MetaCatholic

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

From time to time it can be a little hard to see exactly what point one of the articles is making, since they are, as short statements, relatively free of a discourse context. This is to some extent the case with the twenty-ninth article. Is it directed against an antinomian position, and seeking to reinforce the importance of moral behaviour for worthy reception of the sacrament? Or is it directed against strongly realist views of the sacrament, by stressing the importance of faith for worthy reception? (The title makes me think it is this latter.) Whichever of these be the primary force of the article, it also need to be asked whether it ends up putting too much stress on the worthiness of the one who receives, and not enough on the grace that transforms.

XXIX. Of the Wicked which eat not the Body of Christ in the use of the Lord’s Supper
The Wicked, and such as be void of a lively faith, although they do carnally and visibly press with their teeth (as Saint Augustine saith) the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of Christ, yet in no wise are they partakers of Christ: but rather, to their condemnation, do eat and drink the sign or Sacrament of so great a thing.

The quotation from Augustine comes from his homilies on John 6, a fairly discursive commentary, which, rather as the Johannine discourse itself, veers between a strongly realist language and statements about the need for faith. An earlier quotation from the same homily offers a slightly different nuance:

Believers know the body of Christ, if they neglect not to be the body of Christ. Let them become the body of Christ, if they wish to live by the Spirit of Christ. None lives by the Spirit of Christ but the body of Christ.

Here, Augustine, following St Paul, links recognition of the sacramental body with participation in the ecclesial body, and he develops the interweaving of these themes of unity in the one body signified by eating the one body (made of diverse grains of wheat), stressing that through both together there is participation in Christ. It is only then that he comes to the argument quoted by the article.

Consequently, he that dwelleth not in Christ, and in whom Christ dwelleth not, doubtless neither eateth His flesh [spiritually] nor drinketh His blood [although he may press the sacrament of the body and blood of Christ carnally and visibly with his teeth], but rather doth he eat and drink the sacrament of so great a thing to his own judgment, because he, being unclean, has presumed to come to the sacraments of Christ.

For Augustine, this is not then about directly either wickedness or faith per se, but about someone who is not properly part of the ecclesial body attempting to receive the eucharistic body. That may be because they have estranged themselves from the body by broken relationships, or not yet entered properly into the one body of the Church. Proper sacramental participation is not judged directly on either the faith or morality of the individual, but determined by their relationships in the life of the body. This in turn, though expounded here as a commentary on John, is drawn essentially from St Paul.

When you come together, it is not really to eat the Lord’s supper. For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk. What! Do you not have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What should I say to you? Should I commend you? In this matter I do not commend you! … Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For all who eat and drink without discerning the body, eat and drink judgment against themselves. For this reason many of you are weak and ill, and some have died. (1 Corinthians 11:20-22, 27-30)

Seeking to celebrate the sacrament of the Eucharist while disfiguring the relationships that it is meant to create, signify and seal, is a failure to discern the Lord’s body: either the true significance of the broken bread, or the true identity of the fellowship as Christ’s body. There is a a dual vision of the Lord’s body, eucharistic and ecclesial, which cannot be properly celebrated apart from one another. Likewise in every celebration of the sacrament, there is a dual communion, with God in Christ, and with one another in Christ. I can never make my communion, without also being part of the we who celebrate one communion in Christ. While the article can be interpreted in a way consonant with this view, it seems more directed to the validity of individual communions: “do I have faith and good behaviour so that by my receiving I will commune with the Lord?” It seems to me that receptionism may well tend towards individualism, and against the dual nature of sacramental communion.

Paul in fact, is far from receptionist here in the Reformation sense of the term. Proper reception for Paul is about recognizing the body in both its ecclesial and eucharistic forms. The church and the eucharistic body are there prior to the recognition. They are not created by it, but are gifts of God to be rightly discerned and participated in. Not discerning the body renders it dangerous rather than salvific. Improper reception is a violation of the integrity and purity of the body of Christ, and so in turn the integrity and purity of one’s own body is violated: the offending participant is laid open to invasive illness. Paul is not working with mere symbols: such thinking presupposes a reality that is violated, and one cannot separate the sacramental from the social body in his language.

Augustine (who can be ambiguous about the sacraments) offers some support for this article, but even so is still far more relational than Cranmer’s implications. Paul, on whom Augustine directly, and Cranmer indirectly, draw, offers very little. His language is not only even more strongly relational, but inescapably realist, and, on this point, uncomfortably close to the magical.

A strong sense of faith in the reality of the Eucharist often does seem to slip over into what would seem to us to be magical views, not simply in the mediaeval period, but in the early period (St Cyprian, in De Lapsis 25,26 offers a notable example), and that can be traced back to this passage of Paul, which has been softened through repeated reading and theological schemes, so that we scarcely notice the implications of his language. I do not want to defend such views, or argue for them. I think we need the interpretative work of Augustine and others who seek to place this in a broader and more organized framework.

It does seem to me, however, that both Scripture and early tradition are more strongly realist than the Reformation tradition has been comfortable recognising. If our ideas of the mystery of the sacrament are always going to err in one way or the other (and who can fully understand it), better that they err in this direction than away from it. But above all, Paul and Augustine together testify to the strong insistence that recognition cannot be severed from relationship. The Body of Christ is both Sacrament and  Church, and cannot truly be discerned in one without being discerned in the other.

(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 [↩]

(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.

(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.

(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.

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

I’m not sure if I’m exaggerating when I call the Church of England’s twenty-sixth article its least believed. But there seem to be quite a few bishops around the world at the moment who clearly don’t believe it, what with X refusing to take communion with or from Y. But far more to the point, there are vast numbers of people who move from church to church, or away from church entirely, purely based on their opinion of the parish priest. So it is at least interesting to think about what it is saying.

XXVI. Of the Unworthiness of the Ministers, which hinders not the effect of the Sacrament
Although in the visible Church the evil be ever mingled with the good, and sometimes the evil have chief authority in the Ministration of the Word and Sacraments, yet forasmuch as they do not the same in their own name, but in Christ’s, and do minister by his commission and authority, we may use their ministry, both in hearing the Word of God, and in receiving of the Sacraments. Neither is the effect of Christ’s ordinance taken away by their wickedness, nor the grace of God’s gifts diminished from such as by faith and rightly do receive the Sacraments ministered unto them; which be effectual, because of Christ’s institution and promise, although they be ministered by evil then.

Nevertheless, it appertaineth to the discipline of the Church, that inquiry be made of evil Ministers, and that they be accused by those that have knowledge of their offences; and finally being found guilty, by just judgement be deposed.

This comes close to both an ex opere operato (just by doing it, it works) view of the sacraments, and an ontological character view of ordination, without actually committing to either view. If the articles oscillate somewhat between objective and subjective views of the sacraments, here is where they swing nearest to the entirely objective pole.

Somehow all Christian views of the sacraments need to hold these two poles in tension. Is it fair to say that Protestants characteristically veer to subjective pole and Catholics to the objective pole? I think so, and that the former tends to inculcate an emphasis on faith as feeling, and the latter on faith as observance. But, I suggest, in the end the two poles need each other. If we take the phrase often used in the Eucharistic Prayers: what we do is both “our duty and our joy.” The observant celebration of the sacraments is a duty of obedience to Christ who commanded them, and it should lead us into the joyful celebration of the life of faith.

I must confess that I tend to the more objective pole by inclination. First, I think, because I’m an extravert (in Jungian / Myers-Briggs terms). I get my energy from things outside me, and the performance of the liturgy energizes me in ways that my own prayers do not. Second, I tend to suffer from (mainly mild) periods of depression. Having a rite to perform, whether as congregational or presidential celebrant of the liturgy, allows me to pray when I otherwise could not, and sometimes joy follows on the heels of depressed duty. Third, as a priest, there are times when I am particularly well aware of my own sins, and if it were not for a sense of the grace of orders, and the place of Christ as true Host  at his table and on his altar, I doubt that I could lead people in worship.

None of that should take away from the sense that we should desire active and joyful faith for ourselves and others, expect to sense God’s presence among us, and enter our sacramental meeting with God in expectation of his power to renew and change. We are all meant to encourage one another in faith, and stir one another up to faith. I don’t, in the end, want to see the objective and subjective poles driven apart, but brought together.

Nonetheless, I can’t help feeling in today’s Anglican Communion, that we’ve rather lost sight of the fact that these our Christ’s sacraments and not ours, and it is not our table to disinvite people from, or our meal we refuse to share.  Yes, the article does end with a proper warning about discipline: trusting the grace of the sacraments is not about tolerating those who are evil. I don’t mean to minimise that. But that comes as a last resort, and at a time when there are some very hard arguments about precisely how sinful, if at all, certain forms of gay relationship are, it’s also a little hard to see how a “just judgement” can be arrived at quickly or easily.

The article assumes a default position of trusting the God whose Church it is, whose ministers are assumed (if called and ordained legally) to have God’s authority for their work. Discipline is assumed to be the sometimes needed exception that proves the rule. This default position recognises duly observed sacraments as God’s work, ordained by Christ and vivified by the Spirit, and (significantly and importantly) from which deeper faith and better obedience should flow. That may be a default position we need to recover.

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

In the previous post I noted problems with defining and classifying sacraments. What I want to do here is note some elements of the Eucharist as the ritual act that for most of us, simply through regular and central experience, is most likely to colour what we mean by the word sacrament, and then move on to others

1. The basic stuff of the Eucharist, bread and wine, are processed gifts of creation. Whether one is thinking about the created order in wheat and grapes, or the human culture that processes these gifts into food and drink, the Eucharist touches the everyday world of our existence. Moreover, the sacramental use of these gifts is appropriate to the human use of them: in worship as in daily life they are for eating and drinking. In sacraments divine or spiritual use is consonant with human or physical use.
2. The Eucharist is anchored in the story of God with his people, backgrounded against the character of the liberating God of Exodus, foregrounded in the story of the God who comes among us in Christ. Sacraments are not general rituals whose meaning derives primarily from the nature of the action, but are specific rituals whose meaning comes primarily from the narrative of God with his people, and represent that narrative as Christ-focussed.
3. The Eucharist as a sign and symbol of the presence of Christ among his people is grounded in the incarnation. God’s union with humanity is profoundly materialist in his taking of human flesh. So, at the least, the Eucharist testifies to how God continues to take the material things of the world in order to convey his spiritual presence among us.
4. The Eucharist is always an ecclesial act. Christians meet together, and what joins them as one Body is that they all receive the one Body. The sacramental action is directed as much at the sustenance of the church as the sustenance of the Christian. Discerning the Lord’s Body in the bread is inseparable from discerning it in the people.

A fully rounded picture would need to pay attention to other features, which are implicit here, not least a proper attention to the Holy Spirit’s role in the work of God generally, and the eschatological culmination of the narrative, but I think these four are useful and central markers for exploring the question of sacraments, without tying the argument down into the specifics that divide Christians.

Of the range of actions that might be claimed as sacraments, some fit all of these criteria, others fit some of them. Baptism would seem to fit them all. (Confirmation is in all sorts of ways more problematic, partly because of its confused relationship with baptism.) The reconciliation of a penitent clearly fits (2) and (4) and it could be argued that by enacting the restoration of relationships with God through restoring human relationships goes some way towards fitting (1) and (3) as well. Anointing for healing seems to fit (2), (3) and (4) but it is less apparent that there is any natural fit between oil and healing so it doesn’t really fit (1). Holy Orders can be argued to fit (2) and (4) easily, with the story of God’s commissioning of individuals for the sake of the whole body running through the scriptures, and that probably also satisfies (3) and perhaps (1).

Ironically, perhaps, the one that fits least comfortably in many ways is marriage. I say ironically, because it is the only one to be described in Scripture as a “sacramentum / μυστήριον” (Eph 5:32). There are all sorts of marriages which take place as exchanges of human love which are not at all related (as far as their participants go) to the story of Christ, the divine use of human love, or any reference to the Church. Yet it is interesting that the author of Ephesians does a number of things to get to this point: he sees the human love of the couple as capable of reflecting the divine love of Christ (1,3), and he relates the actions of human family life to the narrative of Christ’s actions (2). So most of the features noted are present in the way he makes marriage parabolic of, even perhaps sacramental of, divine commitment.

To this point I have noted only those things which at one time or another have been put forward as sacraments. Among them some share all of these main characteristics, and others share some. But there are other actions which also participate in one or more of these characteristics, and I would suggest that the public reading of scripture is in fact a most significant one. Public reading is an act of the Church, in which the nature of scripture as addressing God’s people (rather than an individual is underlined, and the church discovers its identity as addressed by God. (4) Scripture both is a narrative, and locates God’s speaking within a narrative of how God is present with his people (2). The continuing presence of the Word of the Lord in the Church is attested by the reading of actual human words (3). Finally, the use of words is entirely appropriate to the self-communication of God (1). On this understanding it is easily possible to speak of scripture as sacrament.

What, therefore, I want to suggest, is that there is more benefit in thinking of a sacramental continuum, than there is of a neat and tidy classification designed to exclude some acts and include others. The means of grace supplied by a God who has chosen to enter his own creation will not only be many and varied, but they will not despise the many material gifts of that creation, which remain charged with the grandeur and glory of God.

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

The first article on the sacraments is a long one, which offers a definition of sorts, then a listing of the sacraments (and a note on what are not to be so considered) and then a note on their use (aimed primarily at the Eucharist). I expect to have to carry these reflections over more than one post, since I see problems with this article at every stage. In this first post I note some general issues about the problem of defining and classifying sacraments.

XXV. Of the Sacraments
Sacraments ordained of Christ be not only badges or tokens of Christian men’s profession, but rather they be certain sure witnesses, and effectual signs of grace, and God’s good will towards us, by the which he doth work invisibly in us, and doth not only quicken, but also strengthen and confirm our Faith in him.

There are two Sacraments ordained of Christ our Lord in the Gospel, that is to say, Baptism, and the Supper of the Lord.

Those five commonly called Sacraments, that is to say, Confirmation, Penance, Orders, Matrimony, and extreme Unction, are not to be counted for Sacraments of the Gospel, being such as have grown partly of the corrupt following of the Apostles, partly are states of life allowed in the Scriptures; but yet have not like nature of Sacraments with Baptism, and the Lord’s Supper, for that they have not any visible sign or ceremony ordained of God.

The Sacraments were not ordained of Christ to be gazed upon, or to be carried about, but that we should duly use them. And in such only as worthily receive the same they have a wholesome effect or operation: but they that receive them unworthily purchase to themselves damnation, as Saint Paul saith.

To this article one should probably also add the more famous definition in the Catechism.

Question
What meanest thou by this word Sacrament?

Answer
I mean an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace given unto us, ordained by Christ himself, as a means whereby we receive the same, and a pledge to assure us thereof.

Question
How many parts are there in a Sacrament?

Answer
Two: the outward visible sign, and the inward spiritual grace

One of the features of this definition (shared by article and catechism) is determined by the desire to restrict the number of sacraments, namely the idea that a sacrament must have been ordained by Christ. Even with this narrowing, the earlier Luther included penance, seeing the divine institution of it given in the command to bind and loose (Matt 16:19). It would also not take too great a work of interpretation to move from Christ’s practice of healing, through his giving his disciples power and command to heal (Matt 10: 1,8), to the command of James to anoint (James 5:14) and argue, if not for unction, at least for a sacrament of healing (with variable outward sign. Similarly, one could work from the calling of the apostles, the seventy and others, through the practice of apostolic laying on of hands (Acts 6:6; 2 Tim 1:6) to a sacrament of orders. The connections are not entirely tenuous. I am not making the argument here, but suggesting rather that the definition is to some extent an imposition on the biblical material to organize it in a way that suits the Reformers’ polemic.

Despite the form of medieval arguments, one cannot help get the feeling with, for example St Thomas, that the whole point of the argument is to get to seven sacraments. In the same way, one can’t help but feel here that the whole point of the definition is to get the number down to two. The later debates and arguments of the Reformation are shaped by being a response to the medieval desire to count, classify and collate into one coherent system. It is unclear to me that this does justice to the biblical record, the experience of the church, or the manifold nature of grace.

It seems that either one starts with some general principle or definition, as the article appears to do, or one starts with the ritual acts generally held to be sacraments, as in the end, I feel the mediaeval writers do. Neither seem entirely satisfactory: to some extent the starting point presupposes and anticipates the conclusion. Perhaps the best starting point will lie in exploring the Eucharist. Not only is it generally agreed to be a sacrament, but, by being the most repeated and experienced of the sacraments, it is realistically the ritual act that most colours our definitions. In a subsequent post I will take up this exploration.

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

I did wonder whether to simply pass over the twenty-fourth article, not only because it is so brief, but because the principle it enshrines is, at least in the Western Church, more-or-less universally accepted, that worship should be in one’s own language. As you will have gathered, I resisted this temptation not only in favour of thoroughness in this series, but because there are some things worth reflecting on in the article.

XXIV. Of speaking in the Congregation in such a tongue as the people understandeth
It is a thing plainly repugnant to the Word of God, and the custom of the Primitive Church, to have publick Prayer in the Church, or to minister the Sacraments in a tongue not understanded of the people.

There is a certain irony that just as this Reformation principle was winning acceptance in the Roman Catholic Church following Vatican II, the charismatic movement in all the mainstream churches was beginning to promote the use of tongues not “understanded of the people” within the worshipping life of the Church.

First, of course, the scriptural interpretation of “tongues” in Paul as the non-rational phenomenon of glossolalia, and not as other languages, means that prayer in other languages is not quite so “plainly repugnant to the Word of God”. The Word of God, it seems, was talking about something else, even if it is a relatively straightforward hermeneutical move to get from the Scriptures to the Reformation position.

The encouragement of a means of prayer and praise which relies not on reasoned speech and understanding, but affective (and almost phatic) communication, was at the root of initial (and long-standing) evangelical opposition to the charismatic phenomenon. Much of it the emotional and a-rational praise and prayer conveyed by tongues could also be paralleled by the practice of prayer at Taizé, whose popularity was growing in the same period. The use of Latin, especially, but many other languages in repetitive chants (also not dissimilar from some uses of choruses) had a similar purpose in focusing the heart while calming the mind.

Nor can these phenomena be divorced entirely from the wider cultural shift in the West which moves away from a simple emphasis on reason and the life of the mind, to embrace attitudes that give greater attention to the body and the feelings, and no longer accords reason its dominance in either church or culture. Understanding is often underplayed, while affective participation is played up. It is, perhaps, ironic that it is amongst those who would most often stress their Reformation inheritance that the charismatic movement has become most influential. Nor can one neglect the popularity of certain á-la-carte selections from the earlier tradition, whether of incense of Gregorian chant, amongst the most contemporary forms of “alternative” worship.

I generally want to welcome this valuing of the affective and non-rational aspect of worship as an important recalling of the relational nature of our faith, and its treating us as whole persons, not disembodied minds. Though I note we are confused about it: a great many churches which use Taizé chants in Latin seem baffled by singing in tongues, and vice versa. Broad and Catholic Anglicans appear to have arthritic shoulders and can never left up holy hands in praise, while Evangelicals have arthritic legs, and can never bow the knee.

But this rather odd confusion should not make us ignore the danger of devaluing understanding. It is right and good to stress the bodily and the affective as part of the worship of the whole person, but the whole person must continue to include the mind, the reason, the understanding, that in the end lies behind this article. Despite the long hegemony of Latin (or Tudor English), we must not forget that the initial use of Latin (or Tudor English) was precisely so that people could worship and hear in their own language, with understanding.

One of the most distinctive points about the early Christian movement was their easy abandonment of the reading of Scripture in Hebrew (which appears to have been shared with other Diaspora Jews). There is no one holy language in the Church, (and this remains a significant difference between Christianity on the one hand, and Islam and Judaism on the other) but just as God is God of all peoples so he is God to be praised in all languages, and God who speaks to us in our own tongue.

While this point is not, in itself, simply about understanding, it certainly includes the love of God with the mind. We should not forget, even if we exegete the text differently, that there is  long Christian tradition of it being our reason which makes us to be in the image of God. Understanding, and the exercise of the rational faculty, properly belongs at the heart of our worship, reasonable human beings relating to the one whose reason became flesh for our sake.

I will pray with the spirit, but I will pray with the mind also; I will sing praise with the spirit, but I will sing praise with the mind also. (1 Corinthians 14:15 NRSV)

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

After a rather brief diversion into Purgatory, the articles return in number 23 to the organisation and ministry of the Church of England. (Of course, the present Archbishop may currently be feeling that Purgatory is precisely where such questions lead.)

XXIII. Of Ministering in the Congregation
It is not lawful for any man to take upon him the office of publick preaching, or ministering the Sacraments in the Congregation, before he be lawfully called, and sent to execute the same. And those we ought to judge lawfully called and sent, which be chosen and called to this work by men who have publick authority given unto them in the Congregation, to call and send Ministers into the Lord’s vineyard.

This takes a stand asserting episcopē over charismatic authority. It is not sufficient for someone to feel they have a calling: that calling must be discerned, validated, and echoed by those who have authority. There does appear to have been some ambiguities in practice with the recognition of those ordained in non-episcopal churches on the Continent, and it is hard to know how much these represented particular theological positions, and how much practical ecumenical generosity borne out of a sense of common cause against the papacy. But, as far as I can ascertain, the preface to the Ordinal remained essentially the same (in this point, at least) in 1549 and 1552, despite the more Calvinist tone of the latter. In what follows I indicate the changes between 1552 and 1662.

It is evident unto all men diligently reading holy Scripture and ancient Authors, that from the Apostles’ time there have been these Orders of Ministers in Christ’s Church; Bishops, Priests, and Deacons. Which Offices were evermore had in such reverend Estimation, that no man [1552 adds by his own private authority] might presume to execute any of them, except he were first called, tried, examined, and known to have such qualities as are requisite for the same; and also by publick Prayer, with Imposition of Hands, were [1552 omits were] approved and admitted thereunto by lawful Authority [1552 omits by lawful Authority]. And therefore, to the intent that these Orders may be continued, and reverently used and esteemed in the [1552 reads this] Church of England,* it is requisite that no man shall be accounted or taken to be a lawful Bishop, Priest, or Deacon, in the Church of England, or suffered to execute any of the said Functions, except he be called, tried, examined, and admitted thereunto, according to the Form hereafter following, or hath had Episcopal Consecration, or Ordination.
[*1552 reads for this last section: (not being at this present Bishop, Priest nor Deacon) shall execute any of them, except he be called, tried, examined, and admitted thereunto, according to the Form hereafter following]

In one sense, again, this shows the weakness of Cranmer’s earlier article on the visible Church. There is no easy way to relate what he says there to what is said between article and ordinal here. Here the universal Church stretches back in visible documented history that is “evident to all men” to the time of the Apostles, and the writing of the Scriptures. Here also Cranmer makes clear that he intends that “these Orders may be continued” and so stakes a claim for the Church of England to be a visible expression of this catholic Church in this realm.

Cranmer is reforming the church, not refounding it, and the visible organisation and transmission of authority through episcopal orders is intended to trump any claim to immediate authority granted solely through an individual sense of being called by the Spirit, having the true meaning of the Scriptures, or being authorised by a congregation.

One of the questions that taking this seriously throws up for today’s Church is the appropriate level of authorization for particular lay ministries. In theory, and in most places, the ministry of lay preaching is carried out under a similar pattern of diocesan discernment, training and episcopal licensing through the order of Readers. The ministry of assisting at the Eucharist and taking Communion to the sick is carried out through parochial discernment and training, and episcopal licensing. Those congregations that see fit to organize their own recognition of these ministries are not only going against article and ordinal, but have simply failed to take due note of these as ministries of the whole Church.

But there are a great many other ministries, some of which are still rare or patchy, such as evangelist, lay pastor /pastoral assistant, or those who share collaboratively in the leading of worship. Here there is no coherence in discerning vocations, offering training, or authorizing these ministries from diocese to diocese, which is a strange way to honour either people’s vocations or the bishops’ responsibility for oversight. Not all (or even perhaps the majority of ) ministries need episcopal licensing, some do. Others require perhaps a corporate assent, which would include the bishop’s general consent, and then specific and more local developments.

There are the widespread and common ministries of reading the scriptures in public worship and leading people in prayer, where, to be frank, parishes rarely seem to exercise much discernment about whether people have a calling to do this (and I suggest both these ministries are more important than we treat them) or are trained to do it. And obviously, one could add a great many more, but the principle of appropriate discernment, training and commissioning enshrined in this article for ordained ministry, is one that could profitably be extended, and made coherent for all — not least for the benefit of all those who have been on the receiving end of an incomprehensible reading, or a homily masquerading as prayers of intercession.

It is also at least arguable that the clash between this article on a legitimately authorised ministry, the earlier emphasis on the visible church in a congregation that proclaims the word and ministers the sacraments, and the always hidden but ever-present reality of a national church, is in large part to blame for the incoherence currently affecting the Anglican Communion. The confusion in Cranmer’s ecclesiology is at least as much to blame as new readings (or misreadings – take your pick) of scripture for the current situation where some priests feel they can choose their own bishop, and some bishops feel they can exercise authority in whichever diocese they want to. (Not that I would minimise the problems of American cultural isolationism and internal culture wars, nor the ambitions and egos of those who are competing for the role of first Anglican Pope, and feel that a humble archbishop is weak one.)

It is a stunningly awful practical illustration of the inability Anglicans have had to make a workable theological system out of Cranmer’s inconsistency, and an indictment of the Church of England’s inability to do what, I think, I have repeatedly demonstrated was necessary: to revise these articles coherently with fresh readings of scripture, and due attention to traditional ones. Relying on the British Empire and a form of common prayer in Tudor English to disguise major fault-lines has proved to be no substitute for a coherent ecclesiology.