He “filled all England with light.”

In order to grasp the significance of S. Dunstan, we have to remember how, beginning with the merciless sacking of Lindisfarne in 793, the Danish invasions of the 8th and 9th centuries resulted, not only in the widespread destruction of monasteries and churches, but also the violent massacre of many clergy. The civilisation that had developed in Britain perished.

Raids for the purpose of plunder and robbery eventually gave way to the seizing of land for settlement. But the impact of the invasions, together with the other crises being experienced in Europe meant that during the last two centuries of the first millennium, many thought in apocalyptic terms that the end of the world was near.

In 878 Alfred (849-899), King of Wessex, gathered his remaining few warriors in the marshes at Eddington, and, to everyone’s surprise, conquered the Danes, becoming King of all England. He was educated and devout, dedicating himself to the restoration of peace, the revival of learning, true holiness and the renewal of the Church. So Alfred founded schools, and personally translated many books (including Bede’s History) from Latin into the English of the day. He also began the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle in English. At a time when there were almost no local vocations to the religious life, he founded monasteries and filled them with men and women from the Continent. The provision of bishops for the vacant sees and the creation of new ones was accomplished just after his death.

Building on this foundation, three significant leaders in the reigns of King Athelstan (c. 894-939) and King Edgar (c. 943-975) led a turn-around in the 10th century. They were Dunstan (909-988), Ethelwold (908-984), and Oswald (d. 992).

Dunstan received his schooling at Glastonbury, and as a youth belonged to King Athelstan’s court, which was itself a rich source of education, for there were many contacts with the Continent, Wales and Scotland. Dunstan became a monk of Glastonbury, and then Abbot of Glastonbury (940-957), Bishop of Worcester (957-960), Bishop of London (958-960), and finally Archbishop of Canterbury (960-978). He established many of the great monasteries of England, ensuring high standards of religious devotion and obedience. He inspired spiritual renewal and a higher level of education among the clergy generally; he promoted celibacy as the norm for the clerical life. He also brought artists from the Continent to beautify England’s churches, and he introduced great music to the people. Above all he is remembered as an educated, saintly man who established a standard – even an “ethos” – of worship which was to dominate the life of the English Church for centuries. When he died, it was said of him that he had “filled all England with light.” As well as his attendance at Mass and the Divine Office, Dunstan’s last ten years in retirement at Canterbury saw him spending long hours, day and night, in prayer.

Dunstan was a scholar, a holy priest, a mystic and a practical man. Angels are reported to have sung to him heavenly canticles. He improved the spiritual and temporal well-being of his people; he built and restored churches, established schools, judged suits, defended widows and orphans, promoted peace, and enforced respect for purity. He practised his crafts, made bells and organs and corrected the books in the cathedral library. He encouraged and protected European scholars who came to England, and was active as a teacher of boys in the cathedral school. 

On the vigil of Ascension Day 988, it is recorded that a vision of angels warned Dunstan he would die in three days. On the feast day itself, Dunstan said Mass and preached three times to the people: at the Gospel, after the Agnus Dei, and at the blessing. In his final address, he announced his impending death and wished the people well. That afternoon he chose the spot for his tomb and went to bed. His strength failed rapidly, and on Saturday morning, 19 May, he assembled the clergy. Mass was celebrated in his presence, then he received the Sacrament of Anointing and Holy Communion, and died. His final words are reported to have been, “He hath made a remembrance of his wonderful works, being a merciful and gracious Lord: He hath given food to them that fear him.”

The collect from today's Mass:

O God, source of all gifts,

who raised up the Bishop Saint Dunstan

to be a true shepherd of the flock,

a restorer of monastic life

and a trusted counsellor of kings;

grant at his intercession, we pray,

an abundance of your Spirit to all pastors,

that with wisdom and truth

they may offer worthy service to Christ

and to his people.

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

who lives and reigns with you

in the unity of the Holy Spirit

one God, for ever and ever. 

Amen.

Saint Anselm's Day

Today the Church honours St Anselm, a great Archbishop of Canterbury.

Born in Aosta in Northern Italy in 1033, St Anselm entered the Norman monastery at Bec in 1060. 

After being elected abbot, Anselm became the most celebrated theologian and spiritual guide of his age. His theological and philosophical treatises and letters of spiritual friendship all reflect the motto Fides Quaerens Intellectum - Faith Seeking Understanding.

His desire to show the complementarity of reason and faith bore fruit in his Proslogion, a treatise in which he formulated an ontological argument for the existence of God that continues to fascinate philosophers to this day. His letters, written in a graceful literary style that made them a model for generations of writers, reveal a warm and generous personality.

As Archbishop of Canterbury, Anselm was an active pastor and reformer. He defended the Church of England against royal control and oppression, for which he was twice exiled by the king. In 1102 he presided over the first Church council to outlaw the slave trade. During his exiles, St Anselm continued to write, producing Cur Deus Homo (Why God Became Man), the most famous medieval interpretation of the Incarnation.

We thank God for his holiness of life, the depth of his divine and human learning, his political and social conscience in the service of God and man.

Here is the first chapter of his Proslogion. It is, in fact, a prayer that we might seek God and find him. It is a wonderful prayer, a prayer of great beauty and sensitivity. I have sometimes given it to people who are at the beginning of their faith journey to help them begin a conversation with God. This translation is by Benedicta Ward, from her Penguin book, The Prayers and Meditations of Saint Anselm. (1973)

Come now, little man, turn aside for a while from your daily employment, escape for a moment from the tumult of your thoughts. Put aside your weighty cares, let your burdensome distractions wait, free yourself awhile for God and rest awhile in him.

Enter the inner chamber of your soul, shut out everything except God and that which can help you in seeking him, and when you have shut the door, seek him. Now, my whole heart, say to God, ‘I seek your face, Lord, it is your face I seek.’

0 Lord my God, teach my heart where and how to seek you, where and how to find you. Lord, if you are not here but absent,  where shall I seek you? But you are everywhere, so you must be here, why then do I not seek you? Surely you dwell in light inaccessible – where is it? and how can I have access to light which is inaccessible? Who will lead me and take me into it so that I may see you there? By what signs, under what forms, shall I seek you? I have never seen you, 0 Lord my God, I have never seen your face.

Most High Lord, what shall an exile do who is as far away from you as this? What shall your servant do, eager for your love, cast off far from your face? He longs to see you, but your countenance is too far away. He wants to have access to you, but your dwelling is inaccessible. He longs to find you, but he does not know where you are. He loves to seek you, but he does not know your face.

Lord, you are my Lord and my God, and I have never seen you. You have created and re-created me, all the good I have comes from you, and still I do not know you. I was created to see you, and I have not yet accomplished that for which I was made. How wretched is the fate of man when he has lost that for which he was created.

How hard and cruel was the Fall. What has man lost, and what has he found? What has he left, and what is left to him? He has lost blessedness for which he was made and he has found wretchedness for which he was not made. He had left that without which there is no happiness, and he has got that which is nothing but misery. Once man did eat angels’ food, and now he hungers for it; now he eats the bread of sorrow, which then he knew nothing of.

Ah, grief common to all men, lamentation of all the sons of Adam. Adam was so full he belched, we are so hungry we sigh; he had abundance, and we go begging. He held what he had in happiness and left it in misery; we are unhappy in our wants and miserable in our desires, and ah, how empty we remain. Why did he not keep for us that which he possessed so easily, and we lack despite such labour? Why did he shut out our light and surround us with darkness? Why did he take away our life and give us the hurt of death ?

From whence have we wretched men been pushed down, to what place are we being pushed on? From what position have we been cast down, where are we being buried? From our homeland into exile, from the vision of God into our own blindness, from the deathless state in which we rejoiced into the bitterness of a death to be shuddered at. Wretched exchange, so great a good for so much evil. A grievous loss, a grievous sorrow,  the whole thing is grievous.

Alas, I am indeed wretched, one of those wretched sons of Eve, separated from God! What have I begun, and what accomplished? Where was I going and where have I got to? To what did I reach out, for what do I long? I sought after goodness, and lo, here is turmoil; I was going towards God, and I was my own impediment. I sought for peace within myself, and in the depths of my heart I found trouble and sorrow. I wanted to laugh for the joy of my heart, and the pain of my heart made me groan. It was gladness I was hoping for, but sighs came thick and fast.

O Lord, how long? How long, Lord, will you turn your face from us? When will you look upon us and hear us? When will you enlighten our eyes and show us your face? When will you give yourself to us again? 

Look upon us, Lord, and hear us, enlighten us and show yourself to us. Give yourself to us again that it may be well with us, for without you it is ill with us. Have mercy on us, as we strive and labour to come to you,  for without you we can do nothing well. You have invited us to cry out, ‘Help us’: I pray you, Lord,  let me not sigh without hope, but hope and breathe again.

Let not my heart become bitter because of its desolation, but sweeten it with your consolation. When I was hungry I began to seek you, Lord; do not let me go hungry away. I came to you famished; do not let me go from you unfed. Poor, I have come to one who is rich, miserable, I have come to one who is merciful; do not let me return empty and despised. If before I eat I sigh,  after my sighs give me to eat.

Lord, I am so bent I can only look downwards, raise me, that I may look upwards. My iniquities have gone over my head, they cover me and weigh me down like a heavy burden. Take this weight, this covering, from me, lest the pit close its mouth over me. Let me discern your light, whether from afar or from the depths. Teach me to seek you, and as I seek you,  show yourself to me,  for I cannot seek you unless you show me how, and I will never find you unless you show yourself to me. Let me seek you by desiring you, and desire you by seeking you; let me find you by loving you, and love you in finding you.

I confess, Lord, with thanksgiving, that you have made me in your image, so that I can remember you, think of you, and love you. But that image is so worn and blotted out by faults, so darkened by the smoke of sin, that it cannot do that for which it was made, unless you renew and refashion it. Lord, I am not trying to make my way to your height, for my understanding is in no way equal to that, but I do desire to understand a little of your truth which my heart already believes and loves. I do not seek to understand so that I may believe, but I believe so that I may understand; and what is more, I believe that unless I do believe I shall not understand.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

The collect from today's Mass:

O God, who led the Bishop Saint Anselm

to seek out and teach the depths of your wisdom,

grant, we pray,

that our faith in you may so aid our understanding,

that what we believe by your command

may give delight to our hearts.

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,

who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,

one God, for ever and ever. 

Amen.

Thomas Becket and Henry II - a very human story

The site of St Thomas Becket's martyrdom in Canterbury Cathedral

Here is an article by Renée D. Roden on St Thomas Becket that seeks to fill out the background of the characters involved in the saga that led to Becket's martyrdom through the eyes of  of Peter Glenville’s film "Becket" (1964). The article is from the website of the CHURCH LIFE JOURNAL, University of Notre Dame, Indiana, USA. Glenville's film goes for nearly two and a half hours and can be viewed in its entirety on YouTube HERE. 

“I give my life

To the Law of God above the Law of Man”

—Murder in the Cathedral, T.S. Eliot[i]

Thomas Becket, whose feast of martyrdom is observed today, is a highly celebrated figure of English Christianity, commemorated in painting, verse, and drama since his 12th century assassination.

The story of Thomas Becket’s unlikely rise to Archbishop of Canterbury is chronicled in Peter Glenville’s film Becket (1964). Although it tells the story of Becket’s martyrdom, the heart of Glenville’s tale is Becket’s friendship with Henry; he frames the film with scenes of Henry II at Becket’s tomb, addressing his deceased friend. Becket sets up a medieval buddy movie, which is ruined by God.

There is, of course, more to Thomas Becket’s story than simply his friendship with King Henry II. But the particular sacrifice of friendship, love, and loyalty that the film paints is a striking hue of Becket’s portrait, and a touching testament to the singular witness that friendship plays in the life of faith.

The film starts with the puerile shenanigans of Becket and King Henry II, carousing throughout the night, making mincemeat of the clergy in the council chambers, and hunting (women) in every corner of merry old England.

Throughout these exploits, Henry barks out commands, shouting at peasants and courtiers alike, a petulant child and snarling lion. But this willful monarch acknowledges the quiet moral force that Becket exerts upon him. Reflecting on what Thomas has done to him, Henry muses that he was once, “a machine made for belching and whoring, and punching heads. What did you put in mine, Thomas, that stopped the machine?” Thomas’ witness has complicated Henry’s life, and transformed him.

Becket is content to pander to his king and protect the victimized citizens on the sly, until Henry appoints him Archbishop of Canterbury. “If the mitre is on his head, he will no longer be on your side,” says Becket, prophetically, of the role of bishop. In that mitre, the laconic, ironic Becket finds a deeper allegiance than to the crown, and a greater love. Becket declares in prayer, his new role is “like going on a holiday: I’ve never enjoyed so much in my whole life.” He has found a God who is not “a sad God after all,” but who has filled him with a joy lacking in his debaucherous escapades with Henry.

In serving God, Becket finds he can no longer be a slave to his friend’s every whim, but can only bend to the will of the earthly king when it aligns with that of the Heavenly King’s. When Henry opposes the Church, Becket must ever be a challenge to Henry. This is a surprise to Henry. He appointed Becket archbishop specifically to have a friend in the role of that crucial clerical ally. The sting of Becket’s betrayal is not just that of another clergymen opposing Henry’s agenda, it is the bitter betrayal of the friend who is always in your corner suddenly squaring off against you in the ring.

Becket’s conversion—turning away from Henry and towards God—is a bitter medicine for Henry to swallow. “No one on this earth have ever loved me, except Becket!” he roars, pacing about in his chambers like a caged lion. He feels the absence of Becket’s friendship and companionship keenly, and duly seeks to make Becket feel it as well. He cannot forgive Becket for “preferring God to him.” But, even in his rage, his love for his friend continues. “I’d give my life away, laughing, for you, Thomas,” cries Henry, pained, because he cannot see why Becket will not do the same (or, rather than giving his life away, simply giving Henry his way).

While not all of us respond like Henry, I think there are friends who are a Becket to us in our lives. There are friends who love us unconditionally, friends who understand us, who are so simpatico with us they know our thoughts better than we do. They are the friends with whom conversation is hours of congenial agreement, of repeating the same truth forward, backwards, inside out, tossing it back and forth, examining its mirrored shards in our differing experiences, exploring the delight of a shared vision of the world together. They are the friends that C.S. Lewis describes as greeting each other with: “You too? I thought I was the only one.” They are the friends who teach us no man is an island, and can even be a fellow, cherished, pilgrim. They are the friends who, in the words of Henry: “gave me, with open hands, everything that is at all good in me.”

Think, then, of the power that these friends have when they contradict us. Expecting to embark on another conversation of mutual agreement, I launch into a complaint about a co-worker (he’s so dramatic!! This thing she did was absolutely uncalled for; any reasonable person could see this!!) and am instead greeted with a defense of the offending person, and a reminder of the broader truth of their humanity. When a bosom friend takes the side of a perceived enemy, when they call us to charity in the midst of our self-absorption, their words have immense power. The supportive friend who denies you affirmation of your opinion, and instead offers a challenge is a Becket.

The friends who challenge our pre-conceived notions, who push us to examine the world more deeply, who pose an obstacle to our comfortable clinging to our habits of being are Beckets. These are the friends who offer us an opportunity to encounter the great Other-ness of God, who are proof positive Truth is broader than our own experiences. Conversation with God is not always a conversation of congenial agreement, but often an encountering of contradictions. A friend like Becket forces us to confront the fact that God is not simply a convenient buttress to our pet opinions, or a pillar to support our own worldview. A friend can mirror the action of God, as a stone thrown at our edifice of self, crumbling our carefully constructed ramparts with the inconvenient force of Truth.

“The martyr,” writes a successor of Becket’s, Rowan Williams, “dies in the affirmation of God’s lordship—the affirmation that God is the ultimate value to be loved and served.” [ii]

And who can remind us better of this truth, whose witness sings the loudest, than the holy rebellion of those we consider most intimate to us? When those most loyal to us show their true allegiance lies elsewhere, it causes us to question who we ultimately serve. Am I God’s good servant above all else, or am I affirming no one’s lordship but my own?

A friend who is a fellow pilgrim on the road to God is dear, and a friend who is a sometimes-stumbling block on the easy, blind road of self-absorption is doubly dear. The witness of friends like Becket prompts us to examine whose law we live by, and whose love impels us to die to self.

[i] T.S. Eliot, Murder in the Cathedral. Faber and Faber: London., p. 276.

[ii] Rowan Williams. Resurrection. The Pilgrim Press: New York. 1984., p. 57.

The blood that flowed in Canterbury

The Assassination of Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral, 1170

Hulton Archive/Getty Images Credit

It was July 1998, and I was one of two Australians on the international Forward in Faith team working on the edge of the 1998 Lambeth Conference. One of the highlights of the month for me was being able to experience a wonderful production of T.S. Eliot's play, MURDER IN THE CATHEDRAL, by "Group 81" (a Canterbury based theatre company). In the context of the emotional and spiritual highs and lows of the Lambeth Conference itself, reflecting (even then) the greatly troubled Anglican world, it is difficult to overstate the impact of "Murder in the Cathedral" on many of us, especially given the venue - the Crypt of the Cathedral itself!

Thomas Becket was born in London, studied in Paris, and became Chancellor to the King. When he was chosen to be Archbishop of Canterbury in 1162 he underwent a conversion experience and from being "a patron of play-actors and a follower of hounds" became a true "shepherd of souls." He absorbed himself in the duties of his new office, even defending the Church's rights against Henry II. For this he was exiled to France for six years. Upon his return he endured many trials and was murdered by command of the King.

Go HERE for a more detailed outline of St Thomas Becket’s story.

The following is from T.S. Eliot's play. It is the Christmas Day sermon preached by Becket days before his martyrdom. Eliot at his best:

"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." The fourteenth verse of the second chapter of the Gospel according to Saint Luke. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Dear children of God, my sermon this morning will be a very short one. I wish only that you should ponder and meditate on the deep meaning and mystery of our masses of Christmas Day. For whenever Mass is said, we re-enact the Passion and Death of Our Lord; and on this Christmas Day we do this in celebration of His Birth. So that at the same moment we rejoice in His coming for the salvation of men, and offer again to God His Body and Blood in sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction for the sins of the whole world. It was in this same night that has just passed, that a multitude of the heavenly host appeared before the shepherds at Bethlehem, saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men"; at this same time of all the year that we celebrate at once the Birth of Our Lord and His Passion and Death upon the Cross. Beloved, as the World sees, this is to behave in a strange fashion. For who in the World will both mourn and rejoice at once and for the same reason? For either joy will be overcome by mourning or mourning will be cast out by joy; so that it is only in these our Christian mysteries that we can rejoice and mourn at once for the same reason. But think for a while on the meaning of this word "peace." Does it seem strange to you that the angels should have announced Peace, when ceaselessly the world has been stricken with War and the fear of War? Does it seem to you that the angelic voices were mistaken, and that the promise was a disappointment and a cheat?

Reflect now, how Our Lord Himself spoke of Peace. He said to His disciples: "My peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you." Did He mean peace as we think of it: the kingdom of England at peace with its neighbors, the barons at peace with the King, the householder counting over his peaceful gains, the swept hearth, his best wine for a friend at the table, his wife singing to the children? Those men His disciples knew no such things: they went forth to journey afar, to suffer by land and sea, to know torture, imprisonment, disappointment, to suffer death by martyrdom. What then did He mean? If you ask that, remember that He said also, "Not as the world giveth, give I unto you." So then, He gave to his disciples peace, but not peace as the world gives.

Consider also one thing of which you have probably never thought. Not only do we at the feast of Christmas celebrate at once Our Lord's Birth and His Death: but on the next day we celebrate the martyrdom of his first martyr, the blessed Stephen. Is it an accident, do you think, that the day of the first martyr follows immediately the day of the Birth of Christ? By no means. Just as we rejoice and mourn at once, in the Birth and Passion of Our Lord; so also, in a smaller figure, we both rejoice and mourn in the death of martyrs. We mourn, for the sins of the world that has martyred them; we rejoice, that another soul is numbered among the Saints in Heaven, for the glory of God and for the salvation of men.

Beloved, we do not think of a martyr simply as a good Christian who has been killed because he is a Christian: for that would be solely to mourn. We do not think of him simply as a good Christian who has been elevated to the company of the Saints: for that would be simply to rejoice: and neither our mourning nor our rejoicing is as the world's is. A Christian martyrdom is no accident. Saints are not made by accident. Still less is a Christian martyrdom the effect of a man's will to become a Saint, as a man by willing and contriving may become a ruler of men. Ambition fortifies the will of man to become ruler over other men: it operates with deception, cajolery, and violence, it is the action of impurity upon impurity. Not so in Heaven. A martyr, a saint, is always made by the design of God, for His love of men, to warn them and to lead them, to bring them back to His ways. A martyrdom is never the design of man; for the true martyr is he who has become the instrument of God, who has lost his will in the will of God, not lost it but found it, for he has found freedom in submission to God. The martyr no longer desires anything for himself, not even the glory of martyrdom. So thus as on earth the Church mourns and rejoices at once, in a fashion that the world cannot understand; so in Heaven the Saints are most high, having made themselves most low, seeing themselves not as we see them, but in the light of the Godhead from which they draw their being.

I have spoken to you today, dear children of God, of the martyrs of the past, asking you to remember especially our martyr of Canterbury, the blessed Archbishop Elphege; because it is fitting, on Christ's birthday, to remember what is that peace which he brought; and because, dear children, I do not think that I shall ever preach to you again; and because it is possible that in a short time you may have yet another martyr, and that one perhaps not the last. I would have you keep in your hearts these words that I say, and think of them at another time. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.

St Anselm: Seek the Lord

A modern (1959) stained glass window of St Anselm in Canterbury Cathedral.

Today is St Anselm's Day in the Church calendar. He was a very great Archbishop of Canterbury.

Born in Aosta in Northern Italy in 1033, St Anselm entered the Norman monastery at Bec in 1060.

After being elected abbot, Anselm became the most celebrated theologian and spiritual guide of his age. His theological and philosophical treatises and letters of spiritual friendship all reflect the motto Fides Quaerens Intellectum - Faith Seeking Understanding.

His desire to show the complementarity of reason and faith bore fruit in his Proslogion, a treatise in which he formulated an ontological argument for the existence of God that continues to fascinate philosophers to this day. His letters, written in a graceful literary style that made them a model for generations of writers, reveal a warm and generous personality.

As Archbishop of Canterbury, Anselm was an active pastor and reformer. He defended the Church of England against royal control and oppression, for which he was twice exiled by the king. In 1102 he presided over the first Church council to outlaw the slave trade. During his exiles, St Anselm continued to write, producing Cur Deus Homo (Why God Became Man), the most famous medieval interpretation of the Incarnation.

We thank God for his holiness of life, the depth of his divine and human learning, his political and social conscience in the service of God and man.

Here is the first chapter of his Proslogion. It is, in fact, a prayer that we might seek God and find him. It is a wonderful prayer, a prayer of great beauty and sensitivity. I have sometimes given it to people who are at the beginning of their faith journey to help them begin a conversation with God. This translation is by Benedicta Ward, from her Penguin book, The Prayers and Meditations of Saint Anselm. (1973)

Come now, little man, 

turn aside for a while from your daily employment, 

escape for a moment from the tumult of your thoughts. 

Put aside your weighty cares, 

let your burdensome distractions wait, 

free yourself awhile for God 

and rest awhile in him.

Enter the inner chamber of your soul, 

shut out everything except God 

and that which can help you in seeking him, 

and when you have shut the door, seek him.

Now, my whole heart, say to God,

‘I seek your face,

Lord, it is your face I seek.’

0 Lord my God, teach my heart where and how to seek you,

where and how to find you.

Lord, if you are not here but absent, 

where shall I seek you?

But you are everywhere, so you must be here, 

why then do I not seek you?

Surely you dwell in light inaccessible – 

where is it? and how can I 

have access to light which is inaccessible?

Who will lead me and take me into it 

so that I may see you there?

By what signs, under what forms, shall I seek you?

I have never seen you, 0 Lord my God,

I have never seen your face.

Most High Lord, 

what shall an exile do 

who is as far away from you as this?

What shall your servant do, 

eager for your love, cast off far from your face?

He longs to see you,

but your countenance is too far away.

He wants to have access to you, 

but your dwelling is inaccessible.

He longs to find you,

but he does not know where you are.

He loves to seek you,

but he does not know your face.

Lord, you are my Lord and my God, 

and I have never seen you.

You have created and re-created me, 

all the good I have comes from you, 

and still I do not know you.

I was created to see you, 

and I have not yet accomplished 

that for which I was made.

How wretched is the fate of man 

when he has lost that for which he was created.

How hard and cruel was the Fall.

What has man lost, and what has he found ?

What has he left, and what is left to him ?

He has lost blessedness for which he was made 

and he has found wretchedness 

for which he was not made. 

He had left that without which there is no happiness, 

and he has got that which is nothing but misery.

Once man did eat angels’ food, 

and now he hungers for it; 

now he eats the bread of sorrow, 

which then he knew nothing of.

Ah, grief common to all men, 

lamentation of all the sons of Adam.

Adam was so full he belched, 

we are so hungry we sigh;

he had abundance, and we go begging.

He held what he had in happiness and left it in misery;

we are unhappy in our wants 

and miserable in our desires, 

and ah, how empty we remain.

Why did he not keep for us 

that which he possessed so easily, 

and we lack despite such labour?

Why did he shut out our light 

and surround us with darkness?

Why did he take away our life 

and give us the hurt of death ?

From whence have we wretched men been pushed down,

to what place are we being pushed on?

From what position have we been cast down, 

where are we being buried?

From our homeland into exile, 

from the vision of God into our own blindness, 

from the deathless state in which we rejoiced 

into the bitterness of a death to be shuddered at.

Wretched exchange, so great a good for so much evil.

A grievous loss, a grievous sorrow, 

the whole thing is grievous.

Alas, I am indeed wretched, 

one of those wretched sons of Eve, 

separated from God! 

What have I begun, and what accomplished?

Where was I going and where have I got to?

To what did I reach out, for what do I long?

I sought after goodness, and lo, here is turmoil;

I was going towards God, and I was my own impediment.

I sought for peace within myself, 

and in the depths of my heart I found trouble and sorrow.

I wanted to laugh for the joy of my heart, 

and the pain of my heart made me groan.

It was gladness I was hoping for, 

but sighs came thick and fast.

O Lord, how long? 

How long, Lord, will you turn your face from us?

When will you look upon us and hear us?

When will you enlighten our eyes and show us your face?

When will you give yourself to us again? 

Look upon us, Lord, and hear us, 

enlighten us and show yourself to us.

Give yourself to us again that it may be well with us, 

for without you it is ill with us.

Have mercy on us, 

as we strive and labour to come to you, 

for without you we can do nothing well.

You have invited us to cry out, ‘Help us’:

I pray you, Lord, 

let me not sigh without hope, 

but hope and breathe again.

Let not my heart become bitter because of its desolation, 

but sweeten it with your consolation.

When I was hungry I began to seek you, Lord; 

do not let me go hungry away.

I came to you famished;

do not let me go from you unfed.

Poor, I have come to one who is rich, 

miserable, I have come to one who is merciful; 

do not let me return empty and despised.

If before I eat I sigh, 

after my sighs give me to eat.

Lord, I am so bent I can only look downwards, 

raise me, that I may look upwards.

My iniquities have gone over my head, 

they cover me and weigh me down 

like a heavy burden. 

Take this weight, this covering, from me, 

lest the pit close its mouth over me.

Let me discern your light, 

whether from afar or from the depths.

Teach me to seek you, and as I seek you, 

show yourself to me, 

for I cannot seek you unless you show me how, 

and I will never find you 

unless you show yourself to me.

Let me seek you by desiring you, 

and desire you by seeking you; 

let me find you by loving you, 

and love you in finding you.

I confess, Lord, with thanksgiving, 

that you have made me in your image, 

so that I can remember you, 

think of you, and love you.

But that image is so worn and blotted out by faults, 

so darkened by the smoke of sin, 

that it cannot do that for which it was made, 

unless you renew and refashion it.

Lord, I am not trying to make my way to your height, 

for my understanding is in no way equal to that, 

but I do desire to understand a little of your truth 

which my heart already believes and loves.

I do not seek to understand so that I may believe, 

but I believe so that I may understand; 

and what is more,

I believe that unless I do believe I shall not understand. 

St Theodore of Tarsus: The Syrian Archbishop of Canterbury

In the Church calendar, today we remember Theodore of Tarsus, a monk nominated by Pope Vitalian as the sixth Archbishop of Canterbury. Theodore’s native language was Greek and he was born in Syria. Theodore had been educated in Athens and took monastic vows before travelling to Italy. Very quickly he became a scholar of repute in Rome. 

He was ordained priest and bishop in order to be sent to Canterbury, arriving in 669. Within three years, following visitations to most parts of the country, he called the first synod of the Anglo-Saxon Church at Hertford (672) with the purpose of healing the rift that had occurred between bishops identifying chiefly with Rome and bishops based in monasteries after the Celtic pattern. He was the last foreign missionary to occupy the metropolitan See. 

According to Bede, he was the first Archbishop able to earn the respect, loyalty and obedience of all English Christians, and it is sometimes said that this was the greatest influence in the creation of a uniquely English Church. He brought about the system of parochial organisation which to this day is the hallmark of English Christianity. He established a school at Canterbury where many great leaders and saints of the English church were educated. 

Theodore died at the age of 87 and was laid to rest at the side of St. Augustine in Canterbury. This aged prelate from distant shores had won the affection and esteem of the people of the whole land. St. Bede says of him that he was the first Archbishop of Canterbury willingly obeyed by all of Anglo-Saxon England. 

On April 5, 2013, Fr. James Early presented a paper at the International Conference on Medieval and Renaissance Thought at Sam Houston State University in Huntsville, Texas, USA. The topic of Fr. James’ paper was “Theodore of Tarsus: The Syrian Archbishop of Canterbury.” Go HERE to listen to Fr Early’s lecture.

The (new) Archbishop of Canterbury's tribute to Pope Benedict

The confirmation of the new Archbishop of Canterbury’s election took place at St Paul’s Cathedral, London, on 4th February. Here is Archbishop Welby’s tribute to the ministry of Pope Benedict:

It was with a heavy heart but complete understanding that we learned this morning of Pope Benedict’s declaration of his decision to lay down the burden of ministry as Bishop of Rome, an office which he has held with great dignity, insight and courage. As I prepare to take up office I speak not only for myself, and my predecessors as Archbishop, but for Anglicans around the world, in giving thanks to God for a priestly life utterly dedicated, in word and deed, in prayer and in costly service, to following Christ. He has laid before us something of the meaning of the Petrine ministry of building up the people of God to full maturity.

In his visit to the United Kingdom, Pope Benedict showed us all something of what the vocation of the See of Rome can mean in practice – a witness to the universal scope of the gospel and a messenger of hope at a time when Christian faith is being called into question. In his teaching and writing he has brought a remarkable and creative theological mind to bear on the issues of the day. We who belong to other Christian families gladly acknowledge the importance of this witness and join with our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters in thanking God for the inspiration and challenge of Pope Benedict’s ministry.

We pray that God will bless him profoundly in retirement with health and peace of mind and heart, and we entrust to the Holy Spirit those who have a responsibility to elect his successor.

+ Justin Cantuar

Week of Prayer for Christian Unity: Pope John Paul II preaching in Canterbury Cathedral, 1982

In most countries today marks the beginning of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. When I was young it seemed that so much was being achieved to bring Christians together. There had always been pockets of believers across the traditions - lay, religious and ordained - who yearned for the unity in truth we share through faith and Baptism to be made visible in this world. They understood that our DISunity dishonours God, and makes the Gospel less credible to those we are trying to reach for the Lord.

Momentum for Christian Unity grew from the last decades of the 19th century and reached something of a springtime in the 1960’s and 1970’s, the aftermath of Vatican II. The “New Movements” in the Church as well as the growth of communion ecclesiology - which undergirds both the Vatican II documents and the ARCIC documents - were felt to be evidence of the Holy Spirit at work to create the unity for which we prayed.

It was a honeymoon time for those who shared the great vision. I myself was privileged to be involved at a number of different levels.

For some time, however, we have been said said to be back in an “ecumenical winter.” There are contrary movements among Christians. And there are new polarities and divisions within as well as between the churches. After such a promising beginning, for example, ARCIC, the Anglican-Roman Catholic ecumenical journey, has slowed right down, chiefly, it has to be said, due to the creation of NEW obstacles on the Anglican side that were not present when serious talks began in the late 1960’s.

But it is inconceivable that a prayer prayed by the Lord Jesus will go unanswered! So, while not presuming to criticise those who for reasons of conscience move from one ecclesial body to another - for one thing,  in their own way they actually contribute to a growth of understanding among Christians -, we continue to pray and work for renewal and unity, not now expecting to see it in our lifetime - a matter of huge grief for those of my generation -, but doing our bit while believing in the grace of God and the moving of the Holy Spirit in the hearts and minds of the people of God.

We need to remain focused on that goal when making decisions within our own churches, as well as when we relate to other churches, not JUST for the sake of unity, but so that the world might believe.

For Anglicans, one of the great "unity occasions" was the historic visit of Pope John Paul II to Canterbury Cathedral on the eve of Pentecost 1982, when he and Archbishop Runcie signed a Common Declaration committing our churches to working and praying towards full ecclesial reunion.

So, I share with you today the homily Pope John Paul preached in Canterbury Cathedral at that service. (I'm don't think I'm alone in saying that it evokes a sense of the expectancy of those days, as well as real grief at what has happened since . . . but it ought to spur us on in faithfulness to the Lord): 

The passage which has just been read is taken from John and contains the words of Jesus Christ on the eve of his Passion. While he was at supper with his disciples, he prayed: ‘That they may all be one’ even as thou, Father, art in me, and I in thee, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that thou hast sent me’ (Jn 17:21).

These words are marked in a particular way by the Paschal Mystery of our Saviour, by his Passion, death and Resurrection. Though pronounced once only, they endure throughout all generations. Christ prays unceasingly for the unity of his Church, because he loves her with the same love with which he loved the apostles and disciples who were with him at the Last Supper. ‘I do not pray for these only, but also for those who believe in me through their word’ (Jn 17:20). Christ reveals a divine perspective in which the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit are present. Present also is the most profound mystery of the Church: the unity in love which exists between the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit penetrates to the heart of the people whom God has chosen to be his own, and is the source of their unity.

Christ’s words resound in a special way today in this hallowed Cathedral which recalls the figure of the great missionary Saint Augustine whom Pope Gregory the Great sent forth so that through his words the sons and daughters of England might believe in Christ.

Dear brethren, all of us have become particularly sensitive to these words of the priestly prayer of Christ. The Church of our time is the Church which participates in a particular way in the prayer of Christ for unity and which seeks the ways of unity, obedient to the Spirit who speaks in the words of the Lord. We desire to be obedient, especially today, on this historic day which centuries and generations have awaited. We desire to be obedient to him whom Christ calls the Spirit of truth.

On the feast of Pentecost last year Catholics and Anglicans joined with Orthodox and Protestants, both in Rome and in Constantinople, in commemorating the First Council of Constantinople by professing their common faith in the Holy Spirit, the Lord and Giver of life. Once again on this vigil of the great feast of Pentecost, we are gathered in prayer to implore our heavenly Father to pour out anew the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Christ, upon his Church. For it is the Church which, in the words of that Council’s Creed, we profess to be the work par excellence of the Holy Spirit when we say ‘we believe in one, holy, catholic and apostolic church’.

Today’s Gospel passages have called attention in particular to two aspects of the gift of the Holy Spirit which Jesus invoked upon his disciples: he is the Spirit of truth and the Spirit of unity. On the first Pentecost day, the Holy Spirit descended on that small band of disciples to confirm them in the truth of God’s salvation to the world through the death and Resurrection of his Son, and to unite them into the one Body of Christ, which is the Church. Thus we know that when we pray ‘that all may be one’ as Jesus and his Father are one, it is precisely in order that ‘the world may believe’ and by his faith be saved (cf. Jn 17:21). For our faith can be none other than the faith of Pentecost, the faith in which the Apostles were confirmed by the Spirit of truth. We believe that the Risen Lord has authority to save us from sin and the powers of darkness. We believe, too, that we are called to ‘become one body, one spirit in Christ’ (Eucharistic Prayer III).

In a few moments we shall renew our baptismal vows together. We intend to perform this ritual, which we share in common as Anglicans and Catholics and other Christians, as a clear testimony to the one sacrament of Baptism by which we have been joined to Christ. At the same time we are humbly mindful that the faith of the Church to which we appeal is not without the marks of our separation. Together we shall renew our renunciation of sin in order to make it clear that we believe that Jesus Christ has overcome the powerful hold of Satan upon ‘the world’ (Jn 14:17). We shall profess anew our intention to turn away from all that is evil and to turn towards God who is the author of all that is good and the source of all that is holy. As we again make our profession of faith in the triune God - Father, Son and Holy Spirit - we find great hope in the promise of Jesus: ‘The Counsellor, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things, and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you’ (Jn 14:26). Christ’s promise gives us confidence in the power of this same Holy Spirit to heal the divisions introduced into the Church in the course of the centuries since that first Pentecost day. In this way the renewal of our baptismal vows will become a pledge to do all in our power to co-operate with the grace of the Holy Spirit, who alone can lead us to the day when we will profess the fullness of our faith together.

We can be confident in addressing our prayer for unity to the Holy Spirit today, for according to Christ’s promise the Spirit, the Counsellor, will be with us for ever (cf. Jn 14:16). It was with confidence that Archbishop Fisher made bold to visit Pope John XXIII at the time of the Second Vatican Council, and that Archbishops Ramsey and Coggan came to visit Pope Paul VI. It is with no less confidence that I have responded to the promptings of the Holy Spirit to be with you today at Canterbury.

My dear brothers and sisters of the Anglican Communion, ‘whom I love and long for’ (Phil. 4: 1), how happy I am to be able to speak directly to you today in this great Cathedral! The building itself is an eloquent witness both to our long years of common inheritance and to the sad years of division that followed. Beneath this roof Saint Thomas Becket suffered martyrdom. Here too we recall Augustine and Dunstan and Anselm and all those monks who gave such diligent service in this church. The great events of salvation history are retold in the ancient stained glass windows above us. And we have venerated here the manuscript of the Gospels sent from Rome to Canterbury thirteen hundred years ago. Encouraged by the witness of so many who have professed their faith in Jesus Christ through the centuries often at the cost of their own lives - a sacrifice which even today is asked of not a few, as the new chapel we shall visit reminds us - I appeal to you in this holy place, all my fellow Christians, and especially the members of the Church of England and the members of the Anglican Communion throughout the world, to accept the commitment to which Archbishop Runcie and I pledge ourselves anew before you today. This commitment is that of praying and working for reconciliation and ecclesial unity according to the mind and heart of our Saviour Jesus Christ.

On this first visit of a Pope to Canterbury, I come to you in love - the love of Peter to whom the Lord said, ‘I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail; and when you have turned again, strengthen your brethren’ (Lk. 22:32). I come to you also in the love of Gregory, who sent Saint Augustine to this place to give the Lord’s flock a shepherd’s care (cf. 1 Pt. 5:2). Just as every minister of the Gospel must do, so today I echo the words of the Master: ‘I am among you as one who serves’ (Lk. 22:27). With me I bring to you, beloved brothers and sisters of the Anglican Communion, the hopes and the desires, the prayers and good will of all who are united with the Church of Rome, which from earliest times was said to ‘preside in love’ (Ignatius, Ad Rom., Proem.).

In a few moments Archbishop Runcie will join me in signing a Common Declaration, in which we give recognition to the steps we have already taken along the path of unity, and state the plans we propose and the hopes we entertain for the next stage of our common pilgrimage. And yet these hopes and plans will come to nothing if our striving for unity is not rooted in our union with God; for Jesus said, ‘In that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. He who has my commandments and keeps them, he it is who loves me; and he who loves me will be loved by my Father, and I will love him and manifest myself to him’ (Jn 14:20-1). This love of God is poured out upon us in the person of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of truth and of unity. Let us open ourselves to his powerful love, as we pray that, speaking the truth in love, we may all grow up in every way into him who is the head, into our Lord Jesus Christ (cf. Eph. 4:15). May the dialogue we have begun lead us to the day of full restoration of unity in faith and love.

On the eve of his Passion, Jesus told his disciples: ‘If you love me, you will keep my commandments’ (Jn 14:15). We have felt compelled to come together here today in obedience to the great commandment. the commandment of love. We wish to embrace it in its entirety, to live by it completely, and to experience the power of this commandment in conformity with the words of the Master: ‘I pray the Father, and he will give you another Counsellor, to be with you for ever, even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him; you know him, for he dwells with you, and will be in you’ (Jn 14:16-7).

Love grows by means of truth, and truth draws near to man by means of love. Mindful of this, I lift up to the Lord this prayer: 

0 Christ, may all that is part of today’s encounter 

be born of the Spirit of truth 

and be made fruitful through love.

Behold before us: the past and the future!

Behold before us: the desires of so many hearts!

You, who are the Lord of history 

and the Lord of human hearts, 

be with us! 

Christ Jesus, eternal Son of God, 

be with us! Amen.