OCTOBER BEAUTY

The jeweller: Thomas Cranmer

On the Twenty-First Sunday after Trinity, I often put up a praise to that day’s Collect, the most perfect in the whole Book of Common Prayer. The Collects, for those who are not familiar with the term, are the prayers that in Anglican Matins and Evensong come after the Creed and some responses, and conclude the Office; in the current Roman Catholic Mass, they correspond to the prayer that follows the Absolution and introduces the readings. A Collect is a prayer said, usually, by the priest on behalf of the congregation, and from very early days on Collects were highly developed in form. A typical Collect has five sections: Invocation, Acknowledgement, Petition, Aspiration and Pleading. Moreover, the Latin Collects from the early Sacramentaries were very structured in their sentence rhythms and forms; and this was recognised and adopted by Thomas Cranmer, the author of the first Book of Common Prayer and of the Collects that survive from that 1549 text to this day.

Of all the BCP’s marvellous Collects, the finest is that for Trinity 21:

Grant, we beseech thee, merciful Lord, to thy faithful people pardon and peace; that they may be cleansed from all their sins, and serve thee with a quiet mind; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

This is as beautifully crafted as a sonnet. Observe:

Gránt, we beséech thee,

Mérciful Lórd,

To thy fáithful péople

Párdon and péace;

That they may be cléansed from áll their síns

And sérve thee with a qúiet mínd.

First, four two-stress phrases give the Invocation (‘Lord’), the Acknowledgement (‘merciful’), and the Petition (‘grant pardon and peace’). Then each of the two things asked for is elaborated (in the Aspiration) in a three-stress phrase: pardon results in their being cleansed from all their sins, and peace, in their being able to serve God with a quiet mind. Finally, the usual Pleading: per Jesum Christum Dominum nostrum, ‘through Jesus Christ our Lord.’ The stress-patterns form perhaps the greatest beauty; but the vocabulary also plays, with the two objects of the petition being alliterative: that and their order relates them and makes it clear that the one must precede the other. There can be no peace without pardon. 

The 1662 Book of Common Prayer – in England still the BCP stipulates that, when Matins or Evensong is said by lay people, this prayer replaces the Absolution; thus recognising its particular power, compact riches, and beauty. We are sometimes told that ‘O Worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness’ (Psalm 96:9) should never mentally be inverted to ‘the holiness of beauty’; but it is perhaps not forbidden to suggest that liturgical texts, images, music and rituals of seriously great comeliness are the result of some kind of true blessing or holiness in their creators. Trinity 21 is an annual jewel in the crown of October.

SOMETHING OLD, SOMETHING NEW

What's new is the year. What's old is the language. To wish everyone the very best for this year, there is no better wish than faith. Here is one way to strengthen it, quietly, quietly, every morning. Just before rising, say this prayer.

O Lord our heavenly Father,
almighty and everlasting God,
who hast safely brought us to the beginning of this day,
defend us in the same with thy mighty power,
and grant that this day we fall into no sin,
neither run into any kind of danger;
but that all our doings may be ordered by thy governance,
to do always that is righteous in thy sight.
Through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Amen.

The Book of Common Prayer's Third Collect, for Grace, in the service of Morning Prayer, it is a translation of a Latin original from the 5th century Gelasian sacramentary, and as the French say, in five-and-a-half centuries it has not taken on a wrinkle. No need to "update" or "modernise". A perfect companion to a new day, and to a new year. 

ἀγάπη

In the Church of England as it was, today is Quinquagesima Sunday, the last Sunday before Lent, and the Epistle is one everyone knows: 1 Corinthians 13. Everyone knows it; but as I reread it, I was struck all over again by the sheer power of the Authorized Version. I checked my Jerusalem Bible, often the best of the modern translations, but found it flabby and vulgar. So I thought I would put up the 1611 version in all its glory, so that we can all learn from it, reading it aloud: here, for once, the beauty of holiness and the holiness of beauty do not contradict one another.

Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. 

And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing. 

And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing.

Charity suffereth long, and is kind; 

charity envieth not; 

charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,  doth not behave itself unseemly, 

seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;  

rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth; 

beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.

Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. 

For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away.

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things. 

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: 

now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. 

And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.

Here is Cranmer's Collect that goes with it:

O Lord, who hast taught us that all our doings without charity are nothing worth; Send thy Holy Ghost, and pour into our hearts that most excellent gift of charity, the very bond of peace and of all virtues, without which whosoever liveth is counted dead before thee; Grant this for thine only Son Jesus Christ's sake. Amen. 

And just in case that word "charity" for agapè still bothers us, here is the finest exposition of it I know:

Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,

                   Guiltie of dust and sinne.

But quick-ey’d Love, observing me grow slack

                   From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,

                   If I lack’d any thing.

A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here:

                   Love said, You shall be he.

I the unkinde, ungratefull?  Ah my deare,

                   I cannot look on thee.

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,

                   Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my shame

                   Go where it doth deserve.

And know you not, sayes Love, who bore the blame?

                   My deare, then I will serve.

You must sit down, sayes Love, and taste my meat:

                   So I did sit and eat.* 

Whatever we each do about Lent and its usages, these three passages are as good a preparation for it as I can imagine.



*George Herbert, "Love (III)" from The Temple.

BETTER THAN A SONNET

I'm a day late for this post, but as a born Prot the Nativity of the Virgin is something I have yet to learn to celebrate, and the Twelfth Sunday After Trinity is a celebration of a different kind.  Here is the glorious Collect, originally from Leo and revised by Gelasius the African (see on left), and gloriously translated by the Blessed Thomas Cranmer:

Almighty and everlasting God, who art always more ready to hear than we to pray, and art wont to give more than either we desire or deserve; Pour down upon us the abundance of thy mercy; forgiving us those things whereof our conscience is afraid, and giving unto us that that our prayer dare not presume to ask, through Jesus Christ our Lord. 

As Frederick Barbee and Paul Zahl say in their delightful book on the Collects, this one is "a treasure chest, truly overflowing". If you take it bit by splendid bit, and meditate on each, you have a rich day's thinking and meditating given to you. 1) He is always more ready to hear than we to pray: Ouch. At once wonderful and rueful. Really? No, we aren't bothering Him by praying too much: we bother Him by praying too little. Ouch. 2) He is "wont" -- used -- in the habit of -- giving more than we desire -- really? and there we are, always thinking that our prayers go unheard? -- and also commonly giving more than we deserve -- OK, that we can get into, we don't deserve an awful lot -- but still, both those sentences start from the idea that we are absolutely smothered in gifts from Him -- had we perhaps not noticed?
So it goes on. The main petition: pour down upon us the abundance of Thy mercy. I love the pouring -- there is something so huge and exquisitely excessive about that pouring down, like tropical rain. And what pours is the abundance. I love abundance -- indeed, I love excess. It may be part of having spent the first 4 years of my life in wartime, under occupation, and in permanent shortage. I love abundance. But in this case what we ask for is the abundance of mercy, which sort of brings us up short. Whoops. Could it be that we need mercy, not measured out in neat cups, but poured down in abundance? And what does that say about us?
Well, the point is mentioned right away: forgiving us the stuff of which our conscience is afraid. I do like that scared conscience. We all know about guilty consciences, or shabby ones: but sometimes the stuff  we have thought, said, or done (or left undone) makes our conscience quite simply afraid. And that needs forgiving. (Benedict XVI has some staggering paragraphs about forgiveness, what it is and how it works -- stay tuned.)
And then we ask for -- what? We don't know. But we trust Him to know. We ask him for the things we don't dare to ask. Love that? There is stuff we feel too damn small even to ask for. So we say to Him: give us what we don't dare ask for. Whatever it is. Sometimes we feel it, formlessly working within us; sometimes we feel too small to ask for the big things; but nevertheless, we stick our puny necks out and ask for -- that. Those. Them. You figure it out, Lord. Just remember, whatever It is, we need It. And on our mingy own, we fuck up. 
What a truly glorious Collect. And let no one say this is nasty old 16C English that needs to be modernised before anyone under 50 can"relate" to it. This is clear as spring water, and every bit as beautiful. Trinity Twelve; and today, on the night of the full moon, we can celebrate it as it deserves.

THE HOLINESS OF BEAUTY

Collect for the Fourth Sunday After Trinity:

O GOD, the protector of all that trust in thee, 

without whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy: 

Increase and multiply upon us thy mercy; 

that, thou being our ruler and guide, 

we may so pass through things temporal, 

that we finally lose not the things eternal: 

Grant this, O heavenly Father, 

for Jesus Christ's sake our Lord. Amen.

One of Thomas Cranmer's finest efforts, where content, vocabulary and rhythm all come together. Read it aloud, and note the stresses on the syllables. And note that for once Cranmer's English is almost stronger than the Latin original from the Gregorian Sacramentary, via the Use of Sarum:

Protector in te sperantium Deus, sine quo nihil est validum, nihil sanctum; multiplica super nos misericordiam tuam, ut te Rectore, te Duce, sic transeamus per bona temporalia, ut non amittamus Êterna. Per Dominum nostrum.

Cranmer, otherwise humdrum as a writer, achieved greatness in translation. Amazing.

PARADOX?

Cited by David Brooks on this day of Passover, the 20th-century philosopher Eliyahu Dessler wrote, “the ultimate aim of all our service is to graduate from freedom to compulsion.” As I read this, I thought of the Second Collect in the Anglican service of Morning Prayer: "Oh God, who art the author of peace and lover of concord, in knowledge of whom standeth our eternal life, whose service is perfect freedom . . ." The Latin original has cui servire regnare est, literally "to serve whom is to reign". It is, perhaps, in the end the same paradox. Brooks, distantly following Dessler, sees an education into obedience, into the multiple "sweet compulsions . . . of love, friendship, family, citizenship, faith, a profession or a people." The Collect sees only one. Rav Dessler would probably have said that they are ultimately all one. But the Collect goes straight to the heart of obedience: to serve God is perfect freedom. It is the only perfect freedom. Matthew 6:33: "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you."

How and why is this? Our local Algerian priest, Fr Jean-Kamel, in his Palm Sunday sermon, said passionately that Holy Week, while it is in one sense an entry into mourning, is also the deepest sounding of joy: "Just think," he said, "de quel amour nous sommes aimés!" Think, ponder, with what love we are loved! This is the meditation of this time, whether one celebrates Passover or Easter. With what love we are loved. And the more deeply one enters into this, the more one wants to seek first the "kingdom of God", which is of course regnum Dei, the reign of God, the dispensation, the all-enveloping presence of that love.

Unlike the Nirvana of Buddhism, this is not something one can reach. Another paradox: you can seek it, but you cannot reach it, attain to it by any form of self-improvement. You can seek it, but the only way you can find it is by realizing that it is seeking you, and opening yourself to it. And when a few of the shutters on your windows start opening, you realize that indeed "all these things" -- the other things, like peace, happiness, love to and from other people -- are being added unto you, bit by blossoming bit. 

The whole thing, you dimly perceive -- because this is a long journey --, is a journey from false freedom, what you thought was freedom when you were 15, to real freedom, which, like the peace that accompanies it, passes all understanding.