a modern and quite
inexpensive one, not the original hardware from 1913. We had to replace it with a
“quick fix” item from a hardware store, but almost immediately the Landmarks
Commission either had a stool pidgeon or they noticed it! Perhaps, as in Stalinist days,
they have paid informers! In any case, we had to get an authentic period door knob.
There are companies which specialise in this, and the lion’s head door knob, which I
chose, is a copy (in materials and design) of one on a house on Commonwealth Avenue
in Boston that was installed in 1896, and therefore could have been the original one here.
We have no photographs of the front door, since that building was not part of the
church then, but all that was needed was a faithful period piece that could have been
used in 1913. We think it looks rather nice, and the children (it’s at their eye level)
absolutely love him! He has, of course, been christened Leo.
3) Every year, at Passion Sunday and again on Good Friday, the crucifixes are veiled,
then unveiled. For many years, I was worried to death about the pulpit crucifix since,
although the wood is modern, it has an ivory corpus from the 15th century, the gift
many years ago of a generous parishioner. Ivory is very fragile, and one slip of the
crucifix and the ivory would shatter. Last year, I removed it from use, as it just seemed
too foolhardy and dangerous, especially after we noticed the plaster was no longer very
reliable there. There were then three choices: sell it, give it to a museum that would
prize it, or commit ourselves to stewardship of it, and have it protected permanently.
We chose the last of the three, and had Phil Forbes of Brooklyn, who did the surround
for the Sacred Heart shrine, make what was known in mediaeval England as a “rood
house” for the piece. It is now bolted on to the hanging rood house, which is in turn
bolted on to the wall. Glass protects it from dust, and there are breathing holes in the
bottom for the ivory (it has to have air and humidity or it eventually will turn to dust).
We think he did a good job, and hope you like it. The doors will close in Passiontide,
so no more veiling worries! This item is available as a memorial, too, so if you have an
interest in making it a memorial, please speak to me.
4) The linoleum tiles in our two front vestibules had come to a parlous state of decay.
It was no longer possible to delay replacing them, and therefore the Church and School
were partners in this project. Stone tiles were put down, with a slight ridge to reduce
slipperiness, and of a grey colour which should not show too much outdoor detritus on
a rainy or snowy day. Similar 1930s vintage lino tiles were in the office of the Business
Manageress and in the Music Room and the hall between them, and they too have
given way, having been replaced with a hard wood floor. It is perhaps not the most
alluring kind of change or addition, but part of our stewardship, and had to be done!
Affectionately, your Friend and Pastor,
Father Swain
April Agenda
Sunday, Low Mass 8.30 a.m., High Mass 11.00 a.m.
Tuesdays-Fridays Low Mass 12.15 p.m.
School Chapel, Thursdays (in term), 8.45 a.m.
Saturday, Low Mass, Noon (Rosary follows)
FRIENDS OF THE RESURRECTION
We thank the following for their gifts, and continue our prayers for them as they
do for us:
Narvel J. Crawford, Asheville, N. C., $50
Michael C. Monthalvo, Brooksville, Fla., $150
Ronald J. Kopnicki, Hudson, N. Y., $100
Craig Metz, Washington, D. C., $50
Have you renewed your membership for 2015?
Friends enrolling or renewing at $50 (Angels) receive the 2015 calendar, the music
lists and the magazine monthly.
Friends enrolling or renewing at $100 (Archangels) receive the 2015 calendar, the
music lists, the magazine monthly and the Stained Glass Window blessing DVD.
Friends enrolling or renewing at $500 (Seraphim) receive the 2015 calendar, the
music lists, the magazine monthly, the Stained Glass Window blessing DVD and the
SKCM Mass DVD.
Our prayer for you:
Almighty and everlasting God, we beseech thee to look with favour upon our friends
and benefactors; grant that they may so run the race that is set before them that they
may receive the
crown of glory that fadeth not away,
through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
St. George Slaying the Dragon
The Martydom of St. Alphege
APRIL music
2 – Maundy Thursday, 7 p.m.
Plainsong, Missa Orbis Factor
3 – Good Friday, 12 Noon
Victoria, Reproaches
Carlo Gesualdo, O Vos Omnes
4 - Easter Vigil, 7 p.m.
Zoltan Kodály, Missa Brevis
G. P. da Palestrina, Sicut cervus
5 – Easter Day, 11 a.m.
Mozart, Orgelsolomesse, K. 259
Michael Haydn, Victimae Paschali
Pietro Mascagni, Regina Coeli & Inneggiamo from Cavalleria
Rusticana
12 – Low Sunday
High Mass, 11 a.m.: Trad. Belgian Congo, Missa Luba
Solemn Evensong & Benediction, 5 p.m.: Canticles: Murill in E, &
Stanford, Ye Choirs of New Jerusalem
19 – Easter II
High Mass, 11 a.m.: Mozart, Pastoralmesse, K. 140
Solemn Evensong & Benediction, 5 p.m.:
Canticles: Naylor in A
Anthem: Franz Schubert, The Lord is my Shepherd
23 – Mediaeval Mass, Lecture by Jennifer Bloxam, Williams
College, 5.30 p.m.
High Mass, 8.00 p.m.
Guillaume de Machaut, Messe de Nostre Dame
26 – Easter III
High Mass, 11 a.m.
F. J. Haydn, Missa Brevis in F (Jugendmesse)
Solemn Evensong & Benediction, 5 p.m.
Canticles: Sir C. V. Stanford in G
Anthem: Sir William Henry Harris KCVO,
Bring us, O Lord G
April Masses: April is the Month of the Resurrection
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Wednesday in Holy Week
MAUNDY THURSDAY
GOOD FRIDAY
EASTER EVEN
EASTER DAY
EASTER MONDAY
EASTER TUESDAY
Easter Wednesday
Easter Thursday
Easter Friday
Easter Saturday
Low Sunday
feria
St Justin Martyr
feria
St Magnus the Martyr
feria
Of Our Lady
EASTER II (St Alphege)
Feria
St Anselm, BCD
Patronage of St Joseph
ST GEORGE
St Fidelis of Sigmaringen
ST MARK
EASTER III
St Peter Canisius, CD
St Paul of the Cross
St Peter Martyr
St Catherine of Siena, V.
Confessors and Penitents
Thanksgiving for the Blessed Sacrament
(Mass, as such, is not said)
Thanksgiving for the Resurrection
This Parish Church on its Feast of Title
Our Parish School
Our Parish Clergy
The Servers’ Guild
Our Parish Vestry
The Sick
Thanksgiving for our forebears
Parish
The Guild of All Souls
The Institute of Christ the King
St Magnus the Martyr, London Bridge
Friends of the Resurrection
Benedictines at Clear Creek, Okla.
Parish
The Archbishop of Canterbury
Peace & Justice in the Holy Land
ENGLAND
Thomas N. Rae, RIP
Andrew, our Bishop
Parish
Oratory of St Francis de Sales, St Louis, Mo.
The Society of the Holy Cross (SSC)
Carmelites at Powell, Wyoming
Our neighbours at St Catherine of Siena on East
68th Street.
St. Magnus the Martyr
(at our sister parish of St. Magnus the Martyr in the City of London)
Anglo-Catholicism, the Aristocracy and the Royal Family
By Father Swain
These days, in England, it is difficult enough to sustain a congregation in a Catholic
parish in London or in a provincial city, but in remote villages, it is out of the question.
First of all, there are so few clergy and so little to sustain them, that the various
churches are quite often yoked together, and they frequently have very different
traditions. What always happens is that the Low Church ones move “up” and the
Catholic parishes are “moderated”. All the constituent parishes meet somewhere in the
boring middle! It was not ever thus. In the 19th and first half of the 20th centuries, great
aristocratic landowners and peers frequently built extraordinary churches and
furnished them, appointing the very best Catholic clergy to try to ensure the tradition
continued. As a result, visiting country churches can be rewarding for many rural and
remote villages can boast parish churches with strikingly beautiful interiors. Many
have been lovingly adorned with furnishings and fittings, which are surprising; for
some are both cosmopolitan and exotic. The faith of these often led them to employ
some of the leading architects of the day, with no expense spared (little or no income
tax helped!) During the late nineteenth century G. F. Bodley, J. L. Pearson and Sir
Ninian Comper carried out some of their finest work for just such clients, and in the
20th century Comper continued to do so, as did the fabulous Martin Travers. Many of
these comparatively remote churches were adorned with treasures and objets de pieté of
international provenance, which were collected by wealthy Anglo Catholic patrons
during their travels in European Catholic countries. Frequently, they remain as a silent
witness to a faith tradition of astonishing vitality not so very long ago, but which is
often now, alas, a spent force.
The Anglo Catholic laity of that period were a force to be reckoned with. Charles
Lindley Wood, 2nd Viscount Halifax (1839-1934) (Hickleton Hall) and Henry, 7th
Duke of Newcastle (1864-1928), (Clumber Park) are two of the best examples of
prominent laymen who were prepared to serve God and the Church of England with
no expense spared, and to prosper the Anglo-Catholic agenda. Frequently, we would
be had to be believed that this was all a matter of “ritualism” and Aesthetic frippery, à
la Aubrey Beardsley or Oscar Wilde. Nothing could be further from the truth. It was
their passionate belief that the churches they created, their architecture, and the
furnishings they either commissioned or purchased as antiques, all communicated the
Catholic Faith, even to the sometimes very rural and often uneducated people who
worshipped in them. There is considerable evidence that this succeeded for a long
period of time. The only real enemy of the plan was the same enemy of the Church in
general: vastly increased secularism, reduced incomes both of churches and their
patrons, and the continuing migration of people round England (just as in this
country), whereas once they would have lived in a village for life, and the traditions of
the church were therefore much easier to maintain. It is quite common in small
villages, like, for example, South Creake in Norfolk, which has a mediaeval church
with a long Catholic tradition, very near Walsingham, but which has been joined to
other churches now, and the tradition is also much diluted by the parishioners having
come from any number of churches, often far away, with very different ways, or even
from other faith communities. This instability, alas, has devastated the work of these
patrons, but whilst their work lasted, it often had great evangelistic effect.
The Duke of Newcastle, for example, maintained a choir school for his great Chapel of
S. Mary at Clumber, where they provided exquisite music for a daily Mass and
Evensong on his Nottinghamshire estate. He financed the restoration of Egmanton
Church with its lovely shrine of Our Lady of Egmanton. The Duke was rather peculiar
in that he had a special interest in the breeding of hunting dogs – the Clumber Spaniel
– though he did not hunt! He also was so shy that he had a vast system of tunnels built
under his estate so that he could get from one place to another without having to
encounter any other human being. The Duke’s special interest of corporate re-union
with the Roman Church came to a disillusioned end with the promulgation of
Apostolicae Curae in 1896 by Leo XIII. He is, alas, a perfect example of both the
financial exigencies and instability of life, as his successor sold Clumber Park after the
1939-1945 War, and it was demolished. The chapel alone remains, as it was a listed
building which had to be preserved by law. Some occasional services take place there,
but they are of a fairly middle of the road character, and nothing like what the 7th Duke
envisioned would continue in that chapel forever.
Lord Halifax (the first of the two men known by that title) was so pious that he even
took a chaplain with him on his honeymoon. He was a great friend of the Prince of
Wales (Edward VII), and served in his household. When the Ritualist Act was passed,
he resigned in conscience so as to avoid embarrassing HRH, as he had no intention of
altering his ways, either in his personal worship or in his chapel at Hickleton Hall. His
enthusiasm for the fruits of the Oxford Movement, celebrated in the Centenary
Celebrations of 1933, when he was nearly 100 years old, caused him to have a great altar
pavilion designed and built in his garden at Hickleton Hall at enormous cost – for a
single High Mass! It was later re-erected at Walsingham and lately, alas, demolished a sad and unnecessary loss.
It was said in Goldthorpe (where Lord Halifax built the enormous parish church in
1916) that if a man wanted a job on the Hickleton estate the ability to sing plainsong or
use a thurible was a considerable advantage. It is because of the “first” Lord Halifax
that there came to be such an extraordinary number of Anglo Catholic parishes in the
area. The 2nd Viscount Halifax’s son, who become the 1st Earl Halifax KG, OM, GCSI,
GCMG, GCIE, TD, PC (1881-1959), in addition to a glittering life of public service
(Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Secretary of State for War, Leader of the
Conservative Party in the House of Lords, HM Ambassador to the USA during the
War, Lord Privy Seal, Chancellor of the University of Oxford and Viceroy of India),
was a devout Anglo-Catholic as was his Viscountess, and whilst in America they
organized “Bundles for Britain”, a relief charity for women and children. (It was
generally thought, with some considerable support, that Lord Halifax was the King’s
real choice for Prime Minister in 1940 when Mr Chamberlain lost the confidence of his
party, but the King quickly saw that he had to send for Mr Churchill.) “Bundles for
Britain” was centred here at the Church of the Resurrection in New York, and sent
new and gently-used clothing to Britain for those who had been bombed out or were
refugees from their homes. Lord and Lady Halifax also frequently visited other Anglo
Catholic centres throughout the country, including Fond du Lac Cathedral in
Wisconsin where they gave the High Altar crucifix in memory of his father, and my
own former parish, S. Clement’s Philadelphia, where they gave a stained glass window
in memory of his father and Cardinal Mercier, his oecumenical partner in conversation
at Malines in Belgium.
Niall Campbell, 10th Duke of Argyll, was another grand patron. Referred to as
"Scotland's most picturesque Duke", Argyll hated telephones and motor cars and would
indulge in eccentric behaviour, including greeting tourists with arias from Italian
operas, often in fancy dress. During the inter-war period, he was often to be seen at
Covent Garden, holding a very small torch focused on the score of the opera being
performed, and sometimes had to be restrained from standing and conducting from his
box. His aunt by marriage was HRH The Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll, daughter
of Queen Victoria and the Prince Consort, whose husband, the 9th Duke, was for a time
Viceroy of Canada. Among the most famous stories told of the 10th Duke was this – he
appeared in his chapel at the Daily Mass for it was his rule to hear Mass every day. His
new Chaplain asked if he were going hunting later. “Hunting?”, His Grace queried.
The Chaplain referred to his kilt – the hunting Campbell tartan. “Oh no,” the Duke
said, “but I only wear the Dress Campbell tartan on feast days, Doubles of the Second
Class or greater – to-day is only a feria.” He spent his final years in what was called
"monastic seclusion". He never married and died childless in 1949. He was for many
years a Guardian of the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham and instrumental in the
finance and building of the Holy House. The ancestral home of the Dukes of Argyll is
Inveraray Castle, still their home to-day, which may be most famous now for having
been the setting of the first of the Downton Abbey Christmas specials devised by Lord
Fellowes (the second of these specials was filmed at Alnwick Castle, the seat of the
Dukes of Northumberland).
Also well-known were the 6th and 7th Barons, Lord Norton, father and son, who were
Guardians at Walsingham and very active, and in whose memory the lovely new café
is named, and Sir William Milner, 8th Baronet, who was the architect of the 1938
Shrine Church and also a great benefactor and Guardian, and a towering presence
(literally) at Walsingham for many years, being nearly or over seven feet tall!
As recently as the 1940s and 50s, Robert Gascoyne-Cecil, 5th Marquess of Salisbury
(then known by his courtesy title as Viscount Cranborne), who was a Tory MP, and
served as Lord Privy Seal, Paymaster General, Colonial Secretary, Lord President of
the Council and Leader of the Conservative Party in the House of Lords, was an
ardent, influential and generous Anglo-Catholic as was the Marchioness, née Lady
Elizabeth de Vere Cavendish, sister of the 9th Duke of Devonshire. Known familiarly
as “Bobbety Cranborne”, he was an important figure in inter-war and post-war
Catholic circles in the Church of England. It was widely rumoured that his threat to
resign from the Cabinet when it was thought possible that Princess Margaret might
married the divorced Peter Townsend in 1953, may have persuaded Mr Churchill, the
Prime Minister, to oppose it, which in turn swayed Princess Margaret not to do so.
Cranborne opposed the marriage because of the then very stringent Church prohibition
against marrying divorced persons, which was especially important to Anglo Catholics.
(Who could have guessed that Princess Margaret herself would be divorced in 1978,
and that the Prince of Wales would marry the now Duchess of Cornwall, herself a
divorcée in 2005!)
Patrick Maitland, 17th Earl of Lauderdale (1911-2008), was intimately involved in the
Catholic Revival both in the Church of England and the Episcopal Church of Scotland
from about 1945 to his death in 2008. In addition to being a talented journalist, he was
also a diplomat, and MP, serving in various capacities with the Conservative Party for
many years in the House of Commons before inheriting his title, and in the House of
Lords subsequently. He also was a Guardian of Walsingham, and was both the son of a
priest-Earl, and the father of a priest-Earl. Sitting next to him at a dinner party or
lunching with him in the House of Lords restaurant or at the Carlton Club was a
never-to-be-forgotten experience, and his wife, Stana, who was Serbian, knew all the
ins and outs of every exiled Balkan Royal Family, and was more than happy to discuss
them!
The best known Royal Anglo-Catholic, also a devotée of Walsingham, was Her
Highness Princess Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein, Princess Aribert of AnhaltDessau (1872-1956). Her Highness was a grand-daughter of Queen Victoria and the
Prince Consort, having been born to His Serene Highness Prince Christian of
Schleswig-Holstein who had come to live in England when he married Queen
Victoria’s daughter, HRH The Princess Helena. Princess Marie Louise was famous for
having attended more Coronations than any other person in history – six – and
although she had married a German prince and moved to his tiny principality, after
some years of an unconsummated marriage she discovered he was far more interested
in soldiers and stable grooms than in her. When she discovered this, Queen Victoria
arranged for the marriage to be annulled and cabled the reigning Prince simply, “Tell
my grand-daughter to come home to me. Victoria RI” Her uncle, later Edward VII
made the trenchant remark in his German accented English, “She came back to us just
as she was when she left.” Princess Marie Louise was a frequent visitor to the Shrine of
Our Lady of Walsingham before the Second World War. Father Fynes-Clinton
reported that when she visited his church of St Magnus the Martyr, London Bridge,
she saw a shrine of Our Lady and exclaimed "Oh! Our Lady of Walsingham". Fr Fynes
said: "Have you been there, ma’am?" "Of course I have! And I am the first of our
family to visit it since Henry VIII." (She and Father Fynes-Clinton also shared a
lively interest in ghosts, as did Father Hope Patten, the restorer of the Shrine at
Walsingham. She was once visiting Lord Astor at Hever Castle - the childhood home
of Anne Boleyn - which he had purchased and restored. Princess Marie Louise was
quite fascinated to be treated to a spectral vision of Anne Boleyn one night, holding her
head, and speaking with her!) Princess Marie Louise was also a great adherent of
various lost causes, including, somewhat surprisingly, the Bonapartist cause in France,
and even more surprisingly, the Stuart cause. Before the Great War, she used to enjoy
shocking people by saying, “Of course, my cousin George isn’t really our King, it
should be the King of Bavaria.”
On a winter day some years later, HM Queen Mary visited the shrine at Walsingham
for the day from the Royal Family’s Norfolk home at Sandringham. On this occasion,
Father Hope Patten was showing the Dowager Queen the Shrine Church. When they
came to the centre, and knowing the Low Church ways of most of the Royal Family,
he instructed, “This is where we bob, ma’am”, and she promptly genuflected with no
further ado, and perfectly correctly. When he expressed surprise, Queen Mary said
with a broad smile, “Oh, I lived in Florence as a young girl with my parents, I know all
about that sort of thing!”
(Ed. Note: We hope you will forgive this light bit of entertainment in Lent!)
St. Mark the Evangelist
St. Catherine of Sienna
The Mass of the Ages – Mediaeval Liturgy, Modern World
By The Rev’d Canon Barry E. B. Swain, SSC
Every year in this Church, we present a “Mediaeval Mass”. During this Mass, electric
lights are not used, there are no metrical hymns, no English, no spoken words, and no
organ. What is offered to God is what would have been offered in the 14th or 15th
centuries: one of the very early polyphonic Mass settings, the Latin Mass, and the Holy
Sacrifice itself. The Church is normally quite full for this exercise, and we do
everything we can to make it plain that this is not a re-enactment or a stunt, but a real
Mass, and a real way to enter into a different kind of worship. It all works surprisingly
well. But one of the things that constantly impresses itself upon me is how vigilant we
must be to exclude any of the liturgical understandings of the world since 1540 or so.
Even here, where the Traditional Catholic Mass of the Western Rite is offered, so
many modern accretions have crept in. Some come from the Book of Common Prayer
(the use of English, and the use of prayers recited rather than sung). Others come from
the pressures of modern liturgical understandings (the Canon of the Mass aloud, and
the Epistle and Gospel sung towards the congregation rather than towards the altar and
the north side of the sanctuary respectively). But what surprises me is the realisation of
how many perfectly good Catholic traditions, very old in themselves, are simply not
appropriate in a mediaeval context. Many of the most prevalent ideas about Our Lord,
for example, the devotion to his Sacred Heart, have no roots in the mediaeval world.
Likewise, discussion of the Immaculate Conception itself occurred in the Middle Ages,
but wasn’t a decided certainty, as it has been since 1854, but a topic of disagreement and
heated discussion. Even the assumption we have that people would be reverently
participating in the Mass is probably a hopeful exaggeration of what must have gone
on. So the past few years of putting this exercise together with our Organist and Choir
Master, David Enlow, have reminded me of the first line of one of my favourite
modern novels, L. P. Hartley’s The Go Between: “The past is a foreign country; they do
things differently there.”
Our first understanding must be that Christian life and liturgy were, for mediaeval
man, a pilgrimage, a holy journey. This mediaeval idea is almost incomprehensible
today with our emphasis and pre-occupation on the moment, instant communication,
constant news, and what’s happening this minute. Twice a year, I conduct a retreat for
priests who have elected to come away from the world and paid to do so, and I have to stress
the necessity of not taking telephone calls, using the internet or email and not watching
television or listening to the radio. They know perfectly well that doing these things
detracts from the purpose of the retreat, and allows the world to intrude on their time
away, but it is almost as if they can’t help themselves: the need to be in touch,
connected, at all times is so great. For mediaeval man, of course, this idea would have
been unthinkable. It wasn’t just that it was not possible to learn of current events until
much later, it was also that they didn’t figure so largely in his consciousness. The
mediaeval person had a vivid sense of being rooted in a continuing past which
stretched forward into the future, and in which all of Christendom was moving
towards God together. It was this which formed the important consideration of
society, and therefore of the liturgy. You may all have attended those Masses (either in
the Roman or the Anglican churches) where the prayers of the people form a kind of
digest of that day’s New York Times or The Guardian in England. One friend of mine in
England says he knows perfectly well what is on the mind of any self-respecting liberal
in London just by listening to the intercessions in his parish church on Sunday! It’s
hard to imagine an idea farther removed from the spirit of the Middle Ages. There was
concern, obviously, about other people and difficulties they may have been having, but
their view was always coloured by the fact that God had a purpose and a plan and that
these things are being worked out by him. They would also have felt very strongly
indeed that the purpose of the liturgy was not to dwell on the world outside and its
needs, but on their need for salvation and eternal life in the next world. This focus on
pilgrimage was expressed not only in the liturgy but in the great mixing of church and
secular life we see in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. And even in using that expression
“mixing of church and secular life” I have given myself away. No mediaeval person
would ever have said such a thing: the very idea that they were separate would have
been a bizarre suggestion. They were both completely, and inevitably, for him
intertwined and inextricable.
Another difference of concern would be found in the corporate nature of mediaeval life
versus the private, personal nature of modern life. We are faced with this constantly,
and the digital age is accentuating it even further. A walk past a coffee shop, revealing
in a plate glass window 30 people staring on to their own computer screens paying no
attention to each other, shows that the “coffee house culture” of old where people
talked, and visited and even shared ideas, couldn’t be more dead. Even the phrase
“online community” shows how far we have come from the sense of real belonging
that began to disintegrate after the Industrial Revolution began and has now been
utterly destroyed by the digital revolution. A television commercial by one of the cable
companies makes this point perfectly: a father uses his laptop to engage in work he has
brought home, the mother is engaged in video chat with a far away friend, a teenage
daughter is instant-messaging someone, and the son is playing video games. They may
all be in the same house, but they have little or no connection, and the nuclear family
living alone in a house, probably far from other blood relations, was itself a big change
from the very large extended communities of the past, when families all lived together
in one place and their roots went back for many generations. Everything about the
computer is personal and individual, “My computer” is the tab to configure what we
want, and even when visiting the website of a huge store like Macy’s, we immediately
see a way to make it “My Macy’s”, that is to personalise the experience so that it is
unlike anyone else’s. The mediaeval world was centred and rooted in communities,
real, living communities which existed and had existed for hundreds of years, and it
seemed often, forever. This carried over into the church’s liturgy of course. People
rarely thought of themselves as attending a Mass “alone”. They had gone with friends
or relations to the Mass and sat with them. A person sitting alone would have been
thought mad or peculiar. Large numbers of the population lived in religious
communities: monks, nuns, priests living in colleges or presbyteries. Others lived and
worked in Guilds based on their trades: coopers, goldsmiths, cobblers, fishermen,
ironmongers, greengrocers and so on. At the glittering top of the social scale there were
knights who belonged to chivalrous orders, but just as often soldiers who fought in the
army together for life, and women who had drawn water from the same well every day
with each other for years. There was a rich context of common life, and this was all
brought into the church. The Guilds, chivalrous orders, army companies, monasteries,
convents, noble families, and of course above it all the Royal Family of a country, all
engaged in worship together, and in a sense all approached God together. They knew
absolutely that every sinner would one day confront God naked and alone, but in the
meantime they engaged in the liturgy together.
Modern society is very focussed on things. If you don’t understand that, you have only
to look at last Sunday’s Times. Section after section shows pictures of things you can
buy for yourself or as Christmas gifts for others: clothing, electronics, cars, and
everything else you can think of. We are completely obsessed with things. Mediaeval
man thought little of things. For most of them, “things” beyond what they absolutely
needed were beyond what they could ever afford or dream of. But even for many with
more money, things were viewed much as St Francis viewed them, as obstacles which
weighed one down. Even Kings lived quite simply compared to what even a middle
class person of the late 19th century would have. The mediaeval person was focussed on
God, on things of the spirit, and the afterlife. This concentration was partially sparked
by fear, constant concern about the fear of hell, and the dread of death, obsessed people
in the Middle Ages. Timor mortis conturbat me was the famous phrase which summed it
all up: the fear of death presses hard upon me. Life was hard, brutish and short and was
not there to enjoy but to use as a means to get to the next step: eternal life. They felt
that the Church was one: in Earth yes, but also in Purgatory (the Church being
prepared to be with God) and in Heaven (the church already with God). They
understood quite clearly that the church extended beyond time (encompassing those
who had lived before and had now moved on to Purgatory and Heaven) and beyond
space (they were quite convinced of the idea that the church, or Christendom, as they
would have called it, included people all over the world, regardless of any
considerations of nationality or region. Modern man, if he thinks of the Church at all,
tends to think of it as the living people standing around in pews, or even worse, just the
buildings that it owns. This also creates a vast difference in the liturgy, between a
liturgy which is universal, not based in locale or local language, which includes ages
before and is assumed to continue forever in ages after, versus a liturgy which is at
least as concerned with those attending it as it is with God and the eternal truths of
Death, Judgement, Heaven and Hell. The modern liturgy, in the last ninety years or
so, has come to dwell on the idea that in order to participate in liturgical observances of
any kind, one has to participate actively, by saying and doing all things together.
Everyone must join in and understand at all times what is transpiring. This idea began
to come in to the Anglican Church with the 1552 Prayer Book, but has ebbed and flowed
over the years since. In the Roman Church, it has come to prominence increasingly
since about 1920 in the so-called Liturgical Movement, which stressed the necessity for
this constant active participation by all. At first, this took the form of trying to educate
all Catholics about the Latin Mass and to get the hierarchy to allow ordinary people to
take part in it increasingly more prominently. Eventually they shifted gears and began
to press for mass in the vernacular languages, and for a mass founded on the idea that
all took part equally. The mediaeval mind assumed something radically different: that
presence and prayer were just as valid forms of participation. They assumed that
different people at Mass would be doing and saying and praying different things
because of their station and who they were, not doing the same things and saying and
praying the same things despite their station and who they were. Modern liturgy tries to
create an artificial feeling of community through imposed means, through deliberate
language and through everyone singing and speaking the same things at the same time.
Mediaeval liturgy assumes community because of theological pre-suppositions – all
were baptised, all were therefore members of the Body of Christ, children of God, and
brothers and sisters of Christ. There was no need to create a forced Christian
community, as all of Christendom was already a Christian community to which all
Europeans belonged, as well as some in the Middle East, North Africa, etc. They felt
that the bond which existed between and among them tied them together tightly and
forever in Christ theologically, and so there was neither any need nor desire to make
explicit this truth by having everyone do and say the same things at Mass. They
already were connected and felt so, and felt that they were worshipping together,
despite doing different things. They didn’t feel different or disconnected because the
priest was doing and saying one thing, and people were silent or were at their own
prayers at the same time. And they certainly didn’t feel that the priest “had his back to
them” – they felt that they were all facing the same way waiting for the Saviour to
return from the East, as he himself promised. They felt connected because they were
all engaged in the same work, but in ways that were appropriate to their education,
status in life, and callings.
Modern liturgy almost always assumes the reception of Holy Communion – it now
seems odd if people don’t receive communion. This understanding came about really
only in the 1960s following the relaxation of fasting regulations, the earlier giving of
Communion to smaller children under 12, and the relaxation of the former disciplines
relating to making one’s confession before receiving Communion. Oddly, this
phenomenon became strongly entrenched just before it was to become a difficulty and
a burden in evangelism to the unchurched. In an increasingly secular society, this
presumption at Mass that everyone will be receiving communion places a large burden
on the un-baptized, and underlines the lack of services at which a seeker might
comfortably blend into the larger group whilst seeking God, as for example, was easy
at a non-communicating mass: at Evensong, Benediction, Novena or Stations of the
Cross services more common in a former day. At such services there is no separation of
“sheep” and “goats” and a visitor does not have a line drawn under his status for
everyone to see. Nor is he encouraged to make an inappropriate communion for which
he is neither prepared or perhaps eligible. Mediaeval men regarded receiving Holy
Communion as a very serious proposition: it required long preparation and prayer, and
was meant for special occasions. Attendance at Mass, and increasingly as the Middle
Ages wore on, worshipping the elevated Host at the Consecration was the purpose. We
are told the story of a rather Falstaffian character in late mediaeval England attending a
Mass and finding that at the elevation he was unable to see the Sacred Host. He cried
aloud, “Heave It higher, Sir Priest, for I cannot see!”
The divorce between the “outside world” of society from the “inside church” spiritual
world would have seemed a very odd concept to mediaeval people. Their contrast was
between good and evil, and that was the case either in or out of church. It was
expected that business, war, the professions, land ownership, the feudal system, indeed
all of life, would be conducted according to Christian principles – indeed what other
principles were there? Naturally, there were sinners, and no one was surprised at this,
just look at Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, but that was the expectation. In the modern
world, no one would expect such a thing, partially because we are a multi-cultural,
multi-faith society now, and partially because the long shadows of the so-called
Enlightenment, which proposed entirely different criteria for living life, and to which
our country particularly has been heir.
The modern culture of civil rights would also have been a very strange concept to
mediaeval man, who was accustomed instead to everyone having the privileges and the
obligations of his own status in life, and his place in society. His place might be higher
or lower than the next man’s, but everyone knew where he belonged, and knew what
he was entitled to receive, and obligated to give. This is the essence of the feudal
system. There was room for upward mobility in the feudal system, and certainly
downward mobility also. Thomas Becket is a very good example of upward mobility.
On the whole, though, the concentration was on the whole of society and one’s place in
it, rather than personal liberties, rights or interests. There was therefore no particular
interest in defining in church liturgy individual roles, which is such a hallmark of
modern Christian services in all denominations. The only exceptions now are the
Orthodox Churches of the East and churches in the West using the Tridentine Mass,
both of which have retained connections to older assumptions and understandings.
It would be impossible to over-estimate the influence of the Black Plague on mediaeval
liturgy. The whole culture of prayer for the dead, with all its attendant outward signs:
the dampening down of all joyous elements in the liturgy, suppression of all concern
with the living, the dwelling on mortality and the inevitability of death is visible not
only in the Requiem Mass, as one might expect, but in the mediaeval attitude to the
liturgy itself. It comes to be seen not as much as the celebration by the living
community of the eternal mysteries as the emphasis was in the first millennium, but as
a method to understand, deal with and in some sense counter the all-encompassing
stench of death that they found in the world. In many places in England, a third to a
half of the population died within a few years. Some mediaeval villages, thriving
places, were so completely devastated that they were deserted and remain so to this
day, often leaving only scant archaeological evidence deep below the surface. In many
large parish churches and certainly in Cathedrals and Abbeys, Requiem Masses for
particular people were offered almost every day they were permissible, and often
several times a day. By the beginning of the 14th century, it was often possible to attend
Mass daily for weeks on end, and never encounter anything other than a Requiem
Mass. Churches and chantry chapels were built for the purpose of praying for the dead
every day in perpetuity, and not only the rich and powerful and titled strived for this
kind of remembrance, but many people more humble, who scrimped and saved and left
money to the church to endow a chantry priest for themselves and their relations.
When the Battles of Crécy and Agincourt, for example, were fought, riders were sent
back to England almost immediately to arrange for perpetual Requiem Masses to be
said for the English fallen. (Even in much more secular 1919, both the Roman Catholic Church
and the Church of England made arrangements for Requiem Masses to take the place of the
Sunday mass on the Sunday after the very first Armistice Day.)
Another place where we have profound differences is the connection between liturgy
and culture. Our world places a premium on learning about, appreciating and placing
on an equal value level all cultures, cultural expressions and, even, increasingly, all
religions. This “Universalism” is a direct result of the Enlightenment values of the 18th
century which were, after all, at the heart of the foundation of our country. Most of
the so-called Founding Fathers of the U.S. were very much in this tradition. It led, in
turn, to the Unitarian-Universalist movement of the 19th century, and fed into the
Liberal Protestant traditions of the 20th century. It has found its secular echo in our
current culture. While we would naturally wish to endorse respect for other cultural
and religious traditions, if we take this philosophy too far, we end up without an
appreciation or sometimes even a knowledge of our own Western religious tradition
and its Christian history. This has resulted in some very odd manifestations: a recent
article in a Catholic newspaper about a senior honours student who didn’t know who
Charlemagne was (but had done a senior paper all about the Upanishads), students at
Boston College who couldn’t give a definition of the Incarnation, but had spent a
semester in religious studies studying different sects of Islam, and finally a recent
guided tour I took with some friends in the Cloisters, which was meant to elucidate a
few interesting issues in mediaeval art and architecture. This tour, obviously taken
almost entirely by educated and cultured people with a special interest in the topic,
produced some extremely strange questions about THE MOST BASIC Christian
doctrines (i.e., “What is this Lamb?”, and “What do you mean by Incarnation?”) and
for that matter some of the most basic Christian signs and symbols in art.
Obviously to the mediaeval person, this would all have seemed bizarre. It was taken
for granted that Christianity was the only true Faith, and in the West that the Papacy
was God-given and had both a spiritual and temporal right to authority. With the
Crown, it was the foundation of the feudal system, and as such anchored everyone
else’s place, even the Sovereign’s. When the Sovereign and the Pope fell out, as with
Henry II in England, or even, cataclysmically, with Henry VIII, there were seismic
consequences all over society. This translated also to culture, and the Western
European certainly believed he was culturally superior to the Eastern European, to
heretics like the Cathars, and of course to Muslims and Jews. The good side of this
absolute certainty was that the culture had the confidence and authority to create social
structures and wonderful works of art and architecture, music and performance. The
bad side was that lack of respect and knowledge of other cultures and faiths led to
violent interaction, and hundreds of years of violence, not only between Christians and
Jews and between Christians and Muslims, but among Christians of different beliefs.
Obviously, this heritage continues even today, and is hardly a wholly-owned
subsidiary of Christianity, as militant Islam makes clear. Christian participation in
these attitudes and particularly in such violent interactions is a cause for continuing
shame.
In the liturgy, this dynamic also had consequences. It meant that there was absolute
authenticity and dedication to the principles behind the liturgy for musicians, artists,
architects and textile makers. They had complete confidence in what they were doing.
Even those who were themselves hardly paragons of virtue or piety and had what
would have been regarded perhaps as irregular lives, were believers. As the Western
cultural tradition began to separate more and more from Eastern Europe, and in places
like Spain and Eastern Europe where it engaged with Islam, took a more militantly
separate stance, it became self-sufficient, confident and authoritative. In architecture,
this led from the fortress-like appearance of Norman and Romanesque churches to the
much more open and fragile Gothic style, full of glass and beautiful details. A Norman
Church like Durham Cathedral or the Abbey at Cluny is about defending one’s self,
one’s family and belongings against the darkness outside, and keeping God in with
you. A Gothic church like Westminster Abbey, the Duomo in Milano or especially the
Sainte-Chappelle in Paris floods light in from the outside world and reaches for the
sky, transporting us to God. I suppose it could be argued that the development from
Plainsong to Polyphony suggests the same kind of movement.
One of the main changes we see in the liturgy is reflected in the buildings in which
they take place. In the Early Church, from the time of Constantine in the mid-4th
century down to perhaps the 9th century or so, the church buildings were basilican,
based on the Roman basilica or law court. As in law courts, the church was set up with
the priest-celebrant sitting in front in the magistrate’s place. Churches were all-seeing,
everyone could see everything from every seat, and could hear the proceedings from
anywhere. A sense of awe and mystery prevailed – everyone faced east, awaiting
Christ’s coming again in glory to judge the living and the dead, which was expected
from the East, the sun rising. Many churches in Rome and elsewhere are still like this
(San Clemente in Rome for example and the Pope’s Cathedral, the Lateran Basilica).
By the year 1000 or so, this had begun to change. In the East, what we would now call
Orthodox Churches began to erect screens to screen off the sanctuary or presbytery
area from the view of the congregation. This increased the sense of “otherness” and the
awe and mystery of the act of consecration in the Mass. In the West, screens also
became common, not always completely solid as in the East, but very effectively
delineating the areas and marking out different places for clergy and laity.
In the mediaeval West, the Gothic church building actually taught the worshipper
about the Christian pilgrimage. The nave, where lay Christians sat, was like the
Church Militant here on Earth, still striving towards God. The choir area where the
choir, who were normally at least in minor orders, was like Purgatory, moving towards
God, seeing and hearing more of Him, but not quite there still. The sanctuary, used by
the sacred ministers, and housing the Tabernacle, where God Himself was, symbolised
Heaven itself. The arrangement of relics of the Saints around the Tabernacle further
accentuated this, suggesting the Saints in Glory worshipping God.
This church arrangement persisted until the late 16th and early 17th centuries when
Baroque “all seeing” churches began to be built. One of the first was the Gesú in
Rome, the mother Church of the Society of Jesus. In the 19th century, in the wake of
the Oxford Movement in the Church of England and the accompanying influence of
Pugin in the Roman Church, mediaeval style churches began to return. This lasted
until the 1960s when many modern churches began to be built again as all-seeing
churches, and even in designs which were round or featured completely new and often
frankly bizarre arrangements, such as altars in the middle of the church. (One of the
most graphic illustrations of this was in Liverpool throughout the last sixty years or so, when the
Church of England was erecting a magnificent stone Gothic cathedral of enormous proportions,
whereas the Roman Catholics were building a very modern, avant garde, concrete structure, now
known, not so affectionately, as Paddy’s Wigwam.)
It is not wrong that the liturgy reflects who we are as Christian people, and it is quite
understandable that we bring to it much of our own daily life and our understandings.
It would be quite strange if that were not the case. It is fairly easy for us to look back
hundreds of years and judge objectively what were the salient features of the
worshipping Church in, say, AD 500 or 1066 or 1350 or 1900. We can decide that we
approve of certain features and disapprove of others. But this is doing our ancestors a
disservice, it blinds us and it is intellectually dishonest. For in doing so, we assume that
our concerns and objectives are unqualifiedly correct in all respects, and that we know
best how to worship God. This can scarcely be true. It remains then for us to evaluate
critically at all times how we are worshipping God, how true we are remaining both to
the deposit of the Faith and the Holy Spirit of God, but also to look appreciatively at
the worshipping Church both in other places in the world and also in other times.
They DO do things differently in the past, it IS a foreign country, but we cannot
assume that it has nothing to teach us. But here is the point that shocks, horrifies and
stops the “educational professionals” of our age. Even if we find that we believe we are
doing things better to-day, the past and its differences may still have much to teach us.
It is also, of course, always just possible, that the past got something right, whose value
we have somehow lost.
This year the Mediaeval Mass is on Thursday, 23 April, with a lecture by Professor Jennifer
Bloxam, of Williams College, at 5.30 p.m. The Mass follows at 8.00 p.m., and the music this
year is Machaut’s Messe de Nostre-Dame. A reception follows in the hall. There is no
charge for any of these events.
The annual poster for the Mediaeval Mass will be available gratis to those in attendance that
night. It is available from the Church Office at $10.00 postpaid. Last year’s were a hot
commodity, and if anything, this year’s is even more attractively designed by Mr Enlow.
Leo the Great
St. Anselm