Month: October 2024

Prayer:

Posted on by Hm Rachel

Bede’s Life of Cuthbert: Chapter III

We are starting our exploration of Cuthbert’s life with chapter 3 which is the first event depicted in the images of the Yates Thompson collection. Cuthbert’s earlier life is described in some detail by Bede, but has not been illustrated by the scribes. There are stories of an ebullient youthful Cuthbert “because he was agile by nature and quick-witted, he very often used to prevail over his rivals in play, so that sometimes, when the rest were tired, he, being still untired, would triumphantly look round to see whether any of them were willing to contend with him again”. But around the age of eight, he was surprised to be addressed as “bishop” by a very young child, and this prophetic challenge seems to have shifted his direction into a more prayerful and thoughtful lifestyle. The events of Chapter 3 take place during this transitional period of his life. As a teenager he is already regarded to be a person of prayer. Bede writes:

HOW CUTHBERT CHANGED THE WINDS BY PRAYER, AND BROUGHT THE SCATTERED SHIPS SAFE TO LAND

FROM this time the lad becoming devoted to the Lord, as he afterwards assured his friends, often prayed to God amid dangers that surrounded him, and was defended by angelic assistance; nay, even in behalf of others who were in any danger, his benevolent piety sent forth prayers to God, and he was heard by Him who listens to the cry of the poor, and the men were rescued out of all their tribulations. There is, moreover, a monastery lying towards the south, not far from the mouth of the river Tyne, at that time consisting of monks, but now changed, like all other human things, by time, and inhabited by a noble company of virgins, dedicated to Christ. Now, as these pious servants of God were gone to bring from a distance in ships, up the above-named river, some timber for the use of the monastery, and had already come opposite the place where they were to bring the ships to land, behold a violent wind, rising from the west, carried away their ships, and scattered them to a distance from the river’s mouth.

Two monks praying at the monastery of Tynemouth interceding with God on behalf of those whom they perceived to be even now in imminent risk of death..

The brethren, seeing this from the monastery, launched some boats into the river, and tried to succour those who were on board the vessels, but were unable, because the force of the tide and violence of the winds overcame them. In despair therefore of human aid, they had recourse to God, and issuing forth from the monastery, they gathered themselves together on a point of rock, near which the vessels were tossing in the sea: here they bent their knees, and supplicated the Lord for those whom they saw under such imminent danger of destruction. But the Divine will was in no haste to grant these vows, however earnest; and this was, without a doubt, in order that it might be seen what effect was in Cuthbert’s prayers. For there was a large multitude of people standing on the other bank of the river and Cuthbert also was among them. Whilst the monks were looking on in sorrow, seeing the vessels, five in number, hurried rapidly out to sea, so that they looked like five sea-birds on the waves, the multitude began to deride their manner of life, as if they had deserved to suffer this loss, by abandoning the usual modes of life, and framing for themselves new rules by which to guide their conduct.

Cuthbert restrained the insults of the blasphemers, saying, “What are you doing, my brethren, in thus reviling those whom you see hurried to destruction ? Would it not be better and more humane to entreat the Lord in their behalf, than thus to take delight in their misfortunes? ” But the rustics, turning on him with angry minds and angry mouths, exclaimed, ” Nobody shall pray for them: may God spare none of them ! for they have taken away from men the ancient rites and customs, and how the new ones are to be attended to, nobody knows. ” At this reply, Cuthbert fell on his knees to pray, and bent his head towards the earth; immediately the power of the winds was checked, the vessels, with their conductors rejoicing, were cast upon the land near the monastery, at the place intended. The rustics blushing for their infidelity, both on the spot extolled the faith of Cuthbert as it deserved, and never afterwards ceased to extol it: so that one of the most worthy brothers of our monastery, from whose mouth I received this narrative, said that he had often, in company with many others, heard it related by one of those who were present, a man of the most rustic simplicity, and altogether incapable of telling an untruth.

Cuthbert praying on the banks of the River Tyne:

***********************************************************************************************************

I am especially charmed by Bede’s passing comment on the “monastery lying towards the south, not far from the mouth of the river Tyne, at that time consisting of monks, but now changed, like all other human things, by time, and inhabited by a noble company of virgins, dedicated to Christ.”  The women have taken over the monastery!  – I can sense his rueful resignation.  😉

But what is the point of this story? prayer?
Canon 603 is adamant that the prayer of the hermit be “assiduous”: [hermits] withdraw further from the world and devote their lives to the praise of God and the salvation of the world through … assiduous prayer”. What does this mean in practice? 

Bede uses the references of his story about St Cuthbert to emphasise the particular power of Cuthbert’s prayer.  He presents it as a capacity to engage with the elements – the wind, the rain, the stormy sea – in the same way as Jesus did on the Lake of Galilee.  We are to understand Cuthbert as a conduit of the charisms of the Christ figure who can control all of creation and thus rescue men “out of all their tribulations” through his prayer.

The prayers of the other monks – well-intentioned and “earnest” as they are – “they bent their knees, and supplicated the Lord for those whom they saw under such imminent danger of destruction” appear to fail in their intercession. Then Cuthbert kneels down and prays, “bending his head to the ground , and immediately the violent wind turned about and bore the rafts safe and sound to land, amid the rejoicings of those who were guiding them.” How are we to discern this difference in apparent outcome? What was it that made Cuthbert’s prayer effective, and those of the monks not-so-much? Even Bede seems confused – he offers the solution that the “Divine will” waited for Cuthbert’s prayer in order to advertise Cuthbert’s holiness and his favour with God; to promote him as a guide and teacher.

But this is such a usual happening – the prayers of the masses – for peace, for health, for security, are seldom answered in the way that Cuthbert seems able to invoke. We don’t seem to have the capacity to invoke the wind and the rain and to change the weather forecast at our convenience! How are we to resolve this discrepancy? How are we challenged, or discouraged, or defeated by this repeated experience? How do we deal with the realistic expectation that we may not be miracle-workers?

At the beginning of my hermitage, when I was a bit overwhelmed by it all, I asked my spiritual director what was expected of me when the “please pray for …” requests started coming in.  From the experience of many years in religious life, his response was:  “God hears the prayer already, as it is asked for.  The work of the prayer is done – in the asking – by the person who is doing the asking. That is the prayer. They have turned to God, The words have been spoken. God has heard. 

Your job then is to hold the silence that follows”

So how to “hold the silence?
One of the things that I have begun to learn over 23 years of hermitting has been “prayerful-living”.  I think it might have echoes in the methods of mindfulness which are so popular nowadays as a respite from the media fuzz.  My tendency to need to get-things-done can lead to a stressful chaos of half-finished tasks, my mind always on the next one.  My version of prayerful-living uses a simple silent mantra: this is what we are doing to keep me centred in the moment; to keep me fully involved in whatever task – prayer, housework, gardening, DIY – I might be engaged in.  this is what we are doing. This is a silent event; it is a gasp of acknowledgement. No matter how busy or active I might be in my work, I try to embrace the stillness of each moment. This is what we are doing

Hermitage is fundamentally a life of prayer.  And I do indeed spend some time each day in focussed silence and stillness and listening.  Sitting intentionally in God’s presence. These are the essential, but generally least remarkable times of my day!  The directness of God’s gaze can be uncomfortable, challenging, or occasionally reassuring.  And staying in that place when there is stuff to face, or other pressing matters to be getting on with, can be difficult: this is what we are doing. We stay a little longer.

But most of my silence-with-God goes on with God as a companion at my side, opposite me at the work table, enjoying the sunshine with me; the cosiness of a warm autumnal evening, walking through the woodlands near my bungalow, the juxtaposition of a book and a mug on a table. This is what we are doing. That refuge of the moment might be a place of safety where I receive bad news, or it might be a place of sadness, or anxiety, or tiredness, or pain: “this” –  this distress and discomfort and sorrow – this unbearable thing:  this  is what we are doing. 

Who is “we”? 

This is what we are doing. The “we” refers to God-and-me (or you!): the silence-of-us. But within that silent space are all the prayers we are holding; each and every person and the prayers already offered, and their unspoken prayers known only to God. They are fully present in that “we”, in each silent moment of hermitage.

Perhaps we can trust that the prayers of the Tynemouth monks were heard by God. Perhaps we can trust that those prayers opened a space in the crowd for Cuthbert to step forward and bend down and put his face to the ground to hold silence with God. Perhaps the wind and the rain put their faces to the ground and were silent with him.

Perhaps the silent space created by our prayers gives others a place where miracles can happen?

[hermits] withdraw further from the world and devote their lives to the praise of God and the salvation of the world through … assiduous prayer”. Canon 603

This text is part of the Internet Medieval Source Book. The Sourcebook is a collection of public domain and copy-permitted texts related to medieval and Byzantine history. Unless otherwise indicated the specific electronic form of the document is copyright. Permission is granted for electronic copying, distribution in print form for educational purposes and personal use. If you do reduplicate the document, indicate the source. No permission is granted for commercial use. © Paul Halsall June 1997 halsall@murray.fordham.edu

St Cuthbert in 10

Posted on by Hm Rachel

I was recently asked to produce a “Life in 10” of St Cuthbert for a wedding celebration. The limitations were defined by the seating arrangements! So here is the 10-pointed resume of his story:

1. 635 Cuthbert was born the same year as Aidan founded the monastery on Lindesfarne. He was of a noble family and was sent to a foster mother called Kenwith, in Melrose. She was influential throughout his life and Cuthbert often returned to visit her.

2. 652 Cuthbert had a premonition of Aidan’s death. He was standing at watch at night (he trained in the military life) and saw a light descend from heaven, and return again, carrying up a soul into eternal glory. When the news finally arrived from Lindesfarne, it transpired that Aidan died at the moment Cuthbert saw his vision.

3. 653 Cuthbert entered the monastery at Melrose. This was a daughter house of the Lindesfarne monastery, and also founded by Aidan. The prior there was Boisil, and when Cuthbert arrived to request admittance Boisil declared “Behold the servant of the Lord!”.

4. 653-66 Cuthbert spent at least 13 years at Melrose. His friendship with Boisil was very special. When Boisil foresaw his own death, he invited Cuthbert to spend the last 7 days studying the 7 chapters of the Passion of John’s Gospel. Boisil died on the eighth day.

5. 667-77 Cuthbert was sent to be Prior at Lindesfarne. He was well-respected for his counsel and growing wisdom. His preference was to retire occasionally to a little islet in the sea near the Abbey (now called St Cuthbert’s Isle), so he could spend more time in solitude and silence and prayer.

6. There is a famous story of Cuthbert. He went to the sea to pray, standing in it up to his waist. A monk witnessed Cuthbert leaving the water, followed by two sea otters who licked and warmed and dried his feet. The monk kept the story secret until Cuthbert was dead, but now it is recorded in the work of St Bede.

7. 678 Cuthbert asked to live a more solitary life on the uninhabited Farne islands. He built himself a bothy, a jetty for fishing, and a small vegetable plot. Many of these tasks were considered “super-human”, and St Bede writes that Cuthbert was often helped by the elements – the wind, the sea, the animals around him.

8. 685 The monks and the townsfolk of Northumbria missed Cuthbert, so when the Bishopric of Lindesfarne became vacant, the monks and the King, Ecgrith, were sent in a boat to bring Cuthbert back. Cuthbert was very reluctant, but they didn’t really give him any choice. He endured as bishop for 2 years.

9. 687 Cuthbert realised his end was near, and set sail back to his bothy. He was followed by a small group of monks who were concerned for him. They found him waiting for them at the jetty in some distress, but he refused to leave, so the monks comforted him and left without him. He died on 20 March 687.

10. 793 But that is not the end of his journeys. When the Vikings invaded, the monks dug up his coffin, found his body uncorrupted, and took him with them as they escaped the warring throng. They finally laid his body to rest at Durham. His grave is still there behind the high altar of the Cathedral built in his honour.

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    Canon 603 and St Cuthbert

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    The life of St Cuthbert is surprisingly well documented for a saint of the seventh century. Four “Lives” were written in the years following his death, when the discovery of his incorrupt body led to an upsurge in fervour for the cult of the saint, who had previously only been known as a local man of virtue, and a “miracle-worker”. The first “Life” written by an anonymous source just 11 years after his death, is short, pithy and full of local (Northumbrian) flavour. The responsibility was then passed to St Bede at the Monastery of Jarrow, to give a more ecclesial version of his life – his roles as prior, hermit and bishop are more fully emphasised, and Bede seasons his writings with frequent references to Holy Scripture. His intention is clearly to present Cuthbert as a model of Christ, and worthy of our attention and imitation. Bede eventually wrote three versions of Cuthbert’s life – the first was poetic – arranged as metrical verses, and then a longer prose life which explored more aspects of Cuthbert’s personality (this is the one that is most usually referenced). Bede also included a brief account of Cuthbert’s influence, en-passant, through the reigns of Oswald and Oswy and the Council of Whitby. You will find it in book III of Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People.

    Monk kissing the feet of Cuthbert

    The growing cult of St Cuthbert during the Medieval years, resulted in enthusiastic pilgrimage to the priory at Durham where his body was finally laid to rest. It is likely that the illuminated manuscripts which so charmingly illustrate his life, were produced in the scriptorium there.

    Bede in the Scriptorium

    The scribe of Durham chose to illustrate a number of the incidents from Bede’s “Life of Cuthbert”. There are 41 extant manuscripts. The book of manuscripts was initially presented (hung around his neck!) to William Fitzherbert, Archbishop of York, when he visited Durham Cathedral to celebrate his cousin, Hugh de Puiset, being installed as Bishop of Durham in 1153.

    The manuscripts were eventually collected together again in the nineteenth century by a Master-collector, Henry Yates Thomson (1838-1928), who later donated them to the British Library, where they can still be viewed. The Life of Cuthbert is the first British Library manuscript from the Yates Thompson collection to be made available on Digitised Manuscripts. You can find out more here: A Menagerie of Miracles: The Illustrated Life of St Cuthbert – Medieval manuscripts blog (typepad.co.uk)

    I am hoping, over the next few months, years even, to explore the spirituality of St Cuthbert, as represented in his life and by the images in the manuscripts, and to explore how we can be guided in our understanding and living of Canon 603 by his teaching and example.

    A poem to mark the 150th Anniversary of the Restoration of the Hierarchy in England and Wales

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    When the eagle lived on Cheviot and swung
    In his large orbit, the Kingdom of Northumbria
    Turned under his eyes; the hunched-up
    Hills at the border, the rivers gouging
    Their dales Eastbound towards the North Sea –
    Terrible sometimes, beautiful also, bearing
    A traffic of commerce and even-handedly
    A cargo of death.
    Adamant, limestone, sandstone, shale, peat,
    The layers of lettered history.
    Faith puts down roots to a depth beyond


    The Romans marched from the South, consul
    And centurion in massed phalanx, harvesting
    The last of Europe, sowing the syntax
    Of their language, planting the land
    Thick with laws, building the house of order.
    The Wall marked out their sovereignty,
    Strode across the crowded hills enclosing
    The Roman Peace, forbidding chaos.
    Faith is discipline and the order of life. Faith is obedience.

    From the West the monks travelled gently,
    Working through the valleys towards the Island;
    Cutting “peace” on the doorsteps, Aidan and Cuthbert,
    Shod with the Good News; Bede conning the Gospel
    To the last; but knowing also
    The ways of foxes and how the ducks managed
    And the cormorant and the puffin in the November hurricanes.
    Faith is prayer in the teeth of God’s worst weather.
    Faith is quiet places.

    Norsemen in long ships from the unmapped Eastern
    Ocean swooped, nosing with iron beaks
    Into the inlets and small harbours;
    Seeking cattle and women and the monks’ treasures;
    Laying the Kingdom waste, yet coming
    Again and again over depths and reaches,
    Which the whale owns and the stormy petrel
    And the doom-laden albatross.
    Faith is diving against the wind
    In contrary seas.
    Faith is courage.

    Over the unmanned frontier, to and fro,
    Crossing and re-crossing, the Border Reivers
    Came in their steel bonnets; fire and broadsword,
    Ruin and devastation, waste.
    Preserving all the same their stock
    Even in death’s maelstrom: Robson and Fenwick,
    Armstrong, Forster and Musgrave.
    Faith is to name

    And to be named.

    Under the skin of the moor, in the groin
    Of the fell, other rich spoils
    Lay, age-long hidden: lead, iron, coal.
    Down they went, the colliers, into the sombre
    Galleries to loosen the gleaming, treacherous
    Seams, by flickering candle-light first, later
    In the pits grand and perilous, the Rising Sun,
    The Isabella, and the Dean and Chapter.
    Faith is to work in the dark. Faith is risk.

    For those who go down to the sea in ships,
    Welder and caulkers bent their backs, wielding
    Hammer and blow-torch, shaping the steel
    To rise in the staithes and swoop down the slipway;
    Liner, destroyer, collier, freighter, tramp:
    Mauritania, Newcastle, Esso Northumbria,
    Easing between the piers into the element
    of tiderace and countercurrent, the fathoms of God.
    ‘O hear us when we call to thee
    For those in peril…’
    Faith is to be adrift in a small ship in a squall,
    And know it unsinkable.

    Mostly gone now, all that; what comes next
    is from, perhaps, above; is symbol and soundbyte
    Snatched or filtered out of the crinkled airwaves,
    And rebuilt around us, shadows and solidifying
    Into realities; old times are gone, it seems to say,
    Existence is information, begin afresh.
    Faith is to carry the past. Alive into the present.
    Faith is the future.

    Ah!  The men of the North!
    But the women are muted into quietude
    Whispering, murmuring obedience,
    wising their menfolk into deaf ears.
    There is blood-ruby here in the womb-vaults of the steepled Church,
    The veins are deep, pressured, life-full,
    Sacrament to the wastelands of our ecclesial industry.
    The harrowing will glisten our brows,
    the sloughing of stone and candle-wax, the shriek of mangled iron … 

    But, oh!  The treasure!

    Faith is all-in-all.
    No priest, nor prophet, nor king, between each and each, in GOD.

    Kevin Nichols and Hm Rachel (last verse only)

    Thoughts from Loyola

    Posted on by Hm Rachel

    My study project for the last couple of years has been participating in an online course in pastoral ministry led by the University of Loyola in Chicago. One of our tasks each week was to respond with a short reflection on the material we were studying that week – topics ranged from the Old Testament to Catholic Social Teaching, via the spirituality of John Duns Scotus and the radical reshuffle of Vatican II. It was a wide ranging course!
    Some of the notes which were made by our cohort struck me as well worth sharing (with their permissions) and might provoke a response in you too.




    Glory, glory, glory!: We were re-introduced to the saints of the Reformation. This is on the work and writings of Mary Ward – an educator of the C17 and the founder of the Loreto nuns (IBVM).

    Glory, glory, glory – Another new mentor for me.  I spent a brief year educated by IBVM sisters at Loreto Manchester, before a family move took us to another city. I was in Teresa Ball House (who continued the work of Mary Ward), but never really explored their story in any depth, so this was like getting to know distant cousins all over again.  I am glad to have met them!
    I am not sure that Mary Ward qualifies as an English martyr, but I will run with “remaining faithful to her spiritual legacy”.  Lots of resonance, but this really stood out:  “singular freedom … renders us apt for all good works, so that we do not limit encounter with GOD to some special and holy sphere, but experience GOD precisely in the ordinariness of our human existence”.  Surely also the legacy of those who lived their faith with such intuitive profundity that they were prepared to die for it.
    I mentioned in a previous response that I was participating in a parish synodal retreat.  It was not earth-shattering, nobody was martyred, and yet each person is marginally dislocated from their previous path; twitches and tweaks which will enable them to grow in new ways – enable our parish community to grow in new ways –  “experiencing GOD in the ordinariness of our human existence”.  We can work with the mustard seeds of our daily faith; GOD can move the mountains. (Matt 17:20-21).
    I cannot finish without joining in Mary Ward’s ever-loudening rallying call  “we were [considered] in all things inferior to some other creature which I suppose to be man, which I dare be bold to say is a lie.”   The nonsense by which the Church continues to choose to differentiate between male and female roles is unrelenting, but the nudging of the Spirit goes on.  We will get there.




    This was one of my contributions – I am often looking for ways to “uncover” hermitage, so I couldn’t resist this reference to ecclesiology by Hahnenburg which resonates so closely with hermitage spirituality.

    I am going to go off-piste a little here by considering very specifically, the ecclesiological model* of hermitage, by sharing some of the teachings of St Peter Damien alongside the sources cited by Hahnenberg.
    Peter was an 11th century Benedictine hermit/bishop.  (ref image attached).  One of the great debates occupying the minds of the day, was the question of praying on your own.  When a hermit was praying in solitude, could they legitimately pray the call/response “The Lord be with you” “And also with you”?  Peter wrote a whole book about it, and his answer was a resounding “YES!”.  (ref excerpt below)
    His teaching was that each hermit is created in the image of Christ – confirmed by baptism – so each holds within them the fullness of Christ – the fullness of Church.  Peter went so far as to say that each hermit is Church unto themself.  The motif of hermitage-as-tabernacle which I referred to in a previous post, is in part derived from this teaching.  As Hahnenberg cited, a reality imbued with the hidden presence of God (Pope Paul VI)*.   in Christ, a sacrament … of communion with God and of the unity of the human race (Dogmatic constitution on the Church)*.
    Even after I had arrived in my hermitage, it took me a long while to get a sense of what it was for.  I knew it was “home”, the place I was meant to be, but what was I supposed to be doing here?  The answer perhaps lies in this theology of ecclesiology.  As the video described, the hermit is “in the mess” with the whole Church – the hermit IS the Church.  And so as the hermit (and her mess), are redeemed in Christ,  the whole Church is redeemed in Christ.  In Christ, we redeem each other.
    To paraphrase the quotation we were given: The hermit acts in God what in God’s eye they are, Christ.  And the hermit abides in this mystery, not as an individual, but as Church.
    Ps.  As per previous posts, this doesn’t just apply to hermits; it applies to everyone!
    Pps.  Also! lo cotidiano is exactly the word for hermitage.  It is the “ordinary” I keep on talking about.  Thank you Aleja! 




    In our module on the History of the English Church, we were given this (long!) poem by Kevin Nichols (also wrote the popular hymn: In bread we bring you Lord), and asked to contribute a final verse

    A poem to mark the 150th Anniversary of the Restoration of the Hierarchy in England and Wales
    (You will need to click the link – I put it on a separate page because it is so long … but worth reading, especially if you love the Northern climes!). And here is a verse written in response:

    Ah!  The men of the North!
    But the women are muted into quietude
    Whispering, murmuring obedience,
    wising their menfolk into deaf ears.
    There is blood-ruby here in the womb-vaults of the steepled Church,
    The veins are deep, pressured, life-full,
    Sacrament to the wastelands of our ecclesial industry.
    The harrowing will glisten our brows,
    the sloughing of stone and candle-wax, the shriek of mangled iron … 

    But, oh!  The treasure!

    Faith is all-in-all.
    No priest, nor prophet, nor king, between each and each, in GOD.




    This was a fun exercise. I wonder what your version of the Gospel might look like?

    One of the aspects of our study which I have found enriching is uncovering the predisposition of the writers – the intentional purposes of their writing.  I have always worked flexibly with the scriptures to achieve a coherent framework in my mind, but I had somehow considered the New Testament in general, and the Gospels in particular, to be … well … GOSPEL!  An objective account of what actually happened, with the discrepancies being accounted for as errors, forgetfulness, misunderstandings.  So the possibility that the differences are directed and intentional and purposeful is something of a revelation. I am reassured that my arguments might be with personal interpretations, rather than with the TRUTH.
    And it set me to wondering what the Gospel according to Margaret might look like – using the “source material” of the Synoptics, in the same way as Luke and Mathew used Mark and Q and L and M.  I hope it might be at least as pithy as Mark with some of the warmth of Luke.  I think Matthew might find my version a bit casual, with the occasional quirky metaphor thrown in to make the reader smile!  And perhaps borrowing some of the timey-wimey flavour of John (ref link below) – it would begin at the beginning, but be written on a mobius strip so that there would be no beginning and no end.  Apart from the OT scriptures, I would also pepper my work with citations from more contemporary writers/prophets – the Desert Fathers, St John of the Cross, Nouwen, Chittister, Rohr.
    My letters would be almost certainly less measured and technical than Paul’s, but possibly a little less obdurate too; with less emphasis on sin, and more on the wonder of being created in the image of GOD’s humanity.
    My “directed, intentional and purposeful” flavour?  Being human is in the nature of GOD from the beginning, GOD’s humanity calls our own humanity into being.  Jesus-on-earth “consummates” God’s humanity (“it is accomplished” – there’s the gift!) and redemption -as experienced through the Resurrection stories – was from the beginning, forever, eternal. Amen.
    The Gospel writers have the disadvantage of their work being established into an authoritative/canonical form.  Mine hasn’t reached that stage yet.  It is still emerging, and will constantly be written and overwritten in different coloured pens and scattered with post-its of “try-out” ideas that I am not quite ready yet to fully commit to.
    It would be lovely if anyone else felt able to share a little of the flavour of their own personal Gospel?




    Another discussion on Catholic Social Teaching – exploring the nuances of the “technical” language used and how that might distort our approach to the “other”.

    I was reading this week’s resources alongside the brief report of the Synod discussions-to-date, published by the Vatican News.  Very mixed feelings, which 250 words won’t begin to explore, so some brief points to ponder:
    Some key words stand out in both Byron and the Synod report: “dignity”, “respect”, “solidarity”.  Both documents express concern in those terms for the poor, women, migrants etc.  
    But I worry about how “dignity”, “respect”, “solidarity” are differently interpreted in the two documents – manipulated even?  There is a sense in the Synod summary, of the poor, women, migrants being “other” – a problem or dilemma to be resolved so that we can return to the status quo.  Why is there a particular need to “accompany and understand”?  Are the women, and the migrants, and the poor so alien to Church that they need to be approached with such caution?  Do they not, in themselves alone, embody the sensum fidei which is the heartbeat of the Church?
    As I understand CST solidarity described by Byron, it is much stronger, more rooted than that.  The solidarity of CST is about identifying with the “considered-by-the-clerical-community-to-be-edge-people”; not inviting them into pre-defined roles, but recognising that they can define their own roles, can contribute from their own place; that their voice is as influential as anyone else’s.  That their Christ-ness can speak to us of GOD, bring us to GOD,  just as fully as any person’s. 
    There is also a danger that “dignity” and “respect” are used as foils to deflect from seriously interrogating differing and contentious perspectives – a new version of paternalism which recognises the validity of people who think differently, but puts them in the back room and asks them to keep the noise down.
    The Church has a long way to go. 




    This was part of an interesting discussion about the liturgical presentation of the Church – inspired by the coronation of Charles III!

    My most informative “experience” of the disputes of Reformation and the role of Cranmer, has to be through the books and TV adaptation of “Wolf Hall” and “Bring up the Bodies” (author Hillary Mantel).  She doesn’t paint a sympathetic picture of Cranmer – he is a prominent figure in the narrative, and his slow and somewhat duplicitous struggle for power entangled with the desires and ambitions of Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, Thomas Cromwell and Thomas Moore all bear much probing.  The books in particular present a language which “hears differently” to today’s speech.  I understand Mantel is a diligent researcher, so it is possible that there is some accuracy in the idioms and mannerisms of the day.

    I was thinking about this during yesterday’s Coronation service – archaic language and symbolism which, by dint of the thoughtfulness and skill and exquisite attention to detail of the designers and choreographers, actually came across as holding meaning – more of an ordination than a coronation I felt.  An elegant and solemn space of respect and commitment to service.

    I am a fierce proponent of inclusive language in all liturgical situations – MotherFather, Christ, Abraham & Sarah, Jacob & Rachel, we, people, humankind etc. – and I recognise that the RC Church’s bullish persistence in the use of gendered language for GOD, in particular, and the lexical exclusion of women, is totally alienating and excludes a vast proportion of GOD’s own people.  So the accessibility of yesterday’s ceremonial has blindsided me a bit.  I would not have thought it possible – and indeed without the sensitive and scrupulous preparation (not generally available within your regular parish liturgy) it would not have been possible.  But, somehow, they did it.  Well done them.




    We talked about Evangelisation, and how to create welcoming community spaces where people could explore and share safely. I think this is a good summation.

    I have known of the Alpha Course for a long time, but never been involved, though I have heard good things about it.  My two take-aways from the introductory video and clips were

    1. Safe spaces!  –  lovely to see this old friend again and to see how it is created and effected in the Alpha groups – the “any question” mantra must open up some wonderful discussions.  And I love that they specifically included the doubters – it really does make a safe space for everyone.
    2. Secularism as a culture –  I found this a really useful handle, and it gives a new life and energy to our evangelisation – Missionaries to a secular society, taking on board all the priorities and mores and culture of the world outside our parish church (and inside!) and engaging, listening, pondering, responding, inviting them to change us; to let us change them.

      As we have discussed before, perhaps the practices underlying both of these take-aways are those of engaging and listening – respectfully and compassionately and honestly and energetically, in a spirit of mutuality.  Bringing our whole selves with us into *their* safe space.  Discovering what questions do their cultural experiences leave them with – what questions do their cultural experiences leave us with?.  What is the question they are looking for the answer to? 

      As Pope Francis says in his letter to bishops in preparation for the Synod:  Go out and meet them,let them question you, let their questions become your questions. Journey together.




    Shiny glittery things: This one was a rare treat, from when we were considering forming relationships in the module on Catchesis, Even if you don’t answer the questions, I hope you enjoy the video!

    I am afraid this link might set Sr Carino’s alarm bells ringing, as there is no mention of Jesus!   This is from our parish retreat leading us into new ways of relationship with God, with each other, through Synodality.  Although each session does include pieces drawn from the Gospels, the writings of Pope Francis and other prayers, personally I think this video suffices for a standalone session of its own.  I love the intimacy, the tenderness, the delight of each in the other.  And of course, it is very, very beautiful! 

    Perhaps the invitation in the questions after the video, is to the catechumen to find and name the Word of God for themselves.

    Questions:
    Why do you think this video has been included in your programme of catechesis?  How does it witness, accompany, teach?
    What might this video reveal to you about the relationship between God and humankind?
    What might this video reveal to you about the relationship of the Trinity?
    What might this video reveal to you about relationships within your parish community.
    Where do you place yourself in this dance?  Who else is there?  Who is dancing?  Who is leading?  Who is delighting?
    Is this the Word of God to you?  If so, what is God saying to you?

    Another bit of my own story. And the story of the English Church. This experience was the beginning of my delight in St Cuthbert and his spirituality – And to discover more recently that Bd John Duns Scotus is also a kindred spirit.

    So then, Bd John Duns Scotus was a bit of a revelation.  I have been muddling my way towards my own wonderously-true-but-not-entirely-orthodox “God-story” for the last 60 years or so, and occasionally presented versions of it to friends and/or “learned men and women” – generally meeting with a gentle, kindly smile of wouldn’t-it-be-lovely scepticism!  So the discovery that the same ideas (Plan A!) were presented with far more clarity than I have ever been able to muster, by a C13 man of “slow-learning”. Hoorah for Bd John Duns Scotus!
    My first visit to Holy Island/Lindesfarne was in the eighties with the Newcastle University Catholic Chaplaincy – our pre-exam season annual retreat.  This was before the gentrification of the island which has taken place in more recent years.  No information centres, prayer gardens, artistic installations or tourist shops.  It really had a bedraggled, windswept, ancient ruggedness – the only daytime shelter was the Lindesfarne Mead showroom which offered free – and very welcome to cold impoverished students – samples, and an occasionally-open tea room with chintz tablecloths, serving scones and jam to the more financially endowed.
    I fell in love with the place. 
    We held a prayer service in the Anglican church near the old Abbey ruins and were invited to search the island for something of “significance” to share with the group.  I chose a small pebble from the beach – I called it my serenity stone and kept it for years.  It has since been replaced with others – any pebble will do.  The point was/is that it was perfectly “content” being itself.  At the time, as a student under pressure of finance, deadlines, ambition, that seemed an enviable capacity. 
    My experience of Celtic spirituality resonates with my concept of the serenity stone.  A space, a focus, to be still.  To abide in “Plan A”.  I like to think that John Duns Scotus might smile at my idea – and hopefully with less scepticism than my earlier advisors. 




    To finish this post from Loyola on a high and profound note … we were asked “What makes a great parish liturgy” This was one person’s contribution. Thank you Deidre.

    What makes a Great liturgy?  Some thoughts about the Mass 

    ·       The fact that I / we went to it. We showed up. Again.

    ·       The fact that we arrived in time to sit down and become present – Not so easy with traffic and young children etc. Or difficulties getting up for a teenager. Or someone elderly. Or the changes in public transport. Or the sports calendars / commitments of family members. Or yet more roadworks / temporary traffic lights that were not there yesterday!

    ·       That I was welcomed with a smile and a comment.

    ·       And others nodded to me, and I to them across the aisle.

    ·       The choir’s not great, let’s be honest. But I know and like this hymn and it is meaningful for the season. (This is not guaranteed.)

    ·       There is light through stained glass.

    ·       There are flowers and the microphones are working well.

    ·       There are two young altar servers on the altar with the priest

    ·       There is a children’s liturgy and after the welcome, they skip up the aisle to the sacristy. Followed by some of their parents.

    ·       I reflect on my recent shortcomings and am forgiven.

    ·       There is a reader who reads clearly and slowly enough. And does not distract from the words. They are young. They are old. They are Keralan. They are French.

    ·       That some words of the readings elicit a response in me.

    ·       That I harness my distracted mind to listen to a part of the homily. Or reflect on the readings.

    ·       That I believe. And I prayed with everyone for the needs spoken. And silently for those I promised to pray for. And other needs.

    ·       That I have offered something of myself to this. Plus, donated.

    ·       That I am present to the Liturgy of the Eucharist. And pray for those I need to. Do this in memory of me. That there is silence afterwards. That I rest a moment in Him however brief. I am outside time and my everyday life.

    ·       That I am sent and I assent.

    ·       The choir again. And that the hymn is familiar to many and uplifts them on their way. (This is not guaranteed.)

    ·       At the end we greet each other, listen and share, in communion. Comfort and rejoice for all the everyday sorrows and joys. And sometimes, the overwhelming bereavement or loss. Or the worry for a child who is not in a good place, a safe space.

    ·       And I speak to someone I haven’t spoken to before. And make a connection that may be strengthened

    ·       And we head over to share coffee and biscuits and catch up and volunteer. And accept support. And I check in with the priest.

    ·       And it is ordinary. And it is extraordinary.  

    ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​A great liturgy. A mystery.

    Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26-27 NRSV