Monday, August 25, 2008

Mystical revelation within the Anglican tradition

During my (entirely unofficial) inquiry into Anglicanism I have tended to concentrate on the practical aspects of the religion – buildings, personnel, services (in the widest sense).

However I have also been aware that there are all sorts of mystical activities which I have, up until now, tended to avoid (how do you define and quantify mystical revelation?).

Unlike the American evangelical churches, or the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic traditions, the Church of England generally steers clear of anything that could be seen as cultish.

The Virgin Mary appeared in north Norfolk at a site that attracts thousands of pilgrims every year, but the wider population generally does not know about this (unlike Fatima or Lourdes). A shrine has built up around the cell of a medieval anchorite in Norwich, but again this is hardly mentioned (the Anglican church has no process for creating “saints”). A religious community operates in the Huntingdonshire village of Little Gidding, but most people would connect the place to the poet TS Eliot.

It is clear that there are dozens (possibly hundreds) of semi-official mystical activities occurring throughout the country.

I was invited to one such event on Saturday. The invitation came from someone I met last week at the high church service in the county town. Aged about twenty-five or twenty-six, very enthusiastic, he had shown me around the building and then said: “I own a medieval church which I am restoring. We are holding a service there this Saturday. You would be welcome.”

I went to church not really knowing what to expect. The location was in the central hills, in a rural hamlet that consists of five houses. The small church was about a quarter of a mile off a lane, next to a farmhouse.




Above: a stone in churchyard apparently marks the geographic centre of the county (I have no idea whether this is true or not).




Above: general view of the church – inside is one room divided into a square nave and a small chancel.

The church was obviously part medieval (verified by Pevsner) but with eighteenth-century renovations and a restoration of 1913. It had closed about thirty years ago and had been used as a store until discovered and purchased by the person who had invited me. Gradually he had repaired the roof and restored the interior: “English Heritage said they had no record of the building, so we were able to get on with the work quite quickly – it was only recently that we found out it was listed. I’m gradually transferring the church to a Trust and we now have about five services a year here. Even in the nineteen-twenties it was High”.




Above: the church has been restored in an Anglo-Catholic style.

About forty people were present at the event, half of them seeming to be clergy. As we took our seats, the tiny candle-lit building became packed (the experience was similar to being crushed on a commuter train). A clanging single bell sounded a bit too loudly in the confined space.

A hand-pumped organ wheezed into life. An over-powering smell of incense filled the building as acolytes processed in, followed by three priests in elaborate copes and wearing birettas. The High Mass began with a Deacon going up into the pulpit and saying: “One hundred and seventy five years ago today John Keble preached a sermon that began the Oxford Movement revival of catholic worship within the Church of England…”).

Because space was so cramped the Holy Communion was characterised by shuffling, queuing, apologising. There hadn’t been enough service sheets to go round, so not everyone knew what to do. The choir of six people was directly behind me, and the sound they produced was extremely loud.




Above: after the High Mass there was a half-hour break for tea, served at a trestle table outside. The Blessed Sacrament (the bread and wine after it has been blessed by the priest) was “reserved” in the church during this half-hour break. I wandered around taking photographs.

I paused at the entrance to the church and took the above photograph. The day was sunny, and the interior was gloomy, so I didn’t really expect anything to come out. However, when I checked my photograph (you may need to click on the picture to enlarge it) the cross on the altar appeared to be blazing with light.

I am not claiming this is miraculous in any way. But it did seem unusual, as the light source was coming from the window behind the cross. Combined with the fervent assertion by the young Deacon that the Sacrament in the church was actually the Body and Blood of Christ (this depends on a belief in Transubstantiation), it was enough to make me stop and think.



Above: biretta held by one of the priests.

During the break there was a rehearsal by some of the clergy for the next part of the service. I could hear them adapting the ritual to the limitations of the building (Acolyte: “At Walsingham we always kneel at this point.” Priest: “Well you’ve got more room at Walsingham – here we will have to sit…”). I talked to the lady doing the teas.

After tea we went back into the church for the Benediction. The Blessed Sacrament was placed in a monstrance, and one of the priests put on an embroidered shawl (not sure what this item of clothing was – it seemed to be too wide to be a clerical stole). We all went out into the churchyard where the service of Benediction was held at an open-air altar (it was as if the surrounding countryside was being blessed).





Above: you can see the priest wearing the shawl and carrying the monstrance, sheltered by a sort of elaborate umbrella (which is about a hundred years old). Two acolytes are carrying candles. Just in front you can see the thurible containing the incense.

This service impressed me in several ways. The fact that it was held at such a remote place was in itself impressive. There was no doubting the faith of the clergy in proclaiming their beliefs. The tide of downsizing and retreat had in this instance been reversed, and a closed church had actually been restored and reopened (through one person’s determination). The campaign of John Keble had been revalidated. Mystical revelation within the Anglican tradition had been verified.

2 comments:

Anonymous said...

transubstantiation.....I have always loved that word....and what an interesting way to spend a day.....how lucky that individual is to own such a place.

a from l said...

I think he bought it first then worried about the financing afterwards.

It was dark inside and sunny outside. I looked up and I could see sunlight coming through holes in the roof, so it is still not entirely rainproof.