Tudor church history is at the same time a truly fascinating, poignant and tragic subject. There were martyrs on all sides as the power swung from monarch to monarch, and as various clergy and others found themselves on the “wrong side” of the current situation, they often paid with their lives to witness to the strength of their convictions. On such figure was the Bishop of Worcester and Anglican reformer Hugh Latimer. By no means innocent of co-operation in the persecution of Catholics, he himself was burned at the stake for his Protestant views under the rule of Mary Tudor. All of this to me is profoundly sad. He, along with fellow bishops Cranmer and Ridley, is immortalised in a famous 19th century memorial monument to their martyrdoms in Oxford.
Bishop Hugh Latimer on the Martyr’s memorial in Oxford.
In these less rancourous and more ecumenical times, one can hopefully appreciate the spirituality and courage across the divides of Tudor ecclesiastical politics. Latimer was deeply committed to pastoral care, and encouraging among the laity a serious Christocentric piety. Nowhere is this more evident than in his sermons on the Lord’s Prayer.
Latimer’s pulpit in Cambridge.
Today I was reading one of them, his fourth in a series, and I was struck by some very lovely passages. The one I would share today is his reflection on how the adjective “Our” in the Lord’s prayer, in its opening and throughout, insists upon a profound equality and identification of all believers with one another, and the need to overcome any artificial divisions. For the prayer that is given to us by Christ himself to be efficacious, it must be offered in a spirit of not having disdain, arrogance or feelings of superiority towards anyone around us. This is a lesson whose importance never goes away, and is as timely as ever. We are in this together, as equals, in sincere humility, or else our Christian profession and prayer is no more than a posturing sham.
“Now to make an end: we are monished here of charity, and taught that God is not only a private Father, but a common Father unto the whole world, unto all faithful; be they never so poor and miserable in this world, yet he is their Father. Where we may learn humility and lowliness : specially great and rich men shall learn here not to be lofty or to despise the poor. For when ye despise the poor miserable man, whom despise ye? Ye despise him which calleth God his Father as well as you; and peradventure more acceptable and more regarded in his sight than you be. Those proud persons may learn here to leave their stubbornness and loftiness. But there be a great many which little regard this : they think themselves better than other men be, and so despise and contemn the poor ; insomuch that they will not hear poor men’s causes, nor defend them from wrong and oppression of the rich and mighty. Such proud men despise the Lord’s prayer : they should be as careful for their brethren as for themselves. And such humility, such love and carefulness towards our neighbours, we learn by this word “Our.”
As we enter now the month of May, I continue to reflect upon beautiful and classical devotion to St Mary as found in the Anglican tradition, indeed centuries before the Oxford Movement and its Anglo-Catholic successors of the nineteenth century and beyond. I hope this summer to focus in my own reading more on the great Anglican poet and mystic Thomas Traherne (1637-1674).
His stature as one of the great “metaphysical poets” continues to grow as the scholarship on his poetry demonstrates both his continuities with ancient devotion and the mystical tradition, and also as a precursor of Romanticism.
More on Traherne as the summer progresses. For today, this first day of May, I want to share this Litany of thanksgiving, drawn from his reflections on the feasts of the saints. Those familiar with Byzantine Orthodox hymns to the Theotokos and the Roman Catholic Litany of Loreto will find a real kinship with Traherne. I come back for reflection to these lovely phrases, so resonant with ancient, medieval and Baroque imagery.
“And first, O Lord, I praise and magnify thy Name
For the Most Holy Virgin-Mother of God,
who is the Highest of thy Saints.
The most Glorious of thy Creatures.
The most Perfect of all thy Works.
The nearest unto Thee in the Throne of God.
Whom thou didst please to make
Daughter of the Eternal Father,
Mother of the Eternal Son.
Spouse of the Eternal Spirit,
Tabernacle of the most Glorious Trinity.
Mother of Jesus.
Mother of the Messias.
Mother of him who was the Desire of all Nations.
Mother of the Prince of Peace.
Mother of the King of Heaven.
Mother of our Creator.
Mother and Virgin.
Mirror of Humility and Obedience.
Mirror of Wisdom and Devotion.
Mirror of Modesty and Chastity.
Mother of Sweetness and Resignation.
Mirror of Sanctity.
Mirror of all Virtues.
The most illustrious Light in the Church,
wearing over all her beauties the veil of Humility
to shine the more resplendently in thy Eternal Glory …
And yet this Holy Virgin-Mother styled herself but the handmaid of the Lord, and falls down with all the Glorious Hosts of angels, and with the armies of Saints, at the foot of Thy Throne, to worship and Glorify Thee for ever and ever.
St Mary’s Church in Credenhill, Herefordshire, where Traherne was priest and rector.
I treasure my lovely and worn by use 1935 UK edition of the Paulist Father and scholar Fr. Joseph McSorley’s “A Primer of Prayer.” Fr McSorley, who lived from 1874-1963 was a historian, theologian and pastor, and among other things an expert on the rich tradition of devotion to the Holy Spirit in 19th century American Catholicism, the teachings of the 18th century French Jesuit mystic Pierre de Caussade on Abandonment to the Divine Will, and also was confessor and spiritual advisor to Dorothy Day. He had the ability to express the most sublime things in disarming, everyday language. This book is available very inexpensively online used for purchase, and I recommend it highly to help you begin or deepen your journey, wherever you are at.
After saying how we should approach God in familiar love and friendship, he then says:
“Take for example, such questions as ‘How shall I converse with God?’ Why, of course, simply and naturally as I talk to my mother. For, in the back of my mind, there hovers an awareness that HIs love of me surpasses even hers: that to Him I owe all I possess; that on His generosity my whole happiness depends; that being truly my Father, He delights to have me tell Him whatever is on my mind, or in my heart,—joys and sorrow, hopes and failures, temptations, troubles, plans, resolutions.”
“If I thrust things resolutely aside, there at my right hand, and at my left, I always find Him waiting to listen, ready to answer.”
The seventeenth century figure John Donne is one of the best-known English poets of the seventeenth century, often regarded as the most prominent of the “metaphysical poets.” Known for a variety of poems, including his Holy Sonnets, Donne was for the last decades of his life a devout Anglican priest and pastor, including various parish ministries and then Dean of St Paul’s cathedral in London. I have found him a steady and valued companion since first reading him when I was a sophomore in high school, in English Literature class, and find myself often returning to his poetry in the Spring.
For today I would just like to share this lovely section from Part V of The Litanie, first published in 1633, in which he gives Thanksgiving for Mary’s role in the scheme of redemption, utilising seamlessly many images and themes from the Tradition:
I am very happy to see that someone has uploaded my 2001 book on Abbot Martin Veth online, where anyone can read it who makes a free account! Abbot Martin was a true disciple of Abbot Columba Marmion, whom he had met previously. This volume has excerpts from his spiritual conferences. Anyone interested in Benedictine monasticism and/or the early Liturgical Movement might find this book very helpful, and I hope you give it a try for Spiritual Reading.
Living in the East Neuk of Scotland is always full of wonderful surprises, and recently I became aware that one of the most important nineteenth-century historians of the Scottish kirk was a minister for many decades in my home village of Anstruther before he passed away in 1872. His church, the oldest parts of which date to the middle ages, is now the Dreel Halls, a wonderful facility where many civic events take place on any given weekend (the other parish church, Anster Easter, built in the later 1500’s, now serves as the parish church).
The Dreel Halls today
A painting of Anstruther Wester Kirk from 1842
The Reverend Hew Scott (1791-1872) was minister of Anstruther Wester parish from 1839 until his death in 1872. He attended for a time the University of Edinburgh, and then received his degrees from Aberdeen. As part of working his way through university he took on various jobs as assistant researcher and librarian, and doing this work made him aware of the need to put together a compendium of detailed biographies of every minister and parish in the Kirk since the Reformation. This resulted in his great accomplishment, the comprehensive, multi-volume work, Fasti Ecclesiae Scoticanae: The succession of ministers in the parish churches of Scotland, from the reformation, A.D. 1560, to the present time. This incredible work of scholarship is a detailed, biographical record of each of the ministers of each of the parishes of the Church of Scotland from 1560 to 1870. It is regularly updated by the Church of Scotland until this day. Reverend Scott was given an honorary doctorate by the University of St Andrews as a tribute to this great work.
Reverend Hew Scott
Thinking of Reverend Scott toiling away at this project while in my home of Anstruther is something I find particularly moving. Also, it is an important reminder of the vast amounts of scholarship, often local history, which countless parish ministers contributed over the centuries. It was poignant this weekend, on the eve of the 151st anniversary of his passing, to visit his grave, along with my daughter Meg Hyland who took the photos and transcribed the now almost-faded inscription on the stone, and think about his great accomplishments while looking out over Anstruther harbour and the sea.
Fasti Ecclesiae Scotticanae
Memorial stone of Hew Scott and his wife Sarah Kennedy
Jeremy Taylor was born at Cambridge in 1613 and ordained in 1633. He was a Fellow of two Cambridge colleges, and chaplain to Archbishop Laud and to King Charles. These connections led to his imprisonment once the Puritans came to power after 1645, and him being forced into retirement as a family chaplain in Wales. After the Restoration of the monarch, in 1661, he became Bishop of Down and Connor in Ireland. Among his many books on theological, moral, and devotional subjects, the best known are The Rule andExercises of Holy Living (1650) and The Rule and Exercises of HolyDying (1651), usually cited simply as Holy Living and Holy Dying.
These books especially led him to being referred to as ‘the Shakespeare of divines’ do to his classic prose style. Taylor’s devotional writings, while reflecting his own Anglican theological commitments, resonate deeply in the older Christian tradition. This is certainly true for a lovely prayer of his asking God for the grace to imitate the virtues of Mary. He does not address Mary directly, but does reflect in his entreaties some traditional doctrinal and even mystical concerns with deep roots in ancient and medieval sources. This prayer is very rich indeed in its theological and devotional content. He follows the ancient council of Ephesus in honouring Mary as Mother of God, or Theotokos, reflecting the common orthodoxy of East and West. There is also the rich idea of living fellowship and ‘converse’ with angels, so resonant with medieval and Celtic Christian sensibilities; and ultimately the best way to honour Mary is to ask for grace from God to imitate her and her virtues. One also finds here the idea found in many medieval mystics of conceiving and nourishing Jesus in our own souls, and finally bringing Him into the world, manifesting in a rich, serious and joyful Christian life.
At this, I will leave this lovely prayer to speak for itself:
O Eternal and Almighty God, who didst send Thy holy angel in embassy to the Blessed Virgin Mother of our Lord, to manifest the actuating of Thine eternal purpose of the redemption of mankind by the incarnation of thine eternal Son; put me, by the assistance of thine divine grace, into such holy dispositions, that I may never impede the event and effect of those mercies which in the counsels of thy predestination Thou didst design for me.
Give me a promptness to obey Thee to the degree and semblance of angelical alacrity; give me holy purity and piety, prudence and modesty, like those excellencies which thou didst create in the ever-blessed Virgin, the Mother of God: grant that my employment be always holy, unmixed with worldly affections, that I may converse with angels, entertain the holy Jesus, conceive him in my soul, nourish Him with the expresses of most innocent and holy affections, and bring him forth and publish him in a life of piety and obedience, that He may dwell in me for ever, and I may forever dwell in Him, in the house of eternal pleasures and glories, world without end.
Like many of us, I love wandering around in old graveyards, a natural place for quiet contemplation and thoughtful reflection. While on a lunchtime stroll in the graveyard around St Andrews cathedral, I was moved by the gravestone of the Victorian bishop Charles Wordsworth, whose zeal for Christian unity, a cause very close to my own heart, was expressed so well in his epitaph:
These words and sentiments from the late nineteenth century were engraved at a time when church attendance was very high all across Scotland, with thriving parishes of the Church of Scotland everywhere, with those of others, like Bishop Wordsworth’s own Scottish Episcopal Church, also ministering to large flocks.
Times have changed, and the Scottish Kirk, here in the East Neck of Fife as in many other places, is now contemplating the closure of a vast number of churches, including some beautiful historic buildings that have stood at the heart of their communities for centuries. The decline of active members, decrease of clergy vocations, and the cost of maintaining old buildings, all factor in. I have to admit at times this reality gives rise to a vast melancholy in my heart.
In PIttenweem, our neighbouring village, stands a centuries-old parish church which is due for closure in the near future, on the site of what had been a medieval abbey:
PIttenweem, Parish church.
Just across the kirkyard from it is the much smaller but very lovely Episcopal church, which even has one of its walls border on the same kirkyard:
St John Scottish Episcopal church.
The symbolism of these two churches, both of them on the grounds of the same medieval abbey, and sharing but separated by a kirkyard, seems to speak for itself, a symbol of the long-divided post-reformation church in Scotland. But now, in the changed circumstances of our own day, it also presents opportunity. The growing closeness of various Christian churches in Scotland, along with declining numbers, accelerates the need to overcome old divisions and find creative ways to share buildings; such sharing can allow pooling of resources, and perhaps even lead toward the breaking down of old barriers and prejudices and new fellowships. And, just perhaps, help people realise that “God’s good time” for unity may indeed be upon us….
When one thinks of devotion to the Blessed Virgin Mary, what normally comes to mind are the varied practices within the Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, and Oriental Orthodox churches. And of course this is justified, given the extraordinarily rich devotional, theological, liturgical and artistic expressions of this theme in all of these traditions over the centuries.
For those familiar with Anglican developments, moreover, particularly since the later stages of the nineteenth-century Oxford Movement, one also thinks of various Anglo-Catholic expressions of Marian devotion which are derived from and share with in various ways the traditions of the traditional communions mentioned above. These could, depending upon the dispositions and goals of various authors, emphasise Medieval English forms, Baroque Catholic aesthetics, or the doctrinal and, very significantly, iconographic traditions of the Christian East.
However, there is more to the Anglican tradition of devotion to Mary than the later Anglo-Catholics and their heirs. What may come as a surprise to many is the fact that among various 17th century Anglican writers, whether from the “Calvinist” or “Arminian” schools or some combination thereof, there is a rich and robust stream of Marian devotion. Usually it does not take the form of direct requests for her intercession, although this is not always the case. More often it is a joyful consideration of her virtues, and prayers to God that it is the height of Christian piety to imitate her. And also to reflect in wondrous reverence about her unique place in the life of her Son and the whole story of salvation as reflected in the Mysteries of her life described in Scripture. A short collection of various writings in this vein was put together by Canon John Barnes, a one time canon of St Asaph Cathedral, and entitled All generations shall call me Blessed: XV Devotions of Our Lady from Anglican writers of the XVII Century.
It is my intention from time to time in this blog to share excerpts from this lovely book, with selections illustrating the fact that devotion to Mary can be seen as integral to Anglican tradition, in this case as illustrated by various 17th century authors, whether liturgists, theologians or poets. This may I hope reinforce the wisdom found in all of the ancient churches down to today, that a robust Christology ultimately must be accompanied by a rich Mariology, adapted to and expressed in the theological and cultural sensitivities of particular times and traditions. Or as the 17th century Anglican layman Anthony Stafford put it:
“…till they are good MARIANS they shall never be good CHRISTIANS; whilst they derogate from the dignity of the MOTHER, they cannot truly honour the SON.”
17th century statue on the entrance to the University Church of St Mary the Virgin, Oxford.
I today would focus on one particular verse, “Blessed are the Peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.”
I would like to briefly discuss and draw what I hope are helpful lessons from the life of someone who has been an important part of my own study and research in medieval history, namely Norbert of Xanten, who lived in the twelfth century, and was a great reformer of the clergy, founding a new religious order known as the Premonstratensians (their most famous abbey in Scotland being Dryburgh in the borders, where Sir Walter Scott is buried), and later became archbishop of Magdeburg in Germany. This Norbert came as we shall see to have a reputation as the great peacemaker of his troubled times.
Norbert was born around the year 1080, in Xanten, near the modern German-Dutch border on the west bank of the Rhine. He was an aristocrat of the highest level, with close relationships on both side of his family to the German and French royal houses. Around the time his father and brother went off to fight in the first crusade, Norbert, who seemed to have been a pleasant, handsome fun loving and rather spoiled young man, began his own family destined predictable path as a cleric in the German church, finding himself before long in the retinue of the Emperor. His rather steady but unremarkable careerist trajectory seems to have been disturbed when he accompanied the Emperor when during one phase of the long power struggle with the papacy known as the Investiture controversy, the German ruler invaded Italy, took Rome by force, and imprisoned the elderly pope in hopes of convincing him to accept the emperor’s point of view. Norbert we know visited the pope in prison, and seems to have become disillusioned with the whole type of life he was living in the emperor’s service. When they returned to Germany he left the imperial service and refused promotion in the Church, and soon underwent a radical conversion and call to a serious religious life. He gradually divested himself of his wealth and began what today we would call vocation discernment, living in turn with hermits and various types of monks and canons, before deciding to become a poor, wandering preacher. It is a fascinating story, which perhaps I can tell in more detail at another time. While Norbert had many enemies who distrusted his radical way of life, he also had friends among the bishops, and eventually received papal permission for his way of life. He founded a group of religious communities centered on the new abbey of Premontre in France, who became known as “white canons” due to the colour of their habits. As the Cistercians under the leadership of Bernard reformed the monks, so Norbert, his friend, helped spark reform of clergy all over Europe. Even St Bernard, not known for being self effacing, considered Norbert to be the finest preacher of the age. Eventually Norbert was made, to his own reluctance and chagrin, archbishop of Magdeburg on the eastern frontier of Germany, where until his death he supported missions, church reform and tried to mediate in continuing struggles between the popes and German emperors that caused so much distress in those days.
In what ways was Norbert a peacemaker? In good medieval fashion, I would suggest three, all of which have potential relevance in principle for every Christian in every age, regardless of the differences in state of life and circumstances.
First of all he allowed himself to be guided on the road to inner peace by surrendering himself to God. Through a process of gradual and painstaking discernment, punctuated by dramatic moments, He let Christ take over his life; Norbert gradually came to see that if he became poor in spirit, and let God lead him, his former way of life could be left behind and he could be transformed from the conventional into something that was genuinely centered on God, and because it was centered on God, he came to see that he needed to love others, and to bring to them the peace he had found within. This inner peace, a purity of heart centered upon God and manifested in charity, is something the Beatitudes direct us toward, something we are called to aspire to. As St Jerome puts it about the verse we are considering this morning:
“The peacemakers are called blessed who first make peace within their own heart, and then between their dissident brethren. For what does it profit you to make peace between others, while vice is at war within your own heart?”
And that is just what Norbert did. After his conversion and years of prayer and recollection, at peace now with himself and God, the focus of Norbert’s itinerant preaching became peace in a second sense, the restoration of hope, and reconciliation in the villages he visited throughout France, Germany and the Low Countries. He would enter into a village, and in those days of feudal violence, he often would attempt to reconcile warring and broken families. We are told how when the villagers knew he was approaching, they would ring the church bells, and children would run out and escort him to the village. He would often preach and hold meetings with those at odds with one another, and after celebrating the Eucharist with them present, would have them make peace over the relics of the saints. More humbly but no less significantly, he would counsel and help reconcile the distressed, the ostracized, and those in need of healing for one reason or another, often women who had been marginalized and accused of demonic possession. He also ministered to the powerful, often stricken by their own form of alienation and inner turmoil. One great example was the German nobleman Count Godfrey of Cappenburg. Godfrey had led a troubled life as a warlike nobleman, and in those tumultuous times had burned down the local cathedral. Dejected in remorse and alienation, he eventually joined Norbert, gave over his wealth, and found peace as a simple lay brother as Norbert’s dear spiritual friend and confidante. For all of these activities of Norbert, we are told by Norbert’s early biographer that while traveling through France,
“the next day early in the morning he rose and departed for another village not far away in order to preach to the people. He was very devoutly received here because they had heard he was a bearer of the Word of God and a bringer of tranquil peace.”
Not a bad epitaph!
Thirdly. When he was made archbishop of Magdeburg, essentially a prince archbishop and one of the most important advisors in the Empire, Norbert found himself called to be a peacemaker on yet another level, what we might call today the realm of international politics. The intense conflicts between the popes and emperors continued, with all the distress this brought to people of all levels of society, and Norbert found himself in the often unenviable position of trying to keep things together, or at least from further deterioration. In this he was for the most part successful, but like all great peacemakers, it did not make him universally popular, and I think that is one of the reasons that despite his widely acknowledged sanctity and that he founded one of the major medieval religious orders, the Premonstratensians, which at their height before the Reformation numbered 600 abbeys from Ireland to the Holy Land, he would not be formally canonized until over four centuries after his death. Peacemakers, as the sermon on the Mount brings home so powerfully and poignantly, are not always appreciated, however much they are always desperately needed.
St Norbert and his followers tried to live out the Beatitudes, as best they could with God’s help. They knew there was much darkness in their own hearts and in the world around them, and led by a great and inspired teacher, they hoped to bring the light of Christ wherever they went. As one early Norbertine put it, they prayed, trained and worked that they might be lanterns illuminating the shadows wherever they went, whatever they did. Like their master Christ, they were called, as they often put it, docere verbo et exemplo, to teach by word and example, to let their deeds and teaching go together.
I learn from St Norbert of Xanten that if we really want to be effective peacemakers on all levels, then we must begin in our own hearts, with ourselves. Then we can turn to our families, and our own relationships, in churches, schools, the workplace, to reconciling the alienated, broken and tender souls and hearts within our own, every day reach. Then, when and if we are called, to discern how to do this in a more public arena, perhaps for a few even on the scale of Norbert, perhaps for most of us as engaged citizens. But we will not be effective in bringing peace to others if we do not allow God to bring it to our own hearts first. Follow the previous beatitudes, if we want to know what it takes to be a peacemaker. Listen to the parables, for they will tell us that if we really want to work for the kingdom of God, we must first recognize and accept and nurture it within ourselves. Then our efforts as true peacemakers, following St Norbert and countless others, from John the Baptist to our own day, will be modeled and centered on Christ, who as it says in the last words of the song of Zachary, sung to his newborn baby son John the Baptist, the canticle Benedictus which the church sings every single morning in her common prayer throughout the world,
And thou, Child, shalt be called the Prophet of the Highest : for thou shalt go before the face of the Lord to prepare his ways;
To give knowledge of salvation unto his people : for the remission of their sins,
Through the tender mercy of our God : whereby the day-spring from on high hath visited us;
To give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death : and to guide our feet into the way of peace. Amen.
Festina Lente 