MetaCatholic

(This post is part of a series on the 39 articles of the Church of England)

In a comment on the first post on the twenty-eighth article Peter Kirk said:

Do you have nothing to say about the last paragraph of this Article, which is blatantly ignored by Anglo-Catholics?

The last paragraph (to save you looking it up) reads:

The Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper was not by Christ’s ordinance reserved, carried about, lifted up or worshipped.

I have spent far too long on this one article already, but I did promise to get to this point, and find a certain irony in doing so on what some keep as Reformation Day. Of course, the article does not really say enough to make its point “And therefore you shouldn’t do it.” Catholics and Protestants can quite happily agree that none of these behaviours were or are done “by Christ’s ordinance.” So in that sense, Anglo-Catholics don’t ignore what the article says, they ignore what it may reasonably be assumed to have intended, but never gets around to saying.

First, I regard reservation of the sacrament as quite uncontroversial nowadays. In this parish, for example, there are about ten people on average in any one week who receive Holy Communion from the reserved sacrament in acts of worship led by lay people in the homes of the sick or housebound, or residential care homes. The Church of England provides official rites for this, and also for the use of “Extended Communion” where Holy Communion is administered from the reserved sacrament in public Sunday worship where there is a shortage of priests. This latter use is intended for unusual circumstances, and not as a routine matter. The former use of communion of the sick is generally routine.

So if reservation is unexceptional, the question is then what one does with the reserved sacrament? I have argued that the idea of change in the elements, however (un)precisely conceived, needs to be seen both in the context of the eschatological transformation of all things, and as a sign of that work of the Spirit who is our present foretaste that God will be all in all. Once the elements have been consecrated, they should not be treated as anything else than vehicles of Christ’s presence in the church as the crucified and risen Lord, because his word of promise and the work of the Spirit is irrevocable. At a minimum that requires treating them with reverence at all times.

But the Eucharistic elements powerfully represent how Christ is always given to us in his Church. It is his risen body that makes us one body, and it is his sacrificed life that is the life given to us that makes us alive. In that sense continuous reservation witnesses to what the Church truly is, a Eucharistic community always gathered in prayer and praise around the cross. I see no reason why meditation in front of the reserved sacrament, reverencing and worshiping the Christ who gives himself to us in this Eucharistic gift, should be regarded as a problem. The hymn from which I take the title for this post is used in services of such meditation and prayer before the sacrament. The last two lines of the verse are worth noting here:

Faith our outward sense befriending,
makes our inward vision clear.¹

This practice, which some find execrable and others dubious, is one I and many find helpful, precisely as a focus for our faith in Christ, and his gift for us and to us.

As for Corpus Christi processions and the like, I’m not convinced that they lead to reverence. I think they tend to a triumphalism at odds with the humility of self-giving represented in the sacrament. So I’d be very dubious about engaging in them. But I would note that some historians, at least, seem to think that in the high mediaeval period they were a significant reaffirmation of corporate Christian society, and a celebration of its communal life constituted by equal access to and gift from Christ and not simply by the feudal structures. I don’t know enough history to know how well supported this view was. But I can see, if this is true, why neither the rising class sense of the merchant bourgeoisie, nor the absolutism of the Tudor monarchs would have been terribly comfortable with it. I don’t think I’m prepared or equipped to argue the rights and wrongs of it historically, any more than I would want to argue for doing it today.

1. St Thomas Aquinas Tantum ergo, tr. E Caswall [↩]

written by doug

I’ve been tagged by Andii with a new meme 10-20-30. You’ve got to remember what you were doing 10, 20 and 30 years ago. So here goes:

• 1997 – Looking after a church in the city of Worcester, studying for an M.Phil, on the verge of discovering Harry Potter, and going through a patch of attending almost weekly pub quizzes with friends.
• 1987 – This was the year I was priested, and working in a parish in Gloucester. It was also the only year I ever experience burst pipes, and came back from a holiday to find ice sheets over the front of the house, and several inches of water within.
• 1977 – Just starting my second year of A-levels, back in the days when men were men and A-levels were proper exams, with none of this namby-pamby course-work.

In my turn I tag Mark Goodacre, Peter Kirk, and Bob MacDonald.

written by doug

(This post is part of a series on the 39 articles of the Church of England)

This post follows on from yesterday’s on the twenty-eighth article about the Eucharist. I don’t particularly want to get stuck in the Reformation debates, and, as I noted yesterday the development of Anglican spirituality in Eucharistic hymnody, as well as the development of theology in the structure and content of Eucharistic rites, has moved beyond those debates in many respects, sometimes recovering parts of the mediaeval tradition, more often returning to the liturgy of the patristic era.

The single most influential text in this reshaping of modern liturgies is the historically problematic Apostolic Tradition, once almost universally attributed to Hippolytus and early third-century Rome, but now disputed as to both provenance and date (see the Hermeneia Commentary). The Eucharistic Prayer from the ordination rites described in this underlie both the English Anglican Eucharistic Prayer B, and Roman Catholic Eucharistic Prayer 2 (= South African Anglican Prayer 3). The overall structure that underpins the modern Western rites can still be argued for as a mainline development within the Church, but much greater stress is now put on historical diversity, a diversity that has begun to be reflected in the Common Worship prayers.

While there are still recognizable theological differences between RC and Anglican liturgies, it is again possible to talk of a common Western rite in which there is also a renewed emphasis on the role of the Holy Spirit and the eschatological horizon. In Anglican rites, particularly, there is a considerable move away from a “magic words” approach to the narrative of institution. While in most Eucharistic Prayers the invocation of the Holy Spirit to consecrate the elements precedes the narrative, in common with the Roman rite, in two (F & G) this epiclesis follows the narrative and anamnesis, after the fashion of Eastern rites. The whole prayer is held to be consecratory, rather than any particular element within it, so that it is the response of God to the prayer that is seen as efficacious and transformative.

The Reformation debates, by contrast, focussed heavily on the words of institution alone. This was always going to problematic, since at one level, we have a metaphor (the language of body and blood) applied to symbols (bread and wine) representing an event yet to happen (the sacrifice of Calvary). The early seeds of rationalism sown at the Renaissance which would come to full flower in the Enlightenment seems to struggle with this combination of metaphor, symbol and representation. So one ends up with the entirely inappropriate wooden literalness of discussing whether Jesus’ risen body can only be in one place at one time.

In this post-Renaissance context, transubstantiation had itself become problematic. First, of course, because it was poorly understood, and seemed to the new humanists to encourage magical views and superstition. Secondly, because it was always problematic to envisage substance independent of its accidents. Thirdly, and perhaps above all, because the new humanists had no patience with Aristotelian metaphysics, but were often neo-Platonists in a new guise. As such they seemed to miss the point that in its original Thomistic form, transubstantiation insisted that the change in the elements could only be known by faith, and not by the senses.

In reframing this question it seems to me that the forward-looking direction (to God’s final kingdom) of the Eucharistic celebration needs to be taken into account quite as much as the backward-looking direction (to the sacrifice of Christ on the cross). This is part and parcel of the biblical narratives in the Synoptics and Paul:

He said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he said, “Take this and divide it among yourselves;  for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” (Luke 22:15-18 – the last verse is paralleled in Matt and Mark)

For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. (1 Corinthians 11:26)

This future orientation also picks up the Passover theme, which is a historical remembrance of a liberation into future freedom. I also place myself with those who see “remembrance” as having a forward looking dimension. When God remembers things, he acts in the present and future according to his past pledges. And in prayer, God’s people may invite him to remember these promises (see. e.g. Ps 20:3-4, Ps 74:2, Ps 132:1, 1 Macc 4:10, 2 Macc 1:2). There are interesting parallels (for those of us who think Paul’s language in Rom 8:32 and Gal 2:20 justifies them) in later traditions about the Binding of Isaac, where the prayers not only assume Isaac’s binding is an effective sacrifice, but invite God to remember this sacrifice. It is, I judge, impossible to think in terms of any remembering of Jesus and his sacrifice that is not also a remembering before God, and therefore an invitation to God to act in accordance with this ultimate example of his faithfulness that Christians call a new covenant.

The supper, then,  has a prayerful and eschatological orientation, which is precisely why the work of the Spirit is invoked in its celebration, for the Holy Spirit is the mode of our participation in the resurrection of Christ, and the one through whom we begin to experience the life of the world to come. So transformation of the elements, that they may truly feed us with the life of Christ, the bread of heaven, is seen against the horizon of the power of God who promises, in fidelity to his work in Christ, to transform all things. Christ is truly present in the elements, because his life is the life we share by the Sprit now, and in eternity. They focus the promise of God’s transformation on real material things, real food and drink, as a foretaste of the promise that the world has a future in which we shall be nourished by Christ without sacramental mediation, and that’ God’s remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice, and his own covenant promises, will change all things.

These tokens of creation are transformed as vehicles of Christ’s presence, as a promise that we will be saved not out of the world, but with all creation. It is in this context that we may speak of (Schillebeeckz’s term) transfinalization, not simply as a change in purpose, though it is that, but as a change oriented towards that final horizon when God will be all in all, and all creation’s substance will be shot through with the divine life.

written by doug

Nick Norelli on Rightly Dividing the Word of Truth has a proposal for a carnival with a difference, where various bloggers post on different aspects of Trinitarian Doctrine as concerted effort. He’s got quite a number of extremely knowledgeable bloggers signed up I’m flattered to be invited to be among that number, and will certainly try to participate. I just hope Nick will remind me (and others) when the date comes round in 2008. And I’ve added Nick to my Blogroll!

written by doug

(This post is part of a series on the 39 articles of the Church of England)

I take the title of this post on the first of the articles about the Eucharist from the most common translation in Anglican hymn books of one of St Thomas Aquinas’ great Eucharistic hymns. The presence of this hymn, Pange lingua, gloriosi, in Anglican hymnals for over a century is a reminder that the developing tradition of Anglicanism has (whether others judge this as right or wrong) re-appropriated much of the Eucharistic devotion of the pre-Reformation Church.

Anglicans interact with this (and subsequent) articles from a diverse Eucharistic spirituality that has not been in every case constrained by the controversies of the Reformation. St Thomas’ Eucharistic theology was not confined simply to the Anglo-Catholics, but through Hymns Ancient and Modern, the most popular Anglican hymnbook across a broad spectrum, many Anglicans became acquainted with not just Pange lingua, but also Verbum supernum, and Adoro te devote. At the same time, most saw nothing inconsistent in continuing to reject, usually in a garbled form, the doctrine of transubstantiation – though poorly understood, it served to distinguish them form Roman Catholics. The background for approaching these articles is therefore complex.

XXVIII. Of the Lord’s Supper
The Supper of the Lord is not only a sign of the love that Christians ought to have among themselves one to another; but rather is a Sacrament of our Redemption by Christ’s death: insomuch that to such as rightly, worthily, and with faith, receive the same, the Bread which we break is a partaking of the Body of Christ; and likewise the Cup of Blessing is a partaking of the Blood of Christ.

Transubstantiation (or the change of the substance of Bread and Wine) in the Supper of the Lord, cannot be proved by Holy Writ; but is repugnant to the plain words of Scripture, overthroweth the nature of a Sacrament, and hath given occasion to many superstitions.

The Body of Christ is given, taken and eaten in the Supper, only after an heavenly and spiritual manner. And the mean whereby the Body of Christ is received and eaten in the Supper is Faith.

The Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper was not by Christ’s ordinance reserved, carried about, lifted up or worshipped.

I will save the discussion of the place of faith, and the question of worthy reception, to a later discussion of the twenty-ninth article, and here concentrate on the understanding of what change happens in the sacrament. Of course, there are those who say that no change happens in the sacrament, but only in the hearts of those who receive it in faith. I think myself, that the 1559 and 1662 revisions of the BCP somewhat ruled that out by entitling the prayer over the elements “The Prayer of Consecration.” Something was supposed to happen, though that something could be interpreted minimally or maximally.

In one sense, Anglicanism has tended to be reticent about spelling out what that something is, whether of political necessity at the time of the the Elizabethan settlement, or out of reverence for the mystery of God’s working. In that sense, the words attributed to Elizabeth still hold some force and appeal for Anglicans.

Christ was the Word that spake it.
He took the bread and brake it;
And what his words did make it
That I believe and take it.

On the one hand there is in those words a reluctance to embrace particular theories of consecration that has tended to characterise Anglicanism, whatever those theories be, Protestant or Catholic. Before we pray the Eucharistic Prayer, we speak of the elements as bread and wine; after we have prayed it we speak of them as Christ’s Body and Blood given for us. And we are not, on the whole, particularly interested in exactly how God accomplishes this. It is enough that he does.

On the other hand, in common with the mainstream Western tradition, Elizabeth’s words reflect an overwhelming emphasis solely on the  words of institution as having power to consecrate, that modern Anglican rites have moved away from to some extent. Calvin was the only reformer to seek a significant role for the Holy Spirit, but his interest was more, I think, in preserving God’s sovereignty than asking about what happens. Modern rites, Anglican and Roman, learning from the early Church and the Orthodox, have returned to making more space for the work of the transforming Spirit in the Sacrament. In doing so, they reopen the eschatological context of the Eucharist as pointing not only back to the sacrifice that makes our peace with God, but to the eternal celebration of that life of peace in the feast of the kingdom.

It seems to me that this eschatological reframing of the Eucharist, together with a due attention to the work of the Spirit, are key elements in allowing us to move beyond the debates of the Reformation. In a subsequent post I intend to develop this further.  At the same time, I want to err on the side of delineating mystery rather than trying to explain it away with over-precise theories, and that perhaps, is why I remain an Anglican.

written by doug

I hope that normal service is now resumed. This blog disappeared intermittently for a couple of days following a major server upgrade, and even when it was up, I couldn’t actually post to it or do any admin tasks. Apologies for any frustration, and I hope no comments have been lost.

written by doug

A few things that have caught my eye recently, offered for your delectation, together with an advance apology. My hosts are undergoing some major upgrades and this blog might be on the blink for a couple of days starting late tomorrow. (The outage today was just a sign of how badly the upgrade is needed!)

• Duane Smith has an interesting post on Does the universe have a purpose? His answer is, of course, “No”, but he does want to stress human self-made purpose in the universe. I think he, and a number of people he cites, underestimate the significance of the anthropic principle as much as some theologians overestimate it. The fine-tuning of the universe suggests a direction towards the emergence of life. One cannot call this direction “purpose” without postulating God (or something like God), since purpose implies intent. But that direction of the universe is certainly consonant with purpose, and I would say it causes problems for sheer happenstance. (The get-out clause of a multiverse seems to me to be as non-scientific an answer as God, postulating what can never be verifiably known or falsified, and which in any case falls to Occam’s razor.) Purpose, however, remains a theological question, not a scientific one.
• Mayfly has a fascinating review of a book on charitable giving in America. The book claims to show that conservatives are more generous than liberals, and as a proportion of per capita income, poor people are more generous than the wealthy. It seems to have challenged its author’s preconceptions and may confuse yours and mine as well.
• Lingamish criticises a common preacher’s ploy of asking what the “therefore” is there for. He points out that it doesn’t really work for the Greek use of οὖν. It sits alongside some of my own criticisms of etymology in sermons as a sort of parallel point. Blog on, David!
• John Hobbins shares a recurrent dream of his to have the world learn Hebrew. He goes, methinks a little OTT, even for those in sympathy, and Duane Smith calls him on his statement that it’s a cultural priority. Duane finds several other things that rank as higher cultural priorities, from stochastic processes (randomness and probability – are we back to the fine-tuning of the universe here?) to Latin.
• Stephen (aka Q) posts in two parts on Defilement and Sin, and the various confusions between the two. The discussion, and his practical points are interesting, but it does seem to me that the confusion lies in the way these concepts are unified in Torah. His distinction seems to me to belong to late Christian tradition, which having at one point settled on a difference between moral and ritual law, still doesn’t know quite how to assign specific laws to these categories. But his hermeneutical discussion is interesting. (PS Stephen, are you named after a mythical text or a mischievous super-being from another continuum?)
• Finally, a new blog. Polymath, entertainer, logophile, and comedic genius, Stephen Fry, has entered the blogosphere. Long may he post.

written by doug

The unfamiliarity of the NRSV’s rendition of 2 Timothy 3 caught me off balance in thinking about today’s lectionary readings.

All scripture is inspired by God and is useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness,  so that everyone who belongs to God may be proficient, equipped for every good work. (2 Timothy 3:16-17 my emphasis)

That emphasized phrase is intended as an inclusive rendering of the traditional “man of God” (ὁ τοῦ θεοῦ ἄνθρωπος). But I think here it’s a mistake. Versions of that phrase often occur as a title of dignity, if not office, in the Greek Bible. (NB In the following not exhaustive list of references Hebrew / English verse numbers are in brackets where they differ) In Deuteronomy 33:1, Joshua 14:6 and the ascription to Psalm 89 (90), Moses is “the man of God.” In Nehemiah 12:24, 36 it is David. In 1 Samuel 9:6,10 the initially anonymous “man of God” is referred to as a “seer” (v11) and turns out to be Samuel (v14). In 2 Kings 6 & 7 it is used for Elisha. In 1 Kings 13 “the man of God” is anonymous and does the work of a prophet. and similarly in 1 Kings 21:28 (20:28). Judges 13:6 is anomalous in referring it to “the angel of the LORD” but all other references are to men who perform a particular and usually significant role.

Given both the scriptural resonances, and implied context of 2 Timothy where Paul is stiffening his protégé’s sinews to exercise authority, it seems we need to retain that phrase “man of God” and see it emphasizing the importance of Timothy’s instructional role. It is, in context, specifically for the duly appointed teacher, that Scripture is useful, and that interpretation is borne out by the fact that it is “useful for teaching, for reproof, for correction, and for training in righteousness”, that is, teaching, reproving, correcting and training others primarily, though also, implicitly, himself.

If this is correct, then is it not also correct to say that this much quoted verse in support of the authority of scripture actually commends it first and foremost as a tool in the hands of the Church’s called and appointed teachers? It’s usefulness to individuals studying it for their own teaching and training must then be worked out as a secondary and subordinate application of this verse. But its primary contextual meaning does not give clear such clear support to this most common individualist use.

written by doug

(This post is part of a series on the 39 articles of the Church of England)

One of the biggest problems the Church of England has (in common with other churches that baptize infants) is the very different meanings that people give to baptism. On the one hand, there are those Christians, mainly in other denominations, who so stress the human act of faith, that not only is baptism only appropriate for those old enough to make a meaningful decision, but that it is little more than a public affirmation of individual faith. (Incidentally, can a person with severe learning difficulties be baptized in a so-called believer’s baptism church? I don’t know the answer to this one.) On the other hand, for very many of those who ask for baptism for their children, it seems to be a variable mix of indefinable belief and gratitude, family tradition, superstition, and increasingly a celebration of the new family as substitute for a wedding. The twenty-seventh article was written for a different age.

XXVII. Of Baptism
Baptism is not only a sign of profession, and mark of difference, whereby Christian men are discerned from others that be not christened, but it is also a sign of Regeneration or new Birth, whereby, as by an instrument, they that receive Baptism rightly are grafted into the Church; the promises of forgiveness of sin, and of our adoption to be sons of God by the Holy Ghost, are visibly signed and sealed; Faith is confirmed, and Grace increased by virtue of prayer unto God. The Baptism of young Children is in any wise to be retained in the Church, as most agreeable with the institution of Christ.

This points to baptism as an effective sign, that truly conveys what it signifies, and so puts more emphasis on what God does through his Spirit. Baptismal liturgies speak in terms of this effectiveness without qualification. Immediately after the baptism and signing with the cross, the BCP introduces the Lord’s Prayer like this:

Seeing now, dearly beloved brethren, that this Child is regenerate, and grafted into the body of Christ’s Church, let us give thanks unto Almighty God for these benefits; and with one accord make our prayers unto him, that this Child may lead the rest of his life according to this beginning.

That is, I think, a proper reflection of the New Testament language about baptism generally, which always speaks about the sign of water accomplishing the work of the Spirit which it signifies. In the language they are indivisible. Clearly they are not quite so indivisible in practice.

Now when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God, they sent Peter and John to them. The two went down and prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit (for as yet the Spirit had not come upon any of them; they had only been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus). Then Peter and John laid their hands on them, and they received the Holy Spirit. (Acts 8:14-17)

Here the sign has been given, but does not seem to effected what it signified. Peter and John are dispatched to put this anomaly right.

The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles, for they heard them speaking in tongues and extolling God. Then Peter said, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” (Acts 10:45-47)

Here the gift is given, and immediately followed by the giving of the visible sign of that gift: They may happen separately, but Peter’s reaction shows the sense that they belong together. In both cases, however, there is a sense in which Luke’s narrative is telling exceptional events, the conversions respectively of the Samaritans and the Gentiles. Nonetheless the exceptions stand as evidence both of the separation of sign and signified and the fact that such a separation is anomalous. It seems to me that the church’s language and use of baptism needs to reflect this intimate nexus of the sign with the effect it signifies.

There are a great many arguments that have roiled over the font about the baptism of children. One of the lesser used arguments in favour, but which I regard as one of the more significant, is that Christian parents would from the first share with their child  their relationship with God, and central to that is the expression of that relationship in prayer. But the means and mode by which we relate to God, and address him as Abba, our Father, is the gift of the Spirit. Yes, prayer is also a human activity, but it is first a divine relationship into which we are invited and initiated. Baptism as the effectual sign of the Spirit’s gift should be administered to anyone who will be brought up to pray.

But that leaves just one little word in the article which points to all our many problems: “rightly”. “They that receive Baptism rightly” says the article, without in any way spelling out what “rightly” means. I think it obvious from the context that it includes the administration of water, either by immersion or pouring, with the Trinitarian formula accompanying it. Incidentally the BCP has a lovely rubric for immersion: “(if they shall certify him that the Child may well endure it) he shall dip it in the Water discreetly and warily.” Immersion is the first option, pouring the alternative.

It would seem from the whole rite, and the mediaeval background, that this is also about intending to do what the church does. And in that lies the problem for today. There is, to put it charitably, some considerable room for doubt about whether the parents and godparents intend to do what the church does when they bring their children for baptism. Of course, their intention is not the only one that counts, but it is somewhat significant for the living out of the rite as the child grows up. At the same time, one has to acknowledge as a very vivid reality the effect that refusing baptism has, both on people’s image of the church, and on the image of God as rejecting them and their child. Currently, most Anglican churches and clergy find themselves in a no-win situation.

In the long-term, I think, we must find a strategy for working towards both the essential affirmation that, in order to bring their children up as Christians, parents should have them baptized. But parents who are not themselves worshipping members of the Church must either themselves become so, or instead receive a rite of dedication and blessing for their child. However that is a long-term goal, and in most places in this country, that time is not yet here, and all churches can, I think, do, unless they want to do irreparable harm to their mission, is seek to maximize opportunities for preparation and evangelization of the parents, both before and after the baptism, and leave all else with God, whose sacraments in any case they ultimately are.

written by doug

Reading David Parker’s short article Textual Criticism and Theology (Expository Times (118.12 [Sept 2007], pp. 583-89) in the course of a different conversation I almost missed the import of one of his arguments:

It is a reasonable argument that Matthew, having produced a thoroughly revised and expanded version of Mark, would not have been surprised to know that Luke took both Mark and Matthew and made a very different version.

And without a single footnote, the Farrer theory sailed on. Now I’m so used to seeing Q-theorists do this without mentioning that it’s a hypothesis not a text, that I can’t begin to express my delight at David doing the opposite. Clearly sharing teaching loads over a number of years with Mark Goodacre is healthy for his argument. (Mind you, this paper was first delivered in Birmingham, where gospels have dwelt long in Goulder’s and Goodacre’s shadow)

Of course, both should note the hypothetical nature of the underlying argument, but on this occasion it’s so much fun to see the boot on the other foot, that I really can’t carp.

written by doug