More than a few months have passed since I was appointed as Vicar of St Mary’s, Willesden, in North-West London.
I hope that when time allows, I’ll be able to post about this and that…but the blog will need a little work to reflect the changes that have happened in our lives since the move.
Watch this space!
From a sermon by St Anselm:
Blessed Lady, sky and stars, earth and rivers, day and night—everything that is subject to the power or use of man—rejoice that through you they are in some sense restored to their lost beauty and are endowed with inexpressible new grace. All creatures were dead, as it were, useless for men or for the praise of God, who made them. The world, contrary to its true destiny, was corrupted and tainted by the acts of men who served idols. Now all creation has been restored to life and rejoices that it is controlled and given splendor by men who believe in God. The universe rejoices with new and indefinable loveliness. Not only does it feel the unseen presence of God himself, its Creator, it sees him openly, working and making it holy. These great blessings spring from the blessed fruit of Mary’s womb.
Through the fullness of the grace that was given you, dead things rejoice in their freedom, and those in heaven are glad to be made new. Through the Son who was the glorious fruit of your virgin womb, just souls who died before his life-giving death rejoice as they are freed from captivity, and the angels are glad at the restoration of their shattered domain.
Lady, full and overflowing with grace, all creation receives new life from your abundance. Virgin, blessed above all creatures, through your blessing all creation is blessed, not only creation from its Creator, but the Creator himself has been blessed by creation.
To Mary God gave his only-begotten Son, whom he loved as himself. Through Mary God made himself a Son, not different but the same, by nature Son of God and Son of Mary. The whole universe was created by God, and God was born of Mary. God created all things, and Mary gave birth to God. The God who made all things gave himself form through Mary, and thus he made his own creation. He who could create all things from nothing would not remake his ruined creation without Mary.
God, then, is the Father of the created world and Mary the mother of the re-created world. God is the Father by whom all things were given life, and Mary the mother through whom all things were given new life. For God begot the Son, through whom all things were made, and Mary gave birth to him as the Savior of the world. Without God’s Son, nothing could exist; without Mary’s Son, nothing could be redeemed.
Truly the Lord is with you, to whom the Lord granted that all nature should owe as much to you as to himself.
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I’m something of a liturgical geek, and so am rather excited to read (via the New Liturgical Movement blog) that the entire Latin text of the Original Form of the Missale Romanum is being made available in electronic format for the first time. This should prove incredibly useful for liturgical scholars who might not have access to printed texts – I speak as one of these, as I’m an hour from the nearest suitable library!
Each week our local newspaper, the Ilkley Gazette, publishes a “Thought for the Week” column. This week it was my turn, and I’m reposting my article here:
Whether you celebrate it or not, it can’t have escaped your notice that today is Hallowe’en, or to give it its full name, All Hallows’ Eve. These days the shops seem keener to stock costumes and spooky treats than they are to sell us things associated with that other more English seasonal festival of Guy Fawkes’ Night. Perhaps it’s a sign of the times – there’s clearly more money to be made out of Halloween, with all the trick-or-treating supplies and ghoulish accessories. You might expect me, as a Christian and a clergyman, to question whether we should be “celebrating” Hallowe’en at all.
Actually, I don’t see anything especially wrong with marking the day. If we are to recognise and celebrate all that is good in the world – and there is so much of this to be thankful for – there needs to be something to distinguish it from. The world around us is full of contrasts, and so just as we have day and night, perhaps we need light and dark, good and bad. Light a candle in the pitch darkness, and you will immediately notice the difference! Jesus is often described as the “light of the world”, and I find this image of a candle in the darkness very helpful a useful image to help me understand something of what this means.
The light which balances Hallowe’en comes the very next day – All Hallows’ Day, when we celebrate that we are surrounded by a great “cloud of witnesses” – the Saints. There are so many stories of heroism, generosity, virtue and simple kindness in the lives of the Saints, and each one shines out to us from history. We are all called to be Saints: in a world where there is so much selfishness and cruelty – so much darkness – we too can spread light. We shouldn’t shy away from darkness or pretend that it doesn’t exist, but we must recognise it for what it is: a natural part of life, but one which ultimately must give way to something far greater. The love of God for each of us is stronger than any darkness that we might encounter in our lives. There’s nothing wrong with harmless fun at Hallowe’en – after all, with God on our side, what have we to fear?
Note: this was preached last Sunday at Evensong on St M’s patronal festival. It was my first sermon preached as Assistant Curate in the parish.
Well, I think by now it’s safe to say that summer seems to have arrived, and so traditionally we must be heading towards the time of year where things slacken off and the pace of life slows somewhat. Yet the hive of activity that is St Margaret’s today would suggest otherwise! It was very good to be able to worship together as a whole Church family this morning, and to share lunch afterwards. But with all the preparations for the big day – the rehearsals, the cleaning, the cooking, and so on – it’s been anything but reflective of the more relaxed pace of life characteristic of this time of year. So many wanted to do their best to make today special, and quite rightly stops have been pulled out, stoves have been slaved over, brass polished, and dedication shown in honour of our patron, St Margaret. But I want to talk about dedication taken to extremes: specifically martyrdom, perhaps appropriate for St Margaret’s Day.
How much do we really know about Margaret? We are told that she lived in Antioch, in what is now Syria, in around the 3rd – 4th century AD. The daughter of a pagan priest, she converted to Christianity. Having attracted the attention of the governor, she was carried off to the palace, but she refused to marry him because of her faith. Her acts record that she was tortured in various fantastic ways (including being swallowed by a dragon, who spat her out when the cross she was holding caught in its throat), before being put to death. Although she is apparently unlikely to have existed outside the pages of pious fiction, her legendary martyrdom has inspired countless generations, especially in England where over 200 churches have been dedicated to her.
Martyrs have always been inspirational to people of faith, and this was certainly true in Jesus’ time as well. Indeed, our reading from Mark’s Gospel this evening has its background in the stories told about the torture and execution of Jews who had refused to eat unclean food (especially pork). The Pharisees challenge Jesus about the readiness of his disciples to reject the traditions of the elders, traditions for which these martyrs died. Yet Jesus turns the situation on its head: the quotation from Isaiah is used to point out the tension between divine commandments, and traditions based purely on human things. Indeed, Jesus doesn’t just point to the inconsistency, but drives a coach and horses through the idea that the Pharisee’s traditions are a response to divine teaching. Once they go inside the house, Jesus explains to the disciples what he has been driving at: things which enter the body go to the stomach, and not the heart; whereas what comes from the body comes from the heart. Worrying about the cleanliness or otherwise of various foods is not the point. What matters to Jesus is what comes from the heart. But we should be careful of setting up a dichotomy between the inner, or spiritual, things, and the outer, physical ones. Christianity came to develop a real taste for this sort of thing – just read Augustine’s Confessions and you will find a work extolling the virtues of introspection and the inner life as the way towards unity with God. Yes, Jesus does seem to say that food doesn’t really matter. He does seem to say that the internal, spiritual things are what count. And yet, he is not saying that if only we got in touch with our deepest feelings then we could discover true happiness, a bit like a first century psychotherapist, but rather that both the good and the bad that we do in our lives is rooted in the internal and spiritual. This means that we might find that examining our deepest motivations might result in some unpleasant discoveries, such as the “evil intentions” he refers to – theft, avarice, envy and so on.
Jesus’ teaching was radical in his time, but has lost none of its impact over the last two thousand years in being transposed to new times and cultures. The world has not stopped producing martyrs to a variety of causes in that time – though in recent times the very concept of martyrdom has itself been hijacked, and given a very chilling edge with the advent of suicide bombers. What Jesus teaches us here is that our inner motivations themselves might be poisoned, and it is not at all possible to rely on them for ultimate happiness and harmony. Somehow, the world has become sick, and needs a physician.
This is what Mark is alluding to here, and it’s something he places more clearly in Jesus’ teaching later in the gospel – the laws of the Old Testament were given because of people’s hardness of heart: they were not ready to fulfil all that God had intended for them when he created them, and so they needed laws which reflected that second-best reality. But the incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus set things in a new light – human beings are now ready, because we have access to healing and forgiveness in the person of Jesus Christ. So the old laws no longer have quite the same relevance as they once did.
What does this mean for us, here tonight? Certainly not that we should abandon our traditions: St Margaret’s, more than many churches, has demonstrated how fidelity to tradition is not to be seen in opposition to mission and evangelism in the modern world. But it is perhaps a clarion call to us to consider how we might, like blessed Margaret, best show our dedication to the gospel. All of us are called to be saints. But to stand any chance of coming close, we must keep our eyes fixed on the kingdom of heaven. This means facing difficult challenges, such as those posed by Jesus to the Pharisees. It means examining our inner motivations and asking ourselves whether there is anything we are uncomfortable about, recognizing that none of us are perfect and that we have, by God’s grace, the opportunity to begin again. And again. One of the rich blessings of the catholic tradition has been the rediscovery of the sacrament of reconciliation, and if this is something you have not tried before, let me commend it to you as a powerful way to receive Christ’s forgiveness and turn over a new leaf. It is an example of a tradition with real spiritual benefits, and one I have found immensely helpful in my own journey of faith.
So, on this St Margaret’s Day, let us give thanks for the example of the holy virgin and martyr, whose example inspired so many of our forebears. And let us rededicate ourselves to follow her example of devotion by refusing to compromise where the gospel is concerned, and to confess the faith whatever the cost and wherever that might lead us. We are not promised an easy ride, as Margaret’s life demonstrates. But we can be sure that we will not be alone – and when we find things we don’t like, we can have confidence in Christ’s healing touch.
This time next week, we shall be preparing for our final act as members of the community here at college – the Leavers’ Service. The removal men will probably be well on their way up the motorway (at least, that’s the plan), and we will follow them as soon as we can. There are a lot of things that need to be done between now and then – mostly small things like changing addresses and ordering some things for the house. Yesterday we heard that the house sale had completed, which was one worry off our minds: hopefully the other things (like school places) will fall into place next week in the final few days.
Now, more than ever before, the liminal nature of a theological college existence is apparent. None of us can ever truly be “at home” here, even those of us who have spent three years training. Certainly one of the things I would say to would-be seminarians, and to those about to begin training, is this: do not become too comfortable and settled with your life in college. Before you know it, everything will change – again – often in ways you do not expect when you first arrive. Being here has been essentially about preparing for what is to come, and putting down much in the way of roots is not a terribly good idea.
Today, the Feast of the Visitation, is perhaps another image which is appropriate at the moment. The sense of joy and expectation, expressed in the words of both Mary and Elizabeth, coupled with their thanksgiving for all that the Lord has done, has a particular resonance as we prepare to move from one stage of the journey to the next. Training at college has not been without its challenges and difficulties – but then, neither will being pregnant at Elizabeth’s age, or outside of wedlock in Mary’s case, have been. Yet the joy at what is coming does not seem to be affected by this.
I think it’s fair to say that I identify with Mary’s earlier question of the Angel at the Annunciation, “How shall this be?”. Many hurdles have been overcome, and there are still worries and challenges ahead. But God-willing, in less than one month I shall have been made a deacon in the Church, and a new chapter in our lives will have begun. Perhaps by then a new name for this blog will have become clear!
I preached this evening in the Chapel of Merton College, Oxford. Here’s what I said:
In the name of the (+) Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit: Amen.
I wonder if any of you have been travelling recently. Well, if you haven’t had the opportunity to go yet, I would urge you to make the short hop across the Channel to a small city not far from Paris. Chartres is known principally for its majestic Cathedral, one of the masterpieces of the medieval Gothic style and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is remarkably well-preserved, renowned for an astonishing collection of stained glass, and also for its three great facades, adorned with hundreds of sculpted figures. It has been a place of pilgrimage since at least the 12th century.
But enough of the tourist brochure blurb: I’ll get to the point. One of the portals depicts Christ standing on a cloud, supported by angels, apparently in an impression of the event we recall tonight, the Ascension. It is an amazing work, and pilgrims continue to gaze up at it today, as they have since it was first carved in around 1140. Gazing up at beautiful scenes such as this can have the effect of drawing one’s eyes still further, looking beyond the imagery towards heaven itself.
One of the reasons why Luke’s Gospel is so attractive is the way he seems to paint pictures with his words. Indeed, St Luke has been traditionally associated with painting, especially in the Orthodox tradition where he is said to have been the first icon painter. I think we can see something of the reason for this in our two readings this evening, when we remember that Luke is also the author of Acts. The two passages are remarkable for the way in which they enable us to imagine the scene and, with our mind’s eye, to gaze up at the unfolding event, much like the pilgrims at Chartres do when they encounter the scene in stone. We might smile slightly at the thought of Jesus zooming off into the clouds with the angels, but the idea of the Ascension is nonetheless one that should make us stop and stare: Jesus’ heavenward journey to his Father foreshadows our own.
Our gaze often seems to be drawn upwards in the context of worship, especially when one is blessed with the sublime surroundings in which we find ourselves here in this chapel. Worship is, of course, a central aspect of the Christian life. Indeed, this is underlined by what we have just heard. The disciple’s response to Jesus’ ascension was immediately to worship him, and then having returned to Jerusalem as they had been instructed to do, they continued this worship in the Temple. So, it’s fairly clear that Luke is trying to stress worship’s central place in our relationship with the living God. Because Jesus is no longer present to us in his physical body as he was in first century Palestine, the Church must daily renew her relationship with her Lord through prayer and the sacramental life.
Luke’s account of the ascension is slightly different in the reading from Acts that we heard first, and we should ask ourselves why this is. I would suggest that the variations between the two accounts suggest that we are not, in fact, to be too concerned about which details can be considered historically reliable, at least on a superficial level. While the gospel seems to be keen to convey a message about the importance of worship, it also, in common with the version in Acts, seems to want to stress the new way in which authority ought to be understood. We are told that the various parts of the Hebrew Scriptures – the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms – are to be read in a new, Christian context. And because Jesus is now glorified at the Father’s right hand, he is no longer here in the same sense that the disciples had known. This means that the responsibility to continue his mission must pass to those who are left behind. This has consequences for the way in which power is exercised not just among Christians, but in the world – and this is something we learn here, alongside the disciples.
They ask Jesus when the kingdom will be restored to Israel. But this is clearly the wrong question to be asking! Jesus does not answer it, instead he tells the disciples that they will receive the power of the Holy Spirit. Then come the words that have had such massive consequences for the last two thousand years: “you will be my witnesses”. The point about being witnesses is one of the most striking similarities between the two accounts, and this suggests it’s something that Luke wants us to pay special attention to. The disciples’ work is to begin in Jerusalem, but then to spread the message far and wide. This global act of witness, of preaching “repentance and the forgiveness of sins” shows Israel, and then the world, that true authority belongs to God, and to the one who is now exalted at the right hand of the Father.
Being witnesses to this, the disciples – and their descendants down the ages, ourselves included – have been given an awesome responsibility. It is down to us to continue the work which Christ began, to model this radical reinterpretation of authority. What kind of images come to your mind when you think about calling people to repentance? Perhaps there are some of you who will think of the charismatic men and women who stand on street corners, sometimes with a sandwich board or a few placards, calling at passers-by. But not everyone is called to that sort of witness. As we see demonstrated in the continuation of the story in Acts, and as Paul also writes, “there are a variety of gifts, but the same Spirit”[1]. Each of us must attend carefully to what God is calling us to do, because each of us has been given a part of Christ’s work. St Theresa of Avila famously reminds us that
“Christ has no body now on earth but yours,
No hands but yours,
No feet but yours…
Jesus goes to prepare a place for us, as John tells us. But before we can take our places, there is work to be done. Jesus’ words to the disciples are intended just as much for us as they were for them. His refusal to answer the question about the restoration of the kingdom shows that “knowledge” is not the most important aspect of discipleship – rather, “mission” has displaced it – just as the rule of God over human hearts has displaced the authority of the kingdoms of this world.
So, we need to get out there. But we ought to pause for a moment and consider that in liturgical terms, we have not yet had Pentecost. We are in that period of time where we ourselves must remain in Jerusalem. We know that what was promised by the Father will come, just as we know that every Good Friday leads to an Easter morning. Here is a suggestion to help you enter into this final act of the Easter drama: over the next few days, try to imagine what it was like for those first disciples, waiting for the promise to be fulfilled, yet filled with great joy and full of praise and blessing for God. We who have been given a share in the mission of Christ, and who have received the gift of the Holy Spirit (as some of you may have seen powerfully at last week’s baptism and confirmation service) must seek to grow in faith each day. This doesn’t mean locking yourself in your room for the next nine days, but you might like to spend at least some of each day in prayer especially for the gift of the Holy Spirit, to strengthen you for your part as a “witness of these things”. This nine-day period, or “novena”, of prayer has been kept by Christians down the centuries, and so entering into it means keeping this tradition of worship and prayer alive – surely another part of our responsibility as successors of the disciples.
So, it’s essential to spend regular time in worship. The “beauty of holiness” that we see around us here, and which so inspired the masons of Chartres, is vital for living a healthy Christian life. It prompts us to lift our hearts and minds to God, as we encounter him in Word and Sacrament. But however much we may long to, we cannot keep our gaze completely heavenward: we must also be about the Lord’s work, secure in the knowledge that our lives are shaped and guided by the Holy Spirit, and that we are under the Lord’s authority. As St Theresa concludes:
Yours are the eyes through which Christ’s compassion is to look out to the earth,
Yours are the feet by which He is to go about doing good
And yours are the hands by which he is to bless us now”
Let us pray that Jesus, when he comes again, will find us watching, waiting, and witnessing to his authority as our exalted Lord.
[1] 1Cor.12:4
(Photo: St Cuthbert’s tomb, by @kateboardman)
O Cuthbert, the great and admirable warrior
who shineth forth with thy many merits:
now the Lord shineth through thee in thine eternal reward,
for thou crushest the fires of the flesh.
With thy heart didst thou scorn all passing things in thy duty and love for Christ,
and in thy labour didst not scorn the Lord’s commandments,
for in thy generosity and eagerness thou didst flow with the Light of Christ,
opening an everlasting stream of grace where none had been found before.
O thou, who broughtest forth an abundant harvest in rocky earth,
do thou ever pray to the Thrice-Holy Lord that our souls may be saved.
(Kontakion I from the Akathist to St Cuthbert of Lindisfarne (h/t Russian Orthodox Church outside Russia, Diocese of Gt Britain and Ireland http://orthodoxengland.org.uk/akacuthbert.htm)
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Today is St Cuthbert’s Day. Being a Durham ordinand, and having the Cathedral as my sending church, means that Cuthbert has a special place in my heart. It was hard not to take for granted the fact that for many years we had worshipped in Cuthbert’s shrine, just as successive generations had done for over 900 years. On our final Sunday in the Cathedral we went to say “goodbye” to Cuthbert in the Feretory – and to Bede (who, being commemorated on my birthday, is also a significant figure to me). Today I’m very much aware of the fact that I will not be ordained in the place which for many years had been called “home”. I am very excited to be heading to Ilkley, and am looking forward to my ordination in Bradford Cathedral and to all that the next few years may bring. But there is a part of me which will forever belong to Durham, and at Cuthbert-tide this is especially clear.
Holy Father Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, pray to God for us!
Please pray for Fr. Philip Gray and the people of the parish of St Margaret’s, Ilkley, where (God-willing) I am to serve as Assistant Curate.
I’m really excited to be able to announce this at last: there’s been a lot of patient waiting for the various processes to work out. There is still quite a bit of waiting to do, and details such as housing, schools for the children, and so on have to be worked out.
Assuming all goes according to plan, I will be ordained deacon by the Bishop of Bradford on Sunday 30th June, in Bradford Cathedral. Ordination day feels like a long way off, with many “firm expectations” between now and then: but it also feels much more as though the end of our sojourn in Oxfordshire is in sight. The more observant among you will have noticed that Ilkley is in Bradford Diocese, and not Durham. I do feel some sadness at not returning to be ordained in Durham Cathedral – my sending church. I owe a great deal to the Diocese and Cathedral, and we have many happy family memories of the North East. However, there is a very strong sense of rightness about the coming move to Wharfedale.
There are now 131 days until the leavers’ service, and much to do in the mean time. Best get on with it, really.
I’m leading our college group’s worship in the morning. It’s an opportunity to offer something a little different from the usual diet – so given that the morning office is always (so far as I can remember) Morning Prayer from Common Worship: Daily Prayer, I’ve decided to offer everyone an opportunity to use the form as authorised in the Book of Common Prayer. More specifically, it will be offered in the form used at my summer placement parish, St Barnabas, Jericho. This will introduce my fellow-ordinands to the Angelus, a traditional memorial of the Incarnation which is very popular among Roman and Anglican Catholics. Because most people here at college probably haven’t come across it before, I’ve produced a printable sheet with the text on, which I’m making available for download from here. I hope that this saves someone a few minutes in the future.
Grasping at Holiness 