Full in the Panting Heart of Rome

In the last few days before we were each received into the Catholic Church, each of us had the feeling that something momentous was about to happen.  The nearest parallel we could find was that it was comparable, in some ways, to the feelings in the days leading up to getting married, or to becoming a parent.  It was a "life event", as they say.  It was a significant occasion with significant meaning.  By the same token, people seem to regard us as more serious (or perhaps, these days, more dangerous) Christians than before : there is something about becoming and being a Catholic that conveys serious intent and conviction even to people who have little or no interest in religion or Christianity. 

To the wider world, even the most eloquent explanation of Anglo-Catholic branch theories could not stir up that sentiment.  It is something that takes a bit of getting used to.  Instead of saying “You don’t really believe all that, do you?” as non-believing friends did in our Church of England days (it being the default presumption of English society that nobody in the Church of England really does), they now look in amazement and say “I can’t understand how it is that you believe all that”.   That might not sound like progress, but it most definitely is: friends and colleagues are not instantly converted of course, but people suddenly realise that yes, we are serious about this. 

We are a constant reminder to people we encounter that there is this thing called Christianity and there is this thing called the Catholic Church.   Coming into the full communion of the Catholic Church was not just a selfish process of sorting our own position out, but was also automatically an act of witness.  The effect is not on the same level as Blessed John Henry Newman’s conversion, which sent shockwaves around society at the time, but on our own scale, what has happened most definitely registers in some small way with all around us.

Some of our ordinariate group attended the birthday party of a mutual friend at the weekend.  There on one of the shelves of his endless bookshelves, placed quite by hazard, was the Order of Service from our Reception Mass.  It was just slightly too far away across the furniture for people to read, but even from a distance, one could quite easily see the smiling portrait of the Holy Father that also graces the right hand sidebar of this blog (and which is reproduced below).  Quite possibly no-one noticed that photo but us, but perhaps some did, and perhaps in the two seconds that they thought about the picture they had seen of the Pope, they came into closer contact with the Church than they had done in years, or perhaps than they had ever done.

To our now separated brethren, to our friends who remain in the Church of England, we stand as a reminder that there is another way.   Another way, one that reaches out to them with welcoming arms.  Another way, one that doesn’t see them as an awkward group of trouble-makers that needs to be contained, but cherishes them as brothers and sisters in the Faith, who, if they wish, will be welcomed into the Catholic Church. Another way, one that doesn’t find their beliefs in the Saints, in the Real Presence, in the Sacraments and in the “Faith once delivered to the Apostles” to be an embarrassment, but that rejoices in a shared Patrimony.

Last week, I made a quip about having resisted the “pull” of becoming a Calvinist during my trip to Geneva, and said that for certain types of Anglicans, a trip to Rome might pose a few questions of a rather more compelling kind.  The beauty and majesty of Rome, its ancient yet permanent nature, these are a constant reminder too, just as much, and indeed more so than anything that any of us might say or do.  This is enthusiastically expressed in the Cardinal Wiseman hymn “Full in the panting heart of Rome”, much loved of course by excited new Catholics (and by Anglo-Papalists in the old days), but no less a fine expression of very sound sentiments for that.  Even the title of the hymn seems shocking to the modern ear, expressing enthusiasm, excitement even and religious faith, in the context of support for the Petrine ministry and the universality of the Catholic Church.  What a powerful and truly Catholic hymn it is. 

From Geneva to Oxford with St Luke

A daytrip to Geneva today.  From here in Paris, where I work, the capital city of the Eldest Daughter of the Church, to the home of Calvinism.  Readers will be glad to know that I managed to return without having had a change of heart on having joined the Catholic Church.  One can imagine that for a certain kind of Anglican visiting the Eternal City of Rome at the moment, such a trip might be rather tougher on the convictions, but as it is, I remain steadfast in the Faith.

However, Geneva is a wonderful place, and the weather today certainly beats the grim drizzle that greeted me on my return to Paris a little earlier on.  The first picture was taken just after lunch in the Place du Molard, the second on Lake Geneva, and the third in the sunshine of Paris.

Today is the Feast of St Luke, author of the Gospel of Luke and of the Acts of the Apostles.  These texts are of course full of very widely known passages, but perhaps in the context of a blog related to the Ordinariate, it makes sense to refer to the Magnificat.  The Magnificat is the Canticle of Mary, one of the most ancient hymns of the Church, and certainly one of the most ancient Marian texts.

There is a link there of course to Our Lady of Walsingham, but in any discussion of Anglican Patrimony, the topic of Solemn Evensong and Benediction comes up, and there one can find a veritable wealth of Anglican music that can be used in a Catholic setting.  The Oxford Ordinariate group has done some pioneering work in this regard, already having held a service of Solemn Evensong and Benediction, and planning to hold another one tomorrow night (19 October at 19h30) for the Feast of the Patron Saint of Oxford, St Frideswide.  Here is the Magnificat as sung at their June Solemn Evensong and Benediction.



The poster for their event tomorrow night is shown below.

It is hoped that we may eventually be able to co-ordinate something similar to occur at St James's, Spanish Place, but this is yet in the planning and subject to the agreement and consent of many parties.  It could be a great opportunity to gather together, from all across London and the South East, a decent number of Ordinariate members, non-Ordinariate Catholics who like the tradition of Solemn Evensong and Benediction, and Anglican friends of the Ordinariate eager to see an example of Anglican Patrimony in use.

The big question now is which Stanford Magnificat to include as the closing piece of music in this blogpost.  Stanford is perhaps the classic composer of Anglican settings of the Magnificat for Evensong.  His best known setting is arguably the one in B flat, a staple of parish church choirs and public school chapels up and down the land, but that is perhaps not the finest.  For me, it is a tie between Stanford in G (with the image, created by the "spinning" of the quaver accompaniment to the treble solo, of the maiden at her wheel) and the majesty and delicacy of Stanford in G.  In for a penny, in for a pound - let's have both. 





Our Lady, pray for us.
St Luke, pray for us.