When to stop

“Now you know when to stop.”

In 2013, Nissan promoted it’s latest Altima model with a novel feature. When filling the tires with air, the horn beeps when the pressure reaches the optimal level. No more struggling with pressure gauges or guesswork, the car itself will let you know when to stop filling the tire with air. Not a ground-breaking innovation, but one that certainly appealed to the general car-buying public. Anything that gives any kind novice more confidence is a mark in the plus column. Engineering aside, the more brilliant move was the marketing. Imagine an alert every time you crossed a line, an important boundary between appropriate and inappropriate; a boundary that one rarely knows has been crossed until looking back with regret. The television commercial followed a man in several common situations where crossing the boundary would be (humorously) disastrous. From shaking the hand of a new employer to hygiene to gambling to a first date, the everyman is saved from certain embarrassment by the helpful beeping of a horn. “Now you know when to stop,” the announcer assures us. If  only.

St Thomas Aquinas, building on St Augustine, tells us that “well ordered self-love, whereby man desires a fitting good for himself, is right and natural; but it is inordinate self-love, leading to contempt of God, that Augustine reckons to be the cause of sin” (Summa, Ia-IIae, 77.4). An ordinate self-love, a love without boundaries, leads to contempt of God which is the cause of sin. I am neither a philosopher nor a Thomistic scholar, but as I understand it, Aquinas begins with the Aristotelian position that every act is done for some good. In fact, Aquinas argues that no one desires evil, even in doing evil acts. Sin, he argues, comes from our inordinate desire for some good or our inordinate desire to avoid some evil. The instinctual longing of the human person is to meet our intended end - our good - for this is the destination of happiness. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, we are told, and there is real theological backing to this. It’s worth a real think, but every act, even heinous ones, have some good as their intended end. This not, at all, to justify anyone’s actions. Rather it is make the case that evil, heinous actions, are at their core a violation of a boundary. The more boundaries that are crossed in seeking some good, the more heinous the act. The sex offender seeks companionship, intimacy, and love; a desire that when properly ordered is good. This desire without boundaries is devastating. Without proper boundaries the resulting crime is unrecognizable from the original longing. 

I think we see this with some clarity in the Garden of Eden. “So the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that was a delight to the eyes, and that the three was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, and he ate” (Genesis 3.6). The desire was wisdom and pleasure. Properly ordered, these desires are not only appropriate, but right. God had established the proper ordering, “but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you will die.” The sin of Adam and Eve was an inordinate, boundless, desire that resulted in contempt for God. Why does it result in contempt for God? Because God is the one who establishes the boundaries. 

I think this vitally important, both for our understanding in addressing the evils in the world and in recognizing our own transgressions before our acts end up grossly disassociated from our intended good.  If it is true that no one actually desires evil, our pastoral response should reflect our understanding that we desire the good, but that desire is unregulated. Instead of berating people for their sins, we should help each other see the good we are actually seeking and the consequences when we violate boundaries. This does not excuse sin, but if our aim is reconciliation (which it must be) then surely this a more sound, biblical approach. Is this not what St Paul did on the Areopagus? I see how religious you are, you are desiring to know the One who holds all things in himself. But your boundless desire has led you to so many gods that you even erect an altar to the ones you don’t know. Using their desire, St Paul showed them the loving boundary that is Jesus Christ. 

But what about those of us within the Church? What about our inordinate desire for safety during this pandemic that we’ve sacrificed our mission to provide pastoral sacramental care for those in our charge? Can we ever speak with any integrity about our need to be with those on the margins of society again? I’m worried that our well-intentioned desires for safety and health during the past year has bred contempt for one another - six feet away, put your mask on!  No one wants anyone to be ill, much less hospitalized or to die. But has that good desire, been so inordinate that our pastoral approach is isolation? Instead of respecting boundaries, have we made artificial, and spiritually harmful, ones?

I’m even more worried about our contempt for God. Never for a moment do I think anyone sets out to show contempt for God. Our people have been without the grace of the Holy Eucharist for so long that we have rightfully sought ways to safely offer the Sacrament. That is the good. Without boundaries that protect us from contempt, the Sacrament, I fear, has become a gimmick. Mailed, wrapped, left for pickup, it often seems the Host is a party favor and not the Real Presence. Never has this hit home more than when I knelt before the Sacrament in the monstrance after having being handed a wrapped host through a car window in a parking lot. When our pastoral desire crosses the boundaries of reverence, we have indeed made the act more about our creativity than Christ. The Cure d’Ars tells the priest that if we actually knew what was happening in the Mass, we would die, the gift is so profound. “God doesn’t care”, one frequently hears, but how can we say that? Is that not knocking loudly on the door of contempt? Surely Scripture is quite clear that God cares very much about our prayer, not for his sake, but for ours. Our good desire for our people cannot cross the boundaries the Church has given us to save us from contempt. We end up hurting both our people and ourselves. 

How wonderful it would be if we all had an alarm that beeps when we cross a line; to hear a voice that says “Now you know when to stop.” We are not a car. A properly formed conscience sounds the alarm when we cross a boundary. It is properly formed according to the truth of Holy Scripture, the teaching and practice of the Church, and a life of sincere prayer. We will live near the boundaries and daily cross them. That’s sin. We confess, repent, and seek the consolation of the Good Shepherd within the confines of His Will for us.  I have certainly done things, with good intentions, during the pandemic that pastorally I now regret. Heaven knows we all have. To cross a boundary is one thing, to institutionalize it is another. 

We all want what is good, let us sincerely affirm this. To reach the good, we need God to proper order this desire. We need him to tell us when to stop. 

Encounter with a Murderer

I don’t remember the exact date, but it was near February 23, 2013, which was the day my wife’s aunt was buried. We were in Florida for the funeral and while waiting for a table at lunch, my phone rang. It was the Forsyth County Sheriff’s Department.  

“Reverend Rice, are you ok?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Why?”

“Your neighbors haven’t seen you in a couple of days and want to make sure you’re ok.”

“I’m sorry?”

That is how I learned a member of my parish was found dead. Another member of the parish was the suspected murderer. For reasons I still do not understand, and perhaps do not want to know, the investigator called to make sure I was ok. In the days that followed, the details were stomach-churning. The murder was premeditated. He was shot while he slept. For 22 days, the body was kept in a yard waste container in the bedroom. Air fresheners were hung to dissipate the odor. Prostitutes were invited over the next weeks downstairs. It’s all horrific and sordid and a matter of public record, discussed in great detail in the media, and the only reason I have in writing this is to make the point as how absolutely evil this act was. 

I buried his victim, my parishioner, in a private funeral. Now I had to visit the murderer, my parishioner, in jail. It was hard. Three weeks after the murder, he fled the state. When he was caught (as I was Florida), I was among his first phone calls.  

I will not lie; I had a hard time visiting him. His guilt was not in question. The facts were not disputed. Four months later, in one of his letters, he chastised me for not visiting more often. “I was extremely hurt that you did not make any effort to come back and minister to me, in what you knew was a difficult and traumatic time in my life. I really needed you and you were not there for me.”

I was livid. The author of this letter killed a man in cold blood, a man I had to bury. In my jailhouse visit, I discerned no remorse, no regret. A “difficult time” in his life? At least he had his life! But what made me angrier than anything is that, at least in regards to his letter, he wasn’t wrong.  I could have made a greater effort to visit him. I should have.

My feelings, as real as they were, could not excuse my duty to visit him, to share the mercy of Jesus Christ, and to pray with him. The scandal of the cross is that Jesus Christ died for him as much as he died for me. That doesn’t excuse his acts or release him from any sort of accountability. My job was not to mete our justice, but love. To love is to will the good of the other, and I can’t do that unless I’m in relationship with him.

I was not a great pastor to this man, but I forced myself to stay in some kind of relationship. I visited him in jail, and we exchanged letters for a couple of years. I sent him a Book of Common Prayer at his request. I still pray for him at the altar on his birthday. I pray he has repented and earnestly sought the mercy of Jesus Christ. 

This is a complicated story, and there are even more complications that I do not need to share. However, I offer this extreme example to make the point that we don’t have to agree with people to love them, to will their good. We don’t have to pretend that their actions are even remotely ok, we can freely acknowledge what they are – evil. But we do not have permission to damn them. We cannot demonize the person while we beg the Holy Spirit to cast out their demons. 

Jesus did not call us to visit only those in prison who were wrongfully convicted. Visit those in prison. Even the rapists and murderers. Especially the rapists and murderers. I will not virtue signal my pastoral care to his man, there’s little virtue to signal, but his chastisement, even from a vessel void of remorse, was right.

The Gospel of Jesus Christ is too scandalous for our politics, it demands too much. Politics is the art of the possible, faith focuses on what we deem to be impossible. We can love and speak the truth. If we don’t, we are noise. And I’m tired of noise. 

We’ve been told the days ahead will be difficult and full of tension. That’s probably true, but it doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t have to hate one another and assume the worst. We don’t have to cut people off and damn them what whatever hell we’d like to create for them. Even if things are hard and tense, we don’t need to enjoy it. 

We must push through our feelings and grab hold to the stability of our duty to God and one another. The person we despise, whose actions are heinous to us, need us to minister to them. They are not wrong.

On this "rock" I will build my church

All Saints, Margaret Street is one of, if not the most breathtaking church in which I’ve ever prayed. Every time I pass through the courtyard into the nave, I feel like Dorothy seeing Oz. No surface is without color - it is like looking through a kaleidoscope. Built in 1859 at a cost of £70,000, the Bank of England inflation calculator informs me that invoice would be just north of £8,800,000 in 2019. Exchange those pounds for US dollars and the bill will run you $11,908,682.74. On one hand, that’s not a lot of money. Google “things you can buy for 10 million dollars” and you will find lists of silly and superfluous things that do not compare to the value of a church, not to mention the longevity and impact. Senatorial campaigns are now reaching a billion dollars, enough to build two All Saints’ in every county in South Carolina (imagine that!). However, churches are built by the generosity of dozens or perhaps even hundreds, and not tens of thousands. $12,000,000 is a lot of money and, with few exceptions, is far out of reach for the average parish church. Times, and income tax laws, have indeed changed. 

And if built in 2020, the cost of All Saints’ would be much, much higher. I have learned only enough in our own church renovation to pretend to be dangerous, but I’m sure that modern code requirements, plumping, electrical, and heating work would drive that original cost significantly. 

120 years ago, Ralph Adams Cram wrote, “We cannot hope to rival the little churches of England in this day and generation, for conditions absolutely prevent the hearty lavishing of labor that was characteristic of the Middle Ages. The cut stone and carving, the elaborate stone tracery, the buttresses and balustrades and pinnacles are out of the question. We cannot restore the externals of the Gothic style; but we can endeavor to re-create the underlying spirit, and lead it to express itself in the new forms we must impose on it” (Church Building, 1900).

Of late, my interest has been in how this has been done. One can find scores of architectural commentaries on the greatest churches – cathedral, parish, chapel – but very little in terms of the construction. As I examine my own decisions and choices, I’m curious how previous churches were built. What materials were used and why? What methods and why? What changes were made during the construction and how did it alter the original vision – for better or for worse? We have reached a point where improvement on the past is not possible, in terms of the original vision. Cram was right. We do not generally have the resources or the patience to start something that will not be finished in our lifetime. How does one re-create the underlying spirit?

View fullsize

On my mind at the moment is the choice of material. In our nave are a dozen or so crates full of glass fiber reinforced gypsum (GFRG), a type of cast stone. Our nave columns are steel beams. In the past they were covered with a simple Ionic column. Now, those beams are covered by the GFRG to resemble stone and arches are added in the bays. Cut stone is not feasible for the simple reason that there is already a steel beam supporting the next level. One could build around it, but at what cost? Herein is where I sometimes struggle. GFRG is not stone but will look like it. Does that make the structure – fake? Does that harm the theological message of the space?

I imagine the answer is that is no more fake, for instance, than the wax candles on the altar. There is a difference, I think, in a choice that is made for sake of economics and one that is made for the sake of convenience. There is a difference between choosing cast stone over quarried stone because you simply can’t afford the latter and choosing cast stone because you simply don’t care.  

View fullsize

I want quarried stone, but it’s not possible – structurally or economically. Rectors must get over their Herodian ego and must remember that it is prayer that consecrates churches and not the other way around. The materials themselves are not magical conduits to the divine. It is the fact that for hundreds of years people have prayed within familiar structures that, when we see them and experience them, we are moved to do the same. 

“The atmosphere of a church,” Sir Ninian Comper wrote, “should be such as to hush the thoughtless voice…The note of a church should be, not that of novelty, but of eternity. Like the Liturgy celebrated within it, the measure of its greatness will be the measure in which is succeeds in eliminating time and producing the atmosphere of the heavenly worship. This is the characteristic of the earliest art of the Church, in liturgy in architecture and in plastic decoration, and it is the tradition of all subsequent ages” (The Atmosphere of a Church, 1939).

If GFRG can help do that, and it is within our reach, it would be a waste not to use it. I often wonder what Cram and Comper would think of modern materials in traditional design. I have no way of knowing. But I think they would say that as long as the atmosphere of the church is not fake, the materials, whatever they are, have done their job.  

I can’t build All Saints, Margaret Street, but then again, I don’t need to. It’s already been done! All Saints’ was built with materials and methods modern for 1859 and it certainly drew on generations before. As we build for the future, we use what we have in the present, informed by the witness and spirit, of the past.

Eleanor S. Rice - 10 years ago

Ten years ago, on June 12, my mother died. She was 62. I think of her often, especially when my children do something spectacular or stupid, knowing she would thoroughly enjoy both. As much as I regret having already lived a quarter of my life without my mother, her greatest act – that of a grandmother – was largely denied. I knew what kind of mother she was. I imagine the kind of grandmother should have been.

It would be futile and unfair to try to summarize her life or my feelings on this anniversary. Those who knew her will commemorate the reminder of her death with their own memories. For those who did not know her, I invite you to read what follows. My mother was an elementary school principal, an outstanding one. When she retired, she lasted a summer or so and went back to work, talking on a new school with greater challenges. When she died that school named the media center in her memory.

But there is a greater story. On September 26, 1988, a 19-year-old entered the school and opened fire in the cafeteria and classrooms. Several were shot and two young girls lost their lives. While not uncommon today, it was unthinkable then. There was no model, not template, and certainly no expectation that such a horror would ever happen, let alone in a lovely town in South Carolina.

A couple of years ago I found my mother’s copy of her handwritten statement to the police. I have transcribed it, keeping it exactly as she wrote, with the exception of the names, which I have redacted.

Eleanor Rice

Monday, Sept. 26

            As I was walking down the hall coming from the second grade wing, I was met by second grade teacher, L** ***** ******. She was screaming, “There’s a man with a gun!” I asked her to repeat what she was saying. She said, “there’s a man with a gun and he’s shooting.” I asked, “Where?” She pointed down the hall toward the cafeteria.

            I then heard shots – These were coming from down the third/fourth grade hall. I ran to my office and pushed the red “panic” button which alerts the police station that the Oakland burglar alarm has been activated.

            I left the office + started getting children out of the building – from the halls + classrooms. L*** ****** met me in the hall + asked what she could do. I asked her to help me get all kids out of the building. We went through the building sending children + teachers to the woods.

            As I walked toward the fourth grade hall at the rear entrance, I saw a man walking around the corner of the building outside. I started walking toward him. I asked if I could help him. He responded, “They’re after me.” I asked, “Who’s after you?” At this point I thought he may have ducked into our building trying to get away from someone else. However, the more he talked, I realized he was the gunman. He put his hands in his pocket and brought out his driver’s license, social security card, library card, + one other. He said, “I have identification. I have identification.”

            I then told him to raise his hands and I frisked him. He did not have a gun at this time.

            P***** ******** was standing there. I gave him the identification cards and seeing that the man was not armed now told P****** to watch him while I went to find the police.

            I went up the fourth grade hall, P**** ************ was in her room with ******* until the EMS could get there.

            By this time the police were there as well as the ambulances.

This was written on the day of the event. On a yellow legal pad, her handwriting is neat. The amount of poise to write without shaking is incomprehensible to me. There is only one correction. He thoughts were clear. The grammar is textbook. The only sign of fatigue is the switch to the shorthand “+” for “and” beginning in the third paragraph. 

She cleared the school, frisked the gunman, and then oversaw the emergency response. If you want to understand something about my mother, I can think of no better example. Poise, professionalism, and strength. That same leadership extended far beyond that horrible day. She led the school into a vision that was not defined by senseless death, but purpose and hope. Therefore it was all too fitting that a school that bore her spirit, should also bear her name.  

I often wonder how she would navigate today’s world. But then again, I already know.

The Peace and Communion during COVID

As we begin the process of planning for the re-opening of our churches for public worship, the guiding principles for discerning how to celebrate the sacred mysteries should be safety, reverence, and authority. Safety, will our celebrations introduce unnecessary risk for the spread of COVID-19? Reverence, will our celebrations maintain its theological and ascetical integrity? Authority, are our celebrations, and its pandemic alterations, faithful to historic practice?

As a trinity of sorts, safety must not ignore reverence and authority must not ignore safety. They are equal in that they share the same goal: the objective adoration of the Triune God and a sacramental encounter with Jesus Christ. They are not equal in that they operate towards this goal in different ways. For instance, an unsafe celebration of the Holy Eucharist is not a reverent one. And an antiseptic celebration may not be a valid one.

For the sake of clarity, let me briefly define the terms as I understand and use them.

Safety

Nothing is completely safe. Everything comes with risk. As we like to quote C.S. Lewis, even God is unsafe. By safety, I mean sensible actions that prevent the spread of COVID-19, actions guided by active medical professions. Safety should promote confidence and not anxiety.

Reverence

Reverence is not only recognition of risk; it is respect for it. Reverence is the opposite of presumption and casual informality. The Holy Eucharist is an encounter with Jesus Christ. It is to feel the heat of the Burning Bush. It demands attention and deliberate action.

Authority

How has the Church navigated between the practical and the prayerful? If we do not appeal to some authority, then we are making it up. What has been the practice of the Church? What do the prayers say? The rubrics? Even if the authority isn’t from our specific jurisdiction, it is nearly always better than our own new idea. The authority of the Church will also address what is practical. If it’s been done in Italy, England, and Mexico, chances are it will work just fine in North Carolina.

How does this work in practice? Two of the main liturgical questions are how shall we pass the peace and how shall we administer and receive Holy Communion in a way that does not put our people at unnecessary risk for the spread of COVID-19. Regarding the Peace, there are safe ways, but wholly unsatisfactory. The Peace is a sign of Christian reconciliation with one another before we are reconciled to Jesus Christ in the reception of Holy Communion. To be fair, our non-pandemic practice rarely speaks to this intended purpose, but we should not retreat further into liturgical and theological incoherence just because we can’t shake hands or bump fists, much less hug and kiss (the traditional way). There is a safe way, but it is not terribly reverent nor is it supported by authority.

There is, however, another way to observe the peace. The most ancient position for the Peace is before the Offertory, where it is now. It makes sense. We have prayed for Holy Spirit to open our hearts, we’ve heard from Holy Scripture, the sermon, we confessed our faith and our sins. Before we bring our gift to the altar, we now seek reconciliation with our brother. Done with intention, it is a beautiful thing. The Peace before the Offertory is not the only traditional place where it may be observed. The medieval practice, included in the 1549 Book of Common Prayer and in the rubrics of the 1979 Prayer Book, was to exchange the peace after the Fraction. In the Tridentine Mass, after the breaking of the Sacred Host, the priest greets the people with the words of the Resurrected Lord (“Peace be with you”). The Agnus Dei then follows, ending of course with, “Grant us thy peace,” and then the priest quietly prays, “O Lord Jesus Christ, who saidst to Thine Apostles: “Peace I leave with you, my own peace I give to you.” Regard not our sins but the faith of Thy Church, and grant her peace and unity according to Thy will, who livest and reignest…”

The 1979 Book of Common Prayer says in the Additional Directions on page 407: “The greeting, “The peace of the Lord be always with you,” is addressed to the entire assembly. In the exchange between individuals which may follow (emphasis mine), any appropriate words of greeting may be used. If preferred, the exchange of the Peace may take place at the time of the administration of the Sacrament (before or after the sentence of Invitation).”

Authority gives us both the permission and precedent for moving the Peace just before Holy Communion. Authority also gives permission and precedent for not greeting one another. This position may very well preserve Reverence in a more satisfactory way, until we can remove the masks and distance. In this position, we can focus on the Peace of Christ that has been given to us in this Sacrament and pray for His grace to see us through this strange season. Since there is no moving toward one another, or physical touching, it is sensibly safe.

What about Holy Communion? This one seems a bit tricky. Let’s start with Reverence. The celebrant wearing gloves during the Eucharistic Prayer and Holy Communion is problematic. As one friend pointed out, how does one do the ablutions whilst wearing gloves (do we burn latex)? Furthermore, how will the people receive Holy Communion? The two main concerns seem to be the priest’s contact with the Hosts (what all has the priest touched before touching the Host?) and a safe environment to consume the Host (how can you remove your mask without breathing on everyone?).

Again, I think there is Authority that has been formed by practice and precedence. I can think of two options in safely administering the Host from traditional practice. The first is to give Holy Communion from the Reserved Sacrament. There is some debate about the transmission of COVID from surfaces, but communion from the Tabernacle satisfies the most conservative approaches. If one is worried about how long the virus might be on surfaces, the ciborium can repose in the Tabernacle for days before administration. The priest must consume the Precious Body and Blood at the mass, but there is no reason why the people cannot receive communion from the Tabernacle.  If your scruples doubt the permission of the Prayer Book to do so (even though it is a long-standing Anglican and Roman practice), the priest could still place the ciborium on the corporal and not touch the Hosts (they could have been prepared days in advance). There is no need to seek unnecessarily creative ideas for Communion.

In addition, there is precedent for administering the Sacrament with pincers, essentially tongs. There is an example of Eucharistic pincers in the Terra Sancta museum in Jerusalem and many examples of in pincers in medieval paintings. The priest need not to put on gloves and can safely administer the Host to the communicant, thereby preserving sensible Safety measures, Reverence, and follow an established Authority.

This addresses the priest’s handling of the Hosts, but what about the removal of masks by the people? Roman practice has long allowed the administration of Holy Communion after the mass has ended. It was also a traditional Anglo-Catholic practice to give Holy Communion after Solemn Masses. It would make the most sense for the priest to say mass straight through as usual, including the priest’s communion, and then administer the Host to those who are prepared and desirous, after the mass has ended. The people can take their time and they can come to a designated place, one at a time, to receive the Host and then remove their mask. Even if the priest chooses to take the Sacrament outside, it will be after the mass has ended and will be far more orderly and reverent.

Safety, Reverence, and Authority are held together in tension, but not competition. We can, and should, strive for the highest degree of all three.

Rubrics for Reopening

We do not presume, to come to this blog, trusting in our own wisdom. I am not worthy to lead my own parish, much less a diocese or archdiocese. Therefore, while I have opinions on everything, that does not mean they are all informed or wise. Opening the doors of churches for public worship during a pandemic comes with a risk that is above and beyond the constituent risks we have long accepted as the cost of doing God’s business.

As dioceses are working out their plans for how to return to public worship, there will no doubt be suggestions and statements made with the best of intentions, that run contrary to the godly order that has formed Anglicans for 500 years. Perhaps there is some ancient wisdom from a time that was no stranger to pestilence and politics. I offer the following thoughts rooted in the rubrics of the 1549 Book of Common Prayer: 

Congregation Size

So many as intende to bee partakers of the holy Communion, shall sygnifie their names to the Curate, ouer night: or els in the morning, afore the beginning of Matins, or immediately after.

[So many as intend to be partakers of the holy Communion, shall signify their names to the Curate, over night: or else in the morning, before the beginning of Matins, or immediately after.]

The first rubric for the 1549 Massse (mass) requires those desiring to receive communion to notify the priest before the celebration. This rubric, slightly modified, remains in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer. As we will likely be asked to adhere to numerical limits in our gatherings, it is clearly in our tradition to ask for a registration beforehand. Granted, this was not done to limit the numbers of those present, but this seems to be the only way to ensure government compliance with social distancing and the size of gatherings. The upside to registration is that those who register are making a conscious decision in advance and must prepare themselves and their families. The potential downside, depending on the size of the parish, is that not all who wish to register may be able to attend on a particular Sunday.

The Future of Livestreaming

Then so manye as shallbe partakers of the holy Communion, shall tary still in the quire, or in some conuenient place nigh the quire, the men on the one side, and the women on the other syde. All other (that mynde not to receiue the said holy Communion) shall departe out of the quire, except the ministers and Clerkes.

[Then so many as shall be partakers of the holy Communion, shall tary still in the choir, or in some convenient place hear the choir, the men on the one side, and the women on the other side. All other (that mind not to receive the said holy Communion) shall depart out of the choir, except the ministers and Clerks.]

I draw attention to this rubric, prescribed during the offertory, as a possible solution for the theological confusion we find ourselves in broadcasting or livestreaming our masses. We know that the Holy Eucharist is the “new rite” where previous types and shadows come to an end. But we also know that a YouTube mass is not the same thing. Without meaning to, we have added a type and shadow. We want people to know the Sacrifice is being offered, even in their absence, and we want their spiritual participation, but we are discovering unforeseen consequences: ‘virtual communion,’ expectation of on-demand liturgy, etc. Perhaps the way forward is to broadcast the mass, but not show in its entirety the liturgy of the altar. Those who cannot receive aren’t banished, this is not punishment, but an act of charity preserving both the mystery of the sacrifice and the recognition that some, through no fault of their own, cannot receive. I think this might be a better solution than altering the ceremony and theology of the Eucharist and not broadcasting at all – which seems to be the two most common options.

Communion on the Tongue

And although it bee redde in auncient writers, that the people many years past receiued at the priestes hades the Sacrament of the body of Christ in theyr owne hands, and no commaundemet of Christ to the contrary: Yet forasmuche as they many tymes conueyghed the same secretelye awaye, kept it with them, and diuersly abused it to supersticion and wickedness: lest any suche thynge hereafter should be attempted and that an uniformitie might be used, throughout the whole Realme:  it is thought conuenient the people commoly receiue the Sacramet of Christes body, in their mouthes, at the Priestes hande.

[And although it be read in ancient writers, that the people many years past received at the priest’s hand the Sacrament of the body of Christ in their own hands, and no commandment of Christ to the contrary: Yet forasmuch as they many times conveyed in the same secretly away, kept it with them, and diversely abused it to superstition and wickedness: lest any such thing hereafter should be attempted and that an uniformity might be used, throughout the whole Realm: it is thought convenient the people commonly receive the Sacrament of Christ’s body, in their mouths, at the Priest’s hand.]

To state the obvious, I am not an epidemiologist. However, I do not care for germs. I know that good ole fashioned hand washing with soap and water is preferable to hand sanitizer. I also know that at the offertory, the priest’s hands are washed with water. It is usually convenient during the offertory, if the sacristy is close, to wash hands again. All thing being equal, the priest’s hands should be the cleanest in the church. In addition, if the traditional ceremony is followed, the priest wipes his fingers on the corporal before touching the host and keeps the fingers together never touching anything else until the ablutions after Holy Communion. Done properly, administration to the tongue is more hygienic than on the hand. People are touching everything; bulletins, hymnals, purses, children, chairs, etc. From the offertory to the ablutions, the priest’s hands should shine like the top of the Chrysler Building. The above rubric addresses the confiscation of a host to keep at home for superstition. This is the reason why you must receive on the tongue at Papal masses, so no one keeps the Host as a souvenir. We can be superstitious with hand sanitizer. Anti-bacterial is not anti-viral.

Communion in One Kind

The last bit is not from the rubrics of the 1549, but from the Sacrament Act of 1547, the relevant parts still have the force of law in the United Kingdom today:

Primitive Mode of receiving the Sacrament; The Sacrament shall be administered in both Kinds, Bread and Wine, to the People: After Exhortations of the Priest, the Sacrament shall not be denied. Not condemning the Usage of other Churches . X1

And forasmuche as it is more agreable bothe to the first Institucion of the saide Sacrament of the moste precious bodye and bloude of Savyour Jesus Christe, and also more conformable to the commen use and practise bothe of Thapostles and of the primative Churche by the space of Five hundred yeres and more after Christs assention that the saide blessed Sacrament shoulde be ministred to all Christen people under bothe the kyndes of Breade and Wyne, [X2then] under the forme of breade onelie; And also it is more agreable to the first Institucion of Christe and to thusage of Thapostells and the primative churche that the people being present shoulde receive the same with the preist [X2then] that the Priest should receive it alone; Therfore be it enacted by our saide Souvarigne Lorde the King with the consent of the Lordes spirituall and temporall and the Commons in this present parlament assembled and by thauctoritie of the same, that the saide moste blessed sacrament be hereafter commenlie delivered and ministred unto the people, within this Churche of Englande and Irelande and other the Kings Dominions, under bothe the Kyndes, that is to saie of breade and wyne, excepte necessitie otherwise require: And allso that the preist which shall ministre the same shall at the least one day before exhorte all persons which shalbe present likewise to resorte and prepare themselfs to receive the same, and when the daie prefixed comethe after a godlie exhortacion by the Minister made, wherin shalbe further expressed the benefitt and comforte promised to them which worthelie receive the saide hollie Sacrament, and daunger and indignacion of God threatened to them which shall presume to receive the same unworthelie, to thende that everie man maye trye and examynn his owne conscience before he shall receive the same, the saide minister shall not withowt laufull cawse denye the same to any parsone that wool devoutelie and humblie desire it, anny lawe statute ordenance or custome contrarie therunto in any wise notwithstanding; not condempninge hereby the usage of anny Churche owt of the Kings Majesties Dominions.

 Offering the Sacrament in both kinds is a foundational result of the Reformation, English and Protestant, and is enshrined in the Prayer Book. However, the legal context of the 1549 Prayer Book acknowledges that necessity may otherwise require a suspension of this right, such as a Pandemic. The law does not suspend the administration of the chalice to the celebrant, but to the people. Fighting over the chalice too much for the sake of the Prayer Book is to miss an important, and common sense, exception.

The Book of Common Prayer, 1549 or 1979, did not envision our present circumstances, but that doesn’t mean its rubrics and customs are of no use to us now. Quite the contrary, the stability of prayer and the constancy of ceremony, is good medicine for our anxiety. While not exactly a vaccine against the vicissitudes of Coronatide, following our rule of prayer will certainly mitigate the symptoms.

Should I say Mass in an Empty Church?

What does it mean if I celebrate the Holy Eucharist in an empty church?

It depends on who you ask. For some, it means, or could mean, I am exercising a unique clerical privilege at the expense of solidarity with not only those under my cure who are sheltered-in-place, but also those around the world who are denied regular access to the sacraments.

For others, it means I am responding to my responsibility and duty to offer the Holy Eucharist, as the Sacrament of Christ’s Death, for the life of my parish, and for the life of the world.

These two positions seem worlds apart. I claim the position of the latter, and less popular one, at least in the United States. I understand (at least I think I do) the position of the first, but I do not recognize it as remotely representing my motives, theology, and practice. My aim here is to present the theological rationale as to why I say mass in an empty church. Not only that, but I hope to argue why we should.

It seems that at the heart of the divide are at least three questions: 1) what is the difference, if any, between clergy and laity, 2) what does solidarity mean, and the most important 3) is the Holy Eucharist a sacrifice?   

What is the difference between clergy and laity?

I do not, for one minute, believe my ordination makes me better than someone who is not ordained. I believe my ordination has set me apart for a specific role in Christ’s Body, and I believe I have been set apart, not above, for this role as long as I am alive. If those in the ordained state, not caste, are guilty of suggesting or perpetuating the notion that our authority and responsibility elevates rather than humbles, we must repent.

In the ordinal of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, the ordinand is reminded at the beginning of the examination that “the Church is the family of God, the body of Christ, and the temple of the Holy Spirit,” and that “all baptized people are called to make Christ known as Savior and Lord.”

St Paul speaks of the Body of Christ; a body that has diverse members that function for the whole. The eye does not see on behalf of the eye, but on behalf of the whole body. The hand does not open for the sake of the hand, but for the whole body. The parts do not exist independently of the others. Yet, if the eye were removed, the body could not see. If the ear were removed, the body could not hear. “Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it. And God has appointed in the church first apostles, second prophets, third teachers…” He then asks, “Are all apostles? Are all prophets? Are all teachers?” (1 Cor. 12) The answer is no. We should not forget these words directly precede his famous exhortation on love.  

The priesthood, like the laity, is an organ of the body. It does not function for itself, but for the whole body. The priestly organ is not granted greater value, but a specific function. As organs, to quote Fr. Robert Moberly, they do not confer life on their own, “working organically for the whole Body, specifically representative for specific purposes and processes of the power of the life, which is the life of the whole body, not the life of some of its organs” (Ministerial Priesthood, pg. 68). The result of eliminating the roles between clergy and laity would result in not in greater unity, but disunity. Instead of feet and hands and eyes, there would only be elbows. The effect would be defect.

Baptism is a kind of ordination into the priesthood of Jesus Christ. We are all called to offer ourselves (a priestly action) to God: “And here we offer and present unto thee, our selves, our souls, and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice unto thee.” The ministerial priesthood does not compete with the priesthood of all believers. Both are participations in Christ’s Priesthood.

This is a long quote, but one worth reading, by Henry Liddon:

“The Christian layman of early days was thus, in his inmost life, penetrated through and through by the sacerdotal idea, spiritualized and transfigured as it was by the Gospel. Hence it was no difficulty to him that this idea should have its public representatives in the body of the Church, or that certain reserved duties should be discharged by Divine appointment, but on behalf of the whole body, by these representatives. The priestly institute in the public Christian body was the natural extension of the priesthood which the lay Christian exercised within himself; and the secret life of the conscience was in harmony with the outward organization of the Church…Where there is no recognition of the priesthood of every Christian soul, the sense of an unintelligible mysticism, if not of an unbearable imposture, will be provoked when spiritual powers are claimed for the benefit of the whole body by the serving officers of the Christian Church. But if this can be changed; if the temple of the layman’s soul can be again made a scene of spiritual worship, he will no longer fear lest the ministerial order should confiscate individual liberty. The one priesthood will be felt to be the natural extension and correlative of the other” (University Sermons).

It is a real abuse of clericalism to suggest that we all must be the same in our function in the Body of Christ.

What is solidarity?

What, therefore, does it mean to be in Eucharistic Solidarity? Among the more puzzling responses during the pandemic has been the suggestion that, since the laity are not allowed to receive the Holy Eucharist, priests should not as well. Furthermore, since Christians around the world are unable to have regular access to the sacraments, demanding such access is an act of Western Privilege.

If there were no divinely appointed functions within the Body of Christ, I would agree. I also understand, and appreciate, the pastoral impetus in the above statements. When one part of the Body grieves, as St Paul reminds us, we all grieve. And we should. We must. I do not, however, think that grief, solidarity, and the priestly function need to be exclusive of one another.

If the people cannot receive the Holy Eucharist, I argue it is even more important that the priests offer the sacrifice for them. To not stand at the altar, representing them and their prayers and sufferings, in union with Christ’s Sacrifice would be an act of greater privilege, in the sense that privilege means ‘private law’ unto myself.  While so many are isolated and many are forgotten in the world, they are remembered at the altar. I’m certain priests who are saying mass daily (or weekly) are still receiving requests for prayer. It’s not because they have a special line to the Almighty or that their holiness will deliver petitions with greater clarity. It’s because they can take those petitions to the altar to be joined with Christ’s offering to the Father. Again, I argue that we are greater solidarity at the altar than at home. Never have I said mass in a nearly empty church and felt good about it. It’s always difficult. And that’s why I need to be there.

Is the Holy Eucharist a Sacrifice?

If the answer to this question is no, then it makes absolutely no sense to say mass in an empty church. I would even go further and say, if the answer is no, the mass makes no sense. This question, I believe, is at the heart of the first two asked in this offering. For if the Holy Eucharist is a sacrifice, independent of the reception of Holy Communion, then the role of the priest is clear and the question of solidarity is answered. Perhaps the reason why there’s so much diversity in opinion is because this most important aspect of the Holy Eucharist is also the most neglected.

The Prayer Book clearly acknowledges that the Holy Eucharist is a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, but it is also much more. Rather than re-sacrificing Jesus Christ, an accusation made during the Reformation, the mass re-presents the one sacrifice once offered. The Holy Eucharist places us at the foot of the cross with the Blessed Virgin Mary and St John, but even more, we are given the great gift of uniting our prayers with the one sacrificial act that was ever efficacious before the Father.  

Prayer B in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer, “Unite us to your Son in his sacrifice, that we may be acceptable through him, being sanctified by the Holy Spirit.” The action of the Holy Eucharist is still complete even if the laity do not receive Holy Communion. Is Holy Communion ideal? Of course it is, assuming they are properly prepared. Let us remember that the Prayer Book neither assumes nor suggests that everyone should take communion. The climax of the Eucharistic action is the presentation of Christ’s separated Body and Blood under the forms of bread and wine. His sacrifice is given to us so that we may offer the same to the Father.

This justifies saying mass without communion. The presentation of the Crucified Lord, sacramentally, also justifies spiritual communion. What are the ‘benefits of Communion’ as stated in the Prayer Book? The catechism teaches it is the forgiveness of our sins, the strengthening of our union with Christ and one another, and the foretaste of the heavenly banquet. These benefits come when we come in contact with the sacrifice of the cross, made present to us in the Eucharistic Sacrifice.

This is not done easily via YouTube. You’ll receive no argument from me. What worries me more about livestreaming is not that it’s online, but that it can be accessed on demand. At least with St Charles Borromeo erected pillars to let people know where masses were said (and I presume bells were rung) they could look at their windows and unite themselves to the mass offered in solidarity with their isolation. Once upon time, a priest could ring the bells during mass, and all in the village, whether working the fields or inside their home, could stop and kneel in prayer in union with the Sacrifice. If I ring my church bells, it’s barely heard outside the parking lot. Watching the mass later is perhaps a re-presentation of the re-presentation. I’m not sure what all that means.

Yet I am more worried about the results if I stop saying the mass and stop streaming, whatever form that might be. If priests shift from offering sacrifice, then what is the function of the priest? Have we shut off an important organ to the Body? If priests stop offering the sacrifice (the priestly function and responsibility), will the church abandon her priestly character, as a participation in Christ’s Priesthood? I don’t have any good answers. But, if I’m not at the altar, where will I be? I can’t be in the hospital, I’m not allowed in the soup kitchen, and it’s too dangerous to sit at someone’s kitchen table. Where’s the one place where all these places intersect?

I will go the altar of God.

When this is over...

On the other side of this pandemic, most every priest may well be a church planter.

We will have congregations on the other side of the coronavirus, of this I have no doubt. The question is: what will the congregation look like? How large? How formed will they be by the ‘new normal’, the practices and routines forged by stay-at-home orders for weeks or months?

From the beginning, I’ve been anxious about worship moving online. Not against, mind you, but anxious. For all the deficiencies found in live-streaming and/or pre-recorded liturgies (I do both), I think it is far worse to offer nothing. What have we learned one month in?

Using myself as an example, and one that has watched many, many online liturgies, I can count on select fingers on one hand how many I’ve watched from start to finish. The digits are fewer when I try to count how many liturgies I watched without distraction. We’ve always known that people tune out at various times during the liturgy. We know some don’t care to sing and eyes glaze over during parts (or all!) of the homily. Now, YouTube and Facebook will tell us for certain when people, literally, tune out. A friend recently sent me a screenshot of live-stream’s analytics that showed a series of peaks and valleys. The peaks occurred during music and the valleys during spoken parts. Of the hundreds or thousands of views we might have on our videos, before we start celebrating the next great awakening, we need to look further. Most of those are 3 to 10 second views. My hunch is that the number of those who consistently tune in at the time of the initial broadcast will decrease. Why get up and watch at 10:30am, when I can watch at 4pm? If they haven’t already, priests will discover this, and it will influence how they produce the online liturgy.

This is an observation, not a criticism. When I’ve asked these questions on social media, some members of my parish, the ones who do watch from beginning to end, are defensive. When we focus, appropriately, on the centrality of the Holy Eucharist as the source and summit of our life, it should be no surprise that people aren’t tuning in at record numbers It’s not the same thing. That, I pray, is the result of sound catechesis. I am, however, suggesting that when we all come back, we will be, to some extent, church planters. This is not a bad thing. But we need to remember our spiritual history, and the challenges and temptations, as we start to build.

There are many stories of the Church and Plague with the luminous examples of St Charles Borromeo, Constance and her companions, and the Sisters of Mercy in Plymouth England during the cholera outbreak. What is different now is that we are producing and offering a different experience of the Church. Yes. St Borromeo erected stone columns with crosses on top so people could have a connection with the masses and devotions that were going on throughout the city, but that was a visual connection across distance and not a virtual connection across Wi-Fi. When the plague was over, people went back to church. When our pandemic is over, what will happen?

The books of Ezra and Nehemiah have been on my mind and I wonder if that is the closest parallel for us at this moment. Even though these books address the complications regarding a return from captivity and not coronavirus, the questions raised are important. How do you reconstitute a community that has been dispersed? How do you reinstitute a sacrificial (or for us, sacramental) cult? What happens when the people have become accustomed to a new normal?

First, the good. While the exiles returned to rebuild the Temple, the focus was more on the recovery of the Law. Catechesis was key. In Nehemiah 8, Ezra (who was a priest) reads Torah to the people, in what may be the first recorded public reading of Torah. Not only did Ezra read Torah to the people, but the task was delegated to other priests to help interpret the Law. These priests also read the Law, “clearly, and they gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading” (Nehemiah 8.8).

The silver lining in this Covid Cloud has been a dramatic increase in catechesis. Clergy are looking for any and every way possible to teach. Zoom, Facebook, podcast, whoever will listen. In all my life, I’ve never seen more teaching. While there is no substitute for in-person Bible study, we are reaching more people through these new methods. Not everyone can come to the 10:30am Wednesday study or the Wednesday night 6pm class. But they can download the podcast on their morning run. They can join a Zoom call at 9pm after the children are in bed.

So much of formation occurs organically, almost through osmosis. On an afternoon walk, my daughter was telling me how she doesn’t feel as if she knows the Bible as well as an evangelical author she’d been reading. I asked her to recount the events of the Triduum Sacrum. I asked her to recall the words to various liturgies and devotions. “Honey, that’s Scripture, through and through.” You do know it. But you know it more from Amen and sign-of-the-cross than chapter and verse. Removed from that context, the osmosis can’t happen. Now, we have to teach everywhere and often.

The bad. In Ezra, as the foundation of the Second Temple was laid, “many of the priests and Levites  and heads of fathers’ houses, old men who had seen the first house, wept with a loud voice when they saw the foundation of this house being laid, though many shouted for joy” (Ezra 3.12). The weeping, as Ezra intimates, was not of joy, but of great sadness. Why? Shouldn’t they join their voices with the others and rejoice? One would assume that rebuilding the Temple, even if it’s not the same as the first, would be better than not rebuilding at all. Maybe not. Margaret Barker makes a compelling argument that the old religion of the Jews suffered two major blows. The first being the reforms of Josiah and the second being the rebuilding of the Temple. The old priests, who remembered, were gutted.

Clearly the sacrificial system continued with the Second Temple, but it was different. Exactly how, we are left to guess. Barker makes an argument that it was built on a different site as the first. In addition, the orientation of prayer (formerly east, now west) had changed and even the inclusion of oil for anointing the Messiah and his throne was omitted.

How will our “exile” change our sacramental orientation? I think it is fair to say that our Eucharistic theology has been stressed during this time. Questions and arguments for virtual communion have emerged. Practices such as consecrating, but not consuming the Body and Blood, and also been elevated and in some cases, encouraged. Strong debates, both here and the UK, about the private masses, solitary masses, and fasting from communion have elicited both likes and blocks in the virtual Areopagus, which is social media. 

Attempts to communicate the sacraments which, by its very nature, is a physical encounter into a virtual one, is a very uncertain enterprise and one we should be very, very cautious about. The attempts need to be made, but with great jealously over the integrity of the nature and purpose of the sacramental system. We have a heritage that teaches us the Holy Eucharist is a sacrifice and a sacrament. Even if we can’t all receive, the sacrifice must be offered.

This is a broad generalization, I know, but for a long time Anglo-Catholics have been mocked for being stuck in the past with traditions and practices that are outdated and irrelevant. This pandemic has proved quite the opposite. There are little things, like the scrupulous way in which catholic celebrants guard their fingers, the use of the lavabo, the wiping of the corporal, and the fastidious way in which they touch nothing but the Host is now quite relevant. Our understand of Spiritual Communion has been a real pastoral balm to our people unable to attend mass. Our familiarity with masses celebrated with tiny daily congregations makes live-streaming less awkward, because, in a real way, nothing has changed. We know what to do. This is a real gift to the wider Church who, heretofore, may not have been as interested into our practices and theology. Our catholic tradition has sustained the Church through plague, war, and everything in between. We should embody this tradition with quiet confidence and encourage others to trust as well. The well-intentioned theological missteps that I have noticed by our leaders have almost all come because they did not appear to trust the stability that the foundation of our tradition provides.

The time will come, when all of this is over. Cyrus (Dr. Fauci) will release the exiles. Assuming things will continue without interruption is naïve. We will need to rebuild. And this, I think is a great opportunity. We need to be missionaries. We need to be catechists. But as we rebuild the temple, which is our parish, let us not forget the original foundation, so that those who have gone before in war and pestilences will see our efforts, and weep.

Bishop Weston, in concluding his address to the first Anglo-Catholic Congress, said, “There then, as I conceive it, is your present duty; and I beg you, brethren, as you love the Lord Jesus, consider that it is at least possible that this is the new light that the Congress was to bring to us. You have got your Mass, you have got your Altar, you have begun to get your Tabernacle. Now go out into the highways and hedges where not even the Bishops will try to hinder you. Go out and look for Jesus in the ragged, in the naked, in the oppressed and sweated, in those who have lost hope, in those who are struggling to make good. Look for Jesus. And when you see him, gird yourselves with his towel and try to wash their feet.”

When this is over, we must be church planters.

Coronatide

I have been very appreciative of those who have posted on social media reminders such as “Today is Tuesday.” All joking aside, it’s been helpful. Somedays I’m not sure. Rhythm is tied to space and movement. If we are limited in our movement and denied certain spaces, our rhythm loses its orientation.

Many have called the ecclesiastical implications of this loss of rhythm during the pandemic, Coronatide, not only as a way to acknowledge that everything during this pandemic is unprecedented, but to also acknowledge that time in Coronatide feels no obligation to remain linear.

I have chosen to pre-record most of our liturgies as opposed to livestream them. This was a choice driven not by theology but technology. This means that Sunday is often celebrated on Wednesday. The Triduum Sacrum took place with 14 hours this week, and out of order. Good Friday was at 5pm, Maundy Thursday followed at 7:30pm, and Easter Day was at following sunrise.

But that’s not all. Along with bending time, Coronatide multiplies it. I may have recorded the Easter Mass on Wednesday, but I will still celebrate it on Sunday. Many priests now live in multiple, alternative universes. My senior warden sent a text on Wednesday to ask if I dug up the Alleluia. “It’s not Easter,” I replied. “But you said Easter mass this morning.” We were both correct. Sometimes I need to log on to Facebook for someone to tell me what day it is.

Rhythm, as I said, is tied to space and movement. If we tinker with the space, or remove it all together, and alter to the motions, we lose orientation. I’ve said my prayers daily, but barely. And certainly not with the same devotion as when I’m with a daily community and we are called to pray by the bell and the heretofore certainty that space and movement are guaranteed daily.

Still, as much as I dislike it, there may be something for us to learn during Coronatide. The late Fr. Herber McCabe wrote:

The can be no succession in the eternal God, no change. Eternity is not, of course, a very long time; it is not time at all…eternity is timeless because it totally transcends time.

He goes on to challenge what every linear-minded Christian assumed to be true: before the Incarnation, the Son of God existed as spirit. After the Incarnation, the Son of God existed as the God-Man in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. That serious flaw, according to McCabe and now, Fr John Behr, is this assumes God, to use McCabe’s words, as a ‘story.’ From his side of the matter, God has no story. A story implies (requires) development and development demands time. God does not.

McCabe says, “There is no story of God ‘before’ the story of Jesus.” We only know God through Jesus and we only know Jesus through the Cross.

“The simple truth,” McCabe writes, “is that apart from the incarnation the Son of God exists at no time at all, at no ‘now’, but in eternity, in which he acts upon all time but is not himself ‘measured by it’, as Aquinas would say. ‘Before Abraham as, I am.””

This is not easy for us. Time is our scorecard.

Philosopher Paul Virilio wrote that “speed is power itself.” And what is speed if not a measurement of time? He goes on, “because the nature of absolute speed is also to be absolute power, absolute and instantaneous control, in other words an almost divine power.” And if we can only find a way to travel fast enough, we too can transcend time.

Time (speed) may be our generation’s Tower of Babel. 5G, Amazon Prime, livestream, etc., our subtle and unconscious efforts toward divinity. Coronatide may be the thing that slows the advance. Perhaps the gift of Coronatide is that very reminder: the Son of God acts upon all time but is not himself measured by it. Christians have always kept time by the person of Jesus Christ. This pandemic may bend our observances or even multiply them, but Our Lord has not moved.

If we want to keep time with Our Lord, we discover the Lord does not keep time. Coronatide is a profound disruption of my routine, my schedule, my rhythm, my control. In other words – my power.

Jesus Christ met Abraham with bread and wine. Jesus Christ met Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fire. Jesus Christ, outside of time, disrupts our time.

Coronatide has forced me to think about and celebrate the Resurrection on multiple days. I’ve had to keep Good Friday on a Tuesday and again on Friday. I’ve stopped writing things in the calendar, because I’m not sure it matters. And maybe that is the gift of this season. Instead of trying to fit Jesus Christ into our calendar, I have no calendar at all.

Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.  

---

See Herbert McCabe’s essay, The Involvement of God and Paul Virilio’s Politics of the Very Worst

Accession Surprise

By the grace of God, I am an American. I have lived my entire life in the American South. I am South Carolina born, South Carolina bred, and when I die, I’ll be South Carolina dead. My heart is with Uncle Sam. My soul is with the Queen.

The Sovereign of the United Kingdom is the Supreme Governor of the Church of England, a title held since the first Queen Elizabeth. The Church of England is the spiritual heart of the Anglican Communion. To be Anglican is to be in communion with the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Primate of All England. The Queen appoints the Archbishop. She’s not irrelevant to Anglicans outside the Commonwealth.

Therefore on the 68th anniversary of her accession to the chair of St Edward, I did not find it one bit treasonous to include the Forms of Prayer with Thanksgiving to Almighty God in Evening Prayer (the Accession Day service).

Following the order prescribed in the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, the psalms for Evening Prayer were 20, 101, and 121. The lessons were Joshua 1.1-9 and Romans 13.1-10. After the Collect of the Day, the first prayer for the Queen. I did say “that under her England may be wisely governed” instead of “this nation may be wisely governed,” and I made the necessary adaptations for all the prayers. One can be an Anglophile and a patriot.

The prayer that moved me the most, however, was the Prayer for Unity. Added in 1715 for the Accession of King George I, it stands out among the rest. In my brief search, I could not find the reasons for its insertion or the context, but the purpose of the prayer is not beyond the reach of common sense.

O God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, our only Saviour, the Prince of Peace: Give us grace seriously to lay to heart the great dangers we are in by our unhappy divisions. Take away all hatred and prejudice, and whatsoever else may hinder us from godly union and concord: that, as there is but one Body, and one Spirit, and one hope of our calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of us all; so we may henceforth be all of one heart, and of one soul, united in one holy bond of truth and peace, of faith and charity, and may with one mind and one mouth glorify thee; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

In a prayer of just 122 words, the word ‘one’ is used 12 times. I don’t know if this was directed to the political division and uncertainty that existed during the reign of Queen Anne, George I’s predecessor (emergence of two-party system, Jacobite claims to the throne, etc.), the fact that George was the first Hanoverian to reign over the United Kingdom (formed under Anne), or something altogether different. What I do know is that there is nothing new under the sun and the words earnestly prayed 305 years ago have lost none of their relevance nor necessity.

To the Church at large, to the Church in the parish, to the Nation and our politics, to families not speaking at home, may God grant us grace to seriously lay to heart the great dangers we are in by our unhappy divisions. May we pay serious attention to the remedy of our divisions: Jesus Christ. In him we discover one Body, one Spirit, one hope, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father, one heart, one soul, one holy bond of truth and peace, one mind, and one mouth to glorify him.  

If the Queen of England, and the anniversary of her accession, causes us to make this prayer our own, long may she reign.