No Other Foundation

Recently I was scrolling through the website of a famously-liberal denomination which quickly became excruciatingly boring because it was so predictable. In the early 1980s my (then) Anglican bishop the Right Reverend H. V. R. Short described the group as “humanism with God-talk” and I was curious to see what it was like now. The answer: more humanism, less God-talk. The website was basically a collection of leftist causes with an occasional nod to the notion of “exploring faith”. Jesus was brought in for the odd cameo appearance to justify their acceptance of… well, pretty much anything so long as it was liberal and on the extreme left. And it occurred to me that their Jesus bore little resemblance to the one found in the New Testament or in the history of the Church.

In the narrative in John 5 we find a story which our Lord heals a paralytic who had been lying by the pool of Bethesda, and there is a detail there that I had missed in all the decades I had been reading that story. It is this: our Lord healed the man with a word, telling him to take up the pallet on which he had been lying and walk home. The man did so. It was, St. John informs us, a Sabbath when this miracle occurred. As he was walking home carrying his pallet, some Jews saw him and rebuked him for doing this, saying “It is the Sabbath and it is not allowed for you to carry your pallet.” The man replied that “He who made me well was the one who said to me ‘Take up your pallet and walk’”. The Jews responded with a question: “Who is the man who said to you ‘Take up your pallet and walk?’” Eventually of course all discovered that it was Jesus who had said that.

Way, way back in time in the years 1979-1981 I lived in the village of Turtleford, Saskatchewan, having moved there from suburban Toronto. Turtleford was a rural village of about 500 souls and my ministry as an Anglican priest took me to other villages, such as Spruce Lake and Livelong (and no, I am not making up any of these names). When I first arrived in Turtleford as the village’s local Anglican priest, I needed a map to navigate the countryside to find other villages and towns. The way from Turtleford to Prince Albert (where my bishop lived) took me past the village of Fairholme.

Those familiar with liturgical worship will be familiar with the pre-anaphoral dialogue— the dialogue between celebrant and people that takes place just before the celebrant prays the anaphora, the long prayer over the bread and wine which consecrates them to be the Body and Blood of the Lord soon to be received in Holy Communion. It is an important dialogue, indeed, even a crucial one, for it constitutes the celebrant’s blessing from the royal priesthood (i.e. the assembled laity) to offer the Eucharist in their name and as their mouthpiece. That is why he faces them throughout—or should face them, as Fr. Sergei Glagolev (inset above) taught us. Besides, who turns their back to someone in the middle of talking to them?

In his 1697 play The Mourning Bride, playwright William Congreve wrote that “Musick hath charms to sooth a savage breast [i.e. a savage heart], to soften rocks or bend a knotted oak”.