More from 'Beasts and Saints'

As you may have noticed from previous posts, I have a gentle addiction to that delightful book ‘Beasts and Saints’ translated from the Latin by Helen Waddell. I find these stories magical in the best sense of the word, and I love to read and re-read them. They are filled with a simplicity, and love and respect for God and His Creation, which is truly infectious. I find them a wonderful tonic, especially on a grey day, and I hope that you too will enjoy these little gems.



The first story today concerns ‘The death of King Teudiric’ which in the words of the translator, “belongs to that century and country about the Severn Sea, which is the matrix of the legend of Arthur and the last fight with heathendom. It is embedded in the Book of Llan Dav, among charters and boundaries, its purpose there being to explain the possession by the bishops of Llandaff of the lands about Mathern, free of tax or impost to any secular man, inasmuch as Mouric gave the earth upon which his father died, to St Oudouceus, Bishop of Llandaff, and his successors in the see, for ever. St Oudouceus died early in the seventh century: the book was compiled in the twelfth: but the story, like its more famous counterpart, has the quality of timelessness.”

The Death of King Teudiric

“King Teudiric had kept peace and justice with his people for the years that he held kingship, till such time as he laid aside the temporal power for ever, in that he commended his kingdom to his son Mouric, and began to live a hermit life in the cliffs of Tintern. But while he was in that life, the Saxons began to invade his land against Mouric his son, and beyond himself there was none to help, that his son might not be driven from his inheritance by strangers. Of Teudiric it was said in the days when he held his kingdom, that never had he been vanquished by the enemy but ever was the victor, and that once his face was seen in the battle-line straightway the enemy were driven to flight. And the night before, the angel of the Lord said to him: “Tomorrow go to the help of the people of God against the enemies of the Church of Christ, and the foe shall turn their face in flight as far as Brockwere, and do thou stand armed in the battle-line, and when thy face as in time past is seen and known, they shall take to flight. And hereafter for XXX years they shall not dare to come against thy country in thy son’s time, and the men of thy land and their sons that come after them shall be in quiet peace: and thou thyself shalt be wounded with a thrust above Tintern, and after three days thou shalt die in peace”
So in the morning he rose as the army of Mouric, his son, came by, and he mounted his horse and rode with them, joyous of the bidding of the angel. And he stood in armour in the battle-line above the bank of the Wye near Tintern ford. And at the sight of his face they turned their backs and fled, yet one of them hurled a lance and the lance wounded him even as he had been told, and he rejoiced over it, as a man rejoices over the rout of his foe and the taking of the spoil. Then Mouric, his son, returning victorious with the captured spoil, would have his father come with him. And he said, “I will not go from this place until my Lord Jesus Christ shall bear me hence to the place of my desire, to the island of Echni, where I have willed to lie after my death”
And in the morning at dawn, there were two stags yoked and ready with his bier before his lodging. And the man of God, knowing that they were sent on God’s behalf, ascended the bier; and wherever they rested, there springs welled up, until they came to a place beside a meadow towards the Severn Sea. And after they had come to that place, a spring of clearest water welled up and swept the bier asunder, and straightway he commended his soul to God and bade the stags depart: and there he remained alone, and after a while gave up the ghost.”




**********************************


The next two short stories concern St Malo, the saint of Brittany, who died in 618, and whose life was written five centuries later by a quiet scholar, Sigebert of Gembloux, about whom, said his admiring disciple, there was always an air “of antique knowledge and reverence”

St Malo and the Sow.

“At one time when he was going up and down through Brittany to sow the seed of the divine word in the field of the husbandry of God, he came upon a swine-herd in a meadow, twisted with bitter grief. He had been herding a drove of pigs, and a greedy unmannerly sow among them was destroying a field of standing corn, and he, trying to save his neighbour’s crop, had thrown an ill-directed stone at her and killed her. And now he was in dread of his lord’s wrath on his offence, and what he knew would put a keener edge upon it was the seven piglings trotting about, trying to draw milk as of old from their dead mother’s dugs, and able to find no stay for their own lives from that lifeless body. St Malo, whose heart had room only for compassion, could not watch the swineherd’s tears without tears himself: and pouring out a prayer to God, he laid his staff on the ear of the dead sow, and raising her up by that sole touch, he brought back joy to the mourner. The swineherd told the story to his master, and had the praises of the servant of God in every man’s mouth. And the master, mounting his horse, came to give his thanks to the saint, face to face, and offered one of his farms to the church, for the use, under him, of the Servants of God.”








St Malo and the Wren

“And another miracle he wrought like to this, worthy of record for its compassion alone. He was a follower of Paul the Apostle, whose hands supplied his wants, if aught were lacking: and when he had leisure from his task of preaching the Gospel, he kept himself by the work of his hands. One day he was busy with the brethren in the vineyard, pruning the vines, and for better speed in his work took off his cloak and laid it out of sight. When his work was done and he came to take his cloak, he found that the small bird whom common folk call a wren had laid an egg on it. And knowing that God’s care is not far from the birds, since not one of them falls on the ground without the Father, he let his cloak lie there, till the eggs were hatched and the wren brought out her brood. And this was the marvel, that all the time that cloak lay there, there fell no rain upon it. And whoever came to hear of it, they glorified the power of God, and they praised God’s own pity in man.




*************************************

The final story relates to ‘Benno, Bishop of Meissen, a spirited saint who died at a great age in 1106, and who took the precaution, before obeying a summons to Rome, of bidding two trusty canons lock his cathedral doors in case of trouble, and throw the keys into the Elbe: whence they were recovered, under the fin of an obliging fish, upon its astute bishop’s return. His life was written in 1512 by Jerome Emser, a Doctor of Canon Law, author of a dialogue as to whether potation is to be tolerated in a properly constituted State, and of tracts against the more spiritual intemperances of Luther and Zwingli.’

St Benno and the Frog

It was often the habit of the man of God to go about the fields in meditation and prayer: and once as he passed by a certain marsh, a talkative frog was croaking in its slimy waters: and lest it should disturb his contemplation, he bade it to be a Seraphian, inasmuch as all the frogs in Seraphus are mute. But when he had gone on a little way, he called to mind the saying in Daniel: “O ye whales and all that move in the waters, bless ye the Lord. O all ye beasts and cattle, bless the Lord.” And fearing lest the singing of the frogs might perchance be more agreeable to God than his own praying, he again issued his command to them, that they should praise God in their accustomed fashion: and soon the air and the fields were vehement with their conversation.

A Joyous Easter, Stronsay 2009.

Here on Stronsay we have been privileged to enjoy a wonderfully full week of Holy Week ceremonies. On Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, in Our Lady's chapel Stronsay, we had the traditional Latin Mass with a sung Passion each day, and a sung 'Proper of the Mass' taken directly from the Liber, together with the appropriate plainchant Mass. On Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, the ceremonies were held in the chapel of Golgotha Monastery, Papa Stronsay, again with full plainchant accompaniment. The weather was kind to us, if perhaps a little breezy in midweek, and the boat crossing to and from Papa Stronsay - particularly during the hours of darkness, added yet another dimension to our unforgettable Holy Week experience. All the members of the 'Sons of the Most Holy Redeemer' (F.SS.R) community from Papa Stronsay attended the Masses in Our Lady's chapel, Stronsay, which were celebrated by Fr Michael Mary F.SS.R and Fr Anthony Mary F.SS.R. We were very fortunate to have Br. Martin F.SS.R home on a short break from the seminary at Nebraska, who assumed the role of Musical Director and leader in what proved a most demanding but very fulfilling musical week. We were without four additional seminarians who remained in Nebraska over the Easter period, and of course Fr Clement F.SS.R and Br. Paul F.SS.R who are in the Mission Church in Christchurch, New Zealand. All these were with us in spirit if not in person.
Easter Sunday saw us back in Our Lady's chapel, Stronsay, a day of rejoicing and gratitude to Our Lord Jesus Christ, for all He has done for us, and for all our blessings spiritual and material.
Many superb photographs of the Holy Week ceremonies can be seen on the blog-site of the 'Transalpine Redemptorists' ( see link), viewing strongly recommended.

On a rather different note, many will have seen in their newspaper - 'Nurse who filmed suffering is struck off'' (D. Telegraph April 17th). It would appear that a nurse - Margaret Hayward, secretly filmed the neglect of elderly hospital patients at the Royal Sussex Hospital, Brighton, recording patients suffering in appalling conditions, later shown in a Panorama programme screened in July 2005, subsequently leading to a public apology from Sussex University Hospitals NHS Trust. Apparently on 16th April, 2009, some 4 years later, at a hearing of the Nursing and Midwifery Council, the nurse was found guilty of misconduct and ordered to be struck off, on the grounds that her actions constituted 'a major breach of the code of conduct' regarding patient confidentiality. The nurse's defence was that she considered the filming to be in the public interest, and she received support from the shadow Health Minister Anne Milton, who said, "She took extreme measures because she felt she was in an extreme circumstance where her concerns were not being litened to." Now clearly I know nothing more than appeared in the Daily Telegraph, and which I have quoted. But I do know that the more I think about this the more my hackles rise, and the more convinced I become that a major injustice has been done to this nurse. Immediate questions that come to mind include; Why has it taken 4 years for this decision to be made? The facts and film provided by the nurse were clearly true, as is shown by the public apology of the hospital Trust. It appears that this harsh punishment is for daring to tell the truth. Is the truth an outmoded and unfashionable virtue in the view of the Nursing and Midwifery Council? The nurse, a 58 year old woman, would clearly have been aware of the implications of her actions, and would presumably not have taken such action unless she felt it was the only way that the truth could be known and accepted, and that this was the only option left to her, as her concerns were not being listened to by those in immediate authority. Using 'breach of patient confidentiality' in this case, as grounds for striking the nurse off the nursing register, and effectively preventing her working in her trained career and vocation, is to me maliciously spiteful, unjust and totally out of proportion to any 'technical misdemeanour' of which she might be guilty. This lady clearly acted in the best interests of her patients, and I don't believe for one moment, that these patients were not grateful to her or that they made any serious complaint against her for her actions. When I think of the legalised evil carried out by doctors and nurses in the abortion clinics, and the lies and malice publicly proclaimed by so many supporters of abortion, euthanasia, and embryonic cell research and experimentation, my blood boils! Nothing happens to these people, yet one honest nurse doing her best to improve the appalling conditions of elderly patients in the hospital in which she works, is treated as a common criminal. I intend to write to the Nursing and Midwifery Council to express my disgust at this sentence, with a request to reconsider the case, and I would ask that others who share my view, do the same.

My final remarks concern the possibility of 'abortion facilities' and 'contraceptives' being advertised on the television. This is truly appalling and has already been strongly and publicly condemned by Archbishop Nichols, the newly announced Archbishop of Westminster, and other Church representatives. This matter became public several weeks ago and I rather expected that a Petition would appear on the internet condemning this proposal, and inviting signatures which would ultimately be forwarded to the appropriate body with a view to trying to prevent such advertisements from appearing. Surprisingly, to my knowledge no such Petition has appeared. Let me say straight away that I would be happy to set up such a Petition, but technically I just do not know how to start. I think it important to do something even though it is a bit late in the day. If someone out there is prepared and able to set up this Petition, please take courage and do so. Alternatively if someone could advise me how to do it, I would be most grateful. To facilitate this, my email address is 'bri.marg@btinternet.com'.

Christus vincit, Christus regnat, Christus imperat. Alleluia, alleluia!

PASSIONTIDE - OUR LADY'S DOLOURS

This post comes to you courtesy of an interesting and informative book, 'Our Lady's Dowry' by Rev T E Bridgett C.SS.R , published by Burns & Oates in the late 1800's.

In mediaeval Catholic England, the mysteries of the Faith were brought to the hearts of the people through popular drama, often more effectual than sermons. The following lines are part of a sacred drama, intended to be presented on the afternoon of Good Friday and Holy Saturday. The MS from which it is taken is from the early years of the 16th century (Reliquae Antiquae vol ii. p.124).

Due to the length of this extract, it was originally intended that it be posted in two halves. On reflection, I think that this might be detrimental to the overall effect of the work, and have therefore included it in the one post. I hope that you agree.

Scene—the Foot of the Cross
Joseph of Arimathea and Mary Magdalen, and other Maries.

Joseph
I hear thee, Magdalen, bitterly complain;
What good creature may himself refrain?

Magdalen
O friend Joseph, this Prince had never peer,
The well of mercy that made me clear!
Now, good Joseph, come near and behold.
O, had you seen His pains manifold!
Joseph, look better, behold and see
In how little space how many wounds be.
Here was no mercy, here was no pity!
O good Joseph, I am all dismayed
To see His tender flesh thus ruefully arrayed,

Wounded with nail and spear.
O dear Joseph, I feel my heart wax cold,
These blessed feet thus bloody to behold,
Whom I washed with tears manifold,
And wiped with my hair.
O, how rueful a spectacle it is!
Never has been seen, nor shall be after this,
Such cruel rigour to the King of bliss,
The Lord that made all
Thus to suffer in His humanity!
O Maker of man, what love and pity
Hadst Thou for us so thrall?

Joseph
Alas, Magdalen, you make my heart to relent,
Beholding His body thus torn and rent
That inwardly I weep;
But, good Magd’len, show unto me
Where is Mary, His Mother, so free,
Who hath that Maid to keep?

Magdalen
Ah, Joseph, from this place is she gone.
To have seen her a heart of stone
For ruth would have relent.
Many men speak of lamentation
Of mothers, and of their great desolation
When that their children die and pass;
But of His piteous tender Mother, alas!
The woe and pain passes all other;
Was there never so sorrowful a mother.
When she heard Him for His enemies pray,
And promised the thief the blisses aye,
And to herself no word would say,
She sighed, be ye sure;
The Son hung and the Mother stood,
And ever she kissed the drops of blood
That so fast ran down;
She extended her arms Him to embrace,
But she might not touch Him, so high was the place,
And then she fell in swoon.

Joseph
Ah, good Magdalen, who can her blame
To see her own Son in so great a shame?
But, Magd’len, had He of her thought in His passion?

Magdalen
Yes, yes, Joseph, of her He had great compassion,
For, hanging on the Cross most pitifully,
He looked on that Maid, His Mother, ruefully,
As who say, ‘ Mother the sorrow of your heart
Makes my passion more bitter and more smart;
Dear Mother, because I depart now,
John, my cousin, shall wait on you,
Your comfort for to be.’
Lo, He had her in His gracious mind,
To teach all children to be kind
To father and mother of duty.

Joseph
Ah, good Lady, full woe was she!
But can you tell what words said He
There in that great distress?

Magdalen
O Joseph, this Lamb so meek
In this cruel torment and painful eke
But few words He had;
Save that in great agony
He said these words: ‘I am thirsty!’
With cheer demure and sad.

Joseph
Magd’len, suppose ye His desire was to drink?

Magdalen
Nay, verily, friend Joseph, I think
He thirsted for no liquor.
He thirsted water of charity
For our faith and fidelity.
He pondered the rigour
Of His passion done so cruelly:
For the health of man’s soul chiefly
He thirsted and desired;
And then, after torments long,
And after pains fell and strong,
This meekest Lamb expired.
O, what displeasure is in my mind,
Remembering that I was so unkind
To Him that hangs here,
That hangs here so piteously,
For my sins done so outrageously!
O meekest Lamb, hanging here on high,
Was there none other mean, but Thou must needs die,
Sinners to reconcile?
O, where shall any comfort come to me
And to His Mother, that Maid so free?
Would God I might here die!
Come hither, Joseph, behold and look
How many bloody letters be written in this book,
Small margin here is.

Joseph
Yes, this parchment is stretched out of size!
Remember, man, remember well, and see
How liberal a man this Lord was and free;
Which, to save mankind,
One drop of blood has not kept or spared.

**** **** ****

O Lord, by Thy death we are preserved,
By death Thou hast slain death.
Was never no love like unto Thine,
That to this meekness Thyself would incline,
And for us to yield Thy breath.
Thou knew there was no remedy to redeem sin
But a bath of Thy blood to bathe men’s souls in;
And Thou wert well content
To let it run out most plenteously.
Where was ever such love?

**** **** ****

Magdalen
O ye wells of mercy, digged so deep,
Who may refrain, who may not weep?

Other Mary
Magd’len, your mourning avails nothing;
Let us speak to Joseph, him heartily desiring
For to find some good way
The crucified body down to take
And bring it to sepulchre, and so let make
End of this woful day.

Enter Nicodemus
Nicodemus
O worthy Lord, who made all things of naught,
With most bitter pain to death art thou brought,
Thy name blessed be!
O, how pitiful a sight it is
To see the Prince of everlasting bliss
To hang on this tree!

**** **** ****

Joseph
Good brother, of your complaint cease;
You renew again great heaviness
Now in these women here.

Nicodemus
Great comfort we may have all,
For by His godly power arise He shall,
And the third day appear.
For once He gave me leave with Him to reason,
And He showed of this death and of this treason,
And of this cruelty;
And how for mankind He came to die,
And that He should arise so gloriously
By His mighty majesty,
And with our flesh in heaven to ascend.
Many sweet words it pleased Him to spend
Then speaking unto me;
That no man to heaven might climb,
But if it were by grace of Him
Which came down to make us free.

Joseph
To take down this body let us essay;
Brother Nicodemus, help, I you pray,
To knock out these nails so sturdy and great;
O Saviour, they spared not Your body to beat!

Magdalen
Good Joseph, handle Him tenderly.

Joseph
Stand near, Nicodemus, receive Him softly;
Magdalen, hold His feet.

Magdalene
Haste now, good Joseph, haste you quickly,
For Mary, His Mother, will come, fear I,
Ah, ah! That Virgin so sweet

Nicodemus
I saw her beneath on the other side
With John; I am sure she will not abide
Long from this place.

Magdalen
Alas, she comes! Ah, what remedy!
Good Joseph, comfort her steadfastly,
That Virgin so full of woe.

Enter the Blessed Virgin with St John
Mary
Stand still, friends; haste ye not so;
Have no fear of me.
Let me help to take my dear Son down.

**** **** ****

Joseph
Take comfort, Mary; this wailing helps nothing.
Your dear Son we will to His sepulchre bring,
As it is all our duty.

Mary
God reward you of your tenderness!
I shall assist you with all humbleness.
But yet, ere He depart,
Suffer me my mind for to break;
Howbeit full scantily may I speak
For faint and feeble heart.
O Gabriel, Gabriel!
Of great joy did you tell
In your first salutation;
You said the Holy Ghost should come in me,
And I should conceive a Child in virginity,
For mankind’s salvation!
That you said truth right well know I;
But you told me not that my Son should die,
Nor yet the thought and care
Of His bitter passion which He suffered now.
O old Simeon, full soothly said you
To speak you would not spare!
You said the sword of sorrow should enter my heart;
Yea, yea, just Simeon, now I feel it smart
With most deadly pain.

**** **** ****

St John
You should leave off your painful affliction,
Calling to your mind His resurrection:
This know you, and that best.

Mary
I know it well, or else in rest
My heart should never be;
I might not live nor endure
One minute, but I am sure
The third day rise shall He.

**** **** ****

O Judas, why didst thou betray
My Son, thy Master? What canst thou say
Thyself for to excuse?
Of His tender merciful charity
Chose He not thee one of His twelve to be?
He would not thee refuse.
Gave He not thee His body in memorial,
And also in remembrance perpetual,
At His supper there?
He that was so comely and fair to behold,
How durst thou, cruel heart, to be so bold
To cause Him die thus here?
By thy treason my Son here is slain,
My sweet, sweet Son; how should I refrain
This bloody body to behold?

John Betjeman - My Favourite Poet

John Betjeman was an only child, born in 1906 in Highgate, London, the son of a cabinet -maker of German descent; the original family name ‘Betjemann’ was anglicised at the time of the Great War. His early childhood education was at a neighbourhood school, but aged 11 years he attended a private Boarding School, followed by Public School at Marlborough, and finally Oxford University. On leaving, he obtained a post as English teacher at a local school. He enjoyed a broad range of interests, with his enthusiasm for architecture and writing poetry matched by his love of the steam railway and the English countryside. He became the film critic for a London newspaper, the Evening Standard, also assistant editor of the Architectural Review. During the 1930’s he wrote and had published three books of poems. He married in the early 1930s, Penelope Chetwode, the daughter of Field Marshall Lord Chetwode, a former senior army officer in India. During the 2nd World War he was Press Attache to the British ambassador in Eire for a short while, apparently marked down by the Republicans as a suspected British spy, only reprieved after ‘due consideration’ of his poetry! He was then employed in the Ministry of Information till war end, at which time he had became a well known figure in radio and early television programmes commenting on architecture and stately buildings throughout England. He continued to write poetry, which when published, achieved ‘best seller’ status. He was knighted in 1969 and in 1972 was appointed Poet Laureate. In the mid 1970s he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease. Over the following years he suffered a series of mild strokes, dying in 1984 at his home in Cornwall, where he is buried.


John Betjeman Centre, Wadebridge, Cornwall.

John Betjeman was a member of the Church of England, with sympathies inclined to ‘High Church’. His vast range of poetry includes a gently reminiscent work, entitled ‘Anglo-Catholic Congresses’, in which some of the sentiments expressed, albeit concerning the ‘Anglican High Church’, also revive memories of the Roman Catholic Church in this country some sixty years ago.

ANGLO-CATHOLIC CONGRESSES by John Betjeman

We, who remember the Faith, the grey-headed ones,
Of those Anglo-Catholic Congresses swinging along,
Who heard the South Coast salvo of incense-guns
And surged to the Albert Hall in our thousands strong
With ‘extreme’ colonial bishops leading in song


We, who remember, look back to the blossoming May-time
On ghosts of servers and thurifers after Mass,
The slapping of backs, the flapping of cassocks, the play-time,
A game of Grandmother’s Steps on the vicarage grass-
“Father, a little more sherry? - I’ll fill your glass”


We recall the triumph, that Sunday after Ascension,
When our Protestant suffragan suffered himself to be coped –
The SYA and the Scheme for Church Extension –
The new diocesan’s not as ‘sound’ as we’d hoped,
And Kensit threatens and has Sam Gurney poped?


Yet, under the ‘Travers baroque’, in a limewashed whiteness,
The fiddle-back vestments a-glitter with morning rays,
Our Lady’s image, in multiple-candled brightness,
The bells and banners – those were the waking days
When Faith was taught and fanned to a golden blaze.

‘John Betjeman’s Collected Poems’ first published 1958, by John Murray, London.



For the unenlightened - of which I was one until I researched this, I can add some information concerning those named in this poem. Martin Travers (1886-1948) was a noted Church architect, designer, and stained - glass painter, who in the 1920s was a major influence in the ‘Back to Baroque’ church furnishing style promoted by the ‘High Church’, Anglo-Catholic Society of St Peter and St Paul (SSPP).. He designed elaborate pastiches of Baroque altars and other church furnishings for the SSPP in many churches, including:- the Church of the Good Shepherd, Carshalton Beeches, Surrey, designed in the style of a Spanish Mission chapel; St Dunstan with the Holy Angels, Cranford, Middx.(altar and extensive range of church furnishings); St Augustine, Queens Gate, London,(retablo); St George, Headstone, Harrow, Middx (stained glass); St Michael & All Angels, Bedford Park, London (stained glass), and numerous others churches.
Samuel Gurney was a driving force within the SSPP, in later life becoming Squire of Compton Beauchamp, Oxon. With him was Ronald Knox who converted to Rome in 1917, later becoming Mgr.Ronald Knox renowned for his spiritual writings.

'Martin Travers 1886 -1948' - An Appreciation

by Rodney Warrener & Michael Yelton

(Available from Unicorn Press, 76, Great Suffolk Street, London SE1 0BL)

For myself and I suspect others of my generation, the ‘Corpus Christi’ processions, ‘Our Lady’s’ May Day processions, and Good Friday ‘Way of the Cross’ processions, regular occurrences sixty years ago, sometimes with many hundreds of participants, threading their way through the main streets of large towns, publicly acknowledging and worshipping God, recall memories of a Catholic Church in England in which one was proud to belong, and proud to proclaim this fact to the world on the occasion of special religious events. I am not suggesting for a moment that I am no longer proud to be a Catholic, I am and I thank God for this great privilege and blessing, but I find it difficult if not impossible, to relate the Catholic Church today in this country, with the same Church of my youth. How many remember the ‘Vocations’ exhibition, held, if my memory serves me right, first in Olympia, S.Kensington, London, in the early 1950s, with representation by an incredible number of different Religious Orders, for men and women, and crowds of visitors - including many young people thoroughly enjoying their official day-out from school. I seem to remember that this was followed up some years later, by a similar exhibition in Westminster Hall. Those were exciting times for the Church, particularly for those young people to whom the idea of becoming a priest or nun, or a serving religious, was a real possibility. After all the numbers of Religious Orders and the variety of the work they did, covered every possible aspiration:- Contemplative, Missionary, Nursing, Teaching, Parish, all were provided for. However the world was rapidly changing, religious beliefs and practice were under increasing pressure from materialism and secularism in society, influencing every home particularly through the media, especially television, and exerting a growing influence on social attitudes and morals, an influence generally for the worse. In the 1960s we had Vatican 2, as a result of which the traditional role of the Parish Priest was arguably sacrificed to the cause of ‘laity involvement’; Religious Orders relaxed their rules and often their role; Nuns adopted a ‘practical’ dress code, often assuming the mantle of ‘Social Worker’rather than religious; Large numbers of priests and religious abandoned their vocation; ‘Ecumenism’ became the number one priority, with ‘Catholic tradition’ the ‘baby’ thrown out with the bathwater- for a false and impossible religious unity; The new face of Collegiality, resulted in confusion and some would say,diminution of ‘personal’ responsibility among Bishops; Doctrinal confusion and ignorance, poor and inadequate catechesis, with joint Catholic/CE Schools so often failing to provide Catholic children with even a basic knowledge of their Catholic faith. All this over just a few years, so it was hardly surprising that seminaries closed through lack of vocations, Religious Orders died out for the same reason, numbers of clergy reduced dramatically with many churches closing. Today many Catholic schools are Catholic in name only, with the truths of the Catholic faith neglected and replaced with a ‘hybrid’ of humanist/general religious beliefs. I am sure that there are exceptions, but I fear that these are few and far between. One can go on, but I have probably written too much already.

In conclusion, and perhaps somewhat paradoxically, I believe that there are signs of a Catholic renewal in this country. Since our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI, issued his ‘Motu Proprio’ confirming that all priests had the freedom and the right to celebrate the Mass in the traditional Latin form and in accordance with the rite laid down by St Pius V, there has been a resurgence of interest in the traditional liturgy, a liturgy which has served the Church well for the past 500 years and which has provided spiritual nourishment and graces for many Saints and Martyrs. The younger generation in particular, seem to increasingly recognise and welcome this. In a spirit of cautious optimism and holy hope, it seems fitting to repeat the final two lines of Betjemen's poem:-

‘The bells and banners, those were the waking days
When Faith was taught and fanned to a golden blaze.’

Thank you John Betjeman, for these memories, and may the spirit of those days soon return. We pray to ‘Our Lady of Walsingham’ - venerated in England since the 11th century, possibly earlier, and to ‘St George’, our patron Saint, for the conversion of England.

St Enodoc Church,Trebetherick, Cornwall, where John Betjeman is buried.

PAPHNUTIUS - Holy Monk of Egypt

Resurrection (detail) - Piero Della Francesca ( 15th c)

I think it time for another extract from 'The Desert Fathers', translated from the Latin by Helen Waddell. "That part of the 'Historia Monachorum' dealing with the 'History of the Monks of Egypt', translated originally by Rufinus in Greek, was the story of a pilgrimage made through Egypt in AD 394, by a brother, possibly Timotheus, from Rufinus' own monastery on the Mount of Olives. He himself had made the same journey twenty years earlier, and Jerome had no doubts that 'translation' or not, Rufinus himself was responsible for the authorship, allowing his imagination a certain licence". Be that as it may, these stories - certainly founded on truth, convey a spirit of humility, simplicity, and trust in God, truly 'therapeutic' in our confused and materialistic world.

'We saw also the cell of the holy Paphnutius, the man of God, that was the most famous of all the anchorites in these parts, and that had lived the most remote inhabitant of the desert round about Heracleos, that shining city of the Thebaid.

Landscape (detail)- Paolo Veronese (1561/2)

Of him we had a most warrantable account from the Fathers, how at one time, after living an angelic life, he had prayed to God that He would show him which of the saints he was thought to be like. And an angel stood by him and answered that he was like a certain singing man, that earned his bread by singing in the village. Dumbfounded at the strangeness of the answer, he made his way with all haste to the village, and sought for the man. And when he had found him, he questioned him closely as to what works of piety and religion he had ever done, and narrowly enquired into all his deeds. But the man answered that the truth was that he was a sinful man of degraded life, and that not long before from being a robber he had sunk to the squalid craft which he was now seen to exercise. But for this Paphnutius was the more insistent, asking if perchance some good thing might have cropped up amidst his thieving."I can think of nothing good about me,” said he: “but this I know that once when I was among the robbers we captured a virgin consecrated to God: and when the rest of my company were for deflowering her, I threw myself in the midst and snatched her from their staining, and brought her by night as far as the town, and restored her untouched to her house. Another time too, I found a comely woman

Musicians - Simone Martini (14th c)

wandering in the desert. And when I asked her why and how she had come into these parts, ‘Ask me nothing,’ said she, ‘nor question me for reasons, that am the wretchedest of women, but if it pleases thee to have a handmaid, take me where thou wilt. I have a husband that for arrears of tax hath often been hung up and scourged, and is kept in prison and tortured, nor ever brought out unless to suffer torment.We had three sons also that were taken for the same debt. And because they seek me also to suffer the same pains, I flee in my misery from place to place, worn out with grief and hunger, and I have been in hiding, wandering through these parts, and for three days have had no food.’ And when I heard this, I had pity for her, and took her to the cave and restored her soul that was faint with hunger and gave her the three hundred solidi for which she and her husband and their three sons were liable, she said, not only to slavery but to torture; and she returned to the city and paid the money and freed them all.” Then said Paphnutius, “I have done naught like that, yet I think it may have come to thine ears that the name of Paphnutius is famous among the monks. For it was with no small pains that I sought to fashion my life in this kind of discipline. Wherefore God has shown me this concerning thee, that thou hast no less merit before Him than I. And so, brother, seeing that thou hast not the lowest room with God, neglect not thy soul.” And straightway he flung away the pipes that he carried in his hand, and followed him to the desert, and transforming his skill in music into a spiritual harmony of life and mind, he gave himself for three whole years to the strictest abstinence, busying himself day and night in psalms and prayer, and taking the heavenly road with the powers of the soul, gave up his spirit amid the angelic host of the saints.

Crucifixion - Parri Spinelli (c 1445)

……… And again Paphnutius entreated the Lord that He would show him his like upon earth. And again the voice of the Lord came to him saying, “Know that thou art like the headman of the village close by.” And on hearing this, Paphnutius made haste to go to him, and knocked at the door of his house. And he, whose habit it was to entertain strangers, ran to meet him and brought him into his house and bathed his feet and set a table before him and made a feast. And as they feasted, Paphnutius began to question his host as to his doings, what was his desire, and what his exercises in good living. But he spoke humbly of himself, liking better to hide in his good deeds than be made a talk of, and Paphnutius urged him, saying that it

Head of St John - Masaccio (1427)

had been revealed to him by the Lord that he was worthy of the monastic fellowship. But at that he thought still more humbly of himself, and he said, indeed I know of no good in aught that is in me: but because God’s word has been said to thee, I can conceal naught from Him to whom nothing is hidden. So then I shall speak of those things that I am wont to do, set as I am in the midst of many men. It is now thirty years since a bond of continence was agreed between me and my wife and no man knows of it. I have had by her, three sons: for them only have I known my wife, nor have I known any other but her, nor herself now at all. I have never ceased to entertain strangers and in such fashion that I let no one go to meet the coming guest before myself. I have never sent a guest from my house without provision for his journey: I have despised no man that was poor, but have supplied him with what things he needed. If I sat in judgement, I have not respected the

Madonna - Pietro Lorenzetti (c 1315)

person of my own son, in detriment of justice. The fruit of another man’s toil has never come into my house. If I saw a quarrel, I have never passed by till I brought them that were at odds to peace. No one ever caught my servants in a fault: never have my herbs injured another man’s crops: never did I forbid any man to sow in my fields, nor did I choose the richer fallow for myself, and leave the more barren to another. As much as in me lay, I never suffered the stronger to oppress the weak. Ever in my life I sought that no one should be sad because of me. If I were judge in a suit, I condemned no one, but sought to bring the dissidents to peace. And this, as God gave it, has been my way of living until now.”And hearing him, the blessed Paphnutius kissed his head and blessed him saying, "The Lord bless thee out of Zion and mayst thou behold the good things that are in Jerusalem. But as thou hast well and wisely performed all these, one thing thou lackest, which is the

Annunciation (detail) - Pontormo (c1527)

highest of all good, that leaving all thou shouldst follow the very wisdom of God, and seek the more hidden treasure, whereto thou mayst not come unless thou deny thyself and take up thy cross, and follow Christ.” And when he had heard this, he delayed for naught, nor sought to set his house in order, but followed the man of God taking the road to the desert ……And when some time had gone by, and he had been led to that perfection of knowledge who was already made perfect in deed, on a certain day Paphnutius sitting in his cell saw his soul taken up into heaven amid a host of angels that weresaying, “Blessed is the man whom Thou choosest and causest to approach unto Thee: he shall abide in Thy tabernacle.”

Unbelievers (detail) - Prato Master (15th c)

And hearing this, he knew that the man had been taken from this world. But Paphnutius persisted in fasting and prayer, reaching out to things greater and more perfect.

And again he prayed to God, that He would show him his fellow among men. And again a divine voice answered him saying: “Thou art like this merchant, whom thou shalt see coming towards thee: but rise up quickly and run to meet him, for the man who is thy fellow is nigh.” And going down without delay Paphnutius met a certain merchant of Alexandria, that was bringing goods worth twenty thousand pieces of gold in three ships from the Thebaid. And being a religious man and zealous after good, he had laden his young men with ten sacks of vegetables, and was bringing them to the monastery of the man of God: and this was the reason for his coming to Paphnutius. And straightway as he saw him, “What dost thou,” he said, “O soul most precious, and worthy of God?

St Augustine - Boticcelli (c 1480)

What toil is this with things of earth, when thy lot and fellowship are in heaven? Leave these to such as are of earth, and think of earth; but do thou be a tradesman of the Kingdom of God, to which thou art called, and follow the Saviour, who will soon hereafter take thee to Himself.” And he with no least hesitation bade his young men give all that remained of his goods to the poor (for he had already himself given much away). And following the holy Paphnutius to the desert, he was set by him in that place from which his predecessors had been taken up to God. And in like fashion, instructed by him in all things, he abode in the exercises of the spirit and in studies of the divine wisdom, and in a little while, he also was translated to the assembly of the just.
And not long after, whilst Paphnutius himself was ordering his life in these same exercises of supreme austerity and travail, the angel stood by him, saying to him .”Come thou blessed, and enter those everlasting mansions that are prepared for thee. For behold the Prophets are at hand who shall receive thee into their company. This at first I did not reveal to thee lest perchance thou shouldst be puffed up and thy labour be lost.”

St Jerome - Domenico Ghirlandaio (1480)

And after these things, for one day he lived his life in the body, and when certain priests came to visit him, he made known to them all that the Lord had revealed to him, saying to them that no one in this world ought to be despised, let him be a thief, or an actor on the stage, or one that tilled the ground, and was bound to a wife, or was a merchant and served a trade; for in every condition of human life there are souls that please God and have their hidden deeds wherein He takes delight: whence is it plain that it is not so much profession or habit that is pleasing to God as the sincerity and affection of the soul and honesty of deed. And when he had spoken thus about each in turn, he gave up his spirit.'

For further interesting details regarding a brief history of anchorites/anchoresses, I refer you to the following website - with thanks :-

http://www.historyfish.net/anchorites/what_are_anchorites.html

Simple Poems for a Simple Mind

I have a penchant for a certain type of mid 20th century poetry, usually easy to read, no dialects or pretentious words, and conveying an idea or picture by means of gentle suggestion and lightness of spirit with which I can empathise and feel at ease; hence my liking for the poetry of John Betjeman. With a few exceptions, I don’t usually enjoy what I call ‘angry’ poetry, aggressive in its often negative sentiments, leaving the reader depressed. This does not include the ‘War Poets’, such as Wilfred Owen, who reveal the horrors and sufferings of war, neither does it include ‘religious’ poetry exploring the sufferings of Christ and the spiritual trials of life, for this of itself, conveys a spirit of hope, love and forgiveness.

Here is a light-hearted poem, with little twist in the tail, entitled ‘CRAFTS’ written in 1977 by Joy Falkner who lived in South Molton, Devon. This poem was one of a collection published privately in booklet form, entitled - ‘Is anybody there?’

CRAFTS

Alistair Keynes grows marrows and beans
For the Horticultural Show.
“Such a marvellous size! Did they win the first prize?”
Everyone wants to know.

Annie McCall’s pictures hang on the walls,
They are studies of woodland and sun.
Her friends come to tea, and unite to agree
They are wonderfully cleverly done!

Emily bakes miraculous cakes
And her syllabub’s more of a dream.
It’s natural enough they all rave at the stuff
As they tuck their way into the cream.

The dear Baroness is making a dress,
There on the dummy it stands –
“Oh isn’t it sweet! Those gores! And that pleat!
You are always so good with your hands”.

When they come here today I foolishly say
In creation’s afterglow,
“I’ve written some verse – it’s here in my purse”,
But nobody wants to know.

“So clever,” they say, and then look away,
“Why must she embarrass us so –
It’ll be something odd about Nature or God”.
And everyone gets up to go.

Joy Falkner 1977

Many who read this next poem, will be familiar with the various ‘Agony Aunts’ in both national and local press, whose role is to offer to readers, advice and solutions to the myriad problems covering almost every aspect of life. Most of these ‘Agony Aunts’ are women, and with the general decline of religious influence and Christian morality, have become the worldly equivalent of ‘confessors’ and ‘spiritual advisers’, whose advice may or may not be morally sound. They exercise very considerable influence on their readers, and a few become virtual national icons. One such person was Marjorie Proops, a hugely influential figure, some would say for good - others would disagree, who worked on the Daily Mirror for 42 years until her death in 1996.

The second poem of Joy Falkner written in 1978, comes from the same collection, and is called ‘The Tree of Knowledge’. The layout and print format in the original booklet was such that the whole assumed the shape of a tree. Regrettably, in spite of much endeavour, I am unable to reproduce this, as the layout on this page insists on reverting to type - sorry about the pun!

THE TREE OF KNOWLEDGE

Almighty God
Maker of Heaven and Earth
called His servant Moses to the mountain
and gave to him the tablets of the Law
so everybody knew
exactly
what
to do
Philosophers in ancient days
each spent his lifetime searching for the way
the path, the truth and understanding
and passed his wisdom to the people
and everybody knew
exactly
what
to do
Jesus taught a way of love
that revolutionised the world
the Church preserved the Word and preached it
with greater or with less fidelity
but everybody knew
exactly
what
to do
then scientists arrived and arrogant
demolished God
philosophers took off into abstraction
the church maintained precarious authority
over few and fewer men
now everyone provides his own criterion
anything goes
and
who? who? who?
will tell us what to do?
But of course!
Marjorie
p
r
o
o
p
s
.

Joy Falkner 1978

I must say that my taste in poetry is simple, as you can see from the poems above. This is not to detract in any way from the merit of this 'type' of poetry, for simplicity is not given to every work or to every poet. One day, who knows, I might try to write some poetry myself!
In this unlikely event, I promise not to inflict it on you.

HODIE CHRISTUS NATUS EST

OUR LADY'S CHAPEL, STRONSAY,
CHRISTMAS 2008





A relatively short post today on this final day of the year, with some photographs to remind us of Christmas 2008 at Our Lady's Chapel, Stronsay, Orkney. As promised in my previous post, I am pleased to show a few photographs of the Crib erected outside our Chapel, virtually at the entrance to the quay, where it offers a Christmas reminder and welcome to those both coming from the ferry, and those boarding it.
These you will find at the end of this post.

Our Lady's Chapel looked particularly beautiful for Midnight Mass which was celebrated there by Fr Michael Mary, Superior of the F.SS.R, with the Rector, Fr Anthony Mary F.SS.R. and the full community of monks from Golgotha Monastery, Papa Stronsay, in attendance. We had a sung Mass with the beautiful plain chant Mass no.2. - In festis 1 classis. 1 (Kyrie fons bonitatis); Credo no.1; together with the full Proper of the 'Ad Primam Missam- in nocte'. Prior to Mass we had carols from 11p.m. to midnight.


The Chapel looked beautiful with an abundance of real flowers, the lovely Crib with the Infant Jesus which apparently had only recently been acquired in Rome, and six magnificent and imposing large silver candleholders with lighted candles on the altar

itself.

The Crib was set up on the sanctuary facing the congregation, on the Gospel side and just behind the Communion rail, surrounded by a virtual phalanx of silk flower-heads of mostly gentle colouring, with six lighted candles around. From the impressive ornate sanctuary lamp hanging from the centre of the chapel ceiling, hung four red and gold draperies stretched across the sanctuary, two either side.

This beautiful statue of 'Our Lady of Victories'occupies a special niche in Our Lady's Chapel.

It stands between 3 to 4 feet high.

Outside the Chapel the monks had built a fine Crib, with completion only the day before! It was built using heavy concrete type blocks, with heavy duty roof joists and solid corrugated steel roof, designed and built to withstand the fickle and frequently wild Orkney weather. It was a job very well done, which when lit up and occupied by the Holy Family, shepherds, sheep and cattle, looked very striking - and dare I say it, almost inviting!

Thank you Fr Michael Mary F.SS.R, Fr Anthony Mary F.SS.R, and all you good F.SS.R Brothers, for making our Christmas celebrations at Our Lady's Chapel very special, in particular the lovely Church decorations and the Beautiful Crib, the devout sung Mass and liturgy, the fine singing, and the opportunity to share with all your Community the joys of this great feast-day. Thank you for all you do, seen and unseen, and we thank God and Our Blessed Lady for all the blessings and graces that you bring to us all. This naturally includes Fr Clement Mary F.SS.R. and the F.SS.R Brothers a long way from home in Christchurch, New Zealand. Wishing you all a holy, happy, and blessed New Year 2009.