It is really quite interesting how little sometimes our respective communions know about each other: a friend of mine, a convert Anglo-Catholic priest, now a Roman Catholic priest, was, soon after he had made his decision, carefully shown by a kind old lady how to make the sign of the cross. He hadn’t the heart to break it to her that he had been making the sign of the cross for years. I recall my surprise, even shock, as a boy when I discovered that Anglicans recite the Nicene Creed; how, I wondered, could they say ‘I believe in one, holy catholic and apostolic church’ and not be, well, Catholic?
I have seen many preconceptions the other way. A lady Methodist minister, attending Mass for the first time, was surprised indeed to find that it wasn’t all about Mary. There are very many non-Catholics who still fervently believe that Catholic laity are forbidden the scriptures. A Jehovah’s Witness that I met asserted that, to this day, Catholics must listen to sermons in Latin, it being forbidden to preach in the vernacular. That I denied this was proof to him of the mendacity of Catholics.
But there are other, less dramatic, mis-expectations. An Anglo-Catholic priest who is considering the Ordinariate option very seriously emailed to me the other day ‘I’m glad you do sometimes have fun across the Tiber there. I was trying to reconcile myself to doing without fun.’ It reminded me very acutely of my first encounter with the late Canon Brian Brindley. It was in December 1992, or thereabouts, and I was having lunch with a friend in a restaurant, and said friend nudged me and said ‘That’s Canon Brindley over there: he’s going to become a Catholic over this women priests thing.’ It turned out that my friend, also a convert, though of longer standing, knew Brian. When he had finished his meal, the larger than life Brian Brindley stopped by our table to greet my friend, and was introduced to me.
‘Well, Father, I expect you will see me soon at your church; I shall come to the earliest and lowest Mass I can find; after all, nothing’s going to be fun any more.’
I said, of course, that I hoped that would not prove to be the case, and, several years later, Brian, by now a good friend, admitted to me that it had all in fact been great fun; though not in the way that he expected. He enjoyed being a Roman Catholic, though it was a different experience from what he had been used to, and certainly from what he had been expecting. He had made a lot of new friends and had a lot of fun with them, and discovered that the Church of Rome was not a grim totalitarian monolith where everything was forbidden until it was compulsory.
I suppose there are swings and roundabouts. There is not the fun to be gained from being ‘naughty’ in terms of ritual, I suppose, which reminds me of an incident in Mgr Ronald Knox’s life. He was charged with having just had fun at the Church of England’s expense while still in Anglican orders. He was stung, and replied along the lines of ‘not at all; we were all in deadly earnest. But you won’t convince me that it wasn’t fun doing it’.
Liturgical frivolity, I suppose, is not really a feature in our life. But there are compensations. The fraternity among the clergy is much stronger and much more supportive, something akin, perhaps, to the SSC, except that it embraces all the clergy. Apart from the natural antipathies which occur in all walks of life, there is a much stronger interrelationship between clergy working in an area. Differences of views are not nearly as marked as those found in the Church of England, and not nearly as marked as I think you might think. Were you to judge an average diocese by, say Damian Thompson’s blog, you might believe that we were all at each other’s throats. Not at all: there is basic agreement on all the important things with ninety-five per cent of one’s brethren. Differences tend to be those of approach or liturgical style, which subjects tend not to get the blood boiling or make one want to avoid the other.
Part of the reason for this is the practice of incardination; priests live and work in one diocese for their entire careers. This means that they have known their colleagues since seminary and tend to have an underlying affection even when there are differences. The predominance of celibacy among the clergy also means that we tend to regard each other as family. Bishops are far less remote than in the Church of England; I would have no difficulty simply ringing up my bishop for a chat or for some advice; an Anglican friend tells me that that would be unheard of in his Anglican diocese.
On the other hand, I understand that the ‘flying bishops’ have done much to break down barriers—the affection with which Bishop Barnes writes about his clergy is edifying.
As regards the laity, I think the biggest change for people is suddenly belonging to a much bigger operation. I read somewhere recently on an Anglican blog that ‘Anglicans go to church, Catholics go to Mass’; this was to stress the rather congregational focus of Anglicanism; this will not be the case over the Tiber. Catholics tend to identify much more strongly with ‘being Catholic’ than ‘being a member of St Disibod’s’. It sets up all sorts of currents through one’s daily life; suddenly one finds that one has fellow Catholics among ones workmates and this immediately sets up a special bond. You notice others with a smudge on their forehead on Ash Wednesday, and suddenly find that you have more in common with somebody from the other side of the world than with your next-door neighbour.
Going to confession is another suprise for converts. I suppose most Ordinariate members will normally go to their own priests, but many have remarked at their surprise—perhaps shock would not be too strong a word—at the, literally, short shrift they get from ordinary Roman Catholic priests. We do not do spiritual direction in the confessional—in fact, I and many others disapprove of the practice, because of the nature of the seal of the confessional. Talking of other matters under the seal puts a strain on the priest to remember exactly where he heard something, and worry as to whether he can refer to it or not, and to whom. Confession is for sins, a couple of sentences of advice, penance, absolution, and that’s it. Spiritual Direction is for armchairs and a mug of something nice.
No doubt others of you who are familiar with this journey will be able to contribute your own experiences of familiarity and unfamiliarity that might help others on the same road. Although Ordinariates will have their own life, those of you who join one will almost certainly find yourselves joining and being part of a large mainstream which, I pray, will be an entirely positive, and joyful, experience.
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Hear, hear. Couldn't agree more. Not only a brillaintly written piece, but also an accurate description of what it's like to joyfully swim the Tiber.
I wonder if I can remember some of my own experiences? Certainly the fraternity among the Catholic clergy is so much stronger and 'presumed' than was my experience in the CofE. I think this is because of celibacy and incardination. It also extends to another, very specific, difference: the Presbytery. I noticed immediately, and continue to notice, that, as a priest, another priest's Presbytery is as much 'home' as one's own. In the CofE, the Vicarage was often rather grand and very much the individual priest's private home (and quite right too, where there's a wife and children). Incardination, leading to a genuine sense of belonging, for the entirety of one's ministry, to the same diocesan family, means that, in a sense, for Catholic priests my home is your home too – and you're always welcome. This is tangible and real.
I think, too, that the Mass becomes a deeper entity in itself. In the CofE – even in the 'highest' parishes – the music and the altar serving become all-important. It's as if you have to make a point about churchmanship via these things. And that's understandable and culturally not that surprising. But as a Catholic, the Mass can, as it were, stand on its own. That's not to say that music and altar serving et al are not crucially important. But it is to say that where, for whatever (regrettable) reason, those things are missing there is a complete unuttered, unwritten, deep undertsanding that the Mass is still the Mass.
As to fun … Hmmm … I worried that I might never really 'enjoy' my life as a Catholic. My Anglican bishop, not a man unsympathetic to the journey I was making, told me – with the best possible and kindly motives – that I'd always feel a stranger in a foreign land. I'll never forget those words. They cut right through me at the time. And he was not trying to unsettle or disturb me. In fact, I think he was trying to encourage and support me. But he couldn't have been more wrong of he'd tried to be. The contrary is, in fact, true. I felt a huge – no, an amazing – sense of home-coming and relief and deep-seated joy. And it has never left me. Not for a second. With this sense of belonging there is a great deal of 'fun'. More, perhaps, than I experienced before and, a lot of it anyway, a good deal kinder and healthier.
There is nothing I actually *miss* from my Anglican days. Not a thing. I have received so much – and continue to do so – so much more than I could have imagined or dreamed of. It's true.
Finally, and this is so important, I can generally presume (with some conviction) that most of my parishioners believe what I believe about the faith. The core of common faith and belief can be presumed as given. This is not so for Anglicans. I didn't realise how tired I was of defending the 'Catholic' corner of the CofE until I left it. And I was never one of those 'extreme' high-church types. I did value a daily Mass, devotion to Our Lady and so on …. Becoiming a Catholic was liberating, knowing that all these things (and so much more!) could be presumed as given. "Of course you like a daily Mass", they say – and "Why wouldn't you have a devotion to Our Lady?" they comment. In the CofE I was for ever having to 'justfy' all of this.
I am grateful for my ministry in the CofE. I thank God for it. I now believe that, for me (and I cannot, of course, speak for others), my Anglican ministry prepared me and set me up for the rich Catholic priesthood I now enjoy.
It's different. But it's beautiful.
When I went to the 2008 International Eucharistic Congress in Quebec City, one day of the 5-day event included a Byzantine liturgy, with portions said in many of the different languages of the more than two-dozen churches that are in communion with the Holy See, and thus Catholic, though of a different rite.
Afterward, I heard some people–Catholic journalists? delegates? remarking with great approval that this "ecumenical" mass was stuck in the middle of the Congress.
So, yes, there is ignorance on all sides.
Deborah
Joseph, Frederica Matthewes-Green (convert from Anglicanism to Orthodoxy) once commmented that she never realized how addicting "fighting the good fight" was until she and her husband left it behind. There's a sort of malicious joy that comes over defenders when they see that "the enemy" is darker than one thought it to be, since that means you're more white…except it doesn't. Delight at darkness anywhere is a sure sign that our own souls are being darkened.
I'm personally very sad at what's happening in the CoE and Protestantism in general. Yes, it will lead more people into Catholic faith and fulfill Christ's desire that we be all one, but it's also caused a lot of good people to be infected by the diseases of schism, "fighting the good fight and going down with the ship rather than launching the life boats for as many people as possible to safe harbors", and despair that Christianity must be a purely individual thing and any church is as bad as the next.
We have a big job ahead of us. Hope is hard to sell…it's been that way since the beginning.
I'd be very hard pressed to add anything to the astute observations made in this essay, and in the comments that followed. I'm often stumped on how to describe the 'Catholic life.' It's so experiential, deeply intuitive, almost primal…well, yes, it is that—primal.
'Fun'? Maybe it depends on how one thinks of 'fun.' I've had hundreds of experiences in 'fun' churches over my lifetime. None of that compares. As a Catholic, I am at one with myself, one with a billion others, one with Christ, one in the Eucharist, one bread, one body. That, I think, redefines 'fun'.
The best I could mumble to a friend once to describe our Catholic life together was this: "We're all on the same page." That Page is more than the Creed, more than the Fathers, more than the Pope and Magisterium, more than the People of God, more than the Catechism, more than diversity and inclusivity. It is even more than being Whole (how? I dunno, just is). And we must always avoid being arrogant or triumphalist—–this Faith was carried and offered to us by others, it is a gift (and 'thank you' to all those who carried the Faith to me….thank you, thank you, thank you). Along with the Pope, we too are simple vessels of the gospel, not changing it, but carrying it—Him—in us, high aloft, so that others might receive.
All I can say, after reading this post and corresponding comments, as a child of God, "I wanna go home."
Guzmang,
Come home brother. We love you and are eagerly waiting your arrival!
Another thought struck me … and thee's fun in it too!
When I first became a Catholic I was astounded to hear a group of Catholics talking about a funeral at which the coffin had been placed on the altar. Thinking I must have mis-heard, I asked them to clarify. They were indignant. Yes. The coffin had been placed on the altar – of course! They eyed me with considerable suspicion as I reflected on an image of an altar encumbered, during Mass, with a coffin. How bizarre, I thought.
Than the penny dropped. 'Altar', in this context, meant 'sanctuary'. It's a terminology which prevails and which, I confess, I find myself using now.
I'm not sure what the story really proves – except that there are lots and lots of these cultural differences which are delightfully revealing in the early days … they're all part of the fun.
There is something profoundly theological, too, about referring to the whole sanctuary as the Altar; a kind of sense that whatever else goes on in that sacred area, it's what happens at the Altar that really counts!
I must say that I noticed a degree of flippancy when talking about the things of God amongst many Anglicans I knew. To be sure, their vestements were beautiful, and their liturgy solemn and grand, and the sermon was superbly delivered. But there was missing from all that one thing–a supernatural approach.
J.M.J.
I think some of you are painting with a way too broad brush. Our parish is a nosebleed high, Ritual Notes/Fortescue parish, and has been since its founding in 1869.
I can tell you that your characterizations are unfair and unwarranted. I was MC for the Solemn Mass yesterday, and in thinking over the movements of the Mass – I find your generalities way off base.
Near as I can tell, the problem heading into the Ordinariates is based more on protestant minded Anglicans who gather to read the "Office of Holy Communion," than it is on those of us who have never stopped teaching the objective truth of the Catholic Faith.
Have there been problems in some places with Anglo-Catholics? Yes, there have been, but that does not mean all Anglo-Catholics are like that.
Have priests abused children? yes, they have, but that does not mean all priests have done so.
If you want to criticize a specific place, that is one thing, but please don't paint us all with such broad strokes of the brush.
SWR
You are, of course, right, Sean Reed. Certainly not all, perhaps only a small minority of AC churches behaved as Fr Symondson describes; but he was describing the extremes; my own fault, perhaps, for introducing Canon Brindley into the post. He is right, though, to speak of the shock that the levity sometimes produces. I recall hearing a recently converted AC priest referring to Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament as 'Wafer-Waving'. He meant, of course, to be lightly ironic, but I was so deeply shocked that I felt physically sick and had to leave the room. I felt such revulsion towards the man that I felt that I could not celebrate Mass until I had been to confession. No doubt I overreacted, but my shock was entirely instinctive, not at all artificial. The man is now a priest in an English Catholic diocese, and a very good one; I'm sure that he would not say such a thing now.
I'm finding your comment a little confusing. You refer to one by Fr Symondson, yet there isn't one. If there was, what's happened to it? His views are always interesting.
In the spirit of fun, we all know what the Scriptures teach us on this matter of being "nosebleed high":
"They were so high that they were dreadful" (Ezekiel 1:18, A.V.)