St Augustine on the Priesthood

A timely reminder to the Catholic Church of all stripes.

O venerable brothers, ye priests of God above,
I pray ye hear the message I speak to you in love;
Ye heralds of the Highest, ye shining lights of day.
Who beam with hope enduring, and charity's pure ray.

 

Ye do to God your service in His own holy shrine;
And Christ hath called you branches, Who is Himself the Vine;
O see ye be not barren, nor bitter fruit ye give,
If with the Root that bears you ye would for ever live.

 

The Catholic religion yours is it to uphold.
The world’s true light and ransom, the shepherds of the fold;
The walls of Jacob’s dwelling, the art of Life who teach;
Who judge the Church in meekness, who to the nations preach.

 

The Catholic religion is lost if ye betray;
The salt that lacks its savour serves but to cast away;
The path of life is doubtful unless the light shine clear;
Except the Shepherd watcheth, the robber draweth near.

 

The care of God's own Vineyard is given unto you.
That with the streams of doctrine its soil ye should bedew;
The thorns and choking thistles should root from out the ground.
That so the faith of Jesus may flourish and abound.

 

Ye are the patient oxen who tread the threshing-floor,
The wheat and chaff with caution to part for evermore:
The laymen frail and simple, and all inconstant still,
Have you for an ensample to shew them good or ill.

 

Whatever they shall notice is grievous unto you,
That doubtless they will argue they must with care eschew;
Whatever they shall see you by holy deeds proclaim,
That they will reckon lawful, and free from sin or shame.

 

Since ye have been appointed the shepherds of the sheep,
Oh, see ye be not slothful, nor silent watch ye keep;
Be loud and plain the warnings ye raise when harm is nigh—
The wolf sees folds in safety with jealous rav’ning eye.

 

A threefold food the faithful have need of day by day—
The Body of the Saviour, to keep their life for aye;
The Word of due instruction, the which discreetly give;
The earthly meats that perish, whereby their bodies live.

 

The honour of your office unclouded let it be, 
And give to those that seek them the gifts of grace all free; 
For should you ever venture the rights of faith to sell, 
Ye seek Gehazi's sentence, with lepers doomed to dwell.

 

Baptize the people freely, and freely them confess; 
The Eucharist give freely, to save them and to bless; 
As Christ's Apostles taught ye, ye are all things to try. 
The good alone that proveth that are ye to hold by.

 

Be all your conversation in holiness maintained; 
Your conscience clear and quiet, your lives in virtue trained; 
Your manners framed to order, your hearts devoid of guile, 
Let no corrupt indulgence your saintliness defile.

 

Let no disdainful temper your noble souls depress; 
Be dignified in manner, and meetly grave in dress; 
No thoughts of filthy lucre permit your hearts to seize. 
Ye to whose care are given the heavenly Kingdom's keys.

 

Be brief in speech, lest haply to evil ye be led. 
By over-freely talking man’s vanity is fed; 
The words which ye shall utter must be concise and few, 
For ever on much speaking sin waiteth to ensue.

 

Be patient, full of kindness, and sober, pious, wise; 
Be upright, single-minded, let pureness light your eyes; 
Be hospitable, humble, see that the simple learn; 
Oh, comfort all in sorrow, from sin the sinner turn.

 

I pray ye so be able the Shepherd’s charge to keep, 
And living in the Spirit, to feed the Saviour’s sheep, 
That when your fleshly garment at length ye lay aside, 
The Lord a robe eternal of glory may provide.

Dust thou art

Dust thou art.
From body part,
to cell,
to nucleus,
to chromosome,
to atom, proton, quark and string,
all reduced to proposition,
dust thou art.


Dust thou art.
All that Man can comprehend
is fragmentary,
broken,
partly veiled
beneath the dust,
by dust observed.
No humanity, just dust.
Dust thou art.


Dust thou art.
And to the realm of fragments,
thou must return.
From all asset strip't,
all mien and might,
wealth, wisdom, work
- all wrought for nothing
by nothing.
Dust thou art.


Dust thou art.
All pain that wracks,
each anguish suff'ring,
each cry into the dark,
unheard,
unheeded
by the unforgiving dust that circles,
weaving in the air,
blown by wind itself fragmentary
and with borrowed force
fights its own battle
to be where no real being is.
Dust thou art.


Dust thou art,
save in the eye of one
to Whom
that dust shows form
and thought
and feeling
and promise,
One from Whom
dust takes its very being,
its soul, expression,
One Irreducible
whose integrity of essence
passes essence on to the inessential
substance to the insubstantial
glory to the inglorious.
That the insubstantial, inessential, inglorious dust
transcends its own paucity in Him
and taking on His mantle
loves
and rejoices with the greatest joy
knowing that the thumb upon the brow
with ashen grittiness
brings faith, hope and love
with the holy and divine proclamation,
"Dust thou art."

O Solitude

O solitude, my sweetest choice!
Places devoted to the night,
Remote from tumult and from noise,
How ye my restless thoughts delight!

O solitude, my sweetest choice!
O heav'ns! what content is mine
To see these trees, which have appear'd
From the nativity of time,
And which all ages have rever'd,
To look today as fresh and green
As when their beauties first were seen.

O, how agreeable a sight
These hanging mountains do appear,
Which th'unhappy would invite
To finish all their sorrows here,
When their hard fate makes them endure
Such woes as only death can cure.

O, how I solitude adore!
That element of noblest wit,
Where I have learnt Apollo's lore,
Without the pains to study it.

For thy sake I in love am grown
With what thy fancy does pursue;
But when I think upon my own,
I hate it for that reason too,
Because it needs must hinder me
From seeing and from serving thee.

O solitude, O how I solitude adore!

Katherine Philip (d. 1664)

I love hearing James Bowman's glorious voice drawing on these words by Katherine Philip.

I must be getting quite a bit of a hermit these days, since I perceive that my best work is done in complete solitude. Yet it seems that so many people fear solitude with a passion. Solitude breeds loneliness, and loneliness is not a desirable sensation in a day in which Blogger, Discussion Forums, and Facebook as well as the many variegated matchmaking websites can connect the lonely soul with someone to talk to.

There is of course a great danger that solitude can bring. One can become too comfortable with oneself so as to exclude others and make oneself the centre of the universe. Indeed, for many people, the example of the hermit is a great fear, fear of becoming strange like the crazy cat lady down the road, for strangeness creates further loneliness.

For many, loneliness means that they have to face up to what is going on in their head. Whilst work and business, fun and trips to Agia Napa, wine, women and music, and whatever else we choose to fill our day, at some point we have to sit down alone and face whatever is going on inside.

I don't think it's necessary for me to elaborate on just how horrific and upsetting some of our thoughts can be. Indeed, how often do we disturb ourselves with some absolute shockers that seem to have dredged themselves up from the pit of Hell itself that make us doubt our own sanity?

For others, it is the sheer torment of past follies, indiscretions, mistakes that have compounded and built up into guilt, past cruelties, petty hatreds and the misplaced word. They bubble up to tell us that we are wicked, wicked beings and make us shudder and feel worthless.

For others, it is the sheer emptiness of life, its futility, that sense that everything has been done and makes no difference. We can have the sense that there is no point to our lives, that all we are doing is just staving off the inevitable.

I wonder if you are comforted to know that we all have thoughts like this.

These thoughts tend to occur when we are alone, so we try to blot them out, anaesthetise ourselves and pretend they don't exist with activity and chatter.

What would happen if we decided to stop and confront the tyranny of our own thoughts? Just stop sit down for an hour or two completely alone and do nothing except listen to the buzz in our brains, can you do that?

Of course, a Christian realises very quickly that he is never alone. Again, this can paralyse a particularly scrupulous individual on realising that God is aware of every single though that passes through his skull - including those from the Pit. Yet as he grows in maturity, the Christian not only accepts this fact, he derives great comfort from it. Making a good confession really does liberate the soul from past transgressions - I speak from personal experience here. Knowledge that we are loved unconditionally by God, and that we are fallen human beings helps us realise that there is nothing that can stop us from being regarded as valuable.

Armed with this, we can do something quite spectacular - let our thoughts tell us something about ourselves, even the infernal ones. We see how we can be tempted into doing wrong, where we need support and, most importantly of all, where God fits into our lives. If it isn't the centre, then we have to ask how we can put Him there. The more that we can accept our thoughts as they are, the more we can accept ourselves as human beings, and in due course love ourselves and others in the commonality as thinking beings. So why fear solitude? Why not try it out occasionally?

After all, what thoughts await you tonight in the wee small hours of the morning when you can't sleep? What are they really telling you?

Denial

by George Herbert

(1593-1633)

When my devotions could not pierce
Thy silent ears;
Then was my heart broken, as was my verse:
My breast was full of fears
And disorder:

My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow,
Did fly asunder:
Each took his way; some would to pleasures go,
Some to the wars and thun-der
Of alarms.

As good go any where, they say,
As to benumb
Both knees and heart, in crying night and day,
Come, come, my God, O come,
But no hearing.

O that thou shouldst give dust a tongue
To cry to thee,
And then not hear it crying! all day long
My heart was in my knee,
But no hearing.

Therefore my soul lay out of sight,
Untuned, unstrung:
My feeble spirit, unable to look right,
Like a nipped blossom, hung
Discontented.

O cheer and tune my heartless breast,
Defer no time;
That so thy favours granting my request,
They and my mind may chime,
And mend my rime.

Desiderata

Heard this read today. It spoke volumes.

DESIDERATA by Max Ehrmann (1872-1945)

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
And remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly & clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull & ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud & aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain & bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing future of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.


Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity & disenchantment
it is perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue & loneliness.
Beyond wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.

You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees & the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labours & aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery & broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.

Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

Do I have an "identify" crisis?

Knowing Me by Benjamin Zephaniah.

I don't often get the chance to reflect on something written by a Brummie West Indian and Ethiopian poet. But then I'm not just reflecting on something by a Brummie West Indian and Ethiopian poet, I'm reflecting on something written by Benjamin Zephaniah, and even then that's not enough because Benjamin Zephaniah is not just a name either.

The whole charade of identity affects us all.

We try to become something completely, to mould ourselves to a brand as if in doing so we become perfect. We should not seek to become the best Christian by becoming the best Protestant or Catholic, the best Roman- or Anglo- Catholic, the best Prayer Book Catholic or Anglo-Papalist, the best N.O. Anglo-Papalist or Tridentine Anglo-Papalist. That way we whittle down the groups with whom we are prepared to interact to ourselves, a single point spinning aimlessly in our own solitude.

Nor should we seek to become the perfect Roman Catholic by trying to commit mutilation of the person God created in trying to turn ourselves into a perfect replica of Papa Benedict?

In the West, we each have a tendency to have an identity crisis. This is due to the rampant individualisation which tells us that we are free to become what we want ourselves to be, and thus we try to discover who we want ourselves to be. We mould ourselves with plastic surgery, mindset thinking and soul-cleansing, follow the latest fad of fashion designed to bring out "the real you" and the result? Identity crisis!

As soon as we realise that God created us and that He has set us free to become the people that He created, the better. What He created is truly beautiful and what we do to ourselves is to take the lily of the field, re-perfume it with Davidoff, spray it pink, and carve up the petals with a pair of scissors so that they spell out "this is me"! By carving ourselves up, we make ourselves smaller, less the person that God made us to be.

We need to be ourselves in the context of other people. We need to have an "identify" crisis by looking out for people with whom we can identify ourselves in as many different ways as possible. We need not have friends that agree with us. It is possible for an Anglo-Papalist to have a close friend who is a Prayer-Book Catholic. The fact that a difference in Ecclesiology exists does nothing to destroy the fact that they identify with being Christians together. They are individuals that identify in a broad aspect of faith. Unfortunately this is not the case throughout the Catholic Anglican and Anglican Catholic spectrum.

Differences and similarities between human beings need to be seen together in context. Having differences should not be the seen as the privation of being able to identify with the other. Likewise having similarities should not be seen as a route for the destruction of the individual.

Can you identify with me here?

Lo, the full final sacrifice

Due to computer troubles, I've not been able to post any reflections on the Great Triduum of the Christian year. However, I did have the privilege of singing Finzi's setting of Lo, the Full Final Sacrifice. The words I found terribly rousing before I realised (happily) that they are a translation of words of St Thomas Aquinas by Richard Crashaw. No wonder I was encouraged.

Lo, the full, final, Sacrifice
On which all figures fix’t their eyes.
The ransomed Isaac, and his ram;
The Manna, and the Paschal Lamb.

Jesu Master, just and true!
Our Food, and faithful Shepherd too!
O let that love which thus makes thee
Mix with our low Mortality,
Lift our lean Souls, and set us up
Convictors of thine own full cup,
Coheirs of Saints.

That so all may
Drink the same wine;
and the same way.
Nor change the Pasture, but the Place
To feed of Thee in thine own Face.

O dear Memorial of that Death
Which lives still, and allows us breath!
Rich, Royal food! Bountiful Bread!
Whose use denies us to the dead!
Live ever Bread of loves, and be
My life, my soul, my surer self to me.

Help Lord, my Faith, my Hope increase;
And fill my portion in thy peace.
Give love for life; nor let my days
Grow, but in new powers to thy name and praise.

Rise, Royal Sion! rise and sing
Thy soul’s kind shepherd, thy heart’s King.
Stretch all thy powers; call if you can
Harps of heaven to hands of man.
This sovereign subject sits above
The best ambition of thy love.

Lo the Bread of Life, this day’s
Triumphant Text provokes thy praise.
The living and life-giving bread,
To the great twelve distributed
When Life, himself, at point to die
Of love, was his own Legacy.

O soft self-wounding Pelican!
Whose breast weeps Balm for wounded man.
All this way bend thy benign flood
To’a bleeding Heart that gasps for blood.
That blood, whose least drops sovereign be
To wash my worlds of sins from me.

Come love! Come Lord! and that long day
For which I languish, come away.
When this dry soul those eyes shall see,
And drink the unseal’d source of thee.
When Glory’s sun faith’s shades shall chase,
And for thy veil give me thy Face.
Amen.

Guess the modern "worship" song

I'm rusty, so please point out the mistakes.


V. Gradatim super Orbem progredior.
R. Gradatim super Orbem progredior.

V. Tene me, ut ab veteribus ad novos tecum ambulem.
R. Tene me, ut ab veteribus ad novos tecum ambulem.

V. Per angulam Orbis circumvenio.
Orbem amplius ampliusque cognosco.
Dum nova video,
haec mecum adspices.

R. Tene me, ut ab veteribus ad novos tecum ambulem.

V. Dum per bona et mala eam,
me in via recta teneas.
Si non viam eundam videam
sciam te viam mihi ostendere.

R. Tene me, ut ab veteribus ad novos tecum ambulem.

V. Da mihi fortitudinem in asperitatem orbis.
Fac me amandum esse quamquam Orbs durus est;
saltem cantemque in omnia facta mea.
Tene me, ut tecum ambulem.

R. Tene me, ut ab veteribus ad novos tecum ambulem.

V. Plus vetus quam orbem es,
Plus juvenis quam vitam meam.
Vetus semper semperque novus
Tene me, ut tecum ambulem.

R. Tene me, ut ab veteribus ad novos tecum ambulem.

Ye Modern Muficke Sonnge

A song written in my last year as an undergraduate. Silly, but how true do you think it is?

I have written music to go with it. The verses are a parody of the well-known "song" Shine, Jesus, Shine. The chorus is an ornamented version of Purcell's hymn tune "Westminster Abbey." Feel free to use your own imagination!

1. Music’s gone through different phases,
Odd adjustments and various crazes.
Yet what I find really perturbing,
Perplexing, alarming, and rather disturbing:
Modern Hymns,
Modern Hymns!

Chorus:
Praises To the English Hymnal,
Solid and stable as a rock.
Never wrong or unpredictable,
Timing stricter than a clock,
Yet poetic and eclectic,
And with style that none should mock.

2. Modern hymns have got lots of oddities.
Misprints and page turns are not commodities.
Timing’s erratic and I don’t know what key it’s in;
Looks like D flat but I don’t see how G fits in:
Augmented fourths!
Augmented fourths!

Chorus:
Praises to the English Hymnal,
Realm of concord and harmony.
Dissonance is merely passing
Polyhymnia’s testimony.
True and proper, won’t come a cropper.
Nothing false, fake or phoney.

3. Where’s the poetry in modern musicianship?
Rhyming’s slack and the grammar be on the slip.
"Gonna" isn’t a word in the Testament!
Joshua and Moses wouldn’t know what on Earth it meant!
In English Please!
In English Please!

Chorus
Praises to the English Hymnal,
Worthy Paragon of language pure.
Thou declaim’st in English perfect
No split infinitives must we endure.
Theologically,and pedagogically
From all folly doth us inure!

4. OK, the green book’s got lots of big words in it,
And the hymns last well over a minute,
But each line fits the tune, not vice versa,
Modern Hymns just get worser and worser!
Some lines really don’t fit at all!
Some lines really don’t fit at all!

Chorus:
Praises to the English Hymnal
And perhaps to AMNS!
Sixteen verses of "Let all Mortal"
Cause no permanent anguish or distress.
"Praise my Soul" or "Love Divine"
Are loved by all. Well, more or less!

Hic est calix

A meditation on the role of the Chalice in the Eucharist by my friend, Ed Pacht, on the Continuum blog.

Had to include this...

How could I not link to this?

How can you know?

I'm not a poet.

Occasionally though I get glimpses of poetry which need fashioning. This is where I need a friend like Ed Pacht who is a proper poet.

Here are my words followed by the polished version that Ed has rescued.


How can you know?

How can you know the pain you've caused,
leaving me behind to flounder in the dark
alone?


How can you know the homelessness I suffer
now that you have forced me out of the place
where I have loved you, enjoyed being with you
enjoyed sharing what we had together?


How can you know, in spite of your good intentions
of your desire to include, to validate, to make amends,
that your love, though precious, is oblique
and misses the Truth?


How can you know that your love,
although you believe it to be for the common good,
is common only to your ideals,
your goals,
what you want for the world,
and for me?


How can you know, that your love
does not obey the nature of Love,
but shuts it away with me behind a locked door
whose key, you claim, has rusted away?


How can you know, if you say you are a listener,
but don't even hear what I have said in love to you?

And now the polished article. (Copyright 2006, Ed Pacht)

How can you know the pain that you’ve caused,
in leaving me lost in the dark where you walk,
in leaving me flound’ring alone?

How can you know the exile I feel,
forced from the home that I’ve shared with my friends
from the home where I’ve loved you in truth,
and walked so content with you by my side,
with pleasure and sharing and joy?

How can you know, so blind and confused,
the damage of good intent,
the merciless havoc that comes from false love,
leaving correction, attempting to soothe,
and utterly failing to save?

How can you know that the love that you claim
is only veiled love of your self,
only intended to take from the world
that which opposes your will,
and wishing that I be wrest from the path,
long built by the hand of God?

How can you know that your love is not love,
and is but rebellion toward God,
shutting away the truth of His Word,
locked where it will not be seen,
in a cold, dark room that has no door,
where eyes do not see,
where ears do not hear,
and my words of love are ignored?

How can you know that my love will not cease,
nor my endless prayers?
But my constant knocking, joined with His
will ever sound at your door,
and you may come,
only hear,
only hear.

Thank you, Ed.

Ichabod

Chabod is Hebrew for Glory. When the glory disappears... well see here. Thanks Ed.

Lyricism and Episcopalianism

I originally published this on the Anglo-Catholic Central message board as a response to ECUSA's slide into accepting any doctrine providing it is politically correct.

To the tune of 'The Battle Hymn of the Republic':

Mine eyes have seen the starter of a merger into mush
as the Church Episcopalian accepts doctrinal slush.
Her members who receive the truth are ready for the push
as the rot goes marching on.

Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!
Smithy hit us with his ruler.
The ruler broke in half
and we all began to laugh
so we ain't in EC no more.

Youngfogey thinks the last line should read
"so we ain't in ECUSA no more."

I'm inclined to agree actually, except the scanning is marginally worse than the original. I'll leave it to your tastes, though if you have a better last line, please let me know.

Latin Levity

A bit of silliness. I let the Young Fogey have the opportunity to use part of my translation of this dreadful song oft sung (regrettably) in Anglican Circles. I translated it into Latin so at least I wouldn't have to look at it in its full banality at Mass! I think you can probably guess what it is from the refrain!

Responsorium
V: Domine, lux amoris tuae fulget, fulgens in medias tenebras; Jesu, Lux Mundi, nobis adfulge, libera nos per veritatem quam nunc nobis adfers. Adfulge mihi, adfulge.

R: Fulge, Jesu, fulge. Hanc terram gloria Patris imple. Arde, Spiritus, arde. Corda nostra accende. Flue, Flumen, flue gratia et misericordia gentes inunda. Domine, emitte verbum tuum et fiat lux.

V: Domine, veni ex tenebris in conspectum numinosum tuumet in lucem tuam. Per sanguinem licet mihi ut splendorem tuum intrem. Me perscrutare, me tempta, tenebras meas totas consume. Adfulge mihi, adfulge.

R: Fulge, Jesu, fulge. Hanc terram gloria Patris imple. Arde, Spiritus, arde. Corda nostra accende. Flue, Flumen, flue gratia et misericordia gentes inunda. Domine, emitte verbum tuum et fiat lux.

V: Sicut splendorem regalem tuum contemplamur, sic vultus nostri exhibeant imaginem tuam, gloriam gloria mutantes, vitae nostrae acta tua, hic reddita, narrent. Adfulge mihi, adfulge.

R: Fulge, Jesu, fulge. Hanc terram gloria Patris imple. Arde, Spiritus, arde. Corda nostra accende. Flue, Flumen, flue gratia et misericordia gentes inunda. Domine, emitte verbum tuum et fiat lux.

Fulge, Jesu, fulge. Hanc terram gloria Patris imple. Arde, Spiritus, arde. Corda nostra accende. Flue, Flumen, flue gratia et misericordia gentes inunda. Domine, emitte verbum tuum et fiat lux.

A Hymn in Latin

It's just something I'm occasionally moved to do. I learned Latin at school and I loved it, but we were never taught to translate into Latin, only from Latin which is a shame. I love the English language dearly, but just sometimes I like to express my thoughts in a different language. I expect there are errors all over the place. Let me know if you spot any.

...and no, it doesn't scan.

Domine Benedicte, Deus Pretiosissime, Christe,
qui sanguinem sacrum effudit,
Accipe dona nostra gratulationum et laudum
propter tuam per totas vitas nostras benevolentiam.

Quinam nos sumus,
ut ad terram venire, cruciatus nostros accipere,
Deligere viscera Matris Virginis
et ignominiam, mortem et sepulchrum pati digneris?

Amor tuus nobis in aeternum manet, in manibus tuis nos portas.
Nosne ex pulvere et argilla ficti,
Laudes tuas annuntiare possumus?
Immo, vero, necesse nobis est!

Maritus Ecclesiae tu,
certe cor eius tu, spes tu,
Fons Divinus Noster tu;
Voluntates cordum nostrum sicut tuas forma.

Consilia in tua flectes, Domine,
et amorem tuum in pectora nostra repone.
Ex mentibus nostris scoriam occlusam remove,
quoniam omnia hic quaesita ibi erint dedita.

Tibi sint nunc Omnes Laudes, Care Pater Potens,
Tibi dentur vitae nostrae, Fili
Tibi gloria tota, Spiritus ignis noster
Qui animas et mentes incendes. Amen.