Thomas Traherne: a Litany of Thanksgiving for the Exaltation and Virtues of The Blessed Virgin

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.

John Donne on Thanksgiving for the Virgin Mary

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:

For that fair blessed Mother-maid,

Whose flesh redeemed us; That she-Cherubin,

Which unlock’d Paradise, and made

One claim for Innocence, and disseiz’d sin,

Whose womb was a strange heav’n, for there

God cloath’d Himself, and grew,

Our zealous thanks we pour. As her deeds were

Our helps, so are her prayers; nor can she sue

In vain, who hath such titles unto you.

Jeremy Taylor on following the example of St Mary

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 and Exercises of Holy Living (1650) and The Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying (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.

17th century statue of St Mary, Spanish

Classic Anglican Devotion to Mary

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.

Daily Prayer

The pandemic that is now upon us, along with its worries and various preparations, also leaves some time for reflection and taking stock. I have felt strongly called to think about my prayer life the past few days, and in particular my own practice of how to best anchor the hours and days in prayer. One such anchor is the Litany of Loreto, or Litany of Our Lady, found here in English and Latin: Litany of Loreto:

Additionally,  I have felt called again to take down from the shelf the book that served me first and for the longest extended periods over many years, namely “Daily Prayer”, the one volume distillation from the Divine Office of the Roman Rite. My copy is much worn, so much so that the lovely cross on the cover is partially worn out:

 

 

I purchased it during my first term at Oxford, many years ago now towards the beginning of Winter, the feast of St Nicholas in 1984:

It immediately became my treasured companion in prayer, day in and out. Only days after purchasing it I began my pilgrimage to various English cathedrals up and down the country, praying with it on trains, in rather chill B & Bs, sometimes sitting in one of the chairs in a great medieval cathedral. It closed many an evening with Compline after walking home from Evensong in the quiet of an early winter’s night. I remember the following Spring praying morning prayer in the churchyard of the medieval stave church in Borgund, Norway, enjoying the solitary beauty.

 

Over the years this volume stayed with me, and its worn pages and pasted inserts testify to that. Here, for example, is the prayer of Consecration to the Trinity written by Blessed Columba Marmion, the great early twentieth century Benedictine spiritual teacher. When I look at this, it reminds me of my greatest teacher of prayer, the saintly late Fr Benedict  of St Benedict’s Abbey in Atchison, Kansas, who taught me so much in those very special days spent in Kansas:

 

The poems and hymns included in this breviary, a wonderful anthology of English Anglican and Catholic verse, did so much to form me, and remain with me still.

Day to day this book has taught me so much over the decades, and formed my heart. Now I turn to this treasure again, the prayer of the Church, its fragile but well-loved pages ready to nourish, anchor me and guide me in the ways of the Spirit in these strange days. To end now with the reading from Vespers this evening, Romans 12:1-2:

My brothers, I implore you by God’s mercy to offer your very selves to him: a living sacrifice, dedicated and fit for his acceptance, the worship offered by mind and heart. Adapt yourselves no longer to the pattern of this present world, but let your minds be remade and your whole nature thus transformed. Then you will be able to discern the will of God, and to know what is good, acceptable, and perfect.

 

Candlemas 2020

Here follows a sermon I gave at All Saints Church, St Andrews, February 2, 2020.

“Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,
Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles and to be the glory of thy people Israel.”

 

Today, Candlemas, is the traditional culmination of the whole season of Christmas. The Infancy Narratives (the first two chapters of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke) are marked by powerful moments of divine annunciations and epiphanies, as well as by human and angelic response in song. These accounts of the birth and childhood of Jesus have served as profound inspiration for Christian theology and art throughout history, and the truths they embody are central to the Christian imagination. We have journeyed through the birth of John the Baptist, as well as of the events surrounding and following the nativity and epiphany of Jesus. Far from seeing the infancy narratives as a charming prelude to the main events of the Gospel, made up after the facts, we can see in them an indispensable summation of the main themes of the Christian faith, and, more specifically, the fulfillment of the promises of the Old Testament in the coming of Jesus Christ, and our own place in all of this.

The culmination of the Infancy Narratives is the very feast we celebrate today, sometimes known by its earlier designation as the Purification of the Virgin Mary, sometimes the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, and Candlemas because of the blessing of candles and procession which we undertook today. Over the centuries, this is seen as an episode where both Christ and his Mother, through his presentation and her ritual purification after giving birth, submit themselves to the Jewish law. This, tradition tells us, is a profound act of humility, for such purification is needed, in fact, by neither of them. The infant Christ is presented to the elderly Simeon who, embodying Old Testament wisdom, is enabled to experience the promised, but long-awaited consolation of Israel. His ecstatic song, known as Nunc dimittis by its opening word in Latin, is sung every night by the Church in either Evensong or Compline. The medieval theologian   Bonaventure feels this is quite fitting, as it encapsulates the whole gospel story and its central theological meaning:

 

“Thus in this canticle Christ is praised as peace, salvation, light and glory. He is peace, because he is the mediator. He is salvation, because he is the redeemer. He is light, because he is the teacher. He is glory, because he is the rewarder. And in these four consist the perfect commendation and magnification of Christ, indeed the most brief capsulation of the entire evangelical story: incarnation in peace; preaching in light; redemption in salvation; resurrection in glory.”

 

            For Bonaventure, Simeon can only be explained in light of Old Testament scriptures because he is the representative of the just man, responding for all the just who had come before him and had longed to see this day. Besides Simeon being the fulfillment of Scriptural descriptions of the just man, the embodiment of Wisdom literature, Bonaventure tells us how the Holy Spirit continued to speak to Simeon through the Scripture, making more annunciations: especially on the theme of looking for the consolation of Israel: “Thus the Holy Spirit in a most powerful way  said to him what is read in Habbakuk 2:3 :if he tarries a little, look for him, for he will surely come and will not delay.” Bonaventure argues that the Spirit was present with Simeon through grace and love, Simeon also received, in response to his long years of prayer, a special response of Revelation, that is from the Holy Spirit. [As Bonaventure says,] “Finally, Simeon was told by the Spirit of truth, and prompted to comprehension infused with Joy, that he himself would meet the Lord with the suddenness promised in Malachi 3:1:Behold I send my angel and he shall prepare the way before my face. And presently the Lord, whom you seek, and the angel of the testament, whom you desire, shall come to his temple. Behold he is coming, proclaims the Lord of hosts.

Then Bonaventure moves to the romantic imagery of the Song of Songs, and urges us to imitate the behavior of the elderly Simeon who let down his inhibitions and embraced the infant Jesus: “Let love overcome your bashfulness; let affection dispel your fear. Receive the infant in your arms and say with the bride I took hold of him and would not let go (Song of Songs 3:4).”

Bonaventure then turns to another key figure in this episode, the prophetess and aged widow Anna. As his discussion of her demonstrates, there is even more theological richness to be found in this episode. Bonaventure tells us he will describe why Anna herself is a suitable witness to these great events, but first he makes an important digression to assert that witnesses were needed from every stage of life and both genders, as Christ was coming to restore everything and everyone:

 

“After the testimony of an elderly man there now follows the testimony from a woman. For it is fitting that there be testimony to the advent of Christ from every sort of person, so that those who do not believe the Gospel might be without excuse. Whence there was angelic and human testimony to Christ, and also of the simple and of the perfect of both sexes to show that both sexes looked for redemption just as both had fallen. Therefore to show that there was no crack in the firm foundation of the testimony, there was sevenfold testimony to the birth of Christ.”

 

This sevenfold testimony as shown in the Christmas story, of how all creation must witness to the birth of the redeemer: 1) heavenly testimony from the star  2) source above heaven, the angels ; 3) from under heaven, simple folk like shepherds ; 4) wise men like the magi ; 5) elderly men, like Simeon ; 6) elderly women like Anna; 7) even infants who gave their lives, that is the Holy Innocents in Bethlehem;. “And every nature, every sex, every age produced testimony to the birth of Christ, because he had to restore all things.”) Bonaventure sums this point up dramatically by citing Luke 19:40 about how all things, even the stones and material world, will cry out in response to God’s appearance among us, even if some keep silence. As Simeon is the fulfillment of all the just men of the Old Testament, so Mary and the Prophetess Anna could be seen as functioning in the same way for all of the Old Testament women who responded to God, whether in their prophecies, laments, songs of praise and periods of thoughtful and profound silence.

But there is another part of Simeon’s words which give us pause, as with one eye we look back and marvel with the events of Christmas and Epiphany. For Simeon also suddenly gazes forward in time and speaks to Mary his prophecy about Christ being the rise and fall of many, and that a sword will pierce her heart. This episode plays an almost unique role in the later medieval devotional tradition, forming as it does, along with the Finding of Christ in the Temple at the age of Twelve, one of the Joyful Mysteries of the Rosary, but also one of the Seven Sorrows of the Virgin Mary. This complexity of the episode reflects that while the parents of Jesus are marveling at Simeon’s words, the elderly man then prophetically indicates doleful things in Mary’s future; as one commentator puts it, “In a stage whisper Luke announces the Cross.”  In this way, there is a poignant combination of Joy and Sorrow which attends this mystery and gives it more depth and matter for reflection, a fitting hinge in the calendar between Christmastide and Lent.

            And in fact Mystery is the word, for so much is hidden here, like in all the Infancy Narratives, in seemingly simple dress.  For when we think of God, the awesome and infinite God, all powerful and all knowing, at times he can seem so totally other and far beyond us. As the fifteenth century theologian Nicholas of Cusa put it speaking to God,

“Moreover, if anyone expresses any likeness and maintains that You are to be conceived in accordance with it, I know as well that this likeness is not a likeness of You. Similarly, if anyone recounts his understanding of You, intending to offer a means for Your being understood, he is still far away from You. For You are separated by a very high wall from all these [modes of apprehending]. For [this] wall separates from You whatever can be spoken of or thought of, because You are free from all the things that can be captured by any concept. Hence, even when I am very highly elevated, I see that You are Infinity. Consequently, You are not approachable, not comprehensible, not nameable, not manifold, and not visible.”

Yet, as Cusanus continues, and as we celebrate today, in Jesus Christ somehow God has nevertheless made himself approachable and accessible. He is our way of approaching God. In becoming one of us, God is eminently approachable. We are called today to do something as simple as to “walk forth to meet the mother and child”. As we did so in procession earlier, let us do so shortly in another procession. To the altar to receive Him in communion. Let us walk forth to meet him, conscious of the Joy of Christmas, conscious also of what he did for us on the Cross, and what he does now.

For this “now” that Simeon sings about, his moment of meeting God, is also a Now for us. As the priest and poet John Donne wrote centuries ago reflecting on this song of Simeon in its relation to us about to receive Christ in the Eucharist:.

 

“For mine eyes have seen thy salvation; Now, now the time is fulfilled!  And all the way, in every step that we make, in his light (in Simeon’s light) we shall see light; we shall consider that that preparation and disposition, and acquiescence which Simeon had in his Epiphany, in his visible seeing of Christ then, is offered to us in this Epiphany, in this manifestation and application of Christ in the Sacrament.”

Thus, to carry a lighted candle as we did today is a profession of faith.  By that little ceremony you say that you have Christ, that you believe in Him, hope in Him, and love Him, and that you are willing to be consumed, burnt up for Him.

The world today, all of us, need Christ, we are hungry for Him without knowing it; we are at times in the dark.  We can help bring light, bring it to each other.  The lighted candle tells us so.  We need but be more fervent in our own Christian and religious life, more faithful to our daily duties, more patient in our daily crosses.  This is to preach Christ, to let Christ’s light shine to all people.  A quiet, humble, holy life is the best of sermons.The blessed candle, in its simplicity and power, reminds us all of this.

 

To end with the words of St Sophronius of Jerusalem, preached to his people some 14 centuries ago,

Our lighted candles are a sign of the divine splendor of the one who comes to expel the dark shadows of evil and to make the whole universe radiant with the brilliance of his eternal light. Our candles also show how bright our souls should be when we go to meet Christ…..

The true light has come, the light that enlightens every man who is born into this world. Let all of us, my brethren, be enlightened and made radiant by this light. Let all of us share in its splendor, and be so filled with it that no one remains in the darkness. Let us be shining ourselves as we go together to meet and to receive with the aged Simeon the light whose brilliance is eternal.

Amen.

Guerric of Igny and Advent

The Cistercians, ever since my frequent visits to their abbey in Conyers, Georgia while an undergraduate at Emory, have had a deep appeal to me. There are so many great spiritual writers found among them in their earliest flourishing in the mid twelfth century, and one of the finest is Blessed Guerric of Igny (+1157), who with Bernard of Clairvaux, William of St Thierry and Aelred of Reivaulx, is considered one of the “four evangelists of Citeaux”.

 

We do not know much about Guerric’s early life as a teacher and scholar, but we do know that like so many others he fell under the spell of St Bernard and became a Cistercian monk and then abbot at the new foundation of Igny in France. There he attained a saintly reputation as a scholar and spiritual teacher.

Igny abbey today

Igny has gone through many travails in its long history, suffering much in the French Revolution and modern trials. After various closures and persecutions, it once again flourishes as an abbey for Cistercian nuns, who in their daily lives continue to live out this beautiful tradition of prayer and work, ora et labora, that is at the heart of the Benedictine and Cistercian heritage.

 

Guerric has left to us fewer writings than many of the other Cistercians mentioned above, but his 54 Liturgical Sermons are a precious and in my opinion unequaled reflection on the meaning of the liturgical year and the Christian way of prayer and salvation.  In this beautiful setting of Igny, Guerric set forth for his monks the spiritual riches of the liturgy, and the profound meaning of the important seasons and festivals of the Church year.

As we approach the great feast of Christmas, I would like to share with you two brief passages from Guerric. The first concerns an exhortation to the monastic practice of lectio divina, the prayerful reading of Scripture which the monks and nuns make time for everyday. In one sermon Guerric has this to say:

Search the Scripture.  For you are not mistaken in thinking that you find life in them, you who seek nothing else in them but Christ, to whom the Scriptures bear witness.  Blessed indeed are they who search his testimonies, seek them out with all their heart.  Therefore you who walk about in the gardens of the Scriptures do not pass by heedlessly and idly, but searching each and every word like busy bees gathering honey from flowers, reap the Spirit from the words. (Sermon 54).

This is an invitation in this busy season to take time in the days leading up to Christmas and in the subsequent holiday to quietly and prayerfully read the Infancy Narratives in the first two chapters of Matthew and Luke, and the Prologue to the Gospel of John. Let them speak to your heart, and bring new insights to light, to nourish your soul with these familiar stories in new and even unexpected ways.

In one of his sermons for Advent, in a striking manner Guerric urges us to also cultivate silence in a season not always known in our contemporary society for quiet reflection. Indeed, he strikingly draws upon the imagery of Christ patiently waiting in the womb of his Blessed Mother these days before his birth as a model for our own spiritual practice:

“As the Christ-child in the womb advanced toward birth in a long, deep silence, so does the discipline of silence nourish, form and strengthen a person’s spirit, and produce growth which is the safer and more wholesome for being the more hidden.”(Sermon 28)

May this Advent and Christmastide bring us many moments of productive silence, and a fresh appreciation, with the eyes and ears of a spiritual child of God, of the treasures of familiar yet always new Sacred Scripture, and what the Spirit is trying to teach us through them.

A Marian Prayer

Lately I have been thinking of plans for the next Leeds Medieval Congress, which in turn reminded me of one of my favourite altars in England, the Blessed Sacrament chapel with the Pugin Reredos in Leeds Roman Catholic  Cathedral. I am already looking forward to some quiet contemplation there in that lovely urban oasis.

 

This Victorian work of beauty made me also think of one of my oldest heroes, Cardinal (now Blessed) John Henry Newman, and a lovely prayer of his which unites Marian devotion to the longing for greater and eternal union with the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I share it in the hope that it may find resonance with some of you as it does for me, to help nourish hope, strength, and expectation this season of  Advent.

O Mother of Jesus, and my Mother,
let me dwell with you, cling to you
and love you with ever-increasing love.
I promise the honour, love and trust of a child.
Give me a mother’s protection,
for I need your watchful care.
You know better than any other
the thoughts and desires of the Sacred Heart.
Keep constantly before my mind the same thoughts,
the same desires, that my heart may be filled
with zeal for the interests of the
Sacred Heart of your Divine Son.
Instill in me a love of all that is noble,
that I may no longer be easily turned to selfishness.
Help me, dearest Mother, to acquire
the virtues that God wants of me:
to forget myself always,
to work solely for him,
without fear of sacrifice.
I shall always rely on your help
to be what Jesus wants me to be.
I am his; I am yours, my good Mother!
Give me each day
your holy and maternal blessing
until my last evening on earth,
when your Immaculate Heart will present me
to the heart of Jesus in heaven,
there to love and bless you and
your divine Son for all eternity.

Amen

Bishop Joseph Hall, Scripture, and the Blessed Virgin Mary

Church history is full of surprises! One of the reasons I love ecclesiastical history so much is that I am not only always learning about new writers, but also how so many of them defy stereotypes in intriguing and edifying ways. One such person I recently discovered is sometime bishop of Exeter and then Norwich Joseph Hall (1574-1656), scholar, satirist, controversialist and devotional writer.

Hall lived and wrote in the tumultuous decades of the mid seventeenth century, and certainly was involved in many of the varied controversies of the day. What interests me, as usual, is how he often took moderate positions, using his learning and intellect to build bridges while upholding central principles. Thus while a strong adherent to the decisions of the Calvinist Synod of Dort, he tried very hard to mediate between various degrees of Arminians and Calvinists in the English Church. Likewise, although a strong and able defender of Episcopacy in the English Church, Hall also came under the suspicion of Archbishop Laud for his mild treatment of those who did not share his views of church government. Interestingly, Hall did not deny that the Roman Catholic Church, despite what he saw as errors in its teachings, still remained a real Christian church. As Bishop of Norwich during the Puritan and parliamentary ascendancy in the English Civil War, he had to witness Cromwellian soldiers despoiling and ransacking the cathedral, burning liturgical books and vestments.

(Norwich cathedral and cloister)

While his controversial and satirical works were important at the time, he was better known even then for his moral works, which gained him the nickname of the ‘English Seneca’, after the famed ancient Roman philosopher. But most of all, Bishop Hall was most famous for his published Meditations on the Bible.

These prayerful reflections have endured, and are no less lovely and beautiful today than when they were first published. What strikes me are some of the lovely meditations on episodes in the life of Christ in which the Calvinist bishop writes so beautifully of Mary the Mother of Jesus. The first I would share is his meditation on the Annunciation, in which he reflects on the Angelic Salutation to Mary, which for Catholics is the basis of the famous Ave Maria prayer:

Upon Consideration of the Annunication

How gladly do we second the angel in the praise of her, which was more ours than his! How justly do we bless her, whom the angel pronounced blessed! How worthily is she honoured of men, whom the angel proclaimeth beloved of God! O Blessed Mary, he cannot bless thee, he cannot honour thee, too much, that deifies thee not. That, which the angel said of thee, thou hast prophesied of thyself: we believe the angel, and thee. All generations shall call thee blessed, by the fruit of whose womb all generations are blessed.

[Constantijn Daniel van Renesse & Rembrandt Harmensz. van Rijn, The Annunciation to Mary, 1652.]

Even more strikingly, Bishop Hall articulates a full and robust reflection on Mary as the Mother of Sorrows, very familiar to Catholics, with deep roots in Scripture and medieval devotion:

Upon Consideration of the Sorrows of the Virgin

But above all other, O thou Blessed Virgin, the Holy Mother of our Lord, how many words pierced thy soul; while standing close by His Cross, thou sawest they dear Son and Savior thus bleeding, thus dying, thus pierced! How did thy troubled heart now recount, what the Angel Gabriel had reported to thee from God, in the message of thy blessed Conception of that Son of God! How didst thou think of the miraculous formation of that thy divine burden, by the power of the Holy Ghost? How didst thou recall those prophecies of Anna And Simeon concerning Him, and all those supernatural works of His, the irrefragible proofs of His Godhead! And, laying all these together, with the miserable infirmities of His Passion, how wert thou crucified with Him! The care, that He took for thee in the extremity of His torments, could not choose but melt thy heart into sorrow: but oh, when, in the height of His pain and misery, thou heardest Him cry out MY GOD, MY GOD, WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME? What a cold horror possessed thy soul! I cannot now wonder, at thy qualms and swoonings: I could rather wonder, that thou survivedst so sad an hour.

[Mater Dolorosa, Titian]

One would be hard pressed to find a more intense, heartfelt consideration of the constellation of the Biblical episodes in the life of Mary, and their meaning for us through the ages. This address to the Blessed Virgin calls to mind the meditations of many Catholic authors, and goes to the heart of the scriptural and emotional bases for admiration and emulation of her. The fact that they were produced by a Calvinist theologian and Anglican bishop at the height of an age of religious discord and controversy is certainly something that is surprising and helps dismantle stereotypes. But even beyond that,  it is an important example of how the prayerful reading and sincere meditation on Scripture reveals common ground and the basis for dialogue among very different types of Christians on subjects normally seen as controversial and divisive. And for this I am always thankful.

Fenelon on the last years of Mary

I am always intrigued by the reflections on prayer and the Christian life of Francois Fenelon (1651-1715), sometime archbishop of Cambrai,  the learned and gentle pastor of souls, and an important mystic in the great tradition of the French School. At the heart of his teaching is the cultivation of a constant awareness and conformity to the will of God, in matters both small and great.

In this vein, it is not surprising that he finds in the Virgin Mary a model of the contemplative life. Recently I came across his brief meditation on the Assumption of Mary, and was intrigued by the fact that he did not focus on her glorification in heaven after her death or “Dormition”, important and true as these things are, but rather the humility and quiet life of prayer that he feels marked her last, hidden years in the care of the Apostle John in Ephesus.

 

 

In this meditation Fenelon portrays her not only as a great intercessor and Queen of Heaven, but also as someone who is a model for all of us, living a life in our own communities, persevering in prayer and affectionate and loving fellowship:

What do I see in Mary during the later years of her life? She was “constantly devoting” her self “to prayer with certain women” says St Luke. That is, she was doing outwardly just what the others were doing. Perfection–which was without doubt within the Mother of the Son of God–does not consist in outwardly showy, exceptional actions that go beyond what is usual and customary. We do not see prophecy, or miracles, or instructing people, or religious ecstasy. We see only what is simple and common. Her life was completely interior:she was “constantly devoting” herself to prayer. That was the business to which she limited herself: without making herself specially noticed, she devoted herself to prayer with the other women. How much purer, how much more divine her prayer must have been! But the treasures remained hidden. On the outside, all people saw was tranquility of mind, religious contemplation, simplicity, a common life.

Traditional house of Mary in Ephesus.

We know from the Scriptures that Mary treasured all her experiences in her heart, and we can only reflect in silence and our imagination what she must have shared with the early Christian community, how she undoubtedly taught by word at times but more often perhaps by example.  With Fenelon we can also ponder as we approach the great feast of the Assumption, what it meant to the people around her in that nascent Church to live day to day with the mother of their Lord, and how she continued to witness for years, in her communal life, to the tangible reality of the Incarnation.

The Apostle John and Mary. 13th century altar.