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Showing posts with label prayers. Show all posts
Showing posts with label prayers. Show all posts

Sunday, 6 December 2015

ADVENT 2 - ODD OPTATIVES




While it is tempting to write about St Nicholas – because the Eve of his feast is a traditional Dutch version of Father Christmas, when children get a visit from the Saint in episcopal robes and receive their presents --, I did promise to pursue the odd optatives in the Lord’s Prayer for a bit.

It has always struck me as peculiar that the first three petitions are couched in the language of a wish rather than in that of a prayer. ‘Hallowed be thy Name, thy Kingdom come, thy Will be done’: may all this happen, we appear to be saying, rather than putting a direct request as is normal in a prayer.

Since I never have an original idea, I assumed that others must have noticed the same thing; and, indeed, when I started looking I found a rich literature on the subject, which I will only touch on lightly here, on the Second Sunday in Advent. Let’s begin with the Catholic Catechism, which is (as one would expect) stoutly declarative on the topic:

2807 “The term ‘to hallow’ is to be understood here not primarily in its causative sense (only God hallows, makes holy), but above all in an evaluative sense: to recognize as holy, to treat in a holy way. And so, in adoration, this invocation is sometimes understood as praise and thanksgiving.66 But this petition is here taught to us by Jesus as an optative: a petition, a desire, and an expectation in which God and man are involved. Beginning with this first petition to our Father, we are immersed in the innermost mystery of his Godhead and the drama of the salvation of our humanity. Asking the Father that his name be made holy draws us into his plan of loving kindness for the fullness of time, "according to his purpose which he set forth in Christ," that we might "be holy and blameless before him in love."67
2808 “In the decisive moments of his economy God reveals his name, but he does so by accomplishing his work. This work, then, is realized for us and in us only if his name is hallowed by us and in us.”
This is interesting, but no reasoning is given (normal, in a catechism), and no. 2808 seems rather circular.

For a 20th-century Calvinist view, I went to Karl Barth. In The Christian Life he wrote extensively and brilliantly on the optatives. About these petitions, especially the first, Barth says that a) we can, when praying ‘Hallowed be thy name’, only fold our hands and trust God to fulfil it; yet at the same time b) we cannot escape our own responsibility, as really pressing God with this petition involves being ‘startled and disquieted’ and involving ourselves both in earnest prayer and committed ethical action.
This too is interesting and ethically admirable, but I am not sure why the petition is startling and disquieting, nor why the consequences he lists follow logically.

By this time, I was starting to wonder about the optative, and thought I would pursue it in terms of the New Testament’s Greek. So I found a fascinating and lively Hellenist blog (BGreek), where the subject had also been discussed. The Hellenists concluded that it was not an optative but an imperative (as in ‘Let there be light!’). That, as one of them pointed out, makes the petitions extremely powerful. Then another said that the 3rd person aorist imperative was standard in Greek prayers. And a further person then pointed out that Jesus uses the same form when he is healing someone (e.g. Mt 8:13). NB: As someone else pointed out, the aorist implies that the object of the prayer is a one-time happening rather than an ongoing process.
This was exciting, though it didn’t really clear up my confusion: the imperative, again, is not obviously a prayer.

However, a Church Father agreed: Origen, in De Oratione (‘Origen On Prayer’ CCLE) in his 2nd chapter on the Lord’s Prayer (ch. 14), also claims – arguing against Tatian -- that it is an imperative on the order of ‘Let there be light!’.

In the case of the First Petition, there is also the whole subject of the Name, on which the consensus seems to be that God’s Name is coextensive with His nature. Matthew Henry refers to ‘God’s Name, that is, God Himself’. There is also a passage from Ezekiel 36:22ff.: ‘Therefore say to the house of Israel, Thus says the Lord GOD: It is not for your sake, O house of Israel, that I am about to act, but for the sake of my holy name, which you have profaned among the nations to which you came. I will sanctify [= hallow] my great name, which has been profaned among the nations, and which you have profaned among them; and the nations shall know that I am the LORD, says the Lord GOD, when through you I display my holiness before their eyes. I will take you from the nations, and gather you from all the countries, and bring you into your own land.' (NRSV) This led someone to write that ‘we are making a virtue of necessity’ when we pray this, as God has said He will do it Himself anyway.

Why Jesus put them in the optative we will never know; not down here, anyway. That he did so is, I think, beyond doubt: someone on the Hellenist blog pointed out that Matthew was a Mokhes, or douanier, an excise man, and that as such he was used to making shorthand notes, which he would then later elaborate in Greek and send to Rome with the tax receipts; hence his version of Jesus’ words has good authority, whereas Luke confessedly wrote from hearsay.

So where does this leave us, and the optatives? All the answers above are enlightening in some ways, but do not seem to me to answer the original question: how can such optatives be a prayer? The slightly circular no. 2808 of the Catholic Catechism, I think, comes closest. Perhaps the way in which this first half of the Pater Noster can be a prayer, a beseeching, is in the following sense: ‘Father, grant us the grace to hallow thy Name; grant us the strength to help thy Kingdom come; grant us the discernment to do thy Will on earth -- as the angels and saints do it in Heaven.







Sunday, 30 August 2015

ON OUR OWN


This morning I attended what the French Church now calls an A.D.A.P.: Assemblée dominicale en l’absence d’un prêtre, a Sunday assembly in the absence of a priest. This is relatively new: it was foreseen by Vatican II, but it is growing in importance as the number of priests declines and the number of clochers (literally ‘spires’) served by each increases. Our local parish priest now has 48 spires, which obviously borders on the ridiculous, indeed the monstrous. 
In the little modern missal-cum-hymnbook I found the official passage explaining ADAPs and giving some idea as to what they should be like. Some of the points I remember: congregations should be reminded that where two or three are gathered together, Christ is in the midst of them, and should therefore rate such events at their proper value (read: don’t complain because there’s no Mass); there should be readings from Scripture and prayers; but on the whole there should not be communion (from previously consecrated Hosts), because then people might end up thinking of the Mass as only one of several available ways to receive communion. 
What fascinated me was that for the form of such assemblies, no rules are given at all: ‘they can take many different forms’ is all that is said. They appear to have no consciousness of, or no interest in, the fact that in the Anglican Church, for example, there are beautifully-structured ADAPs called Matins and Evensong, which can perfectly well be celebrated without a priest: the only difference is that in such a case the Absolution is replaced by the glorious Collect 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.
I don’t believe that the way ADAPs are conceived here includes a Confession and Absolution of any kind; at least this morning’s had none. (What I found alarming was the first intercessory prayer: ‘for those who confuse the Faith with a collection of rituals to practice: for those whose prideful obstinacy divides the Church and the World and imperils Peace; for them, Lord, we pray.')
I once owned (and have now, alas, misplaced) a beautiful little French translation of the Book of Common Prayer, published (curiously) in Dublin in 1777. Later I discovered that many Huguenots (French Protestants) who had fled France when their faith was proscribed by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685 had gone to England but had then continued on to Ireland and joined the Church of Ireland. Being French, they were clearly not known for their ability to learn languages, so the CofI decided to print French Prayer Books, just for them. I should rustle up the texts of Matins and Evensong from that book again, remove the prayers for the Queen and Royal Family, and present them to the organisers of the next ADAP . . .

NB: the exquisite little painting above represents a village congregation coming from Evensong. It is by Samuel Palmer, a pupil of William Blake's, and was painted during his mystical year at the village of Shoreham in Kent.