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This year, I have been running a series of posts on Percy Dearmer‘s 1912 volume, Everyman’s History of the Prayer Book, published by Mowbray.

These are the previous posts in the series:

Percy Dearmer on the Anglican Thirty-nine Articles of Religion

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 1

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 2

Percy Dearmer on the earliest church service manuscripts

Percy Dearmer’s interpretation of St Paul on prophecy and tongues

Percy Dearmer on elements of worship in the New Testament

Percy Dearmer: how several prayer books became one liturgical book

Percy Dearmer on Reformation, royalty and the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer: first Anglican Prayer Book ‘too fair-minded’ for a violent era

Percy Dearmer on the effect of Edward VI’s reign on the Church of England

Percy Dearmer on the Second Prayer Book’s Calvinistic bent

Percy Dearmer on the Third Prayer Book and Elizabeth I

Percy Dearmer blamed Calvinists for sucking the life-blood out of Anglicanism

Percy Dearmer on the Fourth Prayer Book and the King James Version of the Bible

Percy Dearmer wisely skipped over the turmoil that was going on not only in England but in Europe during King James I’s (James VI of Scotland) and Charles I’s respective reigns.

However, some historical notes need to be added to understand the civil and religious strife during this time. The two intermingled, causing much violence and uncertainty.

Before getting to Chapter 10 of Dearmer’s book, I shall try to sum this up as briefly as possible.

James I was Charles I’s father. When the latter was of marriageable age, the Continent was experiencing political struggles between Catholic and Protestant royal houses and emperors. Spain was a powerful player at this time. People today would find it amazing to know that Spain ruled the Low Countries, but the Spanish Netherlands did indeed exist between 1581 to 1714.

James hoped to broker peace with Spain by marrying Charles off to Princess Maria Anna. However, as the Wikipedia account of Charles I‘s life and death tells us (emphases mine):

Unfortunately for James, negotiation with Spain proved generally unpopular, both with the public and with James’s court.[19] The English Parliament was actively hostile towards Spain and Catholicism, and thus, when called by James in 1621, the members hoped for an enforcement of recusancy laws, a naval campaign against Spain, and a Protestant marriage for the Prince of Wales.[20]

The Spanish Court — including Princess Maria Anna — opposed the match, and it never took place.

However, Charles did marry a Catholic, France’s Princess Henrietta Maria, in 1625, which did not stand him in good stead in England. He had succeeded his father as king in 1624 and was crowned formally on February 2, 1626. Tensions ran high:

Many members of the Commons were opposed to the king’s marriage to a Roman Catholic, fearing that Charles would lift restrictions on Catholic recusants and undermine the official establishment of the reformed Church of England. Although he told Parliament that he would not relax religious restrictions, he promised to do exactly that in a secret marriage treaty with his brother-in-law Louis XIII of France.[41]

Things were not well in the royal household at that time:

Disputes over her jointure, appointments to her household, and the practice of her religion culminated in the king expelling the vast majority of her French attendants in August 1626.[58]

However, not long afterwards, diplomacy with Spain ensued and his marital problems were resolved. In fact, Charles and his Queen consort:

embodied an image of virtue and family life, and their court became a model of formality and morality.[73]

That said, the religious issue of Henrietta Maria’s Catholicism did not disappear.

Taxes were high so that Charles could finance war. He also granted monopolies, which companies paid for. One of them was for soap:

pejoratively referred to as “popish soap” because some of its backers were Catholics.[108]

Another religious issue was the determination of Calvinists — Puritans — to become the dominant religious force. Yet another — on the opposite side of the aisle — was the popularity of Arminianism, which posits that man can accept or reject salvation. In addition, Charles’s diplomacy with Spain was viewed with suspicion, as a way of bringing in Catholicism via the back door.

Charles was concerned about the direction the Reformation was taking in England. The action he took proved to be unpopular:

In 1633, Charles appointed William Laud as Archbishop of Canterbury.[118] Together, they began a series of anti-Calvinist reforms that attempted to ensure religious uniformity by restricting non-conformist preachers, insisting that the liturgy be celebrated as prescribed in the Book of Common Prayer, organising the internal architecture of English churches so as to emphasise the sacrament of the altar, and re-issuing King James’s Declaration of Sports, which permitted secular activities on the sabbath.[119] The Feoffees for Impropriations, an organisation that bought benefices and advowsons so that Puritans could be appointed to them, was dissolved.[120] To prosecute those who opposed his reforms, Laud used the two most powerful courts in the land, the Court of High Commission and the Court of Star Chamber.[121] The courts became feared for their censorship of opposing religious views, and became unpopular among the propertied classes for inflicting degrading punishments on gentlemen.[122]

Conflicts arose in Scotland and Ireland. Parliamentarians in England were also furious with Charles. They impeached Archbishop Laud in 1640 and accused the king of tyranny.

On January 3, 1642, Charles entered the House of Commons to have five members of Parliament arrested on charges of treason. (Word had reached the men, who escaped by boat.) When Charles made his demand, Parliament refused to comply.

It should be noted that the monarch never enters the House of Commons. That Charles did so sealed his fate.

The result was the English Civil War which lasted from 1642 to 1651. It was fought between the Roundheads (Parliamentarians) and Cavaliers (Royalists):

The overall outcome of the war was threefold: the trial and execution of Charles I (1649); the exile of his son, Charles II (1651); and the replacement of English monarchy with, at first, the Commonwealth of England (1649–1653) and then the Protectorate under the personal rules of Oliver Cromwell (1653–1658) and his son Richard (1658–1659). The monopoly of the Church of England on Christian worship in England ended with the victors’ consolidating the established Protestant Ascendancy in Ireland. Constitutionally, the wars established the precedent that an English monarch cannot govern without Parliament‘s consent, although the idea of Parliament as the ruling power of England was only legally established as part of the Glorious Revolution in 1688.[2]

The period between Charles I’s death and Charles II’s accession to the throne is called the Interregnum, which had strong religious overtones:

The Interregnum was a relatively short but important period in the history of the British Isles. It saw a number of political experiments without any stable form of government emerging, largely due to the wide diversity in religious and political groups that had been allowed to flourish after the regicide of Charles I.

The Puritan movement had evolved as a rejection of both real and perceived “Catholicisation” of the Church of England. When the Church of England was quickly disestablished by the Commonwealth Government, the question of what church to establish became a hotly debated subject. In the end, it was impossible to make all the political factions happy. During the Interregnum, Oliver Cromwell lost much of the support he had gained during the Civil War.

Puritans dominated the landscape:

After the Parliamentarian victory in the Civil War, the Puritan views of the majority of Parliament and its supporters began to be imposed on the rest of the country. The Puritans advocated an austere lifestyle and restricted what they saw as the excesses of the previous regime. Most prominently, holidays such as Christmas and Easter were suppressed.[2] Pastimes such as the theatre and gambling were also banned. However, some forms of art that were thought to be “virtuous”, such as opera, were encouraged. These changes are often credited to Oliver Cromwell, though they were introduced by the Commonwealth Parliament; and Cromwell, when he came to power, was a liberalising influence.[3]

Interestingly, independent Protestant churches flourished during this time:

The breakdown of religious uniformity and incomplete Presbyterian Settlement of 1646 enabled independent churches to flourish. The main sects (see also English Dissenters) were Baptists, who advocated adult rebaptism; Ranters, who claimed that sin did not exist for the “chosen ones”; and Fifth Monarchy Men, who opposed all “earthly” governments, believing they must prepare for God’s kingdom on earth by establishing a “government of saints”.

Despite greater toleration, extreme sects were opposed by the upper classes as they were seen as a threat to social order and property rights. Catholics were also excluded from the toleration applied to the other groups.

When Oliver Cromwell died in 1658, his son Richard succeeded him. However, Richard lacked authority and his rule was brief, 264 days:

The Protectorate came to an end in May 1659 when the Grandees recalled the Rump Parliament, which authorised a Committee of Safety to replace Richard’s Council of State. This ushered in a period of unstable government, which did not come to an end until February 1660 when General George Monck, the English military governor of Scotland, marched to London at the head of his troops, and oversaw the restoration of the monarchy under Charles II.

Understandably, no one in Britain wants a repeat of this, including the religious restrictions that took place during these years.

History lesson concluded, let us turn to Percy Dearmer.

He informs us that the Book of Common Prayer was abolished in 1645:

and its use made penal.

With Charles II’s accession to the throne, there was much rejoicing:

ENGLAND turned with shouts of joy from the rancour and violence of the Commonwealth, from the spiritual despotism of the Presbyterians and of the Independents who ousted them, and from the resulting distraction and impiety, to the Restoration of Church and King, and of free Parliamentary institutions …

However, the mood turned against non-Conformists, who were persecuted.

With the Church of England re-established, there was great hunger for the previously banned Prayer Book:

So great was the demand for Prayer Books that, before 1660 had reached its close, five editions of the old Book were printed.

But the Prayer Book had not been revised since 1604, and many agreed at least in this — that a new revision was needed.

This brings us to the theological background of the 1662 Book of Common Prayer, the subject of the next post in this series.

This year, I have been running a series of posts on Percy Dearmer‘s 1912 volume, Everyman’s History of the Prayer Book, published by Mowbray.

These are the previous posts in the series:

Percy Dearmer on the Anglican Thirty-nine Articles of Religion

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 1

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 2

Percy Dearmer on the earliest church service manuscripts

Percy Dearmer’s interpretation of St Paul on prophecy and tongues

Percy Dearmer on elements of worship in the New Testament

Percy Dearmer: how several prayer books became one liturgical book

Percy Dearmer on Reformation, royalty and the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer: first Anglican Prayer Book ‘too fair-minded’ for a violent era

Percy Dearmer on the effect of Edward VI’s reign on the Church of England

Percy Dearmer on the Second Prayer Book’s Calvinistic bent

Percy Dearmer on the Third Prayer Book and Elizabeth I

Percy Dearmer blamed Calvinists for sucking the life-blood out of Anglicanism

Last week’s post about Calvinists is recommended reading for today’s entry.

The theological conflict between Calvinists and traditional Anglicans continued long after Elizabeth I’s reign.

Elizabeth I was not a Calvinist, nor was her successor, James I (James VI of Scotland). However, a Calvinist — Puritan — faction was strong and still wanted to leave its stamp on the Church of England.

This conflict continued throughout most of the 17th century, as Dearmer explains in Chapter 9 of his book.

Fortunately, even during the tumultuous atmosphere of the early 1600s, lasting good was to emerge in England via the Authorised — King James — Version of the Bible.

Percy Dearmer researched the history of that era and found documentation by a prominent German historian, Dr Dollinger, regarding this new edition of the Bible (emphases mine below):

I believe we may credit one great superiority in England over other countries to the circumstance that there the Holy Scripture is found in every house, as is the case nowhere else in the world. It is, so to speak, the good genius of the place, the protecting spirit of the domestic hearth and family.

Would that this were the case today. Believers would do well to pray that this becomes so once more. I have never seen such a group of atheists as I have in England — and Great Britain as a whole.

Dearmer, while condemning Edward VI’s advisors and the subsequent Puritans, asks us to be philosophical about good coming from bad:

Those who come after — some time after — are able to separate the good from the evil, and to possess all that is worthy, not from one side only, but from both. Thus the world does slowly grow in wisdom, learning to eschew what is evil and to hold fast what is good … that freedom to-day which is the main hope of Christendom — the freedom to go back behind the traditions of men to the plain words and pure example of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Before I get to the Authorised Version — the KJV — there were other ecclesiastically historical events which preceded it.

The Hampton Court Conference, 1604

In January 1604, when James I succeeded Elizabeth I, the Puritans pressed for what they called a Millenary Petition. The objective was for more reform in the national Church.

The King, who was no Puritan but who — according to Dearmer — loved a good argument, responded with the Hampton Court Conference.

The Puritans, predictably, laid out their objections to the Third Prayer Book of Elizabeth’s reign. As notionally ‘Romish’ elements of the First Prayer Book had been restored, they wanted to see these eliminated once and for all.

The Puritans’ objections were much the same as before: vestments and the Sign of the Cross made during Baptism.

They had others:

the wedding ring, the word “priest,” bowing at the name of Jesus; the Puritans also disliked the Thirty-nine Articles as not sanctioning Calvinism; they desired that Baptism should never be ministered by women, that Confirmation should be taken away, and also the Churching of Women, that “examination” should go before Communion, that “the longsomeness of service” should be “abridged” and “Church songs and music moderated,” that the Lord’s Day should not be “profaned” (by the playing of games), that an uniformity of doctrine should be prescribed, and a few other things.

The wedding ring is interesting. I used to run across committed Christian men in the United States who refused to wear one. They never explained exactly why, but, presumably, this objection to wedding bands as being unbiblical must have persisted through the centuries.

As for the Thirty-nine Articles espousing Calvinism, that was never going to happen as the previous posts in this series explain. The Church of England was always intended to be a middle way. It had — and has — its own identity.

Unfortunately, that sound set of Thirty-nine Articles was discarded as being of historical interest only at the end of the 20th century not only in England but elsewhere in the West, including — perhaps, especially — in the Episcopal Church in the United States. It is no surprise, therefore, to find clergy becoming agnostic or atheist and turning to New Age rituals. Biblical preaching and practice is largely gone. But I digress.

Dearmer explains that dictating to the letter what churchgoers should believe in what was a somewhat pluralistic church community would have been a dangerous move. So was dictating what people could do on Sundays. That came during Cromwell’s Interregnum, but that is the subject of another entry.

Dearmer also points out that the Puritans’ desire for fewer hymns resulted in an equally ‘longsomeness of service’ as clergy preached ever-longer sermons and introduced lengthy extemporaneous prayers.

King James wrote his impressions of the Hampton Court Conference afterwards, documenting his delight at verbally opposing the Puritans:

We have kept such a revel with the Puritans here these two days as was never heard the likeI have peppered them as soundly . . . They fled me so from argument to argument without ever answering me directly

Today’s Puritan sympathisers do the same thing. Answer comes none.

The Fourth Prayer Book, 1604

The Puritans were determined, as are their present-day Anglican equivalents, most of whom reside in the United States.

They wanted a new prayer book and they got one.

It was not a total win for the Puritans, but they won certain battles over verbiage and ceremony (see sections in bold):

– A new section was added to the Catechism which explains the Sacraments. Dearmer credits this to a prominent theologian of the day, Dr Overall.

– A prayer for the Royal Family was added to the end of the litany.

– Prayers of thanksgiving for weather (e.g. needed rain) and health (e.g. against the Plague) were added.

– A ‘lawful Minister’ — not ‘priest’ — had to administer Baptism, although this did not exclude a layperson doing so in an emergency.

– A subtitle to the rite of Confirmation — ‘the laying on of hands’ — was duly added.

– A subtitle to the Absolution — ‘the remission of sins’ — was added.

Existing lessons (readings) from the Apocrypha, still in use in Roman Catholic liturgy, were omitted:

the quaint history of Bel and the Dragon, and the much-loved romance of Tobit were given up.

The Canons of 1604

The King had approved the Canons of 1604 which prescribed elements of worship in England, including use of the Prayer Book.

Some of these please neither ‘Romanists’ nor Puritans as they specified a middle way. They reinstituted the reverence for the name of Jesus — probably by the bowing of the head each time His name was mentioned — and enforced a minimum of altar linen and clerical vestments in worship.

The Authorised Version of the Bible

The Fourth Prayer Book was eventually replaced by that of King Charles II in 1662.

The more lasting contribution of this era was the Authorised Version of the Bible, so called because King James granted his approval, hence ‘authorised’. Today, most of us call it the King James Version, the KJV.

I wrote about the KJV in 2011:

The King James Version celebrates its 400th anniversary this year

BBC shows on the King James Version

BBC’s Story of the King James Bible — The Commission

BBC’s Story of the King James Bible — The Translation

BBC’s Story of the King James Bible — The Legacy

The timeline of a Bible for the British Isles

Now on to Dearmer’s history of it. During the Hampton Court Conference of 1604, one of the Puritans, Dr Reynolds, proposed a new edition of the Bible.

At that time, the Geneva Bible of 1560 — inspired by John Calvin’s teachings in that city — was the pre-eminent version used in England by the people. It seems odd then, that a Puritan would want a revision of it and that the mainstream Anglicans present opposed the idea. The clergy used the Bishop’s Bible of 1568, which was never popular amongst churchgoers.

However, King James voiced his support. He never liked the Geneva Bible because its Calvinist footnotes, in his words, were:

very partial, untrue, seditious, and savouring too much of dangerous and traitorous conceits.

This is because the footnotes implied that only God, not governors, kings or princes, was the true authority. Whilst that is scripturally accurate, our governors are there to maintain godly order. However, the Geneva Bible does not mention this. Consequently, James thought that zealous people could take against the Crown, citing the Bible.

When the conference ended, James drew up a list of 54 divines, irreprochable and highly learned theologians. Interestingly, none were bishops, although some did become bishops later. Dearmer observes:

the Authorized Version, in fact, owes its excellence to the common sense of the King in choosing his men for their learning and capacity, and not for their official position. This may seem a very obvious piece of wisdom: but it is to be noted that it has been forgotten in our hitherto unsuccessful twentieth century attempts at Prayer Book revision.

I couldn’t agree more.

The King reduced the number of divines to 47. They were the ones who came up with the new Bible:

King James’s fifty-four divines were afterwards reduced to the “prodigiously learned and earnest persons, forty-seven in number,” who, Carlyle says, gave us our version of that Book of Books, “which possesses this property, inclusive of all, add we, That it is written under the eye of the Eternal; that it is of a sincerity like very Death, the truest utterance that ever came by alphabetic letters from the Soul of Man.”

The history of English versions of the Bible was accompanied by bloodshed and martyrdom, and this particular era would see the same in the English Civil War, which was to come.

However, as Dearmer rightly says, Scripture united the divines, some of whom were mainstream Anglicans and others Puritan:

Puritans and High Churchmen had the Scriptures in common, and did alike fervently believe in them: outside the rooms in Oxford, Cambridge, and Westminster, where the forty-seven divines met, religious folk were maligning each other in brilliant, bitter, and abusive pamphlets; but within those learned conferences all hostilities were silenced, all differences ignored: men like Overall and the saintly Andrewes, on the one side, joined with Reynolds and Abbott on the other; and the forty-seven worked in such singular harmony that it is impossible even to distinguish between the three companies which worked in three different places: the Authorized Version of the Bible reads like the work of one great man.

The Holy Spirit was truly working through them to write one great Bible which has withstood time. Dearmer explains that the genres of various books were preserved, some poetic and others, such as the Gospels, simplistic so as to be understood by the greatest number of people.

It is a theological and literary masterpiece — for everyone:

The divines — who might have wrought a literary gem for the bookshelves of the learned, after the manner of the age that produced Donne and Milton, Burton and Sir Thomas Browne — threw aside the pedantries and preciosities which were in fashion, and sat humbly at the feet of those predecessors who in peril of death had hewn out the words of life with such strength of simplicity; and they produced a book which has been at once the comfort of the peasant and the model and inspiration of our greatest writers.

Dearmer rightly adds that, although this was the era of literary masterpieces (e.g. Shakespeare), scholarly wisdom does not often equate with absorbing prose:

Now scholars are not generally masters of prose, and the combination of the critical and the constructive gift — of science and art — is almost unknown to-day, when learned translations and exact commentaries are common enough, but the majority of ancient books have still not been turned into English classics. The English Bible is an exception. We do not think of it as a translation at all: we think of it as the greatest of English classics, which, among other things, it is.

Many unbelievers in Britain have read it for its literary merit. I can only pray that the Holy Spirit works through them and ends their stubborn blindness to our Redeemer and only Advocate.

Dearmer says that, although King James appointed the divines in 1604, they did not begin work until 1607. It took them only four years to write this beautiful and enduring Bible, which first appeared in print in 1611.

Dearmer concludes:

And what is true of the English Bible is true also of the English Prayer Book. Scholars who won the consecration of martyrdom gave to it a like power of inspired translation, and endowed it with the magic of their prose. Thus it is that the one book worthy to be set side by side with the English Bible is that Book of Common Prayer, which has won a place in the heart of the Anglo-Saxon race second only to the Bible, and which day by day issues it forth in psalter and lectionary to the people.

I wish that were still the case. Fortunately, I am able to attend a 1662 Book of Common Prayer service once a month.

Next time we look at Dearmer’s history of that prayer book, written after the Restoration. With the end of the English Civil War and the Interregnum came the return of monarchy and a new king, Charles II, my favourite.

This year, I have been running a series of posts on Percy Dearmer‘s 1912 volume, Everyman’s History of the Prayer Book, published by Mowbray.

These are the previous posts in the series:

Percy Dearmer on the Anglican Thirty-nine Articles of Religion

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 1

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 2

Percy Dearmer on the earliest church service manuscripts

Percy Dearmer’s interpretation of St Paul on prophecy and tongues

Percy Dearmer on elements of worship in the New Testament

Percy Dearmer: how several prayer books became one liturgical book

Percy Dearmer on Reformation, royalty and the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer: first Anglican Prayer Book ‘too fair-minded’ for a violent era

Percy Dearmer on the effect of Edward VI’s reign on the Church of England

Percy Dearmer on the Second Prayer Book’s Calvinistic bent

Percy Dearmer on the Third Prayer Book and Elizabeth I

One of the themes that Percy Dearmer returns to in his history of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer is the fact that early English Protestants enjoyed many of the aspects of liturgy, church adornments and vestments that Calvinist reformers — Puritans — wanted to dispense with.

These fell under the category of adiaphora and the question arose whether they should be allowed because they are not mentioned in Scripture.

A number of fundamentalist denominations and independent churches today believe that if Scripture does not mention an aspect of adiaphora, believers should not be using those liturgies, adornments and vestments.

The Puritans wanted to get rid of everything that even suggested the Catholic Church. Yet, many English Protestants enjoyed attending church services for those very reasons. In their opinion, there was no need to throw out the baby with the bathwater.

Dearmer agreed with the lowly pewsitters. So do I.

In the second half of Chapter 8 he takes issue with the Puritans, some of whom were unduly influential in the Anglican Church during the reign of Elizabeth I. Excerpts and a summary follow, emphases mine.

The Third Prayer Book restored some of the adiaphora of the first book. Some clergy refused to use it for that reason. ‘Convocation’ below refers to the Convocation of the Church of England:

efforts were made, in Convocation and in Parliament, to abolish those beautiful and helpful ceremonies which stirred some men to a strangeness of opposition in this era of religious reaction. The sign of the cross in Baptism, kneeling at communion, the wedding-ring, every sort of vestment, including the black gown and college cap as well as the cope and surplice, were bitterly attacked.

In 1562, the lower house of the Convocation put a proposal to the vote which would have abolished all these things, including the church organ. Elizabeth I was strongly opposed to such reform. Fortunately, in the end, it lost by only one vote: hers.

Dearmer wrote his book in 1912. In his view, the anti-adiaphora movement was dying in England. Yet, it persists elsewhere in the English-speaking world.

Dearmer strongly objected to what he saw as:

this madness which fastened upon England — a madness which is only becoming extinct in the 20th century. It was the insanity of a wild reaction, a kind of Romanism turned inside out.

Dearmer wrote that by abolishing the adiaphora, the Puritans rid the English Church of her beauty. I couldn’t agree more with his analysis. Plainness can drive people away from church. Furthermore, in their zeal, the Puritans made a false connection between the papacy and beauty. Therefore, they went out of their way to make English churches ugly, a trend that was reversed only centuries later:

Because the Roman Catholic Church (in common with the whole of Christendom up to the 16th century) acted on the obvious truth that beauty is a good thing, the majority of Englishmen paid Rome the compliment of embracing ugliness for her sake. They magnified Rome so much that they shaped their conduct by running into opposites. They threw away the wealth of popular devotion, which made her churches living houses of prayer with open doors and thronged altars, and which is still her real strength to-day; they did not know that such devotion had always been the note of all Christendom, and was (as it still is) even more marked in the Eastern Churches than in those in communion with the Pope. They thus set themselves against the mind of Christendom, as well as against one of the profoundest truths of God’s universe — the inspiring virtue of beauty. They invented the notion that the devotional ways of fifteen hundred years and the use of any loveliness of symbolism in the service of God were connected with the autocracy of the Pope — a notion which would have been impossible even to their narrow minds, had not the Eastern Churches been in their time both weak and remote (for Moscow itself was in the hands of the Romanist Poles in 1610). They thus in their blindness presented to the Papacy an enormous reserve fund of power, which has served it ever after for whatever recoveries the Papacy has made since have been due not to the peculiar doctrines of Romanism, not to the autocracy of the Pope, but to the fact that, in Western Christendom as a whole, men have believed that Catholic devotion and beauty in worship are a prerogative of the Papacy. As if the beauty of garments, or organs, or altars, or prayerful cathedrals, made by man, was more Popish than the beauty of the humblest flower which God has made!

Dearmer reminds us that the Puritans gained not only theological but also political strength for the next century, which culminated in the English Civil War in the 17th century:

… it was the power of Calvinism that was to bring King Charles I and Archbishop Laud to the block. Yet with Calvinism there were identified many great and noble things, and the struggle of Puritanism against royal absolutism was in its measure a struggle for human freedom.

For these reasons, no one in England wants another civil war — or Calvinism.

Dearmer has an interesting breakdown of who was and was not a Puritan during the Elizabethan era:

The greatest men — Shakespeare, for instance — stood contemptuously aside from the “precisians,” and the great Elizabethan era went its own way, worshipped its Queen, and admired its Prayer Book. But the middle class, brought up on Foxe’s Book of Martyrs and the Geneva Bible (p. 103), was largely Puritan; many of the bishops withstood the Queen in its interests as much as they dared — they had long since pulled down the altars.

Therefore:

The most the Church could do was to fight hard for the very idea of liturgical worship, and for a few things that preserved the principle of ceremonial, modest as they were — such as the surplice, the cope in great churches, the cross in baptism, kneeling for communion, the organ, the vested altar, and the wedding ring.

Fortunately, in the 19th century, beauty returned to the Church of England:

At the present day the Anglican Church is the great standing witness in the West and in the new countries against the notion we have described — that devotion and beauty are a monopoly of the Churches in communion with Rome. It is for this reason that she is still so strenuously opposed from both sides. But her witness is to-day so evident because during the last two generations a movement, now practically universal in all parties, has been at work to revive the spirituality and beauty of worship, by restoring in some measure the orders and ornaments of the Prayer Book — such orders, for instance, as those requiring daily services and frequent catechizing

Now that the civilized world has at least come to see the inward power and outward beauty of catholic worship, she is able to set her churches in order again; and this is being done, not slowly.

In between these two historical periods, the Puritans wrought more change.

The next entry in this series will look at the Fourth Prayer Book and the King James Version of the Bible.

Oh, the hypocrisy!

George and Amal Clooney are leaving the UK because of this year’s terror attacks in London and Manchester. Their English hideaway is in Sonning-on-Thames, Berkshire, which is safe as houses.

They are also selling their Lake Como house and will look for another property in Italy. A migrant camp is near their lakeside mansion. The Clooneys want a place which is ‘less accessible’.

But, wait, the Clooneys are open border people. Furthermore, Amal Clooney is a human rights lawyer.

Only last year, both had plenty to say against Donald Trump.

In April 2016, Amal gave an interview to the BBC. Among other things (emphases mine):

the 38-year-old criticized “the leading candidate on the Republican side” for proposing “building walls” and a temporary pause on Muslim immigration into the United States.

She then paraphrased Trump and defended Muslims who she says are “not extremist or violent.”

“If you actually look at what [Trump] specifically says in that now infamous speech about Muslims, he kept saying, ‘They only want jihad; they don’t believe in our way of life; they don’t respect our system,’” she said.

She continued: “And when he says ‘they’… And, you know, you watch the media coverage afterwards and people should’ve been saying, ‘Do you mean the 1.5 billion people around the world who fit that description? Do you mean the people who are U.S. citizens, who are members of your military, the vast majority of whom are not extremist or violent in any way?’” Her mother is a Sunni Muslim.

Amal Clooney added she is “perplexed” by the success of Trump’s campaign.

In March 2016, George Clooney, an active Hillary Clinton supporter, told The Guardian:

He’s just an opportunist. Now he’s a fascist; a xenophobic fascist …

With regard to refugees, the actor said:

Right now we are dealing so much with domestic politics that no one talks about real world issues. No one is talking about the Syrian refugee thing in the US – nobody. You might hear little snippets of it, five seconds on the news. It’s a big worldwide issue, and it needs to be talked about. If the press covered it more, we would be more involved, and do more.

Therefore, some of us are perplexed that the couple do not wish to live alongside the migrant camp near Lake Como:

Instead, the Clooneys are moving away.

The English countryside, where the Clooneys have a home, is also no longer suitable, even though it is miles away from any terror target:

On June 30, Life&Style empathised with the Clooneys’ plight:

“He doesn’t feel like Amal and the twins are safe living in the English countryside,” an insider says. “He’s determined to move his family to LA, where he feels much more secure.”

George’s safety concerns had been growing for years. The Oscar winner “has been subject to very serious threats in the past,” reveals the source, because of his humanitarian efforts in Darfur, Sudan. And Amal’s work as an international human rights lawyer, along with her public pleas for foreign governments to prosecute terrorists, has made her a potential target.

Yes, one can understand. Or not:

On July 6, Westmonster reported:

The celebrity power couple have used their fame and fortune to push for open borders and even sat down with Angela Merkel herself to express their support for her refugee policy.

But now it seems, like all luvvies, they don’t actually mean they support it for themselves

Isn’t that the truth.

Furthermore, the Clooneys don’t even want Italians around them.

In 2015, Time reported:

The mayor of Laglio, Italy has warned that anyone who sets foot within 100 meters of George and Amal Clooney’s twin luxury villas overlooking Lake Como will be fined up to €500 ($550.)

Robert Pozzi, mayor of the small picturesque village in northern Italy, issued the ordinance to protect Clooney, his wife Amal and their guests’ privacy while they vacation in their glitzy properties, reports the Telegraph.

Anyone who leaves their car or boat within 100 meters of Clooney’s Villa Oleandra and adjoining Villa Margherita will be liable to pay the hefty fine.

Fans and photographers were also a worry:

The Gravity and Oceans 11 star bought one of the exclusive villas in 2002, but after fans and paparazzi flooded the town and set up camp near his home, Clooney bought the adjoining property to ensure his privacy.

No walls — but clear borders, with fines attached.

With regard to migrants, makeshift camps near the Clooneys started appearing in July 2016. I empathise somewhat with the residents of Lake Como but not with the Clooneys.

It is difficult to empathise completely because most Lake Como residents ascribe to the ‘for thee, but not for me’ philosophy.

One wonders if the residents’ voting patterns and general outlook will change as a result.

Regardless, the next time the Clooneys pontificate on socio-political issues, please remember this news story.

Now that there is plenty of tennis to enjoy on television, it’s the time to tuck into strawberries and cream.

Last week, I bought a punnet of strawberries at our local Tesco (£2 for 400g). I recommend these wholeheartedly. I haven’t tasted such a sweet, flavoursome strawberry in many years.

My English readers should look for the punnet with a label that reads ‘Kentish Supersweet Strawberries’ containing the variety Malling™ Centenary. (Malling is a rural district of Kent.) I put the variety in bold, because I tried another ‘Kentish Supersweet’ variety a few days later, and it was not very good.

Paul Mansfield is the grower. Well done, Mr Mansfield. You made our Pimm’s even more delightful.

Those who favour another option for their berries might want to add a dash of balsamic vinegar and finely sliced basil leaves, both of which are a perfect complement to strawberries. We had a fruit salad with those ingredients 18 years ago in Cannes at La Potinière. The restaurateur mixed the berries and basil with a tablespoon of light olive oil, a few finely sliced black olives, a scant teaspoon of sugar and cracked black pepper on top. He served it in a parfait glass with a long spoon. It sounds like an improbable combination, but it was excellent.

Here is Tesco’s recommendation, along similar lines:

Incidentally, based on customer feedback, The Grocer has named Tesco Britain’s Favourite Supermarket for 2017:

No doubt that is partly because Tesco are committed to reducing food waste and giving food to charity.

They also think of urban dwellers who would like to grow their own produce:

The accompanying article says, in part:

Now a new unique and super-productive indoor tomato plant is being launched by Tesco aimed at helping people living in urban areas without gardens.

The mini tomato plant has been naturally developed over the last five years by produce experts who have bred together varieties to come up with one that is small, compact and most importantly very productive.

By following the care instructions the small, but powerful plants can each produce up to 150 delicious tomatoes with minimal fuss.

A great idea. It looks as if the plants are small enough to be able to take home on public transport with minimal fuss, too. Perfect for summer.

This is not a plug for Tesco, but I will admit to shopping there regularly for nearly 30 years.

Over the past few months I have been running a series of posts on Percy Dearmer‘s 1912 volume, Everyman’s History of the Prayer Book, published by Mowbray.

These are the previous posts in the series:

Percy Dearmer on the Anglican Thirty-nine Articles of Religion

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 1

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 2

Percy Dearmer on the earliest church service manuscripts

Percy Dearmer’s interpretation of St Paul on prophecy and tongues

Percy Dearmer on elements of worship in the New Testament

Percy Dearmer: how several prayer books became one liturgical book

Percy Dearmer on Reformation, royalty and the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer: first Anglican Prayer Book ‘too fair-minded’ for a violent era

Percy Dearmer on the effect of Edward VI’s reign on the Church of England

Chapter 7 of Dearmer’s book states that the Second Prayer Book, which came into effect on November 1, 1552, was influenced by Calvinistic and Zwinglian attitudes which prevailed among the powerful clergy and politicians of the day (emphases mine below):

In 1552 Parliament passed the Act above mentioned, which stated that the First Prayer Book was agreeable to the Word of God, but that doubts had arisen (through curiosity rather than any worthy cause), and it would therefore be explained and made perfect. The “explanation” turned out to be the Second Prayer Book, which neither explained nor perfected the First Book, but very seriously altered it.

Oddly, the Church of England never approved the 1552 edition:

This book was therefore thrust upon England under false pretences; nor had it received any sanction from the Church of England.

Dearmer states that Archbishop Thomas Cranmer had lost any influence he had had on the Prayer Book to the zealous John Knox, whose star was rising at the time.

In support of that claim, Dearmer points out that the hated, later removed, Black Rubric was hastily pasted into all copies of the Second Prayer Book before it appeared in churches around the nation. The Black Rubric:

denied any real presence of Christ in the Sacrament. Cranmer could control the party in power no longer. The man who had triumphed at the end was John Knox.

There were other changes that came about in the prayers and various rites, which showed the influence that Knox and his followers had:

Exorcism was omitted from the Baptismal Service but most unreasonably the Scriptural practice of anointing the sick, and the primitive practice of reserving the Sacrament for them at the open Communion, were omitted from the Visitation; and the provision of a special Celebration was omitted from the Burial Service, while the prayers for the departed were made vaguer, largely in the interests of Calvinism.

These men were particularly interested in removing any aspects they considered ‘Romish’ or ‘Mass’-like:

the outward character of the services, in the churches which the Commissioners were fleecing, was most affected by the disappearance of the former rubrics and notes ordering the historic vestments, and by a new rubric stating that neither albe, vestment, nor cope should be worn, but that the bishop should wear a rochet and the priest a surplice only — the innocuous hood and scarf thus sharing the fate of the other vestments.

A rochet — see here and here — is a simple linen outer garment which might or might not have sleeves.

Dearmer says:

Really, the despots of the Anarchy seem to have gone a little mad.

Along with this went another change, an increase in the number of Articles of Religion, done dishonestly:

Already, in May, 1552, the Privy Council had published Forty-two Articles which endeavoured to enforce Zwinglian doctrines upon the English Church. As in the case of the Second Prayer Book, the English Church was not invited to sanction these Articles; but the Council had the effrontery to state on the title-page that they had been agreed upon by the bishops in Convocation.

That number was later reduced to the current Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion.

The following year, the Queen Mary began her reign and, as Dearmer explains in Chapter 8:

The Latin services had of course been used in Mary’s reign. She had restored the Sarum rites: the Roman ritual was not introduced among the English Papists till early in the 17th century.

Her half-sister Elizabeth came to the throne in 1558, when Protestantism was restored and, soon afterwards, a Third Prayer Book introduced, more about which in the next instalment.

Over the past few months I have been running a series of posts on Percy Dearmer‘s 1912 volume, Everyman’s History of the Prayer Book, published by Mowbray.

These are the previous posts in the series:

Percy Dearmer on the Anglican Thirty-nine Articles of Religion

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 1

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 2

Percy Dearmer on the earliest church service manuscripts

Percy Dearmer’s interpretation of St Paul on prophecy and tongues

Percy Dearmer on elements of worship in the New Testament

Percy Dearmer: how several prayer books became one liturgical book

Percy Dearmer on Reformation, royalty and the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer: first Anglican Prayer Book ‘too fair-minded’ for a violent era

The last entry described the martyrdom of Archbishop Thomas Cranmer and Bishops Nicholas Ridley and Hugh Latimer. All three — the Oxford Martyrs — were burned at the stake in that city during the reign of Mary I.

Mary I succeeded Edward VI after nine days of Lady Jane Grey, deemed to be an unsuitable successor to her cousin Edward.

However, there is more to say about Edward VI’s reign. As we know by now, Edward was only 15 when he died, having ascended to the throne at the age of nine in 1547. As such, he had several powerful adult advisers to guide him. These men were driven by their own agendas and the opportunity to exercise power not only in the civil sphere but also in the religious one.

Although most of us, even Britons, think that Henry VIII was the principal ruler who ransacked the monasteries and churches, Edward VI’s advisers went even further.

Percy Dearmer gives us the highlights in Chapter 7 of his book.

Excerpts and a summary follow. Emphases mine below.

Of this vandalism under Edward VI, Dearmer wrote:

All this is still but little known, but we cannot appreciate the liturgical changes of Edward VI’s reign unless we know it.

Edward Seymour, 1st Duke of Somerset

Edward Seymour was Edward VI’s first Lord Protector (image courtesy of Wikipedia).

At the time, a Lord Protector exercised an individual regency over a monarch who was too young to rule independently.

The context and role of Lord Protector changed with Oliver Cromwell during the Interregnum (years between the rule of Charles I and Charles II) in the 17th century.

Seymour’s sister was Jane, Henry VIII’s third wife and Edward’s mother. Although Henry VIII did not specify a Lord Protector, but rather 16 executors who were to serve as Edward’s Regency Council, somehow Seymour managed to get himself at the top of that group. It is likely that he made deals (e.g. land) with the other members of the Council to allow him this power in 1547, the first year of Edward’s reign.

As Lord Protector, he then had the arrogance to create a title for himself, Duke of Somerset. Even today, that is the only dukedom not to have been created by a monarch.

Somerset, as he is known in historical parlance, had grand ambitions and wanted his own palatial home in London: Somerset House.

Dearmer describes the egregious method of how Somerset went about having it built beginning in 1549. There is a sense of divine justice that he never lived to see its completion:

The first Protector, Somerset, had endeavoured, with Cranmer and Latimer, to redeem the miseries of the poor; but even Somerset was a great robber, as the name of Somerset House should remind us. To build this palace (which he did not live to enjoy) he destroyed three bishops’ houses and one parish church, as if they had been so much slum property; and he pulled down the cloister of St. Paul’s Cathedral and Clerkenwell Priory for further building materials. He had actually intended to build his palace on the site of Westminster Abbey; and the Dean only averted the destruction of the Abbey by bribing him with the gift of more than half its estates. Somerset was sent to the Tower in the year of the First Prayer Book, to be beheaded two years afterwards.

Wikipedia says that Somerset also had an old Inn of Chancery and adjacent houses pulled down for his palatial project.

Although it remained unfinished for many years, it was still habitable. The future Elizabeth I lived there during her half-sister Mary I’s reign.

Somerset House was not completed until the 18th and 19th centuries. Several government offices were based there, but by the 20th century most had moved out and various art collections moved in.

Now onto Somerset’s fall from grace. As mentioned in the previous two posts, the Prayer Book Rebellion took place in 1549, and armed mercenaries had to quell it. There were also a variety of important property disputes between landlords and farmers taking place at that time.

On October 1, 1549, word reached Somerset that his time was up. Somerset responded by abducting Edward VI and taking him to Windsor Castle. Meanwhile, the members of the Regency Council got together and made public Somerset’s failures, emphasising that his power came from them. On October 11, the Council had Somerset arrested and imprisoned in the Tower of London. Edward VI was taken to Richmond temporarily.

In 1550, John Dudley, Earl of Warwick, was appointed head of the Council. Somerset was released and restored to the Council soon afterwards. However, in 1552, Somerset was beheaded for plotting against the Earl of Warwick.

John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland

John Dudley (Knole, Kent).jpgIn 1551, John Dudley became the Duke of Northumberland (image courtesy of Wikipedia).

Dearmer describes him as follows:

Northumberland, was a villain unmitigated. The misery of the poor increased, the character of the clergy declined, because the cures [curate positions] were filled with “assheads” and “lack-Latins,” as the immortal sermons of Latimer bear witness.

Northumberland did not take the title of Lord Protector but that of Grand Master of the Household. Through it he controlled the other men around Edward VI as well as the surroundings of the young king.

Northumberland did his best to ensure that, as Edward VI matured, he received more complete briefs on what the government was doing. By the time Edward turned 14, the Council no longer had to co-sign on government documents.

After Edward VI died, Northumberland was unprepared for the Council supporting Mary I’s ascending the throne. He was executed in August 1553, during the first few weeks of her reign.

Interestingly, he recanted his Protestant religion around that time. Dearmer mentions:

the brigandage of men like Northumberland, who had no zeal for Protestantism — indeed, Northumberland professed himself a Papist on the scaffold.

Nicholas Ridley, Bishop of London

Although Nicholas Ridley was one of the Oxford Martyrs and is remembered in the Anglican Communion on October 16, his behaviour was not always saintly.

Ridley was responsible for the ransacking of a number of churches in London. Ridley was worried that elaborate altarpieces and chalices were too reminiscent of the Catholic Church and would hamper the Reformation in England.

As Dearmer says:

it was illegal, as well as barbarous and unreasonable (the Lutherans were sensible enough to spare the beautiful altars of Germany and Scandinavia, and their Protestantism did not suffer thereby) …

Unconscionable, wanton destruction

This is what happened on a grand scale in England:

But now Commissioners were sent all over England to make inventories, “forasmuch as the King’s Majesty had need presently of a mass of money”; and before the end of poor little King Edward’s reign there had been a clean sweep of all that was worth stealing: the churches, their chests, their treasuries had been ransacked, and nothing but the bare walls remained of the ancient beauty which Englishmen had so loved — which the poor had looked upon as part of their birthright. Even the walls were suffered to decay.

Also:

all over the country the churches were looted simply for the sake of plunderthe organs were sold for the price of their pipes, even the melting of the bells was begun ; the priceless church plate, which had been the treasure of the people for centuries, was pillaged, so that, a generation later, there were still some churches with nothing but a single chalice. The parish churches, as well as the benefit clubs and guilds (which were the trade unions of the time), had belonged to the people, had been enriched by the people, and managed by them.

Now the people had nothing. The churches fell into disrepair:

In the Second Book of Homilies, issued nine years after King Edward’s death, we read — ” It is a sin and shame to see so many churches so ruinous and so foully decayed, almost in every corner. . . . Suffer them not to be defiled with rain and weather, with dung of doves and owls, stares and choughs, and other filthiness, and as it is foul and lamentable to behold in many places of this country.”

The churches were not the only structures being ransacked:

The hospitals and almshouses were destroyed ; the universities only just escaped. “To the Universities,” says that staunchest upholder of the Reformation, J. A. Froude, “the Reformation brought with it desolation. . . They were called Stables of Asses. . . . The Government cancelled the exhibitions which had been granted for the support of poor scholars. They suppressed the Professorships and Lectureships. . . . College Libraries were plundered and burnt. The Divinity Schools at Oxford were planted with cabbages, and the laundresses dried clothes in the School of Arts.”

It’s truly unbelievable.

Dearmer concludes:

It was not the Dissolution of the Monasteries under Henry that created English pauperism, but the Disendowment of the Parishes under his son.

Furthermore:

The bulk of the money went to enrich the gang of ruffians who tyrannized over England; while thirty “King Edward VI Schools” were set up here and there, to hoodwink the public of that and succeeding generations.

On the subject of King Edward VI Schools, they are very prestigious for those who choose not to enrol in well known ‘public’ [private] schools. Many offer day and boarding options. I worked with someone who graduated from one. He was very pleased to have gone there.

Oddly enough, there is no one page with a history of how all of these schools developed. Hmm.

Ultimately:

The old parish community was destroyed; “an atmosphere of meanness and squalor,” says Dr. Jessop, still pervades “the shrivelled assemblies” of the 17th and 18th centuries ; and the Parish Councils Act has not yet succeeded in restoring its ancient spirit.

Another period of wanton destruction took place under Cromwell. With those two periods in history in mind:

We have done our best, not often wisely, to restore them but we can never bring back the priceless works of art which were scrapped for a few shillings and melted down for the value of their metal.

Very true. I suspect this will come as news to many of my English readers, just as it would have with Dearmer’s readership.

Next time we will look at Dearmer’s explanation of why the Second Prayer Book did not succeed.

Over the past few months I have been running a series of posts on Percy Dearmer‘s 1912 volume, Everyman’s History of the Prayer Book, published by Mowbray.

These are the previous posts in the series:

Percy Dearmer on the Anglican Thirty-nine Articles of Religion

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 1

Percy Dearmer on the title page of the Book of Common Prayer – part 2

Percy Dearmer on the earliest church service manuscripts

Percy Dearmer’s interpretation of St Paul on prophecy and tongues

Percy Dearmer on elements of worship in the New Testament

Percy Dearmer: how several prayer books became one liturgical book

Percy Dearmer on Reformation, royalty and the Book of Common Prayer

The last entry explained the political and ecclesiastical turmoil going on during Edward VI’s reign. Archbishop Thomas Cranmer’s first Prayer Book, which was approved for lawful use in the Church of England in January 1549, pleased neither some congregants nor some clergy, especially Reformers from the Continent who had settled in England. Among the Reformers were Martin Bucer and Peter Martyr.

As Dearmer noted of June 1549 (emphases mine below):

June 10th. Armed rebellions against the Act begin, especially in the West of England. The insurgents demand the old ceremonies— Holy water, Images, Ashes, Palms, etc., and the service in Latin. They are suppressed by foreign mercenaries.

Churchgoers thought the Prayer Book too Protestant. Continental Reformers thought it was too Catholic.

Another aspect which made the Church of England’s foray into Protestantism contentious was the fact that Edward VI was a boy king. He died at the age of 15. That meant there were powerful men behind him trying to further their own agendas.

First Prayer Book ‘too fair-minded’

In Chapter 6 of his book, Dearmer wrote that Cranmer’s First Prayer Book was ‘too fair-minded’ for such a violent era. Interestingly, subsequent revisions after the Second Prayer Book of 1552 incorporated more of the First Prayer Book of 1549 (pictured at left, courtesy of Wikipedia).

Dearmer describes what made the First Prayer Book so exceptional for public worship and administration of the sacraments. Indeed, it exemplifies the best characteristics of the English people:

It is indeed throughout an examplar of what we proudly claim as one of the best elements in the English character: alike in ritual, that is, in the wording of the services, and in ceremonial, it endeavours to avoid the extremes of bigots and fanatics, seeking to establish what is true and right without regard to prejudices, reactions, and the cruel generalizations so characteristic of the period. Catholic conservatism there is, but it is the conservatism which is not afraid of new ideas ; Protestantism there is, but it is the Protestantism that will not throw away the gold with the dross compromise there is, but it is the compromise which honestly accepts truth from both sides. It is positive, constructive, practical ;

The Second Prayer Book was nothing like it, which later generations of clergy recognised, as they returned to the First for subsequent revisions:

and we may safely say that, ever since it was so roughly altered at the end of Edward VI’s reign, the opinion of the whole Anglican Communion has been steadily coming back to the principles of the First Prayer Book, and that every subsequent revision has restored something which the Second Book took away. In fact, as is stated in the very Act which substituted the Second Book for it, the First Prayer Book was “a very godly order for common prayer and administration of the sacraments, . . . agreeable to the word of God and the primitive Church”; but there had “arisen in the use and exercise . . . divers doubts for the fashion and manner of the ministration of same, rather by curiosity of the minister, and mistakers, than of any other worthy cause.”

Ultimately:

The First Prayer Book was indeed too fair-minded for the violent and bitter spirit of the age.

Wikipedia explains that the tumult surrounding the First Prayer Book and the call for a Second Prayer Book were influenced by Reformers, both Continental and British, who wanted no semblance of Catholicism in the services, particularly that for Holy Communion:

The new changes were also a response to criticism from such reformers as John Hooper, Bishop of Gloucester, and the Scot John Knox, who was employed as a minister in Newcastle upon Tyne under the Duke of Northumberland and whose preaching at court prompted the king to oppose kneeling at communion.[132] Cranmer was also influenced by the views of the continental reformer Martin Bucer, who died in England in 1551, by Peter Martyr, who was teaching at Oxford, and by other foreign theologians.[133] The progress of the Reformation was further speeded by the consecration of more reformers as bishops.[134] In the winter of 1551–52, Cranmer rewrote the Book of Common Prayer in less ambiguous reformist terms, revised canon law, and prepared a doctrinal statement, the Forty-two Articles, to clarify the practice of the reformed religion, particularly in the divisive matter of the communion service.[135] Cranmer’s formulation of the reformed religion, finally divesting the communion service of any notion of the real presence of God in the bread and the wine, effectively abolished the mass.[136] According to Elton, the publication of Cranmer’s revised prayer book in 1552, supported by a second Act of Uniformity, “marked the arrival of the English Church at protestantism”.[137] The prayer book of 1552 remains the foundation of the Church of England’s services.[138] However, Cranmer was unable to implement all these reforms once it became clear in spring 1553 that King Edward, upon whom the whole Reformation in England depended, was dying.[139]

I disagree that the Prayer Book of 1552 remains the foundation of Church of England services, as Dearmer, closer to the matter, says there was a return to the First Prayer Book. Furthermore, we have only Thirty-Nine, not Forty-Two, Articles of Religion. We also kneel for Communion and many parts of the later 1662 service, still in occasional use today. Therefore, the 1552 Second Prayer Book did not have much staying power.

Note that Edward VI was dying in 1553. Succession was controversial. Edward was firmly committed to the Protestant religion. He did not want his Catholic half-sister Mary to succeed him. Nor did his advisers want that.

Edward considered Mary and his other half-sister Elizabeth to be illegitimate daughters of their father Henry VIII, and as Edward had no children of his own, he designated that his first cousin once removed, Lady Jane Grey, succeed him.

Edward was very ill for the first six months of 1553. He had a severe fever in January and, as the months progressed, coughed up blood and sputum. By the end, his legs had swollen to such an extent that he could only feel comfortable lying down. Even today, no one is sure exactly what ailed Edward, as his symptoms were so diverse. He died on July 6 but was not buried until August 8. Archbishop Cranmer performed the burial rite.

At the time, conspiracy theories abounded as to the real cause of his death. Some people thought the unpopular Duke of Northumberland had the young king poisoned. Others suspected Mary had him poisoned so that she could restore the Catholic religion to England.

Lady Jane Grey became Queen of England on July 10, 1553. She, too, was only an adolescent, two or three years Edward’s senior. Her last day as queen was July 19. She was executed in the Tower of London on February 12, 1554, on charges of treason for usurping the throne.

During Jane’s brief reign, Mary started her trip from Hunsdon in Hertfordshire and travelled to East Anglia where she gathered her supporters as reinforcements in case of battle. The Duke of Northumberland set out from London with troops for the same reason. In Northumberland’s absence, the privy council shifted their allegiance from Jane to Mary.

The privy council proclaimed Mary queen on July 19, but she did not make a public appearance in London until August 3. She had the Duke of Northumberland executed on August 22, 1553.

Of course, a Catholic queen was bad news for the Reformers — and for Archbishop Cranmer (pictured at left, courtesy of Wikipedia). On the day of Edward VI’s funeral, he told his friends from the Continent, including Peter Martyr, to return home. A few weeks later, on September 14, 1553, he was sent to the Tower of London along with his fellow English theologians, Bishops Hugh Latimer and Nicholas Ridley on charges of treason. Martyr was still in England. Cranmer and he bade each other farewell that day. Martyr left for Strasbourg.

On March 8, 1554, Cranmer, Latimer and Ridley were also charged with heresy. They were sent to Bocardo Prison in Oxford to await trial. Latimer and Ridley were burnt at the stake on October 15, 1555. Cranmer was forced to watch from a nearby tower.

In December 1555, Cranmer was transferred out of prison to the house of the Dean of Christ Church, Oxford. There, a Dominican friar, Juan de Villagarcia, and perhaps other clergy persuaded Cranmer to recant the Protestant religion. By February 1556, he had done so, but it meant being defrocked and returned to Bocardo Prison to await execution.

According to Canon Law, Cranmer should have been spared execution because he recanted. However, Queen Mary wanted to make ‘an example’ out of him.

Cranmer was buried at the stake on March 21, 1556, in the same spot as Latimer and Ridley met their deaths. Interestingly, he was given the final opportunity to make a further public recantation of the Protestant religion. He did no such thing. In the end, he recanted his recantations and declared the pope to be ‘Christ’s enemy and Antichrist‘.

John Foxe wrote about the three in his 1563 volume Book of Martyrs. Since then, Cranmer, Latimer and Ridley have been known as the Oxford Martyrs.

I got ahead of myself here, however, this is to further illustrate what a tumultuous and violent period in history this was.

Next time, with the aid of Percy Dearmer’s text, I would like to return to Edward VI’s reign and demonstrate that, possibly without his knowledge, it was even more destructive than his father Henry VIII’s ransacking of the monasteries.

On May 27, 2017 John Betjeman‘s son Paul left a message on one of my posts announcing his son Timothy’s upcoming art exhibition at Marlborough College in Wiltshire.

My English readers who live nearby might be interested in attending.

Paul Betjeman informs us:

the opening is June 9th 6-9pm at the Mount House gallery at Marlborough College.

His son Timothy’s exhibition runs from June 10 through to June 25 (inclusive). You can read more about it on Timothy’s website.

Timothy has been Marlborough’s Artist in Residence over the past year. He enjoys painting in the college chapel and explained in February (emphasis in the original):

I decided early on in my time at Marlborough that I would like to paint regularly in the Chapel.  I knew that my grandfather, Sir John Betjeman (B2 1920-25), had enjoyed spending time there, and had seen it as something of a refuge from the trials of student life. There is a sense, upon entering and shutting the wooden doors behind you, that one has entered a space related to, but many miles away from the outside.

The Chapel does not take in a huge amount of natural light, so that when it is empty, the only indications of time passing, are occasional creaks from the wooden pews and the minutely changing colour of the chancel windows, which start off in the morning as a very pale blue, and by the evening have turned an aqueous green.  I have several paintings in progress, all created from the same spot in the back centre of the chapel, and a half-dozen etchings, which I work on after dark under electric light, or when I am too tired to paint.  Collectively, these represent sections of the day, and different architectural and decorative features coming into relief.  As the sun moves and colour relations change above the altar, I set down one painting and resume work on another.  I don’t like working from photographs because you miss all this.  The rituals and cycles of a place: visual, musical, religious and secular.  Painting is itself a ritual, and one which I have found harmonises well with that of the church.

Timothy Betjeman’s work is now complete. His website has a catalogue of what will appear at the exhibition. His paintings reflect a plein-air style. His etchings are stunning.

The Marlborough article explained that he also taught art classes and that they were delighted to have him as Artist in Residence:

Alongside Tim’s regular teaching of a range of art practices to our Art Scholars and Option classes, he has welcomed pupils visits to his studio space and the Chapel. Most recently, a Remove Art class were greatly impressed by the expressive mark-making, detail and application of colour that Tim achieves within his current oil paintings. Our pupils asked Tim many questions relating to his gestural painting techniques and particular interest in studying the Chapel’s altar.

It is a pleasure to have Tim within the College community this academic year, and we look forward to further creative interactions throughout the remainder of his residency.

I wish him all the best with his exhibition and future endeavours.

I would also like to thank his father for sending in the links.

For Easter 2012, I wrote about George Herbert (1593-1633), an Anglican priest who was also a poet.

I found out about him thanks to Llew of Lleweton’s Blog, where you can read more about what our green and pleasant land is really like in the springtime. He brings Robert Browning’s ‘Oh, to be in England now that April’s there’ to life.

Llew sent me Herbert’s poem ‘Easter’, reproduced on The Spectator blog in 2012. It is from Herbert’s work The Temple.

This is Herbert’s ‘Easter’:

Rise heart: thy Lord is risen. Sing his praise
Without delayes,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him mayst rise:
That, as his death calcined thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more just.

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The crosse taught all wood to resound his name,
Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long:
Or since all music is but three parts vied
And multiplied;
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.

I got me flowers to straw thy way;
I got me boughs off many a tree:
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought’st thy sweets along with thee.

The sunne arising in the East,
Though he give light, & th’East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many sunnes to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we misse:
There is but one, and that one ever.

Herbert also published another poem for this day entitled ‘Easter Wings’. It was printed as intended:

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store,
    Though foolishly he lost the same,
          Decaying more and more,
              Till he became
                  Most poore:
                  With thee
              Oh let me rise
          As larks, harmoniously,
     And sing this day  thy victories:
Then shall the fall further the flight in me.

My  tender  age  in  sorrow  did beginne:
    And still with sicknesses and shame
        Thou  didst  so  punish  sinne,
             That  I  became
               Most thinne.
               With  thee
          Let me combine
     And feel this day thy victorie:
   For,  if  I  imp  my  wing  on  thine
Affliction shall  advance the  flight in  me.

At the time, I knew very little about Herbert other than from Wikipedia and the George Herbert website.

Although Herbert’s mother was desperate for him to enter the priesthood, he did not do so for many years.

Recently, I ran across a December 2013 copy of The Oldie, a British monthly which is perfect for anyone over the age of 40. It’s everything one would want from a print magazine.

On pages 69 and 70 was a review of a book called Music at Midnight: The Life and Poetry of George Herbert by John Drury (Allen Lane, £25).

So I looked the book up to see if there were any online reviews. The Guardian has one from August 15, 2013. There are several more online.

The Very Revd Dr John Drury is the chaplain of All Souls College, Oxford. His book, The Guardian says, gets:

inside not only Herbert’s mind but his craftsmanship, to introduce his readers to the work as well as the man.

Although his father died when Herbert was three years old, young George had a privileged upbringing. His branch of the family was a minor one of the greater aristocratic Herbert line. When George was still a boy:

his mother moved to London, where she ran a household distinguished for its hospitality towards intellectuals. John Donne addressed some poems to her, and was to preach her funeral sermon. George was sent to Westminster School at the time when the great preacher and linguist Lancelot Andrewes was in charge. One of the translators of the King James Bible, Andrewes was a master of style, especially of the “terse and urgent” short clause. TS Eliot was an admirer (“A cold coming [they] had of it … ” is lifted from one of his sermons); Drury demonstrates too how much Herbert could have learned from him.

The Oldie tells us that he also knew Francis Bacon well (p. 70). Bacon, we discover:

died after stuffing a chicken with snow in the interests of scientific investigation.

The Oldie describes his upbringing (p. 70):

Herbert, in his youth, was a bit of a dandy, intent on wearing what was immediately fashionable. He was born into the aristocracy, but not of the unthinking kind. His mother, Magdalen [pron. ‘Maudlin’], was immensely cultivated and attractive, maintaining a welcoming salon in Chelsea and giving money and aid to the poor. The family was connected to the Pembrokes and could therefore move in the highest of high society. Magdalen’s second husband, Sir John Danvers, was the best surrogate father any son could have, being a ready source of cash whenever George needed to buy books.

Herbert had a distinguished career at Trinity College, Cambridge, and wanted to be appointed Orator at Cambridge University. He achieved his ambition in 1620.  However, The Guardian says, not everything went as expected:

The post required him to be the public face of the university, in charge of its formal Latin correspondence and orations. It was a role that could have led to a good position in royal service. Instead, he allowed his deputy to take over much of the work, while he himself withdrew, perhaps because of his recurrent ill health, perhaps to try to resolve his increasingly urgent personal dilemma as to whether to pursue a career that would satisfy his worldly ambitions, or to enter the priesthood.

He married Jane Danvers in 1629, a union which The Oldie (p. 70) describes as:

brief but contented.

Shortly after his wedding, Herbert went into ministry full time. He became the parish priest in Bemerton, Wiltshire, in the West Country. The village is close to Salisbury and the city’s cathedral. Herbert loved cathedral music, so that was a positive point, however, The Guardian says that he lived much too far away from Cambridgeshire — in East Anglia — to enjoy:

the Anglican community that his friend Nicholas Ferrar had founded at Little Gidding.

Herbert spent only four years in Bemerton. He died there at the age of 39. However, The Oldie assures us (p. 69):

His last years were devoted to the welfare of his parishoners, with a steady round of baptisms, weddings and funerals. He was never happier, because his allotted time on earth was now making fruitful sense to him.

Although as a youth, he described death as:

an uncouth hideous thing —

Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing

when his time came, his faith was much increased and he accepted death with a sanguine pragmatism.

Both publications looked at words Herbert used most often in his poetry. The Guardian honed in on ‘bright’ and The Oldie ‘love’.

I particularly enjoyed this observation from The Guardian:

Herbert … can positively look forward to the Day of Judgment as a time for the reuniting of friends.

That is the best outlook to have.

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