Language and the Psalms

I've been having a look at the Revised Grail Psalter, which you can find here, on Wikispooks, next to the Revised NAB version which is used in the States. It is very likely that we will be using the Revised Grail for the Breviary and for the Psalms at Mass in the future.

On the whole, the (old) Grail version has been quite successful; it rarely grates on the ear, with only the occasional infelicities:

'shooting upright men in the dark'

'he sends a scorching wind as their lot'

and the occasional weirdnesses:

'grow higher ancient doors.'

No doubt you can think of some others. And the Coverdale psalms are scarcely free from weirdnesses:

One deep calleth another / because of the noise of the waterpipes.

comes quickly to mind.

But, for good or ill, the Grail has got under our skin now in a way that the Jerusalem Bible and the now-moribund translation of the Mass have failed to do. It has sufficient quality to be familiar and easily known by heart; it reads easily, with the occasional exception.

What pleases me about the new Grail is that while using inclusive language when the sense is inclusive, it retains gender-specific language when it is not. So it recognizes (which too many versions do not) that many of the 'men' referred to in the Psalms are Types of Christ.

They seem to have retained a great deal of the old version, but this is not altogether a good thing, because familiarity can make one confident, and then along comes a change and trips one up. I don't really understand the reason for some changes;

OG: Foundations once destroyed, what can the just do?

NG: Foundations once destroyed, what can the righteous do?

Anyway, so far I'm hopeful that it will work all right, unless a closer inspection reveals anything horrid.

The Lectionary

The original idea was that our new translation of the Missal would be accompanied by a new translation of the Lectionary, too. It was decided some time ago that we would use the NRSV version of the Bible, but that now seems to be no longer quite so certain.

Not surprisingly, Rome has been less than happy with certain aspects of the NRSV, in particular its inclusive language. The publishers of the NRSVare less than happy with what Rome proposes; not just our desired modifications to the text, but even the 'incipits' we use in the Gospel: 'At that time Jesus said to the pharisees';  'When Jesus came to Capernaum he said…'; this, it seems, they consider tinkering with God's Word (which, apparently, their inclusive language isn't). So now we have stalemate.

There is a growing number of people who consider that the 'old' RSV would match better with the new translation of the Missal (especially if its thees and thous were altered).

I hear that the Bishops of England and Wales have now decided that there are to be no further liturgical changes for another six years: that perforce will include the new lectionary. This, I suppose, is to enable people to get some wear out of any personal missal they might buy that has the new version of the Missal but the Jerusalem Bible and Grail Psalms. So publishers can get going, in other words, and not fear being left with a lot of useless stock, or not making sales at all.

This means that we have six years to campaign for a decent version of the Bible for the Lectionary: fortunately it seems that the NRSV probably isn't going to be a runner after all.

And in the meantime, I expect that we will see publishers of temporary books like Magnificat making a killing; Magnificat is a very good thing, though whether many parishioners can be induced to take out a subscription remains to be seen.

Swishing Along

I was reminded earlier of the alternative to the Ordinariate, known snappily as The Mission Society of St Wilfrid and St Hilda (SWISH), so I thought I'd have a look at their website to see what's going on.

The answer is, virtually nothing! This really reinforces my view at the time, which was that SPLOSH was simply dreamed up by a couple of guys over a drink or two without any clear idea of what it was going to do ('we'll fill in the details later… whose round is it?'). The heavenly patrons must have been chosen at the one-for-the-road stage, for (as others have pointed out) it is hard to think of early English saints more devoted to Roman communion.

So is SCRATCH going anywhere? Given the lack of activity, it wouldn't seem so. But perhaps there is frantic striving behind the scenes to prevent the upcoming votes going against them……

But that too is unlikely. Their website says that it is for those who are 'unconvinced' that the CofE has the authority to ordain women. If they simply aren't convinced now, then perhaps they will soon become convinced, or at least prepared to tolerate a compromise. It always pays to leave a door open for a graceful retreat, I suppose.

Fr Ray draws attention to the fact that very few in the traditional heartland of Anglo-Catholicism (London, Brighton and South Coast Religion) are taking the Roman Option in Ordinariate form (though some are joining the mainstream Church); there are a priest and some laity in Eastbourne, and two families in Chichester. That's it. It is puzzling. The Patrimonial Doctor made some reference to it a few weeks back, noting that those formerly loudest in their Romanistic Professions are those who are staying, while those who were simply steady Anglicans seem to be wading into the Tiber.

is it because Bishop John Hinde provides a temporary illusion of 'business as usual'? That might well suit some of the gin-and-lace brigade. An incumbent not far from me declared his intention of simply staying on till he retires 'and then I don't care what happens'! That's okay by me; I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable with somebody with so little zeal or principle as a colleague.

Early April Fool?

I hope that this is just an ugly rumour put around by opponents of the Ordinariate to dissuade people from its arms, or else an early April Fool joke. This thing, according to Damian Thompson, is being considered by the Bishops' Conference as the 'pro-cathedral' of the Ordinary, or at any rate its London base. Better to share a church, I should have said.

Surely there must be better buildings around. Does the pro have to be in London? There are plenty of fine churches in Liverpool in need of a careful owner. And, if it isn't too late and there are some funds to care for it, there is the splendid church at London Colney, which the Diocese of Westminster no longer needs.

Brick by brick

It is pretty well axiomatic that if you want to read a reasoned and charitable discussion on important issues, you won't find it in blog comment boxes. There 'Mr Angry of Purley' has full rein, barely even subject to editorial moderation, to write what his most extreme emotions tell him to write at two o'clock in the morning, perhaps having worked his way through most of a whisky bottle. And he doesn't even need to write his real name. From his hermitage (or his computer room anyway) he damns the world, and certainly weasel priests like me who hesitate to turn our altars around immediately and begin celebrating the Traditional Mass exclusively, no matter what our parishioners think.

The poor Holy Father is often invoked in all this 'why won't he just order the bishops to X…?' (here write in whatever your particular gripe is). There is no consideration as to what will happen if the bishop says 'no!' What does the Holy Father do? Excommunicate the bishop, of course! And when two-thirds of the episcopate are excommunicated, what then?

It is just the same, on a smaller scale, in our parishes. I should, apparently, order my musicians to put away their guitars and use the Liber Usualis from next Sunday. Well, what if they say no? I could indeed turn my parish into a screaming hell-hole of bitter arguments, but would that actually serve any purpose? In the end, my parishioners would, the majority of them, either mutinously put up with the situation, or else go somewhere other for Mass, or lapse. I would actually inoculate them against the very thing I was trying to bring about.

I am completely convinced that Pope Benedict and, indeed, the Doctor Lapidarius Father Zuhlsdorf have it right. 'Brick by brick, folks'.

The Church tried repression before. In the past, of course, it could back up its commands with the Inquisition and the State's pyre. Those options aren't open to us; our age in that respect is more civilized, thank God. But in our modern world, people really can vote with their feet, and they need to be persuaded, not ordered. Both Blessed Pius IX and St Pius X, wonderful men, tried dealing with what was then called 'Liberal Catholicism' and came to be called 'Modernism' with repression. It worked up to a point. But only up to a point, Lord Copper.

If a person asks an intelligent question, one is well advised to try and give an intelligent answer. The response 'you aren't allowed to ask that question!' may produce compliance, but a reluctant one. Resentments will seethe and brew under the surface, and the questions will not go away; rather they will become more insistent. In a more liberal age, they will burst forth like a dam breaking, and carry away all sorts of good stuff in the torrent. Is not that a good description of the Church of the 60s and since?

Right now, the Holy Father could jump up and down, shout and holler for obedience. He is unlikely to get it from everyone, and he risks actually putting the Church into a worse state by trying. Instead, he is using the policy of the Doctor Lapidarius; brick by brick. At last, the serious questions of the liberals are being treated seriously and being answered by someone who doesn't lose his temper or his charity. It is an awesome sight. I re-read the other day the Introduction to the Holy Father's first Jesus of Nazareth book. He begins by saying that what he wants to do is simply, reconnect the 'Jesus of Faith' with the 'Jesus of History.' And does just that. Bingo! Is not that worth thousands of anathemas? Even The Tablet has to acknowledge the Pope's theological skill and eloquence! On the liturgical front, he presents what he thinks people can manage right now, and by doing it himself, encourages others to imitate him. Hence all the 'benedictine arrangements' appearing here and there. For those who want the traditional Mass, it can be freely offered. It is up to the Mr Angrys to go to them, support them, encourage them, and, brick by brick, rebuild what has been lost, only stronger and better, having learnt important lessons along the way.

And that is the model for the parish, too. Brick by brick. No anathemas, just helping people to love and desire the truth because it is, just simply, better.

Councils

His Patrimoniality, the estimable Fr Hunwicke has begun a series on councils. I commend it to you. I am looking forward very much to seeing what he has to say.

This is a subject which has exercised my mind for quite a number of years. There is a general assumption that councils teach infallibly and certainly with great authority. However:

1) I am not convinced that, say, Nicæa I saw itself that way. Several of those who agreed to homoousios there didn't feel particularly bound to teach consubstantiality afterwards. Its prohibitions against bishops changing sees didn't prevent Eusebius, a signatory, changing from the see of Nicomedia to Constantinople. To my view, the fathers at Nicæa saw the council as being not a lot different from a local council, just on a bigger scale. It was an agreement, not a mouthpiece for the Holy Ghost.

2) How is one to regard a council, such as at Ephesus, where the business gets under way before an important party even has time to arrive and discuss the matter? Old Cyril of Alexandria (who presided) must be one of the several examples of people who became saints despite the magnitude of their, shall we say, darker side.
The Syrians, who at that time had a problem with the dual nature in one person of our Lord, were the party concerned. They went off into schism as a result, labelled as Nestorians. A later great figure of the Syrian (or, better, Assyrian) schism, Babai the Great, with his work on qnome and parsopa came up with, basically, what Ephesus taught, but in different language. Are they to be held to the verbal formulation of Ephesus (which they don't like for reasons as much historical as anything else) if what they believe adds up to the same thing in any case?

3) The same thing can probably be said of Chalcedon and the Copts, Armenians and Jacobite Syrians.

4) Athanasius' little councilettes at Alexandria (21 bishops in 362) and Antioch (25 bishops) managed to overturn the Arian council(s) of Ariminum/Seleucia (500 (!) bishops in 359), confirmed at Constantinople in 360 (when the world groaned to find itself Arian) which certainly saw itself as an Ecumenical Council. No doubt he swung it because he had the support of the new Emperor (successor to Julian the Apostate), Jovian.

5) By the middle ages, it seems to have been established that a Canon (with an anathema) in a Council document was highly authoritative, perhaps infallible, whereas the preamble and any notes were illuminative (if I can put it like that). So when Trent teaches whoever denies that the Sacrament of Order consists of both major and minor orders, anathema sit, that's gotta be taken really really seriously, but when in a note it lists the orders as porter, lector, exorcist, acolyte, subdeacon, deacon, priest; that can be taken as seriously illuminative, but not infallible in any way (which it can't be, since the East does it differently, and Trent knew that—Council of Florence, and all that).

6) Vatican II has no canons at all. Some people, therefore, treat the whole thing as infallible. Is it all to be considered 'preamble' and therefore illuminative, or infallible?
Others consider infallible the bits they like (Gaudium et Spes, for instance) and pretend the bits they don't like (the use of Latin must continue in the Western rites) don't exist. Traddies can be as guilty of this as trendies.
Paul VI and Bd John XXIII seem to have thought that the council was to proclaim no new dogmas. What, then, does that make of the occasions when it does seem to vary from what has been held before? (e.g. Holy Orders as being Bishop, Priest, Deacon, see Trent above). Pope Benedict's idea of the Hermeneutic of Continuity is probably the best approach to this, but there are wrinkles that have to ironed out.

The East (when it stops trying to long for the days of the Emperor) seems to think that 'reception' is what makes the difference between a dodgy Council (like Ariminum/Seleucia, or the Robber Council of Ephesus) and a pukka one. I think that this is rather like our notion of the Sensus Fidelium. In other words, it all depends on whom you speak to. When Gregory the Great went to Constantinople as Papal Legate, he found almost every single church there still basically Subordinationist (kind of Arian). It was really only after centuries that Nicene orthodoxy really rooted itself in the East.

It has often been said that the Church thinks in centuries. Perhaps here we have an indication to Reception/Sensus Fidelium. It isn't an instant thing, but can take a very long time. Like the psychohistory of Hari Seldon, it only operates on a vast scale. A priest once commented to me that we are, sub specie æternitatis, still living in the Early Church; this is, of course, right. The bigger picture is something we will only see when we have all gone to our reward.

What I think is harder to prove is that the Holy Spirit whispers in the ears of every Father in an Ecumenical Council in such a way that, in effect, every Ecumenical Council takes verbal dictation from God. In some ways, a Council opens up more questions than it hopes to solve; the present dialogue taking place between the Society of St Pius X and what it calls 'Conciliar Rome' is a good example of this. That the Society is still trying to settle this matter, and hasn't simply separated itself from the Church, as so many have before, is a very good sign, and may perhaps help us to settle this issue of what a Council actually is.

If in any way I have gone over the line in this, I apologize, and submit my judgment to that of the Church. I am just trying to feel my way through an interesting set of ideas.

The New Translation

We're using the new translation in its entirety here in the Seminary during Lent. This morning was the third celebration, and still the sky hasn't fallen down, nor has anyone walked out.

People have commented that it's much easier to listen to than to read on the page, which is encouraging. One person, who habitually likes to demonstrate his competence in the Liturgy by making all the responses louder and faster than anyone else, forgot from time to time, and a couple of times shouted out 'and also with you' (he wasn't using the crib card, to show that he didn't need such things) thus tripping others up. Some sacred ministers were a little lost ('as confused as a Jesuit in Holy Week', they used to say) but all in all, it has been prayerful and a good experience. I am encouraged.

This morning, the dismissal by the deacon was a little abrupt; 'go in peace!'. It sounded a little like 'go away!'

Land and Law

An Anglican priest of my acquaintance spoke to me recently about a curious incident. The diocese in which he works contacted not him, but his churchwarden, to state that at the latest by the end of next year (and preferably via the diocese within a month) the land on which the church and churchyard stand must be registered with the Land Registry as always having belonged to the church. This must be asserted before a solicitor.

There are some curious angles to this:

• Why is this necessary all of a sudden? Is it because some congregations are hoping to take their buildings with them when they join the Ordinariate?
• Does this mean that the Church of England is actually aware that its confident assertion that such alienation of property is not possible is actually not as watertight as it hoped? In fact, that congregations might successfully claim ownership of their own church?
• Why was the churchwarden approached without the knowledge of the incumbent? Is it because, as a known opponent of the ordination of women, he might be thought liable to join the Ordinariate?

One hears rumours of an E.U. law which says that if a congregation has been worshipping in a building for twenty years or more and maintaining it entirely at their own expense during this period it belongs to them. And presumably they could take it with them if they voted to join the Ordinariate or, for that matter (and no doubt preferably to some in Church House) the Unification Church or the Church of Scientology.

Makes you fink, dunnit?

The triumph of hope over experience

From time to time I have seen and heard it asserted proudly by Anglicans that it alone in the West has preserved the proper order of the sacraments of initiation (meaning giving Communion after Confirmation). They might be interested in this article.

Some Anglicans in Canada are pressing for the abolition of the requirement that communicants be already baptized. This they believe will reverse the continuing decline of the Canadian Anglican Church. According to this view, it would seem that the reason that Canadians do not attend the Anglican Church is because (a) they are not baptized, and therefore (b) are cruelly denied Communion. It follows that once it is announced that one does not need to be baptized to receive, then all the churches will fill up once more.

Ahh, bless!

Comments

Apologies to a couple of comment posters who didn't get their comments added recently. Usually, Blogger sends me an email to let me know that comments have arrived. For some reason, it didn't this time, so it wasn't until I logged into the Dashboard thingy that I discovered comments unpublished. It has now been remedied.

Carthusiastic enquiry

A monk of St Hugh's Charterhouse would like to know if anyone knows anything about this picture. Can anyone help, please?

Cold Dogma and Nice Feelings.

It was my privilege the other day to celebrate Mass in a house of contemplative nuns. One sister approached me in a little distress just before Mass (it was the feast of the Chair of St Peter) to point out a guest-house resident who had made the most enormous fuss just before Mass because she had discovered that we wouldn't give her Holy Communion, she being Anglican. This is not an uncommon problem, and to obviate it, the sisters have made a little notice which outlines the situation charitably and carefully.

Throughout the Mass this lady (for such I assume she is) sat quivering in righteous outrage and created the most horrible atmosphere. At Communion she approached me, sidling up. She waited. I waited. She (barely) crossed her arms, and I blessed her. And that was that.

Except it wasn't. We all went out from Mass feeling, well, dirtied in some way. Certainly the Mass was spoilt for me and for Sister Euphrasia of the Paschal Candle Extinguished (for it was she) who knew of the situation. I didn't help matter by expressing my feelings to Sister Euphrasia more strongly than I should.

What is so galling is the natural assumption that we were being deliberately cruel in some way. Why does this lady assume that she can be a guest in a Catholic monastery and expect everybody to conform to her, Anglican, doctrine (or at least custom)? As Sister Euphrasia said, 'when we go to the Orthodox Liturgy, they don't give us Communion, and we don't expect it.' Is it because said lady thinks that, since she belongs to the Established Church, we all ought to conform to her views because they are naturally right, being By Law Established?

Why does she expect us to set aside what our Communion has held from the time of the Apostles (just you read St Ignatius of Antioch [c.110AD] on the subject!) because she didn't want to walk 50 yards to the Anglican Church for Holy Communion?

It didn't help that this lady is a dedicated Benedictine groupie. Triumphantly she revealed that she had been not just given but was invited to Communion at both Bec and Solesmes Abbeys. It did no good to explain the feeble half-way house that the Church has permitted reception where there is no access for a substantial time (ten years? half an hour? five minutes?) to one's own communion, when Pope John Paul II could give Communion to the still-Anglican Tony Blair, half a mile from All Saints Anglican Church in Rome. We were simply imposing our cold, cruel dogma to keep her out.

When I was a seminarian, for a few brief years we occasionally used (among a plethora of hymnals) a sort of supplement to Hymns Ancient and Modern called 100 Hymns for Today: I'm sure some readers will have encountered it. In it is a corker, called 'God of concrete, God of steel' (just imagine!) in which it lambasted 'dogmas keeping man from man' (itself a splendid own goal as the hymn aged). I also remember a visit of some exchange students from a Methodist theological college in Bristol. They came to a Fundamental Theology lecture I attended. The lecturer (called, remarkably, Michael Jackson, [no relation] by no means an arch-traditionalist) kindly explained to them at the beginning that he was addressing the subject of 'dogma'. There was a collective (somewhat camp but nonetheless genuine) gasp of horror from the Methodists. We all gazed at them, bemused.

Dogma. Feelings.

Dear me.

Summorum Pontificum

I have received an email from Someone Who Says He Knows, saying that the freedom accorded by Summorum Pontificum to the Extraordinary Form is indeed under threat, and that the 'clarification' document is about to be signed.

This would be a very good moment to sign that petition, if you have not already done so.

I really don't know what all this is about. SP has, if anything, brought peace to this matter, and caused very little disturbance except in the minds of those who simply don't want us to be allowed it.

It's really quite simple; if you don't like the Extraordinary Form, don't go to it!

'That we should have lived to see these days!'

'That we should have lived to see these days!'

These are the moving words of Deacon Edwin Barnes, formerly 'Flying' Anglican Bishop of Richborough. May God bless him in his new role, and all his colleagues.
Truly we are living in extraordinary times.

Soon bee spring……

Feeling melancholy today (very badly let down by a health care professional,* and wondering whether to make a formal complaint), I happened to cast my eye out from the priests' kitchen on the first floor in the seminary and saw a flash of yellow in the grass below. The first flower of spring! I capered downstairs, suddenly lighter hearted, and saw another, purple, crocus with, glory be to God, a bee! And here he is, doing as bees do, going about his buzzness.


* Don't bother asking; I'm not going to give details.

The Good Sisters

This is a picture of a meeting of Mothers General of womens' religious orders in the States (courtesy of Palazzo Apostolico). Doesn't it inspire you for the Church of the future?

Poverty, Chastity, Obedience. Well, one out of three (judging by the ages) ain't bad.

There is, I gather, another body of Superiors who employ different standards.

More on initiation

I've been turning my mind over the last few days to this question of the sacraments of initiation.

Historically, of course, the three sacraments were celebrated in one ceremony—in Patristic times, I mean. In the east this continues, whereas in the west we have spaced the sacraments out, no doubt mostly for pragmatic reasons. When St Pius X permitted children to receive our Lord in Holy Communion once they had reached the age of reason, he made no prescription concerning Confirmation, and so it continued to be celebrated when it had been in the more recent past, which is to say, before the onset of puberty.

The change to adolescent Confirmation is a much more recent thing, and is still not done in all dioceses. My own diocese was one of the first to administer Confirmation to those 14 and over (readers won't be surprised to read that it was the initiative of the then Bishop Cormac Murphy-O'Connor). I am not one of those who see this as entirely a negative move; there are some positive features.

For a start, there is an element of Confirmation that is about conversion. Some churches in the East, I understand, will even re-Chrismate where there has been a change in one's life for the good, a turning to the Lord. To that extent, a degree of the exercise of free-will is a good thing. 14-year-olds have a degree of freedom that 10-year-olds do not have.

14-year-olds also have another thing which can be turned to advantage. They are often passionate, in every way. As the lives of the saints have shown, this is often the age when important life-decisions are made. To be part of that decision-making process is a good thing. It is often argued that this is also a very emotionally confused age, and this can be true. But messages of all sorts sink in deeply as the teenagers are trying to work out who they are; it is important that our voice be strong among these.

Catechesis at this age is a very different thing to catechesis either before or after. Information tends to go in one ear and out the other, but impressions remain strong. In my catechesis, I try to cover with the young people the normal things; the Creed, the Sacraments and the 10 Commandments. I am well aware that the kids aren't going to retain 90% of what I say. But they listen, and what I hope they will retain is an impression that the Church does have sensible things to say about what she teaches, and also the things that matter to them, and will be inclined therefore to trust her. When they were there at the meeting, I mean, the whole thing made sense, and I hope that they will remember that. It is a different method of catechesis to that employed at First Holy Communion which, realistically, is the last time that many of them ever had anything given by people who really believed this stuff.

Calm, authoritative reassurance, a preparedness to treat them as human beings with brains, an appropriate friendship, all these make teenagers inclined to trust and listen, and they can benefit far more than they would at even twelve. Only a generation ago, most 14-year olds left school and went out to work. Now they all face the prospect of continuing to live not that differently from a 9-year-old until they are 18 or more. There is no wonder that many of them get stroppy and difficult.

I hope I've made the case for a catechesis of teenagers, but that doesn't answer why it has to be accompanied by Confirmation. Well, partly it's to give them a reason to be catechized. To get them there. Yes, yes, I know that that isn't what the Sacrament is for, but neither is it contrary to the Sacrament, and, as I wrote earlier, the Sacrament does have an element of conversion, choice. Becoming a soldier in Christ's army. At my confirmation (aged 9), we sang:

I'm a soldier in Christ's army,
Confirmation made it so;
I'm a soldier in Christ's army,
I will spread the Faith wherever I go.
Oh the devil shall not harm me,
I'm the captain of my soul,
I'm a soldier in Christ's army,
marching to my heavenly goal.

Shakespeare it ain't (and the tune wasn't Mozart, either). But the implication of connecting Confirmation with Pentecost is that there is at least an element of consecration-for-mission in it.

And, after all, the Apostles were confirmed after their First Communion, weren't they?

I hope to write something on First Holy Communion soon.

The Sacraments of Initiation

I tremble in having to disagree with His Patrimoniality Fr Hunwicke, with whom I find myself in almost constant agreement. He warmly applauds the action of the Archbishop of Liverpool in celebrating the Sacrament of Confirmation before First Holy Communion. I, I'm afraid, do not.

Now I cannot but agree with all Fr Hunwicke's arguments; he is of course quite right to say that the proper order for the Sacraments of Initiation is Baptism, Confirmation, Communion, and that there has been agreement on this in the West right down to the (relatively recent) time of Pope St Pius X. I agree too that there was more loss than gain in this change. He is also right to assert that this is a Sacrament, not a Rite of Passage.

However:

What I deplore is the ceasing of the ancient custom that this Sacrament be conferred by a bishop. If Confirmation is simply to become an adjunct to the celebration of First Holy Communions, which happen all within a few weeks of each other,

1) There is no way that even a bevy of bishops could get to every celebration. They will have to delegate the parish priest in each case, as has been happening in the Salford Diocese for several years now.

2) Given the fuss and celebration of First Holy Communion, the Sacrament of Confirmation risks becoming entirely overshadowed.

3) I cannot see that adequate catechesis in these sacraments can be given by the age of 8. Given the deplorable state of the teaching of RE in many schools there will now be no opportunity to catechize our young people. This will have to be worked around in another way, but a number of priests will simply not bother, and a number of young people will simply not bother either.

4) And what about Confession? Does the Archbishop seriously think that his teenagers are going to make a solemn Confession, like the French Communion Solenelle?


Our bishops have become increasingly distanced from their dioceses. The ever-increasing bureaucracy of the Bishops' Conference, of committees and all the mechanisms of senior management, is sucking the lifeblood out the relationship between bishop and diocese. Many years ago, the then Bishop Cormac Murphy-O'Connor ceased doing Confirmations in the parishes because, he said, it gave less time and focus to his proper parish visitations. So Confirmations were moved to the Cathedral, a deanery at at time, and thus they remain. The trouble is that when parochial confirmations ceased, so did parochial visitations. The Bishop since has just come to lend dignity to big 'occasions'.

The ancient custom in the West was, I believe, that everybody was confirmed by the Bishop as soon as possible after their baptism. That meant that when a Bishop arrived in a locality, everyone who had been baptised, from infants upwards, went (or was taken) to the Bishop to be confirmed. I remember hearing that some Bishops would confirm when passing through a district without ever descending from their horses.

Would that not be preferable to the Liverpool/Salford solution? Each bishop will regularly visit his parishes, and while there confirm all those who have been baptised. At the age of 7 or 8 they can make their First Confessions and Communions.

If that is not thought suitable, then let's leave things alone! The Ordinariate can maintain its (more ancient) practice.

Priests Training in the Extraordinary Form

Details of the forthcoming Latin Mass Society training of celebrants in the Extraordinary Form may be found here.

Memories and the Confiteor

Whether or not one has the third Confiteor before Holy Communion in the Extraordinary Form of the Mass  is a subject that can raise hackles all round.

What is forgotten, though I have mentioned it before, is the fact that the very reception of Communion during Mass is a comparatively recent custom. I don't mean because people formerly didn't go to Communion very often —when I was a child, my parents would go three or four times a year — but that it didn't happen at Mass, and Communion at Mass didn't become commonplace until the years after the First World War. At Westminster Cathedral, Communion was distributed between Masses in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel. Here in the seminary at Wonersh, Communion was distributed before the early morning 'Community Mass' until about 1925. Thanksgiving was made during the Mass itself, at which, often hymns were sung. There was a later High Mass in addition, and the entire college were expected to assist at both but communicate at neither.

The rite of Communion had a Confiteor because it rarely took place at Mass, but was a separate rite simply lifted in. Given the success of the movement for frequent Communion and the Liturgical Movement's achievement in moving Communion habitually to within Mass, it made sense to ask whether that Confiteor was necessary, if the Communion were to be treated as a part of Mass itself.

There are a number of things that have changed as a result of moving Communion to within Mass. I suppose few people now would think it inappropriate (indeed it seems an obvious thing to do), but there is no question that it has shifted the focus of the celebration away from the Sacrifice and towards the people to some extent. One encounters increasingly the attitude that if one has not received Holy Communion, one has not been to Mass. Some go as far as to assert that if one has not received Communion under both kinds, one has not received properly, and therefore has not really been to Mass. This does need some corrective action, though perhaps returning Communion to an extra-Missal position might be going rather far.

Orto iam sole

Splintered Sunrise is back. Hooray.

Those Left Behind

During these remarkable days when some sort of a realignment is taking place within Western Christianity, I would not wish to forget those who would call themselves Anglo-Catholics and who have, and will, remain in the Anglican Communion. These are bitter and difficult days. Those who are now becoming our new brothers and sisters have the consolation of their new home; those behind have to confront and live in a less congenial Anglican church and that without the support of those they relied on, especially their bishops whom they loved and trusted. They will understand why I support the Ordinariate wholeheartedly and welcome our new brothers, but that does not stop me worrying about and praying for those left behind.

I pray, of course, first that they too may find the grace, faith, whatever, to make the same crossing to the fulness of Catholic Communion. But anyway that God will aid them with his grace to do his will and find comfort there.

Feeling glad for our new brethren is not the same as gloating. Thanks be to God, I have seen very little (none, actually) of that.

Reordering

My second parish as assistant priest was the Sacred Heart church in Hove. This is perhaps the loveliest church I have ever served in. It was built in the 1880s, (by Crawley then Hansom), and almost everything is beautiful. Eric Gill and Caryll Houselander were both received into the Church there. Its only drawback was that the original sanctuary was rather small, and so in the mid 1950s the parish priest, with infinite pains, extended it. The remarkable alabaster altar rails, for instance, were copied and extended at what must have been vast expense.

Come the liturgical changes a few years later, the same parish priest believed himself required to make further changes to the sanctuary. This time, instead of the infinite care the same man took a handful of years before, it appears that he got come cowboy builders to take a couple of sledge hammers to the high altar, built some cheap wooden staging and steps out into the sanctuary, and roughly slapped together such bits of the old high altar as survived the mauling to make a forward altar. The gradine behind was patched with some marble and had a couple of other bits of the old altar glued onto it.

What a strange contrast of approach. The first time, no trouble was too much. The second, any trouble was too much.

Children and The Telegraph

In today's Sunday Telegraph, Rowan Pelling (a lady) defends, juxta modum, Elton John's and his partner's decision to produce young Zachary. It is the terms in which she does so that is rather interesting. She writes of her own children:

I didn't have my boys so that one of them could find a cure for cancer, or because I thought I would be the best mother in the world. I did it because I believed that my life, and my husband's, would be happier and more fulfilled if we had mini-wes to love.

She goes on to add that the experience of having children inevitably makes one become less selfish, which is of course right.

What worries me is the attitude she highlights, that even when reasons are thought to be good in themselves, children are still used instrumentally, for a purpose that is other than their own. It is at least part of what we mean by human dignity. Every human being has his own dignity and purpose which is quite apart from the purpose to which that person will be put by others (state, parents, medics &c).

The idea of having a child to make necessary treatment for another, or because it makes me a happier person or, frankly, even because it makes me a better person (thought that isn't quite what Mrs Pelling is saying), reminds me of Huxley's Brave New World, with human beings created for one purpose or another.

In the end it is this point that we need to get across, I believe. Once one understands it, all the rest falls into place; surrogacy, abortion, even contraception.

A child is not created to be loved; it is created to be, and to be an image and likeness of God. And that is why we love it. Because it is loveable in itself.


I know there's nothing here either very original or very interesting. I was just moved to post it because of being struck by people's funny views of altruism, highlighted in Mrs Pelling's article.

*****

On a related topic, in First Things, Lord Nicholas Windsor has published a passionate cry for the defence of the unborn. He observes that while we congratulate ourselves on all the strides made towards social progress in Europe, we still ignore the elephant in the room of abortion; a massacre that truly disgraces us all, and has somehow ceased to appall.

*****

And, while on the subject of The Sunday Telegraph, today's issue has a photograph taken by the noisy cameras yesterday in Westminster Cathedral. It is quite apparent, however, that the author of the accompanying article, Jonathan Wynne-Jones, did not think it worth accompanying his photographers to the ceremony, given the number of inaccuracies in his column.

It is always a salutary thing to remember how many silly things one can catch journalists saying when writing on subjects that one, the reader, knows something about. It should always remind us not to trust them too much when they write on subjects about which we know little.

History Being Made

One of the great things about a sabbatical is that one is much freer just to drop things and run. So it was that I was able to be present today at the reception in the Church of those brave folk who have begun the movement towards the Ordinariate.

The whole thing was very low-key, really. I turned up early, and was saying a prayer at Our Lady of Pew when I was joined by a man in a purple tie. He asked for assistance in a small matter, and I recognized John Broadhurst (hard to know how to title him right now). We chatted for a minute, and he parted with the line 'Nellie the elephant has packed her trunk and is getting out of the circus!'. He seemed in very cheerful humour.

I crossed over to the Blessed Sacrament chapel and was met by two anxious-looking journos who also wanted help. They were deceived by my clerical collar into thinking I was on the local team. 'We're from the Telegraph, and are here for the Ordination at 12.30'. Well, the Telegraph'd obviously sent the A team, I thought, if they hadn't even realized what they were coming to!

I got a nice seat at one side, and was pleased to be joined by Sir Dan of the Nesbitry (what on earth do people who weren't at John Fisher School make of that title?) whom I have known since I was nine. I also spied Jeffery Steel of De Cura Animarum in the congregation.

There was a little rehearsal beforehand, and Mass duly began. There was absolutely no reference whatever to the elephant in the room (the reception of these notables) from Bishop Hopes or anyone else. It was simply a Mass for the feast of the Mother of God; a little note in the menu simply observed that there would be a reception in the middle. Finally, once he had preached, Bishop Hopes said a word about what was happening.

The reception was very low-key. The journalists turned out to be photographers, and put their heads over the screen behind the choir stalls, setting the volume of their shutter clicks to Maximum and Extremely Distracting. Only the three active flying bishops were received, all modestly and humbly in ties, together with some members of some of their families, plus the three sisters from Walsingham. I was surprised to see that even John Broadhurst, baptized a Catholic, was received along with the rest. They were then confirmed—some in accord with tradition took confirmation names; one of the former bishops took Benedict, another Joseph, others used their baptismal names—and they returned to their places to gentle applause. One of the sisters, descending the steps grinned at the congregation and gave two thumbs up.

They were then introduced to a great Catholic tradition; the collection. With masterly tact, a large African woman in a great pink headdress descended on the poor sisters (who if Dame Rumour speak true* had been turned out into the snow in their shifts) and menaced them with a collection bag. A fellow brigand went to mug the former bishops.

We all received communion, (five of our new brethren, including all three former bishops, on the tongue) and, lo, it was done. We are in communion.

The Ordinariate is launched very quietly and gently, slipping almost unnoticed into the water.

Dat Deus incrementum.

–————————————————————————————————
* perhaps she don't. I've heard both versions.

The Pope will present Thought for the Day

On Christmas Eve, the Holy Father is to present Thought for the Day on Radio 4. I remember that the idea was first mentioned at the time of the Papal visit. Well, now it's happening.
Read about it here on the BBC site.

H/T The A&B Communication Service

The secularists are having a grumble, of course. Nobody is interested in religion, they observe. They really are still in denial, even given the evidence of the recent Papal visit. I'd be interested to see if they could command attendances like the Holy Father did for one of their grumble-ins. And actually leave people feeling good afterwards!

Down to earth with a bang—

This, on the other hand is frankly disturbing:

Europe Ecology offers you its best wishes for the new year 1432 / 2011

Understand?

H/T to G.F.

Solstice — fulcite me floribus

 'Things can only get better!'

What an exciting year lies ahead of us! We can expect the introduction of the new translation of the Missal (or at least the Missale Moronica) in the coming months; we have a new nuncio with a reputation for getting things done; we have several episcopal appointments to be made in the UK; and, of course, there will very soon be the establishment of the Ordinariate.

And right now we can look forward to the fact that after today the days will lengthen—a cock's step every day, as my grandmother would say—and soon we will see green shoots of all kinds.





Veni, delicta mea…Jam enim hiems transiit;* imber abiit et recessit;** flores apparuerunt in terra nostra.***





* even if it's only officially starting today
** well, a man can dream!
*** don't laugh!





The pictures, taken last May, are from my hortus in valle—I am surprised how much I am missing it while away.

Our new Nuncio

There seems to be a consensus emerging on the Italian blogosphere (as on Palazzo Apostolico among many others) that our new Nuncio was appointed because of his success in soothing the volatile temperament of the Russian Orthodox. In this his achievement has in all regards been conspicuous. He is, it is said, expected to perform the same miracle with the Church of England. Let us set aside the question of whether the aggrieved sensibilities of the CofE are perceived to be more important than the aggrieved sensibilities of the Russian Orthodox, or the extent to which either side brought it on themselves. What matters is that Mennini was perceived to have done a good job, and it is hoped that he will do it again.

It would appear that the Vatican has been serious in its post-Williamsongate (sorry!) intention to scan the online media, and has taken to reading Wikileaks among other things, and believes the Church of England to have been seriously annoyed by the establishment of the Ordinariates. This might a be a correct assumption, however incorrect the attribution of this opinion to Francis Campbell (whom I continue to believe to be a good thing). The Church has (in my view correctly) seen it as an important project to maintain good relations with non-Catholic bodies. The fact that the Church of England has taken some steps recently which have had seriously anti-ecumenical consequences (meaning that they see ecumenism as being less important than these other matters) does not change that. Eastern Churches frequently stamp off in dudgeon about some matter or other (I remember a formal breaking off of all dialogue with Rome by the Greeks because Rome exhibited a Macedonian icon in the Vatican museum) but despite the fact that actual unity has been postponed by the CofE sine die (unless we abandon our antediluvian ideas and join them in ordaining those whom our Lord did not), the Church still wishes, like a loving Mother, to keep the lines of communication open. This is good and Christian behaviour.

So Mennini's job is, they say, to soothe the savage breast and restore ecumenical equilibrium. I think, though, that the Secretariate of State has overestimated the problem, despite everything I wrote above. The Church of England isn't really that annoyed by the Ordinariates. Papalist Anglo-Catholics have long been a thorn in the side of the Establishment, and I am sure that there are many Anglicans, publicly posturing a 'Papal Aggression' stance, who privately are saying 'good riddance; just make sure they leave the silver spoons behind when they go'.

I believe, too, that the Church of England ought not entirely be allowed to get away with feeling that it occupies the moral high ground on the matter of women's orders, and I also dislike any notion that we Catholics are chasing to ingratiate ourselves once more with the people who caused the problem in the first place. Our first moral duty is to those now limbering up to swim the Tiber. They are our brethren, let us be in no doubt—and Rome is in no doubt—about it.

So Archbishop Mennini's first job is to keep Canterbury sweet. But he shouldn't waste too much time on that matter; it isn't necessary. Canterbury isn't Moscow or Athens (a far more intractable see than Constantinople). Canterbury is far too preoccupied with keeping its much bigger chicks within the nest—and the Anglican Communion right now risks losing far more members to the Southern Cone and the African group than it ever risks losing to us. Canterbury will keep talking to us because it needs to, and because it is right to do so, anyway. If it hesitate, it is because it feels, just a teeny bit, guilty about what has happened. The fulminations of such as Bishop Charteris (in denying Ordinariate swimmers use of London Diocesan property) are really the actions of someone who feels rather insecure, not someone who feels positive about his actions and wishes to make others feel positive too. He wishes to play the 'offended against' card. Sorry, it doesn't convince.

Archbishop Mennini is very welcome to our shores. I really hope he will enjoy his stay among us. Having served in Uganda, he should know some English already, which will help. But let him make no mistake about it: the real issue here is not ecumenism, vital though I genuinely believe that to be, but is  to be found in the various talks of the Holy Father on his visit to Britain only a few months ago. Those talks gave huge potential impetus to the faith of the Catholic Church here, and it will be vital to ensure that our future episcopal appointments realize this (in both senses of the word).

Prayers please

Tomorrow (Saturday) we are due to ordain four splendid young men to the Diaconate, a most important step on their road to priesthood. But one bishop has been struck down with illness, and the arrival of another is imperilled by the threat of more snow.
Please do say a prayer!
Some guests have already arrived, including the redoubtable Mac, The Mulier Fortis, who lived up to her name and defied the weather.

update:

—All went well, thank the Lord: Bishop Kieran Conry defied the snow and the Church now has four more deacons, whose ordination made us all very happy.

The Central Seminary Scheme

In the years following the restoration of the English and Welsh hierarchy in 1850, a lot thought was given to establishing diocesan seminaries.

Seminaries, in fact, are an English idea. In 1556, Cardinal Pole laid the idea before a synod of the English Church, and though, as is well-known, events were to overtake him and his scheme, the Council of Trent was to pick up the idea and run with it. Trent's idea (Session 23, Chapter 18, Cum Adolescentium Aetas) is that each diocese should have its own seminary, situated near the Cathedral and bishop, to mutual benefit. The bishop can get to know his future clergy, and imbue them with his vision for the diocese; in some sense, the seminarians can be apprenticed to him. The Cathedral, too, would benefit from experienced and professional serving—real clerics performing the appropriate role allotted to their order.

In England, during the Second Spring, bishops wanted to implement this, but there were a lot of difficulties, the major one being finance. So the plan was slow to get off the ground.

Westminster Diocese had trained its students at St Edmund's, Old Hall Green, Ware, which was half of the old Douai college, the other half having gone to Ushaw. Both places also, like Douai, doubled as secondary schools for boys, and even, to some extent, substituted for the Universities that Catholics were forbidden to attend (initially by the Universities' rules, and then by the Church's own).

Cardinal Manning tried to remedy that for Westminster, trying an abortive University in Kensington, and, only a little more successfully, a proper dedicated seminary in Hammersmith. This has as its patron St Thomas of Canterbury, and its buildings now house the Sacred Heart Convent and School. I think that they were also used for filming part of Nuns on the Run, but I'm not certain.

St Thomas' was not a happy place, it is said, but it endured until Manning's death. However, almost the first act of the new Archbishop, Bernard Vaughan, was to decree its closure. He did this, rather tactlessly, on the seminary's feast day itself, 29th December 1892. His decision was not to send the students back to St Edmunds (Cardinal Bourne was to do that), but instead to establish a Central Seminary for the whole south  and midlands of England. This was to be domiciled at Oscott.

It didn't quite work. He knew that the scheme would never manage to draw in Ushaw, so he left that alone. Wonersh had only just been founded, and so he thought that if he applied a little pressure, Wonersh could function as a junior seminary, and the seniors could go to Oscott. The bishop of Southwark, John Baptist Butt, and the first Rector, Francis Bourne (later the Cardinal) fought furiously to preserve their own seminary, and in the end won their right to independence.

It should be pointed out that Vaughan himself came to regret what he had done. A central seminary has a lot of advantages—the sharing of resources, for one. But it entirely lacks that necessary connection between bishop and student that makes a good seminary. Vaughan was to find that by sending Westminster students to Oscott, he lost all control over their formation, this coming under the Bishop of Birmingham instead (it did not have an archbishop until 1911). And, as I mentioned, Bourne was to bring the Westminster students back to St Edmund's in 1904 (he had succeeded Vaughan in 1903).


Now why do I write all this? Well really because I hear on the grapevine (from a source in the north of England) that the idea of a central seminary at Oscott is being talked about again among the bishops. With the closure of St Cuthbert's Ushaw now on the cards, and the majority of students to be moved to Oscott, there is talk of making the seminary at Oscott a national one, which would entail the closure also of Allen Hall and Wonersh (though presumably not Valladolid or Rome).

Please, your graces and your lordships, think well about this. A seminary is a kind of a home and common inheritance for priests who have surrendered these things for the sake of the Gospel. And, most particularly, you will yourselves lose influence over your students and their education. As in so many other things, expensive committees will take over your own roles, and though Eccleston Square can no doubt find time to do it on behalf of the Bishops' Conference, your own input will be severely restricted, and you will not feel able to intervene on behalf of your own students should you believe it to be necessary.

Our seminaries may be small, but they are ours. They can be decanted into smaller, more economic, buildings, should this be thought necessary (I wish they had done that at Ushaw), but they should not lose their local nature. They are part of the inheritance of the particular churches; in one sense they are the family silver which should not be lightly disposed of. The principle of subsidiarity suggests that one should not let economic considerations do the driving in this instance.

Letting nothing dismay them.

It was lovely (and an honour) to meet Fr Michael Gollop of the blog Let Nothing You Dismay and The Anglo Catholic today in St Arvan's, his (Anglo Catholic) parish near Chepstow just over the Welsh border. It was sobering to consider that his churches are attended from people from really quite a long distance away (including by a close relative of one of the Church of England's most unremitting persecutors of the opponents of women bishops) who must all be facing very serious decisions in the near future.
May God the Holy Spirit and St Peter guide them. Please pray for them.

On happiness

Sinéad O'Connor seems a strange place to start this post, but for me she is emblematic of our age. She feels passionately about things, and this causes her to make dramatic gestures that seem crazy, rather like some secular version of some of the Old Testament prophets. She has passion and fire, but this energy is unfocussed, undirected, and lashes out in all directions so that she can always be relied upon for a headline, a soundbite, that is as passionate as it is unreflective.

For a while she lived with a journalist called John Waters and had a daughter by him. He, in common with many Irish people of his generation, rebelled against the Church and lost his faith, believing himself to have profited by the loss. In due time, and through many journeys, he found it again, better than ever, and he also found Communion and Liberation which gave him a vocabulary to understand and articulate what he had been through and what Ireland was going through. He put it into a book, called Lapsed Agnostic which contains a lot of wisdom, and I commend it to you, especially if you know something about Ireland, though its wisdom is much wider.

The book is a kind of rebellion against revolution and at the same time a pæan in its praise. Years ago, in the eighties and nineties, I noticed that the authorities in our Church were still insistently employing the language and rhetoric of revolution and of change, which was strange, given that they were very clearly in power and making damn sure that revolution and change from their view of things was not gonna happen. In its own way, I suppose, it wasn't that different from Fidel Castro continuing to wear military uniform long after it had anything but symbolic relevance.

Did you ever watch any of those iconic comedies of the 90s, Absolutely Fabulous? There, Edina Monsoon, the mother, played by Jennifer Saunders, is an ageing revolutionary who just happens to be stinking rich and selfish, and is completely blind to the fact. She longs for her daughter, Saffron, a very buttoned-up conservative (with a small c), to embrace her 'values', and at one point asks her with passion 'Why can't you just rebel?' Saffron quietly says 'I thought that's just what I was doing!'

Waters writes from the point of view of Irish politics, observing that the politicians likewise, by presenting themselves constantly as forward-looking, embracing constantly blue-sky-thinking, have seized the initiative of revolution from the young and have refused to let it go. They monopolize revolution, and have stolen it from those to whom it naturally belongs. This has an enervating effect on the young, who simply will not engage with the political process at any level because the situation has been created where all politics are simply sat upon with the dead weight of authority administering with what ought to be their own language of revolution. But, of course, nothing ever does change, least of all for the better. The promise of one government after another that it will do away with the past (yet again) and create a new future simply seizes the spirit of youth from the young and makes them cynical.

The issue, I think, is deeper. Our society has become so consumer-led that it is incapable any more of perceiving the truth that happiness and fulfillment are far better achieved by self-giving than by satisfying our own wants and desires.

I was discussing this book with a colleague recently, and she made the sage observation that when she was growing up, the message given by Church, governments and schools was to consider just what the young people could give their lives to. It set before them a purpose and goal which was in some degree transforming. My colleague then contrasted this to what happened increasingly from the 60s onwards, which was to enable young people to organize their choices so as to get what they want out of life. It might seem a small difference, but the consequences have been catastrophic.

Life is now organized around the next pleasure and how to get it. Relationships likewise, and the whole advertising industry is organized around convincing people that they can perpetually have dinner without ever washing up. While the West is engaged upon this orgy of indulgence, the 'soma' of Brave New World, the poorer world struggles to satisfy the appetites in our own; it supplies cheap goods, but also drugs, sex workers and much more; these tear apart societies in the poorer world as much as in our own. And ultimately, it is no wonder that people do not care what government is doing. And it is no wonder that when the Church suggests that this 'soma' is bad for us, she is not listened to.

What it comes down to is that the real revolution is the Gospel, and, unlike the faux revolutions of our politicians, it is new in every age. Instead of arranging our lives around the next pleasure, the Church suggests that instead we should ask ourselves 'who can I give the next pleasure to?' It holds up marriage as the example of this love par excellence, since it reflects this exact self-giving relationship which exists between the Church herself and Christ.

It would be wonderful if our schools again could help our young people to consider their vocation in life. Not 'how do I get what I want?', but 'what am I called to be, to give?'

Not only would our young people be happier, but so would our world. In a world like this, Sinéad O'Connor with all her fire and passion might have done something truly great.

One man and his fax machine

Every time I see Fr Federico Lombardi, the (seemingly) one-man public relations team for the Vatican, I feel we ought to start a Fr Federico fan club. I can't imagine anything worse than having to front to an often hostile press things that you have no idea what they were about because nobody briefed you properly in the first place. And somehow, in many languages, he keeps his cool and comes across as, well, a nice man.
Three cheers for Fr Lombardi!

The truth always hurts

There is a site on the web that affects to be able to analyze one's writing style and liken it to published authors. I ran one or two of my pieces through, and discover, to my consternation, that, apparently, I write like Dan Brown. Oh, the shame!

My consternation was slightly alleviated when my friend, an Anglican priest, ran his sermons through the same analysis, to discover that his style was that of  H.P.Lovecraft, who, according to Wikipedia, was known best for 'horror and weird fiction'.

In fairness, I ran a well-known piece of Jane Austen through the test and it came up with, er, Jane Austen. Too easy. I tried its teeth on a little-known piece of Evelyn Waugh's, from his biography of Monsignor Ronald Knox, and the answer came back…………… H.P.Lovecraft!

Impolite and humourless observations will not be posted.

Asia Bibi

I rarely repeat news that you can read on other sites, but sometimes I feel that I need to do so, if only to add weight to the general opinion.

You will no doubt be aware that Asia Bibi stands condemned to death for an alleged blasphemy against Mohammed. It appears sometimes that merely to make an accusation against a Christian in certain places in certain countries is as good as proving guilt.

Setting aside the question of whether Mrs Bibi did malign Mohammed or not, justice does not appear to have been done, and a certain amount (but by no means enough) international pressure is being brought to bear. Even within Pakistan, there is in some circles a sense that this action is doing Islam no good whatever. The Jinnah institute itself has condemned the sentence, which is said to have been the consequence of revenge by a malicious landlord.

Now it seems that President Zidari is examining the evidence. He has a difficult path to tread; Like Turkey, only more so, Pakistan likes to look west, and think of itself as a modern state, but it also has a substantial hard-line Islamic presence without whose support any government's position is always going to be precarious.

Let us pray for our sister in such peril, and for her family, and, if we can, do more. Pakistan is sensitive to public opinion abroad, and it must be encouraged to see that the world is watching what happens in this case.

The St Barnabas Society

For a very long time now, the St Barnabas Society (formerly the Converts Aid Society) has been helping clergy across the Tiber by providing financial assistance when necessary (and it is very often necessary). They are facing a very great call on their resources, as any reader of this blog will know, and could really do with some help.
Please read all about it on Jeffrey Steel's blog here.

Crisis in Belgium

Paolo Rodari, in his Palazzo Apostolico blog, draws our attention to a little rebellion in the Belgian Church which he read about in the New York Times. Don Bosco parish in Buizingen, a parish in the diocese of Malines, now without a priest since the death of the last incumbent, has simply started to attempt to celebrate the Mass without benefit of clergy. Though there is a former priest, now married, in the parish, the first 'celebration' was led by a retired railway official, pictured here. There are said to be about a dozen of these churches in Holland and Flanders, being a reaction to the shortage of priests, but also a gesture of defiance to a hierarchy perceived as being too conservative and too inadequate in its response to abusive clergy.

This reaction is not surprising from many perspectives. The Dutch and Flemish Churches were famous before the 1960s for the vibrancy of their faith and their loyalty to Rome. They were second only to Ireland for their commitment to the missions, exporting vast numbers of priests mostly to the former Dutch East Indies. But, as we all know, the bottom fell out of it all. The Dutch Church first became extremely liberal, and then imploded; that these two things might be connected does not seem to have occurred to the people in Buizingen. As with so many people of this cast of mind, the only answer is to accelerate and deepen the break with the past in the hope that if this policy is implemented with all fervour, then the great outpouring of the Holy Spirit promised at Vatican II will finally happen.

What will happen, of course, is that these communities will either die out altogether, or will come to resemble liberal congregationalist Protestant bodies who cheerfully decide doctrine more or less for themselves, and therefore come to resemble simply clubs of (more or less) Christians who agree with each other, but not with the club down the road.

You might care to compare these querulous, ageing and failing congregations on their way out of the Catholic Church with those happy Anglo-Catholics in San Antonio lining up to join. One line from the report on the blog I linked to on the last post has kept ringing in my mind: 'Children are the necessary fruit of these communities. Where people have hope, they have children.'

Actually, I've just noticed that this post has for some strange reason been deleted from the Anglo-Catholic. You can find it now here, on the Ordinariate Portal.

History happening right now

I do hope that everyone is following with interest the meeting of people interested in the American Ordinariates in San Antonio. Follow the link on the right to the Anglo-Catholic blog. Make no mistake, whether you are inclined to be in favour of the Ordinariates or against them, we are living at a remarkable moment in the Church, and, mark my words, this meeting will find its way into the history books.

Rapprochement

A strange thing is going on in the Church at the moment. Former liturgical enemies seem to be reconciling, lions lie down with lambs, all that sort of thing.

Going back a mere handful of years—well within the lifetime of this blog, at least in its earlier incarnation—the lines of battle were well drawn between those faithful Catholics who thought we should adhere faithfully to the liturgical books of Paul VI, and 'those attached to the former books', as Pope John Paul put it.

Now, of course, it is not a case of 'former books', for Pope Benedict has made both forms of the Roman Rite perfectly current, hoping, it is said, to recreate the Roman Rite anew without legislation or coercion. It will take time, but it is beginning to work.

To begin with, there is the more solemn style of celebration that he has introduced. We saw some excellent examples during the Papal visit to the UK. Some grumbled at the less traditional aspects of the Masses at Bellahouston and Birmingham, but really they should be comparing the whole thing to the Masses during the visit of Pope John Paul. The atmosphere was entirely different, and the change happened on that occasion when Pope Benedict, only a few weeks elected, attended the prayer vigil at the Cologne Youth Day that Pope John Paul had planned to attend. When the crowd began to chant 'Be-ne-det-to!', as it had done for JPII, the Holy Father simply put his finger to his lips and pointed skywards. It was a glorious moment; instant transformation resulted, and the consequence was one of the most prayerful occasions every seen on such a large scale. Subsequent Papal celebrations have had the same note of prayerfulness. I had long given up attending such things, or even watching them on the TV, because I was so distressed by the disruptive atmosphere. But everything has changed. In particular, I remember the great prayer vigil in St Peter's square at the close of the year for priests: there was hardly a sound in that vast crowd: I knew things were now going to be different. And so, during the Holy Father's visit to the UK, we saw the same thing. Yes, there were liturgical undesirabilities, but the tenor of the whole thing was prayerful and spiritually nourishing.

A few days ago, I met a brother priest at the seminary whom I had not seen for some time. He is, shall we say, not unknown in Catholic media circles. No, it isn't Mgr Loftus. In passing he happened to mention to me that he was starting to celebrate the traditional Mass from time to time. I was taken aback, because although I am aware that this priest is on the more orthodox side of things, I had never associated him in any way with traddydom. He saw my surprise, and said quietly 'yes, well, it's the future, isn't it?'

He's not the only one. In one southern English diocese, about twenty per cent of the priests now celebrate the traditional Mass at least from time to time. Most of these are in their forties or younger. They haven't stopped celebrating the Ordinary form as the norm, but, one might say that the Missa Normativa is no longer the Missa Formativa in their life or the life of their parish. I mean that behind their celebration of the Mass of Paul VI lies a positive experience of the Mass of Pius V (at least in its John XXIII form). The people who attend Mass now are mostly the sort of people who found the prayerful celebrations of the Papal Visit nourishing, and are (mostly) glad to experience the same in their parishes. Some call it the 'gravitational pull' of the traditional rites.

This has partly to do with the fact that in reality our parish liturgy has hardly changed since about 1975. A few extras, such as girl servers, but nothing much. What was exciting then, the introduction of a 'celebratory' style of liturgy, has become the norm, and like all party games that have been played over and over again, unless one is the centre of attention, the game palls. And still we see some priests beginning almost every celebration with a reminder to the grey heads in front of him of how awful things used to be and how much better they are now, like some ageing apparatchik of the Kremlin in the Russia of Brezhnev. We are even singing the same awful music. Very little has changed.

Except everything has changed. Like a long musical piece that has got itself stuck into a canon going on and on, now a new musical theme has entered. It harmonizes perfectly well with what is already being played, but suddenly the audience lift up their heads and regain their interest. This is not dissonance, but actually is not just interesting in itself, but makes better and more interesting sense of what is there already, to everybody's surprise, including the surprise of those who thought that really the best thing to do was to stop the music altogether and play the previous piece exclusively.

Here I would refer you to what inspired this very long post; Paix Liturgique from time to time send me emails with their latest article. Today's is arresting: Fr Claude Barthe, a long-term campaigner for the traditional rites, has lent his support to the movement for reform of the reform. Read it here (it's in English). Here's a taster:

The reform of the reform project cannot be implemented without the spinal column of the most widespread possible celebration according to the traditional Mass, which in turn cannot hope to be reintroduced on a large scale in ordinary parishes without the recreation of a vital milieu through the reform of the reform.

The lion shall lie down with the lamb indeed.

Now before you write in and tell me that you have not the slightest intention of modifying your position, that either the Mass of Paul VI or that of Pius V are the devil's work, I am not suggesting that there are not plenty of people out there who have not moved an inch in their position. Simply that there are a lot who have, and right now they are having their effect.

Traddy announcements…

The Society of St Peter have a vocations discernment weekend on 17-19 December. Details here.
The Latin Mass Society have posted many pictures of their annual Requiem here.

Valle de los Caidos

The Valle de los Caidos ('The Valley of the Fallen') is a strange monument; I have been there a couple of times (out of curiosity, mostly) and latterly because I was the guest of some Madrid-based friends who have a holiday cottage not far away. From the little garden of the cottage, one can easily see the vast cross that indicates the Valle which itself is situated not far from the Escorial, the heart, in some ways, of the Spanish Monarchy. Not to visit it would be strange, though I am no Fascist. And, according to Wikipedia, it was the third most-visited monument in Spain in 2009.

As a church, that of the Valle de los Caidos isn't exactly heart-warming. There is a certain air of James Bond about it. The approach is up a long (highly defensible) road winding uphill through a forest which terminates in a large car-park with a ghastly cafeteria-style restaurant. From there one approaches on foot up some large concrete stairs. The church is not so much built as tunnelled into the mountain-side, and at the sesquipedalian entrance one must be searched and pass through those metal-detecting arches such as one finds at airports.

Inside, the gloom deepens. There is a long concrete tunnel of a church (which might have been by Goodhart Rendall) with no natural light, and side altars with tapestries behind them. The focus, through the unremitting grey gloom, is the large high altar with the graves of Franco and Primo de la Rivera at its foot.

The church, a Benedictine Abbey Church, is supposed to be a monument to all those (of both sides) who lost their lives in the Spanish Civil War. Inevitably, since it was the losing Socialists who, as prisoners of war, were made to do some of the work (they could halve their sentence by agreeing to participate), as well as the personalities buried there, it has come to be seen as a memorial to Franco and Spanish Fascism. Those workers are now called the 'esclavos de Franco'; Franco's slaves.

And now the church has been closed by order of Zapatero's government, and policemen posted to turn everybody away.

Let us not trample in where angels fear to tread. The whole issue of the Civil War is still a very painful one in Spain. There had been for many decades a general agreement simply not to talk about it, for the common good. This uneasy peace Pope John Paul was held to have broken by his raising to the altars many of those who were killed by the left wing anticlericals. Consequently, say some, now it is open season.

As Catholics, it would be hard not to see those Catholics who were killed as in some sense real martyrs. But the acknowledgment at a time when people can still remember that Franco and his army also committed atrocities has raised very painful memories and also the temperature of the debate.

Added to this is the fact that Franco has been judged by history as the villain of the piece. During my first visit to Spain, my companion lamented that the Church had supported 'the wrong side' during the Civil War. My jaw dropped; such is the forgetfulness of time, that nobody now remembers those thousands of priests and religious gratuitously killed by the left wing in and before that terrible war, and the dreadful oppression. They only remember Franco's fascism and his refusal to fight against Hitler and Mussolini.

King Juan Carlos owes his throne, at least in some degree, and perhaps mostly, to Franco. But he demonstrated his preference for a more democratic rule in facing down personally a pro-Fascist attempted coup not long after his accession. Consequently, the Spanish often speak of themselves as being not Monarquistas, but Juan Carlistas—attached not so much to the monarchy per se as to the person of Juan Carlos. Whether a similar reverence will be accorded the Prince of the Asturias when he succeeds, remains to be seen.

But to return to the Valle de los Caidos. Clearly, it was a thorn in the side of Zapatero and his mates. Not only was it a memorial to the fallen, it was also Franco's burial place, and therefore a focus of attention, even pilgrimage, to people that Zapatero pathologically hates. The closure is an act of defiance from a man who feels that finally he has put Fascist Spain to rest. The Guardia Civil are posted to prevent people from attending Mass there.

Not that long ago, guide books warned visitors to the Valle that the Guardia Civíl were still very much pro-Franco, and kept a proud watch on his tomb. Consequently, we were warned, 'behave yourselves!'. On my first visit, my companion (the same person who had lamented the Church's bad choices in the Civil War) raised his right arm and goose-stepped his way out of the church.

I was mortified; I thought we'd be arrested for mocking the Caudillo.

The chances are now that we'd be arrested for the opposite reason.

I was deeply saddened to read that the latest casualty of this business was a Pietá statue at the Valle which this year has officially been attacked with jack hammers in order to destroy it.

Whatever one's politics, this vandalism doesn't seem to be the right way to go about things.

One Timothy Four

A rather overdue post, this, to welcome Giles Pinnock and his family into the fold of the Redeemer. Let it never be underestimated, the courage and conviction to do this.
As a cradle Catholic myself, I salute my new brother and congratulate both him and the Catholic Church for being able to welcome him home.
As a token of this, with pleasure, his blog is now moved from 'Nearly Brethren' to 'Catholic Lynx', on the right.

Purgatory

When I was in the seminary in the early 1980s, we had a retreat given by an eminent Franciscan. Among other things, he described the translation of the liturgy we have now as being 'like a wet sack on a damp mattress'.

Well, yes. That was the good stuff, and generally he was an engaging and passionate preacher. However, (and of course there's a however—I'm a blogger!) he said at one time in an enthusiastic outburst:
'Purgatory wasn't even invented until the twelfth century'!

He clearly hadn't read Tertullian's De Anima. Tertullian (c.155-230) doesn't use the word (that may, of course, have been invented much later, possibly in the twelfth century), but the idea is clear enough:

It is most fitting that the soul, without at all waiting for the [resurrection of the] body, should be punished for what it has done, while not being joined to the flesh. So, on the same principle, in return for the pious and kindly thoughts in which it did not have the help of the body, it shall receive its consolation outside the body. 

  Moreover, even with things done through the body, the soul is the first to conceive them, the first to arrange them, the first to authorize them, the first to precipitate them into acts. And even if it is sometimes unwilling to act, it is still the first to deal with the thing which it means to bring about with the help of the body. In no case, indeed, can an accomplished fact happen before it has been thought about. So it is quite in keeping with this order of things, that the part of our nature which comes first should be the first to have the recompense and reward which it is due. In short, inasmuch as we understand the prison pointed out in the Gospel to be Hades, (Matthew 5:25) and as we also interpret the ‘last penny’ to mean the very smallest offence which has to be recompensed there before the resurrection, no one will hesitate to believe that the soul undergoes in Hades some compensatory punishment, without prejudice to the full process of the resurrection, when the recompense will be administered through the body as well. De Anima 58

Novembrish thoughts. The eminent Franciscan has now died, so he is able to find out for himself whether what he said was true or not.

Rowdy children

The Catholic Herald asks the question whether special children's liturgies actually encourage bad behaviour in church. Rather than make an extended comment in the box there and irritate people, I thought that I might do so here.

In the Adur Valley we have both a regular Sunday children's liturgy and (now) pretty well-behaved children, thanks be to God. I assume that in my absence on Sabbatical, things are still the same. This is how we tackled it:

When I first became Pastor in Valle, I determined that I would try and follow the recommendation of St John Vianney that the priest himself should prepare the children for their sacraments. Now, our catechists are very good and willing, lovely people, and I was not prepared to unseat them, so I simply joined them.

Our Communion preparation sessions these days always begin with ten to twenty minutes when I myself talk to the children in the church. I meet them in the hall, and explain what behaviour is expected of them and why. Then we go into church. I start very simply, showing them how to make the sign of the cross (most don't know—itself rather, well let's just say surprising, but certainly telling), how to genuflect reverently, and generally how to behave in church. We learn all the normal Catholic things; the bits and pieces in the church, lighting candles, looking at the furnishings and talking about their purpose. Finally, we kneel down (important to kneel, I think) and pray together the traditional prayers (which most don't know); the Our Father, the Hail Mary, the Glory Be, and the Act of Contrition (to get by heart for their first Confession).
Finally, their catechists take them off, after a good genuflection, to the main bit of their preparation.

My personal involvement has all sorts of spin-offs. The most important, I think, is that I get to know the children; their names, their families, their commitment and the rest. This has been terribly important, I have found. Next year, for the first time, I will be preparing for Confirmation (and, yes, I get closely involved there, too) those I prepared for First Communion six or seven years ago. My contact then and since will, I am sure, make all the difference. I am very keenly looking forward to it.

But another spin-off is that those children know how to behave in church, and in many cases they behave better than their parents. And the bonus which I had not anticipated is that their younger brothers and sisters naturally model their behaviour in church on them, as younger siblings will do. And fewer children seem to be lapsing, though there is a lot of room for improvement there.

Oh, our children aren't perfect all the time, of course, but what child is? All I can say is that I am moved that we can have 60+ children under ten in a crowded building, and not hear a sound at the Consecration.

Five brave men

Today five Anglican bishops have announced their resignation: the Rt Reverends Andrew Burnham of Ebbsfleet, Keith Newton of Richborough, John Broadhurst of Fulham, Edwin Barnes emeritus of Richborough and David Silk, a retired assistant bishop of Exeter.

They have my prayers and good wishes.

So it begins.