Domine, salvam fac reginam nostram Elizabeth

I don't think that we could say anything better than this.  Here is Fr Colven's parish note for this week.  We did indeed sing the chant to Domine Salvam Fac Reginam Nostram Elizabeth at the end of Mass yesterday, and what a treat it was.  Fr Colven's introduction gives us an excuse to include a picture of His Late Majesty King Edward VII, as well as of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.  If you continue reading all the way to the end of this past, you will see how it also gives us an excuse to mention the Emperor Napoleon.

On 8th February 1908 a Requiem Mass was celebrated here at Saint James’s for the assassinated King of Portugal, Don Carlos, and Crown Prince Manuel, “in the presence of Edward VII and Queen Alexandra and other members of the Royal Family. The King, dressed as a Portuguese Colonel, became the first British monarch to officially attend a Catholic Mass since James 11”. Thus Spanish Place had a small but not insignificant part to play in the re- emergence of Catholicism into the national life of this country - a process furthered by the acceptance by Queen Elizabeth II of an invitation from Cardinal Hume (“my Cardinal”) to attend Vespers at Westminster Cathedral in 1995. St Paul writing to his disciple Timothy says; “there should be prayers offered for everyone – petitions, intercessions and thanksgivings – and especially for kings and others in authority, so that we may be able to live religious and reverent lives in peace and quiet” (2:2): we have a clear duty of intercession for the leaders of civil society, for, as the Catechism reminds us (in rather quaint language): ”the love and service of one’s country follow from the duty of gratitude and belong to the order of charity. Submission to legitimate authorities and service of the common good requires citizens to fulfil their roles in the life of the political community”.

Monday (6th February) marks the 60th Anniversary of the Queen’s Accession and the 6pm Mass will be offered for her intention. It is clear that Elizabeth II is motivated by a deep Christian faith (which was expressed very clearly in her most recent Christmas broadcast) and that the anointing she received at her coronation has, in her own mind, established a sacramental bond of lifelong service to Britain and the nations of the Commonwealth. It would be naive though to gloss over the sensitivities which are still felt by some over the chequered history between the British monarchy and the Catholic Church – and the realisation that the Catholic constituency (through new waves of immigration) has a complex view of national loyalties. In this context, the symbolic value of last year’s state visit to Ireland cannot be overemphasised; the part that the Queen has played in the healing of memories should be recognised and applauded. Until 1964 it was the proud custom in English Catholic churches to sing the "Domine salvum fac" at the end of the principal Mass on a Sunday (something that we will revive for this Sunday closest to the date of the Accession): this prayer for the reigning monarch would seem to trace its history back to Louis XIV of France and the chapel at Versailles – and was often set to glorious music - but, by a strange quirk, in 1759 the Catholics of Quebec began to substitute the name of the then British king George III for Louis XV and the rest, as they say, is history.

Love for country and a right respect for its leaders must not though be confused with a narrow nationalism or blind acceptance of whatever rulers or governments may determine. The Catechism reminds us: “The Church, because of her commission and competence, is not to be confused in any way with the political community. She is both the sign and the safeguard of the transcendent character of the human person”. We must neverforget that although we are called to share in building the Kingdom here on earth – and this hopefully will involve many lay Catholics in the political process for the betterment of society - its completion is more than the fruit of human imagination. “There is no eternal city for us in this life, but we look for one in the life to come. (Hebrews 13:14): souls and bodies both need feeding, and it is the Church’s task to hold that delicate balance between the things of this life while proclaiming those of the next. Every time we pray "thy Kingdom come" we are asking for justice in this life in the expectation of its promised fulfilment in the eternity of God.
Christopher Colven

Domine, salvam fac reginam nostram Elizabeth
Et exaudi nos in die, qua invocaverimus te.

Lord, save Elizabeth, our Queen
And heed us when we call on Thee

Almighty God, we pray for your servant Elizabeth our Queen, now by your mercy reigning over us. Adorn her yet more with every virtue and remove all evil from her path: that with her consort and all the royal family she may come at last in grace to you, who are the way, the truth and the life. Through Christ our Lord. Amen

To follow Fr Colven's text, the most obvious piece of music to include is the very popular O Lord, Make Thy Servant Elizabeth, by William Byrd. 

Having included that loyal piece of music, it is probably just about permissible to include something that might otherwise lead one to be sent to the Tower, at least on a day like today.  Fr Colven's text referred to the Domine Salvum Fac having had a particular association with the French court before the Catholics of Québec had the bright idea of amending it to pray for King George III.  It was indeed sung at the end of every liturgy in the French Chapel Royal, as fine settings such as those by Couperin and Lully demonstrate (clicking on those links will take you to a youtube performance of those composers' settings).

Long-time readers of this blog might just remember that discussion of Doctor Chartres, Anglican Bishop of London, once led us to talk of the Emperor Napoleon.  Therefore, it seems just about excusable to include the Gounod setting of Domine Salvum Fac, being Domine Salvum Fac Imperatorem Nostrum Napoleonem.  It's a rather fun piece.



Despite that sortie into matters French, happy Accession Day one and all, and best wishes for this Jubilee Year.

From the Bishop of London, through St Clement, to the Emperor Napoleon

Thanks to our previous blogpost More than Words having been shared on Facebook (if you are not a member of our Facebook group, please think about signing up, the link is in the right hand sidebar of this blog), then having been highlighted by the Ordinariate Portal blog and then finally having been referred to in a few other blogs, we have had very many more visitors than usual over the past couple of days.  A warm welcome to any new readers who have stuck with us and who are now reading their first post-big event blogpost here.

This blog started with the intention of documenting the arrival of our Ordinariate Group in the Catholic Church, and by reporting that we were quite happy with where we had ended up.  Early posts talked of the background to the decision making process, steps along the way in that thought process and then recounted some early experiences.  As time has gone on, posts have gone up based on streams of consciousness inspired by thoughts of the saint of the day, or from some news article or developments or blogposts elsewhere.  Occasionally, we have even strayed into the dangerous field of commenting on what is happening of relevance to our Anglo-Catholic friends still fighting the good fight in the CofE, as we did yesterday: but when commenting on Ordinariate-related matters, as seen from either side of the Tiber, we tend to focus on the happy landing we have had, rather than on the challenges facing those we have very sadly left behind on the other shore.

Today's post is not about the trials and tribulations of Anglo-Catholicism.  There are enough people writing about that already.  Instead, a few brief thoughts on St Clement (with absolutely no mention of Philadelphia).

St Clement, one of the very earliest popes, is one of the names from history that provides a connection with the time of Christ.  Pew fodder like me (sometimes referred to more politely as the laity) so often hear all these marvellous stories from the Gospels, but without the occasional dose of historical perspective, this can sometimes risk appearing to be rather remote.  St Clement, who became Pope at the end of the first century AD, is said to have been ordained by St Peter, and was in Rome at the time St Paul was (and was possibly one of the Romans to whom the Epistle to the Romans was addressed).  He may well be the Clement referred to in Philippians 4:3.

And I entreat thee also, my sincere companion, help those women who have laboured with me in the gospel, with Clement and the rest of my fellow labourers, whose names are in the book of life.

The one surviving document of his, a Letter to the Church in Corinth, is considered among the earliest, indeed possibly the earliest, Christian document after the component books of the New Testament.   The significance of this early letter for those with an interest in Roman primacy and in the threefold structure of Holy Order is that the letter includes authoritative admonitions from St Clement about events that have taken place in the Church in Corinth, and reminding his readers of the hierarchy of the offices of bishop, priest and deacon. 

It is one of those texts that sits very uneasily with the charming but not necessarily entirely accurate image conjured up when people talk cosily of something being "very early church", a term which for some reason now often appears to mean something closer to Quaker prayer meetings than to the highly ritualistic worship of the first century Jewish temple or indeed the very early Church (as Fr Hunwicke has discussed on his blog far more eruditely and eloquently than I ever could). 

St Clement, along with two of the other early popes (Linus and Cletus) are mentioned by name in the Roman Canon.  For those of us who follow the text week by week in the missal (covered by the singing of the Sanctus, the Celebrant's words are usually inaudible at St James's at this point), this provides yet another historical link to the first century.

St Clement's life, as one might expect for a Christian leader at that time, did not end pleasantly.  He is said to have been exiled to a colonial outpost near modern day Sebastopol in the Ukraine during the reign of the Emperor Trajan, and at some point thereafter, he was martyred by being thrown into the Black Sea tied to an anchor.  Given his importance as one of the very first popes, St Clement is almost always pictured in at least mitre, and often in tiara.  When it comes to images of his martyrdom, this leads to some rather interesting results, as this picture shows. 

The Basilica of San Clemente in Rome houses the tombs of St Clement (and of St Ignatius of Antioch).  This minor Basilica became one of the sites frequented by Blessed John Paul II during his years as Pope, on occasions when he wished to pray in particular for Poland, his native land, and for the countries of Eastern Europe.  The reason for the Pope John Paul's many vists was that the Basilica also contains the remains of St Cyril and Methodius, saints who evangelised much of Eastern Europe, and who in 868 brought the mortal remains of St Clement to Rome.

New readers of this blog may not be aware that many of our posts end with a rather tenuous link to a piece of music.  The Alleluia for a Mass of St Clement celebrated today is Tu es Petrus, of which the awe-inspiring setting by James MacMillan, as sung at Westminster Cathedral last year for the Holy Father's visit, is included in the right-hand sidebar of this blog.  The search is then for an alternative setting for inclusion today.  As St Clement was a Pope who struggled with (and was eventually killed by) secular powers, I find my mind somehow turning to Pope Pius VII, a Pope who spent his entire Papacy struggling against French Imperial interference. 

One of the most humiliating moments of his papacy must have been his participation in the extraganza and cavalcade that was what we in English usually call the Coronation of Napoleon, but in fact is properly called the Sacre de Napoleon, the Consecration of Napoleon (French royalty having been consecrated with chrism by the Archbishop of Rheims as the key moment of their formally becoming monarch, rather than the crowning being the crucial thing that people remember).  Huge pressure was placed on Pope Pius VII to attend, and despite recent assasinations of Church officials in France, and against the advice of the Roman Curia, Pius did end up attending (how voluntary this decision was is a matter of debate).  As every school boy and girl used to know, at the crucial moment, Napoleon took the crown himself and placed it on his own head, before himself crowning the Empress Josephine.  The humiliated Pope could do no more than stick to the script and announce "Vivat Imperator in Aeternum", before listening to the choir sing first the Te Deum and then, during the acclamations of the people as Napoleon processed out, "Domine salvum fac imperatorem nostrum Napoleonem".

The Papal Procession had earlier set off for Notre Dame from the Tuileries led by a bishop, carrying a processional cross and seated on a donkey (does that almost count as quasi-Anglican Patrimony, thinking of Aunt Dot and her camel, Fr Chantry-Pigg and the Towers of Trebizond?).  When the Pope arrived at Notre Dame and processed in (minus donkey I suppose, there is no donkey in the David painting of the event), the choir sang the Le Sueur setting of Tu es Petrus.  There you go, I warned you that I liked tenuous links.




St Clement, pray for us.