Since my teens I have been blessed by the writings of Evelyn Underhill (1875-1942), a widely acclaimed Church of England spiritual director who more than deserves to be rediscovered. An Anthology of the Love of God, published after her death, is a good initiation into her work. Each chapter begins with a poem, many of which come from Immanence, published by Underhill in 1912. Immanence is available FREE for downloading from the internet. I love this particular poem, a deeply moving burst of praise to the Lord for his sacred presence in the Holy Eucharist:
MISSA CANTATA
Once in an Abbey-church, the whiles we prayed
All silent at the lifting of the Host,
A little bird through some high window strayed ;
And to and fro
Like a wee angel lost
That on a sudden finds its heaven below,
It went the morning long.
And made our Eucharist more glad with song.
It sang, it sang ! and as the quiet priest
Far off about the lighted altar moved,
The awful substance of the mystic feast
All hushed before,
It, like a thing that loved
Yet loved in liberty, would plunge and soar
Beneath the vault in play
And thence toss down the oblation of its lay.
The walls that went our sanctuary around
Did, as of old, to that sweet summons yield.
New scents and sounds within our gates were found ;
The cry of kine.
The fragrance of the field,
All woodland whispers, hastened to the shrine :
The country side was come
Eager and joyful, to its spirit’s home.
Far-stretched I saw the cornfield and the plough,
The scudding cloud, the cleanly-running brook,
The humble, kindly turf, the tossing bough
That all their light
From Love’s own furnace took —
This altar, where one angel brownly bright
Proclaimed the sylvan creed.
And sang the Benedictus of the mead.
All earth was lifted to communion then.
All lovely life was there to meet its King ;
Ah, not the little arid souls of men
But sun and wind
And all desirous thing
The ground of their beseeching here did find ;
All with one self-same bread.
And all by one eternal priest, were fed.
John (c. 347-407) was born at Antioch to noble parents. His father died soon after his birth and he was raised by his mother. Following his baptism (in either 368 or 373) he became a Reader in the Church). In terms of his career he became a lawyer.
As he grew older, however, he studied theology and spent some years as a hermit, living a life of great austerity and prayer. Returning to Antioch, he was ordained deacon in 381 and priest in 386. From 386 to 397 it was his duty to preach in the principal church of the city. This is the period of the sermons that earned him the title ‘Chrysostomos’ or ‘the golden-mouthed.’
In 397 he became Bishop and Patriarch of Constantinople, where his attempts to reform the court, the clergy, and people led to his exile in 404 and finally to his death in 407 from the hardships imposed on him. He is remembered for his simplicity of life, his care of the poor, the courage of his witness, and his effective preaching of the Scriptures. He emphasised the full divinity of Christ against the Arians and his full humanity against the Apollinarians. S. John Chrysostom was bove all a loving pastor.
This passage, Chrysostom’s commentary on today’s gospel reading, is from Homily 8 ‘Against the Anomoeans’:
‘The Son of man came to give his life as a ransom for many.’
When the ten disciples were indignant with James and John for separating themselves from their company in the hope of obtaining the highest honour, Jesus corrected the disorderly passions of both groups. Notice how he did it.
‘He called them to him and said: Gentile rulers lord it over their people, and holders of high office make their authority felt. This must not happen among you. On the contrary, whoever wants to be first among you must be last of all.’
You see that what the two brothers wanted was to be first, greatest, and highest: rulers, one might almost say, of the others. So, revealing their secret thoughts, Jesus put a curb on this ambition, saying: “Whoever wants to be first among you must become the servant of all.”
If you wish to take precedence and to have the highest honours, aim for whatever is lowest and worst: to be the most insignificant and humble of all, of less account than anyone else; to put yourselves after the others. It is virtue of this kind that wins the honor you aspire to, and you have an outstanding example of it near at hand.
‘For the Son of man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.’
This is what will make you illustrious and far-famed. See what is happening in my case. I do not seek glory and honor, yet by acting in this way I am gaining innumerable blessings.
The fact is that before the incarnation and self-abasement of Christ the whole world was in a state of ruin and decay, but when he humbled himself he lifted the world up. He annuled the curse, put an end to death, opened paradise, destroyed sin, flung wide the gates of heaven, and introduced there the firstfruits of our race.
He filled the world with faith in God, drove out error, restored truth, caused our firstfruits to ascend a royal throne, and gained innumerable blessings beyond the power of myself or anyone else to describe in words. Before he humbled himself he was known only to the angels, but after his self-abasement he was recognised by the whole human race.
We invite you to our HARVEST FESTIVAL this Sunday at 9.30 a.m. (Click the flyer to enlarge it.)
The old has passed away: all things are made new
From a discourse by Saint Andrew of Crete
S. Andrew of Crete was from Damascus. After ordination he became secretary of Theodore, Patriarch of Jerusalem, and was thus called ‘the Jerusalemite.’ He was present at the Sixth Ecumenical Council in Constantinople (680). He became deacon of the Great church in Constantinople, that is, the Church of the Holy Wisdom, and then Archbishop of Crete. He died in 720 or 723 on the island of Mytilene. Beside his other sacred writings, he also composed various hymns, among which is the famous Great Canon, which is chanted in the Orthodox tradition during Lent (see the Thursday of the Fifth Week of the Fast).
‘The fulfilment of the law is Christ himself, who does not so much lead us away from the letter as lift us up to its spirit. For the law’s consummation was this, that the very lawgiver accomplished his work and changed letter into spirit, summing everything up in himself and, though subject to the law, living by grace. He subordinated the law, yet harmoniously united grace with it, not confusing the distinctive characteristics of the one with the other, but effecting the transition in a way most fitting for God. He changed whatever was burdensome, servile and oppressive not what is light and liberating, so that we should be enslaved no longer under the elemental spirits of the world, as the Apostle says, nor held fast as bondservants under the letter of the law.
This is the highest, all-embracing benefit that Christ has bestowed on us. This is the revelation of the mystery, this is the emptying out of the divine nature, the union of God and man, and the deification of the manhood that was assumed. This radiant and manifest coming of God to men most certainly needed a joyful prelude to introduce the great gift of salvation to us. The present festival, the birth of the Mother of God, is the prelude, while the final act is the fore-ordained union of the Word with flesh. Today the Virgin is born, tended and formed and prepared for her role as Mother of God, who is the universal King of the ages.
Justly, then, do we celebrate this mystery since it signifies for us a double grace. We are led toward the truth, and we are led away from our condition of slavery to the letter of the law. How can this be? Darkness yields before the coming of the light, and grace exchanges legalism for freedom. But midway between the two stands today’s mystery, at the frontier where types and symbols give way to reality, and the old is replaced by the new. Therefore, let all creation sing and dance and unite to make worthy contribution to the celebration of this day. Let there be one common festival for saints in heaven and men on earth. Let everything, mundane things and those above, join in festive celebration. Today this created world is raised to the dignity of a holy place for him who made all things. The creature is newly prepared to be a divine dwelling place for the Creator.
On this day when we celebrate the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into heaven where she shares the victory of her Son over death, I give you (again) this amazing 1996 performance of Eric Clapton, Luciano Pavrotti and the East London Gospel Choir. The song has lost none of its spiritual power. It's a cry from the heart for our time. Secularism has failed dismally to deliver the freedoms it promised to us as individuals, to our culture, and to our world. Furthermore the attempts of many church leaders to appease our culture by playing down the Gospel and the Catholic Faith have only made things worse.
This prayer is a desperate plea for Our Lady - who loves all her children so much - to intercede for a dying world. Let it touch your heart. God bless all my readers on this great day.
All Saints Benhilton
Church of England Primary School
One of the blessings of being Vicar of All Saints’ Benhilton in south-east London is that the church, the vicarage and the school are on the same block, making for a partnership of ministry and support. We marked the last day of the school year (Friday 23rd July) with a Year 6 Leavers’ Service in All Saints’ Church. The children led most of the service which was one of thanksgiving to God for blessings received at the school. We also prayed for our Lord’s continued blessing on the children as they (soon) begin their secondary education.
The children marked this milestone in their lives by writing a ‘year book’ in which each reflected on their lives at ‘ASB’. I was asked to contribute something. This is what I wrote:
Dear Year 6 leavers,
What a time you have had in Year 6! Nobody really thought that the pandemic would last so long, and that your entire final year at All Saints’ Benhilton Primary School would be spent under lockdown conditions. But, with the loving support of your families and teachers, as well as the support you have given each other, you have done so well. You have been inspiring.
Of course, the other dimension that is so important at our school is the experience we share of anchoring into God’s love and strength through worship, prayer, reading the Bible and sometimes just sitting in silence, or supporting each other when we are really struggling. We have learned that our faith is not just a bit of decoration on the edge of our lives, or a kind of hobby to make us ‘feel good’; it is rather a deep seated instinct to cling on to the reality of God’s presence and love, even in times of darkness when there are more questions than answers.
So, although you missed out on a handful of the more predictable things that occur at school, the experience of faith and community which has helped us all through the lockdowns is itself a kind of education that will strengthen you immeasurably for the rest of your lives.
May you know God’s blessing as you go from All Saints’ into the next chapter of your life’s adventure. I give you one of my favourite verses from the Bible which has meant a lot to me throughout my life:
‘The eternal God is your refuge
and underneath are the everlasting arms.’
(Deuteronomy 33:27)
- Father David
I don’t agree with absolutely everything Aussie Anglican priest and respected historian John Dickson writes, but the fact that the very conservative Catholic World Report has published a review giving an enthusiastic ‘thumbs up’ to Dickson’s latest book is high praise. I hope that ‘Bullies and Saints . . .’ is widely read.
Gregory J. Sullivan writes: John Dickson, an Australian scholar and self-described ‘mild-mannered Anglican,’ has penned an engaging and accessible book that provides an antidote to the polemical abuse of history.
Wounded by original sin, people predictably make a mess of things, often in quite spectacular fashion. Of course, men and women, here and there, follow the better angels of their natures and bring order, beauty, and goodness to the world. Christians are no exception to this arrangement. Nevertheless, its army of critics are quick to point to the multitudinous Christian failings throughout history as evidence of Christian personal hypocrisy, irrationality, and even wickedness. Patent bias—with an admixture of gross oversimplification—is omnipresent.
In his engagingly written Bullies and Saints: An Honest Look at the Good and Evil of Christian History, John Dickson, an Australian scholar and self-described ‘mild-mannered Anglican,’ provides an antidote to this polemical abuse of history with ‘a century-by-century retelling of the bullies and saints of Christian history.’ He moves, with deeply informed intelligence and accessible prose, over the revolutionary impact of the early Church (the common practice of infanticide was legally banned in 374 A.D., a vindication of the Christian view of all people bearing the image of God), the Crusades, the Galileo affair, the Inquisition, and so on—all the way to the present-day clerical sexual-abuse crisis. Dickson sorts through these complex areas with moral clarity and supplies valuable context where appropriate.
In light of current, tedious racial obsessions, Dickson’s analysis of Christianity and slavery is especially welcome. This historically universal practice of course survived the advent of Christianity, but its ultimate destruction was occasioned by the tireless work of Christians. Dickson is rightly emphatic on this point: ‘Abolitionism was not a secular movement.’ To be sure, he concedes that ‘Christians were painfully slow in eradicating slavery,’ but it is an incontestable fact that ‘every anti-slavery movement we know of – whether in the second, fifth, seventh, or eighteenth centuries – was heavily populated by Christians. And the main arguments against slavery were not economic, political, or scientific. They were theological.’
Dickson quotes Rowan Williams, the erudite former Archbishop of Canterbury, who succinctly observed: ‘If the abolition of slavery had been left to enlightened secularists in the eighteenth century, we would still be waiting.’
Not surprisingly, Dickson adverts to Christopher Hitchens at various points, and he ably rebuts the distortions spread by the latter’s militant atheism. Hitchens glibly pointed to Northern Ireland’s “Troubles” as one of many examples of ‘religiously inspired cruelty.” Dickson says that this contention is “out of all proportion to the facts.’ He evaluates this conflict and discerns that “[r]eligious identity had morphed into political identity.”
‘It is fascinating,’ he continues, ‘to wander around Belfast, as you can do freely today, and look at the many surviving murals from the Troubles. Hardly any of them contain religious imagery or language. It is tribal and political, not at all theological.’ For all his vaunted on-the-ground knowledge of the world, Hitchens completely missed this truth.
As he closes this book, Dickson reflects on the mindless, indiscriminate assault on Western monuments in 2020. ‘Personally,’ he notes, ‘I have no problem with removing statues of people whose main contribution was evil’—the examples he adduces here are Stalin and Saddam Hussein. But he rejects the attacks on monuments of genuinely great but flawed men: Washington and Jefferson fall into this category. Dickson dismisses the dense, immature assumption that a great figure must be perfect, and he provocatively says that our own blindness to moral evils in our own time will undoubtedly one day be condemned. For instance: ‘When the link between ‘normal pornography’ and human trafficking is fully exposed, will future generations castigate us for making light of porn for the last three decades?’
Regrettably, Dickson’s chapter on the sexual-abuse crisis that has enveloped our age, titled ‘Moral Reckoning: Child Abuse in the Modern Church,’ is disappointing. He is right that it is ‘a disaster the church has brought upon itself,’ and his discussion is thoughtful (as far as it goes) but superficial. He does not consider the problem of homosexuality in the priesthood. Moreover, his keen historical sense is absent here: what makes the scandal so scandalous is the fact that it was the Christian revolution that placed pedophilia and homosexual conduct, broadly accepted (outside of Judaism) and commonplace in pagan antiquity, beyond the sexual pale. That is why the late Fr. Richard Neuhaus argued that fidelity to the Church’s sexual ethics is the only way out of the crisis.
Dickson candidly says that he writes as a ‘proud Protestant,’ and he writes as an honest one, too. That is, he acknowledges the culpability of Protestants as bullies as well. His condemnation of Martin Luther’s astounding anti-Semitism, for instance, is unequivocal and does not rationalize in any way. Surprisingly, he neglects to touch on the truly righteous figures on the Protestant side: Dietrich Bonhoeffer, to select one of many possible examples.
Dickson’s concluding affirmation of the integrity of the Christian Gospel is warranted:
Jesus Christ wrote a beautiful composition. Christians have not performed it consistently well. Sometimes they were badly out of tune. But the problem with a hateful Christian is not their Christianity but their departure from it.
In a world where sinners always far outnumber saints, the wonder is not the seeming ubiquity of evil but the palpable presence of the good. This is the narrative of Christian history, as Dickson explains so effectively in this excellent, and admirably balanced, book.
Bullies and Saints: An Honest Look at the Good and Evil of Christian History
By John Dickson
Zondervan Academic, 2021
Hardcover, 328 pages
Available from Amazon HERE
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