Advent 2013 - First Sunday

 

“Wow! Bit of a TARDIS you've got here here, pal!” So exclaimed one recent visitor to our church in Oxford. It’s easy to think of Blackfriars as a TARDIS, I suppose: the seemingly innocuous façade conceals a community of brothers busying themselves with ‘higher things’ in the twin cavernous lungs of library and chapel. Sometimes friends speak as if, by joining the Religious life, I’ve stepped out of the world into a privileged spiritual dimension, a bubble impenetrable by the distractions of the world with its stories of love and heartbreak, economic vicissitudes and noisy distractions.

There is truth in all this: religious communities have historically been seen as ‘colonies of heaven’, little corners of the world that men and women—with the help of God—conquer as places of peace and harmony, gathering round Jesus and thus make present the kingdom of God, imaging the love shared between the three divine persons in the life of the Trinity. But in this season of Advent, we prepare ourselves to celebrate not only the entry of God into world history, but God’s actual assumption of human history—taking the time and space of this world to himself in the person of Christ. The Kingdom of God isn’t primarily about escaping the world and its worldliness, but about bringing the world to its fulfilment: our religious communities do not simply set themselves aside from the world, but rather establish the world authentically within themselves (and for this reason, they exclude the inauthentic things of the world, the sinful distortions that make the world less truly itself).

We see this tension between the ordinariness of human ‘stuff’ and the extraordinariness of God’s action beautifully in today’s readings: in Isaiah the Kingdom of God is presented as involving peace between nations; in Romans, St Paul presents the kingdom as closer at hand even than when Christ walked amongst us (this despite the sinful confusions that he lists); in St. Matthew’s gospel, the consummation of the Kingdom comes when we’re doing the ordinary things of tending to our fields or grinding at the millstone (read: writing our essays, balancing our books, finishing another shift at the factory). Proclamation of the Kingdom isn’t about loading more people onto a TARDIS to escape the world, but about transfiguring the world in Christ, about helping our brothers and sisters find the joy that comes from discovering the birth of Jesus as the personal meaning of our lives.

Since his election in March, Pope Francis has been busy reminding us of this. Are we shepherds or hairdressers, he asks: do we go out after the ninety-nine lost sheep to help them see the ways in which Christ is already present to them, or do we stay with the single faithful sheep, washing its hair, combing it, making it look beautiful, giving it a nice ‘perm’? True, the ninety-nine sheep might bring some of the mud of the world in with them when they come, but God’s grace can cope with that. In sending us out to the fringes of society, the Holy Father isn’t just trying to reverse falling Mass attendance, but hoping to share the Good News that actually sets our world free, the news which liberates. “For if we have received the love which restores meaning to our lives, how can we fail to share that love with others?” (Evangelii Gaudium, §8)

Going back to our visitor: his visit was part of the Night Fever event that the students of the Oxford University Catholic Chaplaincy hosted in our church earlier in term. That night, students took to the streets and invited people to come and light a candle before the Blessed Sacrament. As our visitors came into the church, they brought with them—quite literally—the baggage of their lives: supermarket shopping, bags of library books, crates of beer, those small purses that ladies take to balls. All of these were laid down before the Lord present on the altar, and then picked back up and carried afresh after their owners had prayed to the living God and encountered his power. It seems that there’s something of Advent about that: God coming amidst the ‘stuff’ of our lives, of nothing seeming to change on the surface, but actually, to those of us who pause to see it, everything changes, and everything changes radically.

Remembering… Kenelm Foster OP

Described as “every inch a Dominican”, Fr Francis Stephen Kenelm Foster OP was a noted scholar, outstanding preacher and beloved as both brother and pastor.  He was born on 26th December, 1910 in colonial India, where his father, a Catholic convert, served as a High Court judge.  It was in Florence, however, that the young Kenelm was brought up by his maternal grandmother.

Fr Bede Jarrett OP

Moving again, he attended prep school in Brighton, before going to Downside.  Downside played host to a seminal event in his life when he heard Fr. Bede Jarrett OP preach a retreat. After Downside, Kenelm went up to Christ’s College, Cambridge, on a scholarship, and it was during these undergraduate years that he was introduced to the study of Dante by Professor Edward Bullough, benefactor of the Cambridge Priory and Father of Fr Sebastian Bullough OP.  At the end of his studies, Kenelm gained a First and was offered a Fellowship, which he declined: he was intent on joining the Order of Preachers.

Dante Alighieri

Kenelm’s early Dominican life took the usual path: he entered the Novitiate at Woodchester in 1934 at the age of 24; he made his profession on 28th September 1935; and, he was ordained priest on 14th July 1940.  After serving as Curate at Holy Cross, Leicester, he was elected to a lectureship in the Department of Italian Studies at Cambridge University, later being appointed to Reader in Italian.  Amongst his many interests, two stand out: the lives and works of St Thomas Aquinas and Alighieri Dante, publishing important works about both including The Life of Saint Thomas Aquinas, God’s Tree, and The Two Dantes. Before he retired in 1979, amongst the many accolades he received, Fr Kenelm was appointed Master in Sacred Theology by the Master of the Order, one of the greatest honours for any Dominican.

He died on 6th February 1986, aged 75, after 50 years profession as a Dominican. His beloved Thomas summed up the Dominican mission as contemplata aliis tradere: to give to others the fruit of contemplation. In his scholarship, preaching and ministry, Fr. Kenelm was faithful to his mentor’s words. Requiescat in pace.

Popular Piety in Advent: facts, threats and opportunities.

Advent is the opening liturgical season of the Church’s year. It has its own distinct character and popular piety should be informed by it, and lead towards it. In some ways popular piety can be seen as a bridge between the things of God and the things of the world, suffusing the world with Christian truth and values, and lifting the world to God, in praise, offering and an exchange of blessing. As a specific liturgical time, there are forms of popular piety that are specific to Advent, and others that take on a particular hue and mood in Advent. It is a time of waiting, conversion and hope. We wait to celebrate Christmas, the first coming of the Lord in human flesh, while assessing the way in which we wait for his return in glory at the end of time. The former leads us to focus on the past and the memory of salvation history, the latter leads us to focus on hope, if also vigilance and generosity, aware of a coming so glorious it can scarcely be imagined. Conversion, including almsgiving and penance and a focus on simplicity, is how we prepare for the coming of the Lord, be it now or in the future.

The Advent wreath, which the faithful can put up at home and school and perhaps at work, builds the sense of expectation, as successively we light candles reminding us of the faith, hope, role and message of the patriarchs, prophets, john the Baptist and the Virgin Mary. The candles take up the theme of God’s light coming into a dark world, a theme given extra depth in the northern hemisphere in the dark days of winter. Religiously themed Advent Calendars, perhaps with Scriptural texts and images, could be powerful too, and an effective catechesis. Make your own if they are not available! In some countries Advent processions are important. Attention to the Virgin Mary readily catches the popular imagination, and the Celebration of the Immaculate Conception can be an early focus for this, though she is not a major part of the Advent liturgical readings until the final Octave of preparation before Christmas. Preparation of the crib is one final act, and one that children find attractive, Christmas plays at school being another.

The challenge we face in Post-Christian cultures is not letting Advent be swamped by the secular celebration of Christmas, which is materialist and hedonistic in tone.  It is in full swing throughout Advent these days. There is, I think, a lot to be said for cultivating forms of piety that are prophetic in regard to this slide into secularism, offering an alternative vision and to some extent also protecting ourselves from its excesses.

Advent should persuade us that we are pilgrim people, who receive life as a gift and look to its fulfillment in God. The coming of Christ brought, and will bring, this about but is also to transform how we live now. Mary’s pregnancy had its difficulties, Christ had no home at first and was soon a refugee. Christ entered the world a poor person in solidarity with the poor, and his story draws attention to the plight of the poor and homeless in our world. If we are to welcome Christ, with faith at Christmas, then our piety should find expression in Advent by our attention to the poor and homeless, and with a resolve to embrace simplicity, and not be over-materialistic at Christmas.

We need to allow Advent to be Advent – and Christmas to be Christmas. It too is a whole season, not just one day followed by a huge hangover.  There is a lot to be said for having Advent themed hymn-music-word services in Advent, and keep Carol services proper for the Christmas season - though I realise there are pastoral reasons to adapt this (for instance, in schools shut over all the Christmas season).  Perhaps sending Christmas cards could be postponed  until the Christmas season, and the giving of presents spread across the Christmas season, or focused upon the feast of the Epiphany and its link to the Magi giving gifts to Christ, as happens in some Christian cultures.  Such changes would simplify life in Advent and allow greater focus on its own features.

In offering these suggestions, I do not wish to be a kill-joy. I know that we live in the world, if we are not of it, alongside others and making connections matters. In regard to preparation for Christmas I realise that parents of children are probably under particular pressure to conform to worldly expectations and the demands of the advertisers. Popular piety is inspired in the hearts of each of us, and in new ways in new situations, by the Holy Spirit, so each of us can come up with appropriate forms of it. Nonetheless, there are real challenges to, and opportunities for, popular piety at Advent: it can be swamped by secularism but equally it can play a crucial role, and a developing one, in helpful us celebrate the true meaning of Advent (and Christmas for which it is the preparation), enabling us to shine like stars in a darkened world offering Christ to it (cf Phil 2:15-16), and being ready for his return.

Happy Thanksgiving

In our Oxford priory we celebrate Thanksgiving Day with a big dinner with all the students of Blackfriars Hall, many of whom come from the USA. We provide the turkeys and the students bring lots of side dishes and accompaniments. For many of them it might be the first Thanksgiving away from their family, so we make an effort to create a festive atmosphere here while keeping the families in our prayers.

The essential meaning of the event – to give "Thanksgiving and Praise to our beneficent Father who dwelleth in the Heavens", according to Abraham Lincoln's proclamation in 1863 – transcends national and cultural boundaries. And yet the particular traditions of Thanksgiving can seem strange to an Englishman. None more so, perhaps, than the (fairly recent) public 'pardon' of the 'National Thanksgiving Turkey' by the President. Here's the video of President Obama performing the ceremony yesterday.

It is especially curious to see President Obama's uncertainty about the ritual dimension of the act: he holds out one hand as though in blessing, like a priest. Then, unsure how to finish, he even makes a surreptitious sign of the Cross!

It is an unthinking parody that may irritate some Catholics. But at least it is a testimony to the universal relevance of liturgy. Our culture cannot truly express itself without liturgical acts. Prayers and speeches are one thing, but the physical signs that accompany them (which in the real liturgy become sacramental) can make all the difference in the world.

Godzdogz wishes all its American readers a very happy Thanksgiving!

Credo exhibition in Paderborn

Credo: The Christianisation of Medieval Europe

Although he rejected worldly power (Jn 18:36), Christ is the true King over all the nations (cf. Rom 15:12), the King of Kings (Rev. 17:14). On this great feast of Christ the King, it seems relevant to reflect on the way in which Christianity has spread to incorporate the different cultures of the nations. Here is one part of the story, the evangelisation of Europe, as told in a remarkable exhibition earlier this year: Credo - The Christianisation of Medieval Europe.

Europe is the Faith and the Faith is Europe. This famous statement by Hilaire Belloc is wrong in many ways – if the Faith is Catholic, how can it be purely European? – but it touches upon a fundamental historical fact. The Catholic faith is built upon a series of extraordinary events on the edges of Europe that subsequently, and apparently against all odds, dominated the Roman Empire and built an entire civilisation, what we call 'Christendom', on European soil. How this remarkable story unfolded was the subject of a major exhibition in Paderborn earlier this year, entitled Credo: The Christianisation of Medieval Europe.

Paderborn was an apposite location. This has long been a strongly Catholic city in North Rhine-Westphalia; it was an Imperial city under Charlemagne, and refuge for Pope Leo III; and in recent years has mounted two other great medieval exhibitions ('Charlemagne 799', and 'Canossa 1077'). I travelled from Oxford to see this Credo exhibition (and visit family in the area), having been alerted by an article in the Tablet. The exhibition was impressive for its impressive variety of treasures and artefacts, from the Mediterranean to Greenland, over more than a millennium of fascinating history. The depth of coverage was superb. But, above all, the exhibition told a compelling story.

That story began with the inculturation of Christianity from its very beginnings. In Part 1: Lux Mundi, visitors were treated to objects, both ordinary and precious, that revealed a two-way process of adaptation. Christianity had to adopt and appropriate pagan symbols and practices, but in turn transformed them in radical ways and left a new mark on the wider culture. Pagan notions of the vita felix (happy life), pastoral scenes of good shepherding, and so on, were quickly seen in a newly Christian light. And yet Christianity was unusual, almost unique, in rejecting the polytheistic cults of the  Roman Empire. A beautiful papyrus of Romans 8:27-35, dating from the 2nd century(!), was one of the first marvels to greet us, testifying to the great faith of the early Christians in the face of persecution: If God is for us, who can be against us?

2nd-century papyrus of Romans 8

Three centuries later, however, Christianity had become tolerated and promoted after Constantine's conversion in 312. After his vision of the Christian symbol 'Chi-Rho' (short for 'Christ') and subsequent victory at the Milvian bridge, Christianity came fully out of the shadows. But only with the edict Cunctos Populos, issued by the Three Emperors in 380, did it become the official state religion. The great Ecumenical Councils (on which, see our Godzdogz series Councils of Faith) hammered out the doctrinal structure of Trinitarian faith and a great outpouring of theological and spiritual works came from the mouths and quills of the ancient Church Fathers. The exhibition included the oldest Latin manuscript of the Bible (5th century) and early copies of St Jerome and St Augustine. These classical scholars and saints witnessed the terrible decline of the Roman Empire and looked instead to the Catholic Church to preserve all that was best in it. Rome was 'the brightest light in the world'; and 'if Rome perishes', asked Jerome, 'what is safe?'

This much is incontrovertible, that the Church preserved much of the ancient learning in its monasteries from the barbarian onslaught. Through the Church, this civilisation of ideas permeated to the farthest corners of the Empire: I saw one copy of Pliny's Natural History from Northumbria. After Augustine's mission to England, familiar to a man of Kent like me, there followed the less well-known story of Canterbury's blossoming into a major centre of manuscript illumination. One magnificent specimen on show was the Codex Aureus ('golden book') with its alternately purple-dyed pages.

The Codex Aureus of Canterbury

Britain, indeed, saw a marked inculturation that showed great ingenuity in the adaptation of pagan customs to Christian belief. Triangular plaques typical of pagan votive offerings would be inscribed with Christian emblems, as found among the Water Newton treasure. Among the priceless objects of this hoard, I saw what are believed to be the oldest liturgical silver vessels in the Christian world. And in the royal tomb at Prittlewell, discovered only in 2003, gold crosses had been placed over the dead man's eyes, where pagans would have put coins. As far as I could see, the exhibition did not mention the Green Man motif, which is so typical of Christian inculturation in pagan Britain. But it did have an intriguing gold medallion in Animal Style II, from 7th century France, showing the Cross and the Alpha/Omega signs embedded in an obviously pagan aesthetic.

The gold medallion of Limons

After the collapse of Rome, a most remarkable thing happened. The faith that had spread to the edges of civilised Europe now began to trickle back, through the missions of zealous Irish and British monks. The Northumbrian St. Willibrord became the 'apostle to the Frisians' (i.e. the Netherlands) and founded Echternach Abbey (Luxembourg) in the 8th century. This roaming archbishop got much use out of his exquisitely carved portable altar, which was on display. A similar relic, the 'Cadmug Gospel' in Irish minuscule lettering, belonged to St Boniface on his missions to the German peoples. St Columbanus the Younger took twelve companions from Ireland and converted the Frankish nobility, founding many monasteries along the way, including Bobbio as far south as Italy. St Ansgar, born in northern France, became the 'apostle to the North' after being sent by the Emperor Louis the Pious to evangelise Scandinavia; he baptised the Danish king Harald Klak in 826, two centuries before the saint-king, Olaf Haraldsson, would abandon his career as a Viking raider and enlist English clergy to bring Christianity to the remote reaches of Norway.

King Gunnar in the snake-pit

Throughout this period, Christianity learned to adopt the semiotic references of the pagan world. In Scandinavia, the old runes were very common in Christian art. But it was also the symbolic content that penetrated the culture. These pagan appropriations are not entirely coherent and harmonious. To take one example, a rectangular baptismal font (Sweden, c.1100 AD) portrays the semi-mythical king Gunnar in the snake pit as a sort of holy protomartyr; but in Norway, Sigurd the Dragon-slayer is shown on a 12th-century church portal as a prefiguration of Christ. Unfortunately, this juxtaposition is a little awkward if the Nibelungenlied is anything to go by, in which Gunnar (Gunther) conspires in Sigurd's (Siegfried's) murder!

The evangelisation of Europe was not always an easy or happy process. Part 2 of Credo, entitled In Hoc Signo, besides describing the Eastern missions of Saints Cyril and Methodius and showcasing the riches of Byzantium, also focused on the more political aspects of Christianisation. Emperor Charlemagne forced the Saxons to the font, offering them 'baptism or death'. The missions to Scandinavia coincided with the formation of its kingdoms and the Church's fortunes often oscillated according to the whims of kings. Prophetic voices abounded, of course, and I was impressed with Alcuin of York's bold objection to Charlemagne that Christians should be 'preachers, not plunderers'.

Europe did adopt the Faith, and the Faith owes much to its European cradle. But the story does not end there. Sadly, more plundering was to follow with the colonisations of the New World; and again there were protests from prophetic preachers, such as Bartolomeo de las Casas OP. In the present day, the Church has reached the ends of the earth and continues to incorporate and enrich the cultures of the nations. The kingdom of God may not be of this world, but the gospel of Christ is certainly for this world. In our confused and conflict-ridden situations, it may be hard to believe in the kingship of Christ. But the faith of the missionaries that was made so tangible by this Credo exhibition is still alive and flourishing, and it calls us to be new bearers of light to the dark and barbarous corners of the world – including Oxford.

Christ the King

Popular Piety: Icons and Images

Liturgical icons can be found not only in Catholic Churches; in our homes also we can find a lot of images depicting the saints, the Mother of God or Jesus Christ. We might ask why and for what purpose we need them? What is their role in our faith? Probably many of us keep photos of our families member in our wallet or have a family album at home. We do this, because we love these people and we would like to have something to remind us of them especially if they are far away.

There is a very similar rationale in the case of the images and their role in our devotion. Portraits of saints help us to follow their example by reflecting on their life. They are similar to photos of our friends who are in heaven and intercede for us. The same is is true in the case of images of the Mother of God or Jesus Christ. They give us some sense of the reality that is in some way beyond us, and make them more accessible.                                                              

In the Bible we can find some passages concentrating on this issue. In the Old Testament, God ordained (the ark of the covenant, the cherubim) or permitted ("You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form or anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under earth" - Dt 5:8) the making of images. In the New Testament, one fact has a great and important meaning for us when we talk about sacred painting, that is the Incarnation of Jesus Christ, when God received flesh and became a man. And St. Paul writes in his letters "He being found in human form" (Phil 2:7) and "He is the image of the invisible God" (Col 1:15).

In the history of Church there is one very well-known image of Christ and this is very unusual picture, because Jesus Christ Himself is its co-author. This is the picture of the Merciful Jesus. One time he appeared to Sister Faustina and said: "Paint an image according to the pattern you see: with the signature: Jesus, I trust in You". Jesus desired this image and with it made special promises for anybody who prays and puts their trust in Him before this sacred icon.

We have to remeber that "the honour paid to sacred images is a 'respectful veneration', not the adoration due to God alone" (CCC 2132). The great Dominican, St. Thomas Aquinas writes: "The worship of religion is paid to images, not as considered in themselves, nor as things, but as images leading us to God incarnate. Now movement to an image as image does not stop at the image, but goes on to the thing it represents" (Summa Theologica II-II, 81, 3, ad 3).

Councils of Faith: Vatican II (1962-65)

The 21st and most recent Ecumenical Council of the Church held its formal sessions in St Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican State, hence its name. It was called by John XXIII in 1959, and after preparatory work he opened it in October 1962. He died in 1963 and so the council was suspended. However, his successor Paul VI (d. 1978) immediately announced its continuation and he oversaw the rest of the council and its initial implementation.

Although some political regimes hostile to the Church, notably communist ones, prevented bishops from attending, Vatican II was by far the best attended Church Council in history. It was also truly global, with representatives of European dioceses making up a minority for the first time. The number of bishops varied between 2,100 to around 2,500: 33% from Europe; 35% from North and South America; 10% from Africa; 10% from Asia. In addition there were official theological experts (periti) and various observers, including laity and religious – women among them – and various ecumenical figures. Far from blocking or shunning the Council, the world and the media took a huge interest in the Council.

The bishops met in formal sessions between September and December (with slight variations) of the years 1962-65. While bishops went back to their diocesan and other tasks between these sessions, further consultation and drafting work was done by various commissions established by the Council in the intervening months. The Council was very productive: it produced 16 documents which it classified into 4 constitutions, 9 decrees and 3 declarations. The volume of this material makes up 25% of the total material produced and still extant from all the ecumenical councils put together, twice as much as any other council, again making it a very significant Church event indeed. Although it is sometimes called a pastoral council, and although it did not issue formal or precise anathemas (condemnations), it is a substantial teaching council, requiring serious attention and assent from the faithful.

The four constitutions provide a framework for understanding the whole council. The Constitution on Divine Revelation, Dei Verbum, addressed issues raised by the enlightenment claims that reason is the highest or even sole arbiter in matters of truth. It affirmed the supernatural nature revelation and of faith, centred on a Trinitarian understanding of Jesus Christ, whom each human is called to know and love intimately. It taught an understanding of Revelation that is mindful of how it is conditioned by history.  God came to us in historical events: his saving power is made present to us in the liturgy.  The Constitution on the Liturgy, Sacromentum Concilium, called for renewal to bring out clearly the centrality of the life and especially the Paschal Mystery of Christ, and to enable everyone to participate in it in a full, conscious, and active way. The Dogmatic Constitution of the Church, Lumen Gentium, stressed that the Church is the Body of Christ, and it set out a comprehensive understanding of the Church, to balance the unfinished work of Vatican I which was limited to the role of the papacy. In particular it developed an understanding of the role and work of the bishops, but stressed the importance of all the members of the Church. The Pastoral Constitution on the Church, Gaudium et Spes, laid out principles for the engagement of the Church with the world, and how it undertakes its mission of offering Christ's salvation to humanity, a salvation that touches all areas of human existence, personal, social, economic and political. The other documents fill out and apply these principal teachings, providing more detail on how the Church is to renew itself and undertake its mission in the modern situation.

Vatican II can usefully be seen as a response to the modern condition of humanity, linked to the 18th century enlightenment. As such it continued the work of the abruptly ended Vatican I, able to draw on theological advances made in the interim period and to the further developments in the world. The world had since fought two world wars, was faced with the threat of a nuclear holocaust, was becoming an increasingly global society, less focused on Europe, and one aware of the power in technology and of the media. The Council sought to engage with the world and to see God at work outside the visible boundaries of the Church, but this engagement was not to be undertaken uncritically and far less as surrender to the world. Rather the aim was to offer eternal salvation and enable the fruits of this to be seen in the temporal sphere as well. As such, throughout its documents Vatican II issued two universal calls to all the members of the Church: a call to holiness and a call to evangelise in diverse ways.

How to implement Vatican II has been the challenge of the fifty- year period since then, a period in which the world has known almost unprecedented change on a number of fronts. In some ways Vatican II gave the Church help to respond to these changes. All the popes since the council have taken a leading role in affirming and implementing the Council. Rome has issued many renewed liturgical rites, has promulgated a new Code of Canon Law (1983) and a new Universal Catechism (1992). All of these have had huge and ongoing influence on the local churches throughout the world. Papal teaching has frequently drawn on the Conciliar texts, affirming them, interpreting them and also developing and applying them. There have been frequent general assemblies of Bishops, where representative bishops from across the world meet every few years to discuss matters of importance with the Pope. Many ecumenical dialogues have been undertaken. There has been much local work, some more fruitful than others. New forms of religious life and lay associations are emerging, alongside the renewal of long established forms.

Implementing a council has never been easy, as this Godzdogz series has indicated, and the challenges facing the Church in a rapidly changing world are huge. But Vatican II provided very rich resources, still not fully tapped, both to renew those within the Church and to enable to Church to more effectively bring salvation to the rest of humanity. Its utterances, made in communion with Christ, and in continuity with the tradition of the Church, are insightful and challenging, and seen by many as prophetic. It could still prove to be one of the most important and fruitful councils in history, but that in part depends on how each of us responds to its call to holiness and evangelisation.

Remembering...Aylwin Tyndal-Atkinson OP

The son of an Anglican clergyman, Fr Aelwin Tindal-Atkinson was born in Zurich in 1896, and was brought up in England. After leaving Lancing College, he joined the Royal Flying Corps and at the end of the First World War, he studied at Oxford where he became a Catholic. He went as a seminarian to Fribourg, but decided to offer himself to the English Dominicans.

He received the habit in 1923, made his profession on 10th November 1924 and was ordained priest on 2nd June 1928. By the following year, Fr Aelwin was to be one of the original members of the new Blackfriars community in Oxford. Although it was originally intended that he continue studies, he went in 1929 to teach in the Dominican boarding school at Laxton Hall, Northamptonshire. For ten years he was in charge of the liturgical life of the school and for the last five of those also in charge of the boys' religious development.

Academically, his concern was to resurrect European and Christian culture from its 'museum status', and to educate in mind and emotion a generation of integrated human beings as the "living stones" for a new Jerusalem.

He became a military chaplain at the outbreak of the Second World War and for most of it was the senior chaplain in Scotland where he won much respect. In 1945 he was elected prior of Oxford and three months later, provincial of the English Province. The following year, at the invitation of the Master General, he became a member of his council with the title 'Provincial of Scotland' and so he presided as vicar general of the province at the elective chapter before proceeding to Rome. As well as being a member of the council there he was also for a term Prior of Santa Sabina. In 1957 he left Santa Sabina and became a penitentiary at St Mary Major's where he stayed until his retirement in 1974.

Shortly after his return to England he died very suddenly in an accident in London, on 4th December 1974, aged 78 with 50 years of profession and 46 of priesthood.

Councils of Faith: Vatican I (1869-1870)

Unlike Trent and Vatican II, those two great councils that have radically shaped the Catholicism of the modern world, the First Vatican Council might appear insignificant and bizarre to us. This short council, lasting only eleven months, was held in the Vatican Basilica amidst great anxiety in Rome, and indeed the unease lay heavy across the Catholic world. Vatican I is now remembered chiefly for defining Papal Infallibility, but the real picture is more interesting than that.

Three centuries after Trent, the Catholic faith seemed embattled on all fronts: the onslaught of rationalism, materialism and liberalism – whether in the philosophical, scientific, or political spheres – seemed to threaten the very existence of the Church, let alone its relevance to modern nation states. Indeed, by the late 1860s Italian unification left only Rome under the pope’s control, shielded for now by French troops. Pope Pius IX, or ‘Pio Nono’, as he was affectionately known, was doggedly attached to the ‘temporal power’, which was anachronistic even for the 19th century.

Many bishops, priests and laity lamented the Pope’s political predicament – especially those with ‘Ultramontane’ sympathies – but the wider concerns were actually doctrinal and disciplinary. The Church needed to restore the purity of the faith, the dignity of worship, morality and discipline, the education of priests, ecclesial obedience, care for the youth, and to work towards international peace, and above all, Christian unity. The Syllabus of Errors (1864) had denounced many aspects of ‘modernity’ that threatened the faith, such as the closure of church schools, but this collage of condemnations was ill-received and caused ‘Liberal Catholics’ to despair of any reconciliation between the Church and modern societies. The Syllabus was not wrong as such, as the Liberal bishop Dupanloup was at pains to prove, but it was imprudent, impolitic, even downright incompetent to have issued it in such a way and amidst such controversy.

One might even say, ‘inopportune’. That was the word dominating the Infallibility debate. Among the bishops and theologians, many agreed with Papal Infallibility but felt the time was ‘inopportune’, for pragmatic and political reasons, to define it dogmatically. Only a tiny minority actively denied that the Pope was infallible. Since the Holy Spirit had been given by Christ to preserve his Church from error in matters essential to salvation (cf. John chs. 14-16, esp. 16:13), and this Church had been built on the faith of Peter ‘the Rock’ (cf Matthew 16:18), how could we not trust the Pope to teach truthfully? Indeed, it is a remarkable fact that no pope speaking ex cathedra on faith or morals has ever been shown to be in error.

Against these two groupings, the Infallibilist majority was actively campaigning for a dogmatic definition, especially the Jesuits. Some Infallibilists took a strong line (that all papal utterances are infallible), but the more sensible ones wanted a limited definition that would strengthen papal authority at a time of great crisis and bring a satisfactory resolution to centuries of theological development on this topic. The matter was especially pressing after the dogmatic definition of the Immaculate Conception in 1854 seemed to imply papal infallibility. But infallibility should not be confused with ‘inspiration’ or ‘inerrancy’. As Pio Nono himself joked, ‘I’m not infallible in choosing my snuff!’

After a decisive vote on 18 July 1870 (433 for; only 2 against, since some 60 objecting bishops had already left Rome), Pope Pius read out the definition as a thunderstorm raged overhead: ‘the Roman pontiff when he speaks ex cathedra’ to define ‘a doctrine regarding faith or morals to be held by the universal Church [...] is possessed of that infallibility with which the Divine Redeemer willed that his Church should be endowed’ (see Denziger §1839).

Note that this limits the definition of infallibility to very specific circumstances; so it was a great blow to the rigorist Ultramontane party. Though the truth of the decree did not depend on their consent, it is significant that all the inopportunist bishops, even the most implacable (such as Dupanloup, Hefele, and Strossmayer), rallied round the definition in due course. As Ronald Knox later pointed out, since Catholics believe in the infallibility of the Church, especially through General Councils, and since a General Council defined Papal Infallibility, a Catholic must hold that definition to be infallible!

Only a few priests and laity broke communion as ‘Old Catholics’. Tensions increased with the secular powers (see Newman’s Letter to the Duke of Norfolk, intending to allay Gladstone’s fears), and the Council was interrupted when the Franco-Prussian war led to the retreat of the French garrison from Rome. The Italian forces moved in and the Council had to be suspended indefinitely, only to be closed formally in 1960.

What are we to make of this? The unfinished business was partly completed, over the next fifty years, by the encyclicals of Pope Leo XIII and the reforms of Pope Pius X. But not till Vatican II, another fifty years later, did the Church’s relationship to the modern world find much-needed clarification. We must not conclude, however, that Vatican I was a kind of stumbling block that Vatican II finally overcame. On the contrary, Vatican II is the completion of Vatican I (and is itself still being implemented today). Vatican I paved the way for modern Catholicism by its focus on the importance of true doctrine.

That is why the other side of Vatican I, the dogmatic constitution on the Catholic faith, Dei Filius, which was passed unanimously, must not be overlooked. This important document affirmed that natural human reason could yield knowledge of God; that faith is not blind; that Holy Scripture must be interpreted in line with Holy Mother Church; and that the Church’s global expansion, Catholic unity, and stable faith, all proved the divine origin of her mission.

This faith is what sustains the Church. In the long run, the loss of the Papal States brought a decisive benefit. The balance in the Church between the ‘prophetic’ and ‘political’ dimensions was restored after the polarising years of Pio Nono. From now on, the Catholic Church would be a moral ‘great power’. The external politics and diplomacy continue, of course, but her true mission is the propagation of the truth, for the evangelisation of hearts and minds throughout the world.

Popular Piety: Relics

The body of St. Robert Bellarmine.

When it comes to popular piety little has been as used, abused, misunderstood and misrepresented as the keeping of relics. Indeed, since the sixteenth century the preservation of relics has come to seem like a peculiarly Catholic thing to do. So, we might well ask, what’s it all about?

Well, perhaps it is worth just describing what we mean by the word ‘relic’. Simply put, we are discussing the remains of a person who is no longer with us, or in some cases an object associated with that person. Already we perceive that relics are not confined to Catholic experience; indeed, everyone offers respect to the remains of the dead, and most of us will come to inherit small keepsakes or heirlooms to remind us of our ancestors or friends who’ve passed before us. Relics really are a natural part of human experience!

Put in this neat way we might suppose relics to be rather dull. However, there is more: Catholics recognise that the remains of Holy People, or objects they came into contact with, have some special significance. The incorrupt body of St Bernadette of Lourdes or the hair-shirt of St. Thomas More excite in Catholics a reaction which the umbrella of Neville Chamberlain or the fake moustache worn by Charlie Chaplin do not.

So why do Catholics keep and venerate the remains of saints, and why do we afford them a special significance we don’t offer the remains of other people? As the Council of Trent explained it, relics are the remains of holy men and women who ‘while they lived were Temples of the Holy Ghost (1 Cor. 6:19) which are due to be awakened by Him and to be glorified’ (Trent sess. XXV).

The chalice of St. John of the Cross.

The remains of the saints function as heavenly signposts: they are reminders of a past manifestation of God’s love and a promise of a future one. No wonder then that we make use of relics in our adoration of God as we contemplate the wonders he has worked and is working for us. The body of St. Bernadette was a Temple of the Spirit and it will be again.

But God doesn’t just point the way to Heaven, he actually helps us get there, and he brings the saints to our aid. Now, as God’s love was made manifest through the lives of the saints, why not of their remains? 

Catholics recognise that relics can be used by God as conduits to work miraculous wonders of healing, inspiration and so on, and it is for this reason that we have recourse to them when praying to God in supplication. It is important to note here that the objects themselves do not possess some magical qualities that make amazing things happen, but rather, God works wonders through them, in the same way he chose to heal the lame through Peter’s shadow (Acts 5:15) or to raise the corpse from the dead that touched the bones of Elisha (2 Kings 13:21).

So we Catholics keep relics because we honour God’s work, and we venerate the remains of the saints because we hope he will share with us the blessings he shared with them.

All Holy Men and Women, pray for us!

The Council of Trent

Back in June, Br Gustave noted that just a matter of months after the end of Lateran V, Martin Luther posted his ninety-five theses onto the door of Castle Church in Wittenburg (following the University customs): although largely a symbolic act, the ideas of Luther, Calvin and Zwingli unleashed a theological maelstrom in the Western Church, dividing Christian against Christian and spreading confusion and mutual misapprehension. The need for the Church to articulate a strong and unified theological response to the challenges of Reformation theology led to the convening of the Council of Trent, less than half a century after the conclusion of Lateran V.

Doctrinally, the Council of Trent (which ran from December 1545 to December 1563, under the authority of three sovereign pontiffs), is the most extensive of all ecumenical councils, offering a theological synthesis of normative significance for all subsequent Catholic theology. Responding to the challenges of the sixteenth-century reformers, it treated the canon of scripture, the relation of grace and nature, and the appropriate understanding of original sin and its effects, as well as clearly defining the sacraments (using the tools of medieval scholasticism to provide necessary clarity). In order to respond effectively to the threat of the Reformation, the Council was concerned to secure the widest possible agreement amongst Catholic theologians, although it did not desist entirely from settling intramural debates where necessary.

Although the teachings of Franciscan John Duns Scotus were very widely consulted by the Fathers, Trent articulated an essentially Thomistic theology, particularly in its treatment of the sacraments. Indeed, it is often claimed that the Summa Theologiae of the Angelic Doctor was placed on the altar at Trent, alongside the Holy Bible (although given the presence of so many theologians from diverse traditions, this may have been unduly provocative and may reflect a later interpolation into the events of the council): either way, it is clear that Trent is an important turning point in the reception of Aquinas’s thought.

Luther had been alarmed by the moral failings of the Church, and this was a theme that the Council Fathers could not avoid addressing in some detail (issuing decrees tightening clerical discipline and requiring bishops to take a greater interest in the moral character of the clergy). The Council moved to standardised the liturgy of the Church, promulgating a revised breviary for the piety of the clergy and a revised version of the Missal in 1570. The publication of a ‘Roman Catechism’ in 1566 highlights the council’s commitment to the dissemination of sound doctrine. As a result of the Tridentine movement, priestly formation moved towards the present day seminary system, strengthening the doctrinal formation of the clergy and requiring their residence in centres that were required to stress personal discipline, prayer and moral rectitude.

Remembering . . . Fr Cyprian Rice OP

Fr Cyprian Price OP was born on 14 December 1889, the son of a Woodchester Baptist Minister. After his schooling, he joined the Levant consular service and was sent as a student interpreter to study Arabic, Persian and Turkish at Cambridge, where he converted to Catholicism. Despite his intentions to join the Dominicans whilst at Cambridge, he was prevented from doing so by the outbreak of the First World War, during which, he was posted to the consular service in Crete and the Middle East. By 1919, however, he was clothed at Woodchester in 1919 and made his first profession on 20 September 1920. Ordained on 19 July 1925, he was an obvious choice, when the Master General wished to send a friar to assist in Mosul, Iraq. Subsequently, in 1929 he joined the staff of the apostolic delegate to Persia in Tehran for three years and was regent of the delegation after the delegate’s retirement.

Entrance gate to Shiraz at the turn of the 20th century

In 1932, he returned to England and was posted to Newcastle for a year, before returning to Persia for the opening of the English Province’s house in Persia in 1933, in Shiraz, Southern Iran (the life of a Friar is not often without stark contrasts). Along with Fr. Dominic Blencowe OP, he rented a house in Shahpur Avenue in the centre of the city. Within a few months they began celebrating Mass in Farsi and published a small book of prayers, also in Farsi. Though the mission lasted only a short, due to its enforced closure by the government, their work was an inspiration for the future, and the Dominicans continue to have a presence in Iran.

The next twelve years were spent dedicated to Parish work in Newcastle, followed by three years in London, and then onto Stroud where he was superior, only to return to Newcastle once more.

1930s Newcastle

In 1947, the Master General assigned him to Cairo to teach Persian at the Pontifical Institute of Oriental Studies. Three years later he was sent to the Angelicum, the Dominican University in Rome, where he became Subprior. In 1951, posted once more to England, he taught Greek to the postulants at Hawkesyard, followed by assignations to first Pendleton, then Leicester.

In 1956, he was to be sent overseas once more, this time to become a penitentiary (a full-time confessor) at St Mary Major’s in Rome (where Dominicans continue to hear confessions to this day). During this time he also completed his major work, The Persian Sufis, published in 1964.

St Mary Major, Rome

Early in the summer of 1966, he became ill and returned to England for the final time. He died on 26 August, aged 76 with 45 years of profession and 41 of priesthood. He was buried in the priory cemetery at Woodchester. His was a life that answered the call wherever it took him.

Eternal Rest Grant Unto Him, O Lord

And Let Perpetual Light Shine Upon Him

May He Rest In Peace

An article by Fr Cyprian on the Persian Sufis is available here: http://www.khamush.com/sufism/persian_sufism.htm

A history of the Dominicans in Iran is available here: http://www.irandoms.org/frameeng.htm

Remembering... fr Giles Black

William Barrington Giles Mary Black OP was born in Scotland on the first day of the year 1887. Queen Victoria was still on the throne, the first Sherlock Holmes story was soon to be published and Leo XIII was entering the ninth year of his pontificate.

Educated in Edinburgh, before studying for his degree at Oxford University, Black was raised in the Scottish Episcopalian Church and after graduating he served as an Episcopalian clergyman in Aviemore, an attractive town in the midst of the Scottish Highlands. Along with some members of his parish Revd. Black was received into the Church before the Great War, undergoing a conditional baptism and receiving the sacraments of Confirmation and Holy Communion in his mid-twenties.

During the war he saw active service and fought alongside French forces on the Western Front, being decorated with the Croix de Guerre for his bravery in combat.

In 1919 he entered the Dominican Novitiate at Woodchester and was professed the following year on the 13^th of June 1920. He was ordained priest on the 19^th July 1925 and he worked initially in Newcastle, serving there eight years, before being assigned to the restored house at Edinburgh where he became a popular chaplain to the students of the university and a widely sought after speaker throughout Scotland.

After around twenty years of priestly service, at fifty-eight years old, Fr Black was exhausted and often seemed close to death. However, his service to the Order and Church was not yet complete and in 1950, after four years as Master of Laybrothers, he was elevated to the position of Preacher General by the Master of the Order. Too ill to stand this preacher had to sit during his homilies and over his last four years he promoted the cause of the then Blessed Martin de Porres, who would be canonized in 1962, eight years after Fr Black’s death at the age of sixty-seven with thirty-three years of profession.

Fr Giles Black took the name Mary, in honour of the Blessed Mother of God and he is especially remembered for his promotion of the Rosary amongst the faithful, writing two books on the subject Fifteen Steps (1942) and Our Lady in England (1949)

May Our Lady’s prayers always be with him,

Eternal Rest Grant Unto Him, O Lord

And Let Perpetual Light Shine Upon Him

May He Rest In Peace

Popular Piety: the Dead

Why do we pray for the dead or “Holy Souls”, as they are sometimes called?  In brief terms, we pray for the dead because we believe in the immortality of the soul; we believe that nobody can be received into heaven without having first been purified of the consequences of their sins in purgatory; and, we believe that God hears the prayers of his children whether those prayers are offered for themselves or for others.  So, we pray for the Holy Souls in purgatory with confidence that God hears us.  And the reason that we do this is simply because we love them, and wish them to be in heaven.

We can trace the genealogy of this prayer back to scripture.  In the Old Testament we read in the second book of Maccabees how Judas Maccabee, the Jewish leader, prayed for the sins of his fallen soldiers: “For if he were not expecting that those who had fallen would rise again, it would have been superfluous and foolish to pray for the dead.  But if he was looking to the splendid reward that is laid up for those who fall asleep in godliness, it was a holy and pious thought.  Therefore he made atonement for the dead, that they might be delivered from their sin.” (2 Macc 12:44-45)  Moreover, the Christian Church has from its foundation “honoured the memory of the dead and offered prayers in suffrage for them, above all the Eucharistic sacrifice, so that, thus purified, they may attain the beatific vision of God”. (CCC 1032)

Praying is one of a number of things Christians do for the dead.  Besides prayer, we can give alms in their honour, obtain indulgences and undertake works of penance.  Once a very central theme of Christian worship, these practices were suppressed at the Reformation.  As Prof. Eamon Duffy remarks in his recent book “Saints, Sacrilege and Sedition: Religion and Conflict in the Tudor Reformations” the effect of rejecting purgatory, the cult of the Saints, and prayers to and for the dead, at the Reformation, was to “[reduce] Christianity to the mere company of the living.” (p.33)

The Dominicans have a particular devotion to the Holy Souls.  Along with the rest of the Church, the souls of the faithful departed are remembered each day at Holy Mass.  Additionally, the Constitutions of the Order devote a whole article to Suffrages for the Dead (LCO Ch.2, Art.III).  From particular Mass intentions (e.g. for deceased parents of the Friars on 7th February) to praying daily the De Profundis, the Order places great emphasis on praying for the dead, especially its own Brothers and Sisters, as well as friends, familiars and benefactors.

In the month of November the Church remembers the Holy Souls in purgatory.  It is a worthwhile opportunity for each of us to renew our commitment to pray for the dead so that we may hope, as that saintly Pastor, Archbishop Fulton Sheen is reported to have said, “As we enter heaven we will see them, so many of them coming towards us and thanking us. We will ask who they are, and they will say, a poor soul you prayed for in purgatory.”

All Saints

Today we celebrate the feast of All Saints, the day we remember our brothers and sisters, known and unknown, who have run the race to the finish and now enjoy the vision of God in Heaven. We do so because we believe that these saints are in solidarity with us. There is a union of Christians, living and deceased which the Creed calls the ‘communion of saints’. In essence, this is just another way of thinking and speaking about the Church. The communion of saints is the Church: it is all those, living and dead, that are united in Christ. When we speak about the communion of saints, then, we are speaking about all those that participate or share in Christ’s holiness. 

This union in the holiness of Christ is of enormous benefit to those of us still making our pilgrimage back to God on earth. I want to focus on two reasons why: First of all the great saints offer us a commentary on the Gospels by the way they live. We see in the lives of the saints a translation of what the Gospel means, an embodiment of what a Gospel centred life looks like. If we are puzzled by today's Gospel, the Beatitudes, for example, a good way of coming to understand what it means to be poor in spirit, meek, pure in heart and so on is to reflect upon the lives of the saints. The lives of the saints offer us an interpretation of the Gospel, and a model to imitate. 

Secondly, the saints assist us through their prayer. As St. Dominic lay dying he assured his brethren: ‘I shall be more useful to you after my death and I shall help you then more effectively than during my life’. St. Therese of Lisieux makes a similar claim: ‘I want to spend my heaven in doing good on earth’. It can be difficult in contemporary culture to retain a sense of the power and importance of prayer as a means of doing good in the world. Yet it remains true that the God who creates and sustains all things and orders them in his Providence has taught us to pray for what we need: our prayer is a way of bringing good about in the world, and the prayer of the saints is particularly potent given their intimacy with God. 

We commemorate the saints, then, both as a model which we might imitate on our journey to God in Christ and also to ask for their prayers to strengthen and support us on that journey. In this way we build up our communion with those that went before us, and in so doing we come closer to the one upon whom the whole communion is founded: Christ our head.