So this has to be a famous church....right?

Guess again, and think deeply why the British government would choose this style for the Royal Courts of Justice headquarters in London? Specifically, why would a nation want to use an architecture most commonly associated with the Church? Couldn't they just pick some random post-modern brutalist form of architecture instead, or is there something more here? What sort of ultimate encounter were the designers envisioning in this sacred space?

Our class heard two appellate arguments: one surrounding the release of an African national accused of supporting Mugabe and the other case was an appeal from a mentally challenged woman who was convicted of murdering her infant by strangulation.

Not exactly a really uplifting morning, but no matter how empty the glass may seem we must remember our Lord's words, "Come unto me all ye who travail and are heavy laden and I will give you rest." May He comfort all those who face trials, whether they're guilty or not, for He came into the world to save sinners - all of them!

Pax to all of you,

Search Your Own Backyard!

When visiting foreign cities - as a rule of thumb - I always vow to explore my own backyard, so to speak. Nine out of ten times I know my surroundings quite well; however, this evening on my way to dinner I was completely taken aback. Guess whose parish is less than fifty yards from my own window? If I said the church of the famed American poet extraordinaire and expat-turned-British-Anglo-Catholic, T.S. Eliot, was just down the way - would you believe me? Please do, for Eliot was a devoted attendee at St. Stephens Gloucester Road in Southwest London. He even served as a faithful vestryman of St. Stephens for twenty-five years.

Knowing his way with words, the vestry asked Eliot once to deliver a panegyric that would later appear in their parish newsletter in the fifties. Here's what he said (he's offering every priest's dream description isn't he!?):

...As a preacher, too, he was very effective: his sermons had a beginning, a middle and an end. They always gave the impression of having been thought out for that particular congregation and for that particular occasion; and one always had the feeling of being the man in the pew—the man or woman——to whom he was talking. With devotion to Catholic doctrine and Catholic observance, he combined true evangelical zeal.

Though Eliot is certainly best known for other works, anytime I feel like I can't explain my feelings I quickly recall The Love Story of J. Alfred Prufrock, which always makes the Wilson household smile!

_______________________________________

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero,
Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.


LET us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherised upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats
5
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question …
10
Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.


In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.


The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,
15
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
20
And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.


And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
25
There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;
30
Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.


In the room the women come and go
35
Talking of Michelangelo.


And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
40
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—

[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]

Do I dare
45
Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.


For I have known them all already, known them all:—

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
50
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?


And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
55
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
60
And how should I presume?


And I have known the arms already, known them all—

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]

It is perfume from a dress
65
That makes me so digress?

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

And should I then presume?

And how should I begin? . . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
70
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?…


I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. . . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
75
Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep … tired … or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
80
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet—and here’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
85
And in short, I was afraid.


And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,
90
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it toward some overwhelming question,

To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—
95
If one, settling a pillow by her head,

Should say: “That is not what I meant at all.

That is not it, at all.”


And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,
100
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—

And this, and so much more?—

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
105
Would it have been worth while

If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.” . . . . .
110
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,
115
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.


I grow old … I grow old …
120
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.


Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.


I do not think that they will sing to me.
125

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.


We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
130
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

Britain's Best Bookstore: Blackwell's Oxford

Don't let the facade fool you; downstairs has literally miles of shelving. The theology section is first rate! Malacy told me not to come home with more books, so I've got some explaining to do.

Church of St. Mary the Virgin, Oxford

Perhaps the University Church of St. Mary the Virgin, Oxford, is the most interesting parish in all of the Anglican Communion? You ask how is it more important than St. Paul's and the Abbey down in London? Ponder these facts and reconsider its place in the annals of Christian history.

1. Latimer, Ridley, and Cranmer were all tried here before Mary Tudor had them burned at the stake.

2. John Wesley, in his early days as a priest, preached some of his most stirring sermons here. 'Almost Christian' was so stirring that he was never invited back!

3. John Henry Newman was vicar here in 1828.

4. From its present pulpit, John Keble preached his famous 'Assize Sermon,' which is now regarded as the official beginning of the Oxford Movement. Thank God for Keble and his witness to the Church. It is the zeal of the likes of Keble and Newman that Anglo-Catholicism must reclaim and propagate in an increasingly skeptical post-modern world.

'Sign of the Cross' by J.H. Newman

Whilst in Oxford today, I came across this gem of a poem by John Henry Newman. Is surely makes one ponder what can happen when making the Sign of the Cross!

WHENE’ER across this sinful flesh of mine I draw the Holy Sign, All good thoughts stir within me, and renew Their slumbering strength divine;

Till there springs up a courage high and true

To suffer and to do. And who shall say, but hateful spirits around, For their brief hour

unbound, Shudder to see, and wail their overthrow?

While on far heathen ground

Some lonely Saint hails the fresh odor, though Its source he cannot know.

I'm Not Alone: My Dear Professor Shares His Plight!

I just got this e-mail from one of my dear professors back in the States who was trying to get back to the USA in the same weather in which I was trying to get to Walsingham. After having read of my own misery, Dr. Kenneth B.E. Roxburgh, a lovely Scottish genteleman (think of the opposite of the likes of PM Gordon Brown!), sent me this story:

Charleston,

I was sorry to read your news of the failed trip to Walsingham. Gwen and I have suffered from the weather - I made it out of Heathrow on 6 January on a flight with Delta that should have gone from Gatwick. They bussed us over to Heathrow in the bad weather you arrived in. Gwen's flight was cancelled from Terminal 5 - she was bussed back to Edinburgh after a four hour wait on the runway, waiting for a gate to open up. She finally flew home on Thursday, over a week late, her luggage have been lost for 6 days in between. The joys of travel....

On my return to BHM, I hit the curb in Oxford and lost a tire as well on my way in for a coffee at Starbucks.....a fellow soul traveller.....it ended up being the dearest coffee I have bought in a few years.

Hope the A materialises. Give my best to Fred Shepherd.

Ken R.

N.B. I don't know if I have the heart to tell Dr. Roxy that our Professor here, the 'Fred Shepherd' to which he referred, actually has the worst story of all. His flight to London's Gatwick was diverted to Scotland without announcement from the captain! They were given nothing; no money, no love note, no bus ticket....nothing at all! Just think if you were penniless and traveling with a small child. At least Fr. Roxy and I had money for coffee, although I must confess I was looking for something a tad stronger than caffeine.

Miraculum Orbis and La Perennité Britannique: Welcome to Westminster Abbey

Richard Jenkyns, a prominent historian, boldly declares, "Westminster Abbey is the most complex church in the world in terms of its history, functions, and memories - perhaps the most complex building of any kind." Indeed, the Abbey is one the high places of British culture and a perennial bright spot of Anglican patrimony, yet paradoxically the Abbey houses a Roman Saint and the principals of Presbyterianism were hammered out within her walls! Parliament even met at the Abbey for a couple of centuries. Most importantly, even today the Abbey is a daily and living place of worship. Just ponder how many souls have been fed in this magnificent space?

Despite the hustle and bustle of the tourists clinging and clanging there way through, I find the Abbey to be somewhat of a foretaste of heaven. I don't just mean the style, though I do love it. I mean if Mary Tudor and Elizabeth can lie just next to one another, both redeemed by God's mercy and love, then imagine heaven when we all - sinners from the womb - receive that true crown of glory that will never fade!

Historically speaking, the church was consecrated in 1065. Unfortunately for its patron, King Edward, after the Battle of Hastings William the Conqueror had himself crowned in the Abbey in 1066.

From their own website:
The present building dates mainly from the reign of King Henry III. In 1245 he pulled down the eastern part of the 11th century Abbey, which had been founded by King Edward the Confessor and dedicated in 1065. Earlier in Henry's reign, on 16 May 1220, he had laid the foundation stone for a new Lady Chapel at the east end of the Confessor's church, but as the Abbey's own financial resources were not sufficient to continue the rebuilding of the whole church at this time no other work was carried out.
It is said that Henry's devotion to St Edward later prompted him to build a more magnificent church in the newest Gothic style, and also to provide a new shrine for the Saint, near to whom Henry himself could be buried. The three master masons supervising the work were Henry of Reyns, John of Gloucester and Robert of Beverley. It is not known if Henry was English or French but the architect was greatly influenced by the new cathedrals at Reims, Amiens and Chartres, borrowing the ideas of an apse with radiating chapels and using the characteristic Gothic features of pointed arches, ribbed vaulting, rose windows and flying buttresses. The design is based on the continental system of geometrical proportion, but its English features include single rather than double aisles and a long nave with wide projecting transepts. The Abbey has the highest Gothic vault in England (nearly 102 feet) and it was made to seem higher by making the aisles narrow. The Englishness is also apparent in the elaborate mouldings of the main arches, the lavish use of polished Purbeck marble for the columns and the overall sculptural decoration. The east-west axis was determined by the existing position of the Lady Chapel.
A spacious area between the high altar and the beginning of the quire was necessary to provide a ‘theatre’ where coronations could take place. The stonework (which came from Caen in France and Reigate in Surrey), the sculptured roof bosses and the other carvings would have been brightly coloured and the wall arcades may have been decorated in vermilion and gold. The walls were adorned with fine paintings, and two, depicting St Thomas and St Christopher, were rediscovered in the 1930s. Some of the original colour on the censing angels in the south transept was discovered at about the same time. Brilliant ruby and sapphire glass, with heraldic shields set in a grisaille (or grey monochrome) pattern, filled the windows. The chapel screens and tombs added to the display of colour. By 1269 the apse, radiating chapels, transepts and choir were complete and the new shrine received the bones of St Edward on 13 October.
When Henry III died in 1272 only one bay of the nave beyond the choir screen had been completed. The old Norman nave remained attached to the far higher Gothic building for over a century until more money became available at the end of the fourteenth century. The western section of the nave was then carried on by Abbot Nicholas Litlyngton using money bequeathed by Cardinal Simon Langham (Litlyngton’s predecessor as abbot) and work slowly progressed for nearly a hundred and fifty years. It was probably Litlyngton who insisted that the general design of Henry III's masons should be followed thus giving the Abbey great architectural unity. Master mason Henry Yevele made only minor alterations in the architectural design but it can be seen on closer inspection that the diaper (or rosette) decoration on the spandrels of the arches was discontinued in the nave, and other details are not as elaborate as the older work. In the bay of the nave just to the west of the quire screen can be seen the junction of the old and new work.
In 1422 Henry V was buried at the eastern end of St Edward’s Chapel. In accordance with his will a lavishly sculptured chantry chapel was built over the tomb, with two turret staircases leading to an altar above. The designer was John Thirske, who was probably also responsible for the carved altar screen in the Confessor's chapel added at this period, showing representations of events in the life of St Edward. Abbot John Islip, died 1532, added his own Jesus chapel off the north ambulatory and finally completed the nave vaulting and glazed the west window, but the top parts of the west towers remained unfinished.
The next great addition to the Abbey was the construction of a magnificent new Lady Chapel by Henry VII between 1503 and 1519 to replace the 13th century chapel. The Perpendicular architecture here is in total contrast to the rest of the Abbey. No accounts for this building have been found but it is thought that the architects were Robert Janyns and William Vertue. It has been called "one of the most perfect buildings ever erected in England" and "the wonder of the world". Henry spent lavish sums on its decoration. The glory of the chapel is its delicately carved fan vaulted roof, with hanging pendants. These are constructed on half-concealed transverse arches. All around the chapel are Tudor emblems such as the rose and portcullis, and nearly one hundred statues of saints still remain in niches around the walls. The original jewel-like stained glass by Bernard Flower has, however, disappeared.
The last phase of building was the completion in 1745 of the West Towers in Portland stone, to a design by Nicholas Hawksmoor, the Abbey's Surveyor.
2. Architecturally the Abbey is French Gothic, being eerily similar to Rheims Cathedral in France. The essence of being "French" is its soaring height as a ratio compared to its width. The Abbey's nave is the highest of any medieval church.

3. Famous people associated with the Abbey:
The following list of people buried or commemorated in Westminster Abbey.

A - D
Adam, Robert Adam
Addison, Joseph Addison
André, John André
Atkyns, Edward and Robert Atkyns
Atterbury, Francis Atterbury
Ayton, Robert Ayton
Baden-Powell, Robert & Olave Baden-Powell
Baker, John Baker
Barrell, William Barrell
Bayne, William Bayne
Beaufort, Margaret Beaufort
Beaufoy, Mary Beaufoy
Behn, Aphra Behn
Bill, William Bill
Blair, William Blair
Blake, Robert Blake
Blake, William Blake
Blakeney, William Blakeney
Blow, John Blow
Bohun, Eleanor de Bohun
Bonhoeffer, Dietrich Bonhoeffer
Bowes, Mary Eleanor Bowes
Bradshaw, John Bradshaw
Brandon, Frances Brandon
Brocas, Sir Bernard Brocas
Bromley, Sir Thomas Bromley
Broughton, John Broughton
Browning, Robert Browning
Brunel, Isambard Kingdom Brunel
Buckland, William Buckland
Burdett-Coutts, Angela Burdett-Coutts
Burgoyne, John Burgoyne
Burney, Frances Burney
Burns, Robert Burns
Busby, Richard Busby
Buxton, Thomas Fowell Buxton
C, Civilian War Dead Roll of Honour 1939 - 1945
C, Combined Services Memorial
Camden, William Camden
Canning, Geo, Charles & Stratford Canning
Carey, Henry Carey
Carey, William Carey
Carroll, Lewis Carroll
Cavendish, William & Margaret Cavendish
Chaucer, Geoffrey Chaucer
Chiffinch, Thomas Chiffinch
Churchill, Sir Winston Churchill
Clarkson, Thomas Clarkson
Clementi, Muzio Clementi
Cochrane, Thomas Cochrane
Coote, Eyre Coote
Cottington, Francis Cottington
Cottrell, Clement Cottrell
Courcy, Almericus de Courcy
Coxe, Sir Richard Coxe
Craggs, James Craggs
Cromwell, Oliver Cromwell
Darwin, Charles Darwin
Daubeney, Giles Daubeney
Dickens, Charles Dickens
Dirac, Paul Dirac
Douglas, Margaret Douglas, Countess of Lennox
E - H (back on top)
Elizabeth, Grand Duchess Elizabeth
F, Freke sisters
Fane, Elizabeth Fane
Fawcett, Henry and Millicent Fawcett
Folkes, Martin Folkes
Follett, William Webb Follett
Fox, Charles James Fox
Franklin, Sir John Franklin
Fullerton, James Fullerton
Garrick, David Garrick
Gay, John Gay
Gethin, Grace Gethin
Goodman, Gabriel Goodman
Gordon, Adam Lindsay Gordon
Graham, George Graham
Griffith, Piers Griffith
Grote, George Grote
Handel, George Frederic Handel
Hardy, Thomas Hardy
Harrison, John Harrison
Harvey, John Harvey
Herschel, William & John Herschel
Hesketh, Sir Thomas Hesketh
Hill, Rowland Hill
Hooke, Robert Hooke
Horrocks, Jeremiah Horrocks
Howe, George Howe
Hunter, John Hunter
Hutt, John Hutt
I - L (back on top)
Ireland, John Ireland
Irving, Sir Henry Irving
J, John of Eltham
John, Esther John
Johnson, Samuel Johnson
Jonson, Ben Jonson
Julius, William Julius
Keats, John Keats
Kelvin, William Thomson, Lord Kelvin
King, Martin Luther King
Kipling, Rudyard Kipling
Knipe, Thomas Knipe
Knollys, Katherine Knollys
Kolbe, Maximilian Kolbe
Livingstone, David Livingstone
Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Loten, John Gideon Loten
Ludlow, Philip Ludlow
Luwum, Janani Luwum
Lyell, Charles Lyell
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton
M - P (back on top)
Macaulay, Zachary Macaulay
Macaulay, Thomas Babington Macaulay
Malcolm, Sir John Malcolm
Manners, Lord Robert Manners
Mansfield, William Murray, Lord Mansfield
Masemola, Manche Masemola
May, Thomas May
Mead, Richard Mead
Methuen, John and Paul Methuen
Milton, John Milton
Monck, George and Nicholas Monck
Neve, Richard Le Neve
Newton, Sir Isaac Newton
Nightingale, Lady Elizabeth Nightingale
Norris, Henry, Lord Norris
Ogle, John Ogle
Oswald, James Oswald
Outram, Sir James Outram
Owen, Thomas Owen
O’Keeffe, Arthur O’Keeffe
P, Poets of the First World War
Paoli, Pasquale Paoli
Parr, Thomas Parr
Pecksall, Richard Pecksall
Pitt, William Pitt
Pollock, George Pollock
Pringle, Sir John Pringle
Purcell, Henry Purcell
Q - T (back on top)
Raffles, Stamford Raffles
Richardson, Thomas Richardson
Romero, Oscar Romero
Rowe, Nicholas Rowe
Rupert, Prince Rupert
Rutherford, Ernest Rutherford
Saunders, Sir Charles Saunders
Scott, George Gilbert Scott
Shakespeare, William Shakespeare
Sharp, Granville Sharp
Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sheridan, Richard Brinsley Sheridan
Shovell, Sir Clowdisley Shovell
Siddons, Sarah Siddons
Spelman, Henry Spelman
Spenser, Edmund Spenser
Spottiswood, John Spottiswood
Spottiswood, William Spottiswood
Spottiswood, James Spottiswood
Spragge, Edward Spragge
Sprat, Thomas Sprat
Stanley, Arthur & Augusta Stanley
Stephenson, Robert Stephenson
Stokes, George Gabriel Stokes
Street, George Edmund Street
Stuart, Frances Teresa Stuart
Talbot, Edward Talbot
Tapiedi, Lucian Tapiedi
Telford, Thomas Telford
Tennyson, Lord Alfred Tennyson
Thomson, William Thomson, Lord Kelvin
Thorndyke, John Thorndyke
Thorndyke, Herbert Thorndyke
Thynne, Thomas Thynne
Trenchard, Hugh Trenchard
Trevithick, Richard Trevithick
Trigge, Thomas Trigge
Triplet, Thomas Triplet
Tyrrell, Richard Tyrrell
U - Z (back on top)
U, Unknown Warrior
Ussher, James Ussher
Valence, William and Aymer de Valence
Vere, Sir Francis Vere and Horace Vere
Vernon, Edward Vernon
Wade, George Wade
Wager, Charles Wager
Wallace, Alfred Russel Wallace
Warren, Sir Peter Warren
Watt, James Watt
Wesley, John Wesley, Charles Wesley
Whittle, Frank Whittle
Wilberforce, William Wilberforce
Wilcocks, Joseph Wilcocks
Wolfe, James Wolfe
Woodward, John Woodward
Wragg, William Wragg
Wright, James Wright
Young, Thomas Young
Zhiming, Wang Zhiming

4. Henry VII's Chapel: Perhaps the most striking and holiest place in all of the Abbey is Henry VII's Lady Chapel, added at the east end in 1503. Washington Irving considered it magical. He said:

The very walls are wrought into universal ornament, encrusted with tracery, and scooped into niches, crowded with statues of saints and martyrs. Stone seems, but the cunning labour of the chisel, to have been robbed of its weight and density, suspended aloft, as if by magic, and fretted roof achieved with the wonderful minuteness and airy security of a cobweb.

5. Famed Roman Catholic architect and theorist Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin (think architecture of Parliament) once compared the Abbey, which is officially called The Collegiate Church of St Peter at Westminster, to St. Peter's Basilica in the Vatican. Pugin said:

It is surprising how this edifice [St. Peter's, Rome] is popularly regarded as the ne plus ultra of a Catholic church, although as a Christian edifice it is by no means comparable to either St. Peter's of York or St. Peter's of Westminster, in both of which churches every original detail and emblem is of the purest Christian design, and not one arrangement or feature borrowed from pagan antiquity; and although these glorious piles have been woefully desecrated and shorn of more than half their original beauty, they yet produce stronger feelings of religious awe than their namesake at Rome, still in the zenith of its glory, with all its mosaics, gilding, and marbles.

As you might suspect, Pugin believed only in Gothic styles. He wasn't fond of the "pagan impulse" evident in Classical forms of church architecture.

Of course one could say that we are free to worship Almighty God under a rock, in a simple tent, or even an auditorium, and that's certainly true. But with Gothic ideals being such a Christian gift to the world, why would we purposely choose anything else?