A Wonderful, if Melancholy, Meditation
By the kindness of a friend I recently
was blessed with my first trip abroad and with a greater purpose than mere
tourism (though we did a bit of touring).... The monastery is fairly unique in
the Orthodox world - a common monastery - that is having both men and women -
with the women quartered on one side of the village lane and the men on the
other.... There is far too much to the monastery’s life to write about at
this moment for readers of Pontifications, but I would offer the suggestion that
you try reading anything of Fr. Sophrony’s that you happen to
find.
...But I offer my visit to the monastery as a prelude to my thoughts - partly because I went to the monastery first and then made the tourist trek that is the subject of my thoughts at the moment - and partly to say that my thoughts are cast against the backdrop of a week’s quiet prayer and reflection in one of the holier places in our Western world.
...My visit also coincided with the Episcopal Church’s General Convention, an event that probably received better coverage in the English papers than in those of the U.S. - Anglicanism not being a mere footnote in British history. Reading of the Episcopal Church’s descent into chaos (indeed “chaos” was the word used in the Times to describe the convention) while at the same time touring some of her Mother Church’s great cathedrals made for extended meditations.
...But I don’t know how to look for “Catholic” England other than to remember the murdering butchery of Henry VIII (he had the monks at Walsingham drawn and quartered), and the countless brave Jesuits who labored for the Catholic faith long after England had fallen under the dark shadow of Cromwell.
My meditation was on how falsely the story of Anglicanism had been related to me when I was an Anglican - both in adult inquirers’ classes and in seminary itself - the myth of the 3 Branch theory of the Church and other stories.
...And there are doubtless many believers who remain - indeed the holy monastery I visited is evidence that the Christian faith cannot be extinguished. Perhaps the most poignant part of my visit was to take a short ride outside of Oxford to see the home of C.S.Lewis and to visit his grave and the Church in which he worshipped.... The parish bulletin’s lead article was all about “labyrinths” and how neat they were and the spirituality associated with them - mostly new-age nonsense.
...I prayed for Episcopalians at home who now have to hear about “Mother Jesus” from the highest levels, and Anglicans across the world who have to sort their way through.
...At Walsingham, where Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Orthodox all have shrines to the Mother of God, I overheard a group of school children who were on a daytrip to the shrine (I do not know from what school).... May the faith of the fathers of Britain shine again in that green land - Aidan, Cuthbert, Theodore, Bede, good men and women who kept the faith and knew the way home.
...But I offer my visit to the monastery as a prelude to my thoughts - partly because I went to the monastery first and then made the tourist trek that is the subject of my thoughts at the moment - and partly to say that my thoughts are cast against the backdrop of a week’s quiet prayer and reflection in one of the holier places in our Western world.
...My visit also coincided with the Episcopal Church’s General Convention, an event that probably received better coverage in the English papers than in those of the U.S. - Anglicanism not being a mere footnote in British history. Reading of the Episcopal Church’s descent into chaos (indeed “chaos” was the word used in the Times to describe the convention) while at the same time touring some of her Mother Church’s great cathedrals made for extended meditations.
...But I don’t know how to look for “Catholic” England other than to remember the murdering butchery of Henry VIII (he had the monks at Walsingham drawn and quartered), and the countless brave Jesuits who labored for the Catholic faith long after England had fallen under the dark shadow of Cromwell.
My meditation was on how falsely the story of Anglicanism had been related to me when I was an Anglican - both in adult inquirers’ classes and in seminary itself - the myth of the 3 Branch theory of the Church and other stories.
...And there are doubtless many believers who remain - indeed the holy monastery I visited is evidence that the Christian faith cannot be extinguished. Perhaps the most poignant part of my visit was to take a short ride outside of Oxford to see the home of C.S.Lewis and to visit his grave and the Church in which he worshipped.... The parish bulletin’s lead article was all about “labyrinths” and how neat they were and the spirituality associated with them - mostly new-age nonsense.
...I prayed for Episcopalians at home who now have to hear about “Mother Jesus” from the highest levels, and Anglicans across the world who have to sort their way through.
...At Walsingham, where Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Orthodox all have shrines to the Mother of God, I overheard a group of school children who were on a daytrip to the shrine (I do not know from what school).... May the faith of the fathers of Britain shine again in that green land - Aidan, Cuthbert, Theodore, Bede, good men and women who kept the faith and knew the way home.
I ran across the following online here. Reminds me a bit of our traveling about
Switzerland. The land of St. Beatus and St. Gallus where there are so many
empty churches.
Orthodox in England
by Fr. Stephen Freeman
By the kindness of a friend I recently was blessed with my first trip abroad and with a greater purpose than mere tourism (though we did a bit of touring). The foremost purpose of our visit was to make pilgrimage to the Orthodox Monastery of St. John the Baptist in Essex, a few hours drive from London. The monastery is fairly unique in the Orthodox world - a common monastery - that is having both men and women - with the women quartered on one side of the village lane and the men on the other. It is a community founded by Archimandrite Sophrony of blessed memory, who had been a disciple of St. Silouan on Mt. Athos. The community bears the stamp of the spiritual legacy of St. Silouan and his disciple, the Elder Sophrony. I was aware of this uniqueness - indeed it was what drew me to the monastery in the first place. My own spiritual father had described the monastery as the “healthiest” monastery in the Western world. I am now inclined to agree. There is far too much to the monastery’s life to write about at this moment for readers of Pontifications, but I would offer the suggestion that you try reading anything of Fr. Sophrony’s that you happen to find. It will not be a waste of time.
But I offer my visit to the monastery as a prelude to my thoughts - partly because I went to the monastery first and then made the tourist trek that is the subject of my thoughts at the moment - and partly to say that my thoughts are cast against the backdrop of a week’s quiet prayer and reflection in one of the holier places in our Western world.
My trip coincided with England’s run of good fortune in the World Cup. Everyone was being quite patriotic (they lost after I left) and concerned more with Ecuador and the like than with the U.S. or Iraq. That was my good fortune as a visiting American. My visit also coincided with the Episcopal Church’s General Convention, an event that probably received better coverage in the English papers than in those of the U.S. - Anglicanism not being a mere footnote in British history. Reading of the Episcopal Church’s descent into chaos (indeed “chaos” was the word used in the Times to describe the convention) while at the same time touring some of her Mother Church’s great cathedrals made for extended meditations.
The countryside of England looked like it is supposed to - quite “English.” Beautiful green fields, with occasional mops of trees and rooftops marking the presence of a village - each with the ever present spire of a village Anglican Church. Some of them were functioning and some were not. The Cathedrals functioned - mostly for tourism and now at a price (entrance into St. Paul’s in London is 9 pounds - though as a priest identified by my Orthodox cassock I was generously and warmly admitted free of charge). But all of the tours consisted of architecture and bits of history - not piety nor devotion. But that is largely understandable. The crux of my meditation was “Orthodox England,” for indeed, this land had once been an Orthodox land. English Saints are still remembered on the Orthodox calendar. St. Theodore of Tarsus, a Greek, was among the early Archbishops of Canterbury. A cursory read of the Venerable Bede and Orthodox Britain leaps into view.
At this point I have to beg the patience of our Roman Catholics on the blog. I know that Bede and Britain were as “Catholic” as they were “Orthodox,” as were we all. But I don’t know how to look for “Catholic” England other than to remember the murdering butchery of Henry VIII (he had the monks at Walsingham drawn and quartered), and the countless brave Jesuits who labored for the Catholic faith long after England had fallen under the dark shadow of Cromwell.
My meditation was on how falsely the story of Anglicanism had been related to me when I was an Anglican - both in adult inquirers’ classes and in seminary itself - the myth of the 3 Branch theory of the Church and other stories. Lies that Henry only wanted separation from Rome for the sake of the Kingdom, to secure a male heir. Little mention was made of his butchery and theft - the Reformation was a bloody revolution, a radical madness that turned society upside down. Today’s arguments about “salvation by grace through faith,” as if such slogans justified revolutions, ring as hollow as Stalin modernizing Russia, or Mussolini making trains run on time.
Where we stand today in history is not the fault of the modern world. There is no peaceful, pious, holy Britain to point to after the Reformation. There is more bloodshed, more revolution, counter-revolution, and the gradual sinking into the secularism of the Enlightenment. Whatever started with Henry killed a holy island.
But the reminders of what once was are ubiquitous. And there are doubtless many believers who remain - indeed the holy monastery I visited is evidence that the Christian faith cannot be extinguished. Perhaps the most poignant part of my visit was to take a short ride outside of Oxford to see the home of C.S.Lewis and to visit his grave and the Church in which he worshipped. There is a small sign that points his grave out to visitors. The man who was tending the graveyard commented, “Only Americans come to see his grave.” A very kind older gentleman insisted on taking us inside and we sat in Lewis’ pew and chatted for better than an hour. I found a faith in him, though one that was mixed with many notions that Lewis would have striven to correct. The parish bulletin’s lead article was all about “labyrinths” and how neat they were and the spirituality associated with them - mostly new-age nonsense. Only Americans at the grave, and a fine theological mind now consigned to sit quietly by while a labyrinth is established for the faithful to wander through looking for God. Anglicanism itself has sunk into a labyrinth where there may be few threads to lead a pilgrim homeward.
I spent my final week praying more, I think, than I did in the monastery. I prayed for Episcopalians at home who now have to hear about “Mother Jesus” from the highest levels, and Anglicans across the world who have to sort their way through. I prayed for a land that had been spiritually raped in its past with scars to show for it. I prayed for myself not to be depressed or to think myself different from others. And I gave thanks for the clear light of faith that continues to shine in small places across that wonderful island.
At Walsingham, where Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Orthodox all have shrines to the Mother of God, I overheard a group of school children who were on a daytrip to the shrine (I do not know from what school). But their guide was sitting in the shrine with them, and pointing to the soot on the walls. “Do you know why these walls are so dark?” She asked. The children ventured several wrong answers. “They are from the candles of so many, who have prayed so many prayers in this place. It is a holy place.” Indeed. May those prayers be heard, as well as the prayers I added when I lit my candles. May the faith of the fathers of Britain shine again in that green land - Aidan, Cuthbert, Theodore, Bede, good men and women who kept the faith and knew the way home.
Orthodox in England
by Fr. Stephen Freeman
By the kindness of a friend I recently was blessed with my first trip abroad and with a greater purpose than mere tourism (though we did a bit of touring). The foremost purpose of our visit was to make pilgrimage to the Orthodox Monastery of St. John the Baptist in Essex, a few hours drive from London. The monastery is fairly unique in the Orthodox world - a common monastery - that is having both men and women - with the women quartered on one side of the village lane and the men on the other. It is a community founded by Archimandrite Sophrony of blessed memory, who had been a disciple of St. Silouan on Mt. Athos. The community bears the stamp of the spiritual legacy of St. Silouan and his disciple, the Elder Sophrony. I was aware of this uniqueness - indeed it was what drew me to the monastery in the first place. My own spiritual father had described the monastery as the “healthiest” monastery in the Western world. I am now inclined to agree. There is far too much to the monastery’s life to write about at this moment for readers of Pontifications, but I would offer the suggestion that you try reading anything of Fr. Sophrony’s that you happen to find. It will not be a waste of time.
But I offer my visit to the monastery as a prelude to my thoughts - partly because I went to the monastery first and then made the tourist trek that is the subject of my thoughts at the moment - and partly to say that my thoughts are cast against the backdrop of a week’s quiet prayer and reflection in one of the holier places in our Western world.
My trip coincided with England’s run of good fortune in the World Cup. Everyone was being quite patriotic (they lost after I left) and concerned more with Ecuador and the like than with the U.S. or Iraq. That was my good fortune as a visiting American. My visit also coincided with the Episcopal Church’s General Convention, an event that probably received better coverage in the English papers than in those of the U.S. - Anglicanism not being a mere footnote in British history. Reading of the Episcopal Church’s descent into chaos (indeed “chaos” was the word used in the Times to describe the convention) while at the same time touring some of her Mother Church’s great cathedrals made for extended meditations.
The countryside of England looked like it is supposed to - quite “English.” Beautiful green fields, with occasional mops of trees and rooftops marking the presence of a village - each with the ever present spire of a village Anglican Church. Some of them were functioning and some were not. The Cathedrals functioned - mostly for tourism and now at a price (entrance into St. Paul’s in London is 9 pounds - though as a priest identified by my Orthodox cassock I was generously and warmly admitted free of charge). But all of the tours consisted of architecture and bits of history - not piety nor devotion. But that is largely understandable. The crux of my meditation was “Orthodox England,” for indeed, this land had once been an Orthodox land. English Saints are still remembered on the Orthodox calendar. St. Theodore of Tarsus, a Greek, was among the early Archbishops of Canterbury. A cursory read of the Venerable Bede and Orthodox Britain leaps into view.
At this point I have to beg the patience of our Roman Catholics on the blog. I know that Bede and Britain were as “Catholic” as they were “Orthodox,” as were we all. But I don’t know how to look for “Catholic” England other than to remember the murdering butchery of Henry VIII (he had the monks at Walsingham drawn and quartered), and the countless brave Jesuits who labored for the Catholic faith long after England had fallen under the dark shadow of Cromwell.
My meditation was on how falsely the story of Anglicanism had been related to me when I was an Anglican - both in adult inquirers’ classes and in seminary itself - the myth of the 3 Branch theory of the Church and other stories. Lies that Henry only wanted separation from Rome for the sake of the Kingdom, to secure a male heir. Little mention was made of his butchery and theft - the Reformation was a bloody revolution, a radical madness that turned society upside down. Today’s arguments about “salvation by grace through faith,” as if such slogans justified revolutions, ring as hollow as Stalin modernizing Russia, or Mussolini making trains run on time.
Where we stand today in history is not the fault of the modern world. There is no peaceful, pious, holy Britain to point to after the Reformation. There is more bloodshed, more revolution, counter-revolution, and the gradual sinking into the secularism of the Enlightenment. Whatever started with Henry killed a holy island.
But the reminders of what once was are ubiquitous. And there are doubtless many believers who remain - indeed the holy monastery I visited is evidence that the Christian faith cannot be extinguished. Perhaps the most poignant part of my visit was to take a short ride outside of Oxford to see the home of C.S.Lewis and to visit his grave and the Church in which he worshipped. There is a small sign that points his grave out to visitors. The man who was tending the graveyard commented, “Only Americans come to see his grave.” A very kind older gentleman insisted on taking us inside and we sat in Lewis’ pew and chatted for better than an hour. I found a faith in him, though one that was mixed with many notions that Lewis would have striven to correct. The parish bulletin’s lead article was all about “labyrinths” and how neat they were and the spirituality associated with them - mostly new-age nonsense. Only Americans at the grave, and a fine theological mind now consigned to sit quietly by while a labyrinth is established for the faithful to wander through looking for God. Anglicanism itself has sunk into a labyrinth where there may be few threads to lead a pilgrim homeward.
I spent my final week praying more, I think, than I did in the monastery. I prayed for Episcopalians at home who now have to hear about “Mother Jesus” from the highest levels, and Anglicans across the world who have to sort their way through. I prayed for a land that had been spiritually raped in its past with scars to show for it. I prayed for myself not to be depressed or to think myself different from others. And I gave thanks for the clear light of faith that continues to shine in small places across that wonderful island.
At Walsingham, where Anglican, Roman Catholic, and Orthodox all have shrines to the Mother of God, I overheard a group of school children who were on a daytrip to the shrine (I do not know from what school). But their guide was sitting in the shrine with them, and pointing to the soot on the walls. “Do you know why these walls are so dark?” She asked. The children ventured several wrong answers. “They are from the candles of so many, who have prayed so many prayers in this place. It is a holy place.” Indeed. May those prayers be heard, as well as the prayers I added when I lit my candles. May the faith of the fathers of Britain shine again in that green land - Aidan, Cuthbert, Theodore, Bede, good men and women who kept the faith and knew the way home.
Posted: Fri - July 21, 2006 at 01:30 PM
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Published On: Dec 28, 2006 09:23 AM
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Published On: Dec 28, 2006 09:23 AM