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| The village of Deeping St. Nicholas, Lincolnshire, seen from the Peterborough–Lincoln train, 20th March, 2014. |
‘We read to know that we are not alone,’ as it turns out C. S. Lewis didn’t say — I have almost been the latest of many to misattribute to the man himself a line spoken only by a fictionalised version of him in the 1993 biographical film Shadowlands. No wonder: the words ring quite as true as if he really had said them. It was to know that I was not alone, for instance, that I started following Catholic blogs in early 2010: I was looking for some alternative to the media hostility against the forthcoming visit of Pope Benedict XVI to Britain; I read in search of ripostes to the personal attacks on Benedict himself and the mischaracterisation of Catholics and the Christian faith; I read, in that heyday of the New Atheists, for witty rejoinders to the mockery of churchgoers that was then still fashionably edgy. I read, and kept reading, for intelligent and thoughtful writing on what the Church actually believes and why, and on how we should live our faith in the present age.
And what a relief it was to find those blogs. Many were pseudonymous, such as the ‘Countercultural Father’ and now-defunct ‘Reluctant Sinner’, but others were written under their authors’ real names: Joanna Bogle’s was a particular favourite, as well as the various contributors to the Catholic Voices blog. Either way, few ever overstepped the mark in tone or content, to my mind at least, and whether vigorous or sober in style, they were generally well-informed and intellectual in substance. There was always plenty to think about, though I never dared comment! I also enjoyed other writers beyond the so-called ‘Catholic blogosphere’, such as Peter Hitchens’ lyrical long-form essays and Eleanor Parker’s insights into Anglo-Saxon culture in ‘A Clerk of Oxford’.
Then, some years later, I happened upon the blog of Maolsheachlann Ó Ceallaigh (the ‘Irish Papist’), with its poetry, its unpretentious musings and memoirs, the occasional spice of more polemic pieces, and the quiet courtesy with which he diligently responded to every blog-comment short of, though occasionally even including, actual spam. It was probably in corresponding with him that a creative idea glowing within me like a small flame began to gather strength, until I could resist it no longer, and put up the first post on this blog, ten years ago today.
The title came from a meditation of the great — now Saint — John Henry Newman, from which Pope Benedict quoted in his address in London’s Hyde Park on 18th September 2010, and which seems as sound as ever:
God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons.
He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments. Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him, in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him. If I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. He does nothing in vain. He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends. He may throw me among strangers. He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide my future from me. Still, He knows what He is about.
Bl. John Henry Newman: Meditations on Christian Doctrine, Meditations and Devotions, March 7, 1848.
And here is the excerpt from Pope Benedict’s address in which he reflects on the above passage:
One of the Cardinal’s best-loved meditations includes the words, “God has created me to do him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which he has not committed to another.” Here we see Newman’s fine Christian realism, the point at which faith and life inevitably intersect. Faith is meant to bear fruit in the transformation of our world through the power of the Holy Spirit at work in the lives and activity of believers. No one who looks realistically at our world today could think that Christians can afford to go on with business as usual, ignoring the profound crisis of faith which has overtaken our society, or simply trusting that the patrimony of values handed down by the Christian centuries will continue to inspire and shape the future of our society. We know that in times of crisis and upheaval God has raised up great saints and prophets for the renewal of the Church and Christian society; we trust in his providence and we pray for his continued guidance. But each of us, in accordance with his or her state of life, is called to work for the advancement of God’s Kingdom by imbuing temporal life with the values of the Gospel. Each of us has a mission, each of us is called to change the world, to work for a culture of life, a culture forged by love and respect for the dignity of each human person. As our Lord tells us in the Gospel we have just heard, our light must shine in the sight of all, so that, seeing our good works, they may give praise to our heavenly Father.
The heyday of the ‘Catholic blogosphere’ now seems long past. There are still plenty of good magazines and newsletters with engaging articles, but fewer individual or blogs than there used to be, and those less lively. (That said, there is a good deal of activity to be found via Malcolm Mann’s list of extant Catholic blogs at the British Catholic Blogs directory). Perhaps it was mostly a ‘Benedict moment’, a phenomenon with a particular context, but like all such things it may have sown the seeds of a quiet harvest.
As for this particular blog, I wrote, and write, however sporadically, much as I have read — to know that I am not alone — and to try to convey similar reassurance to others of like mind. I know how encouraged I was in my faith, temperament and conviction by these other writers, and I have always felt that in making my own contribution I might perhaps help to do for someone else what these others did for me.
For in today’s Britain it can be, and often is, a lonely business being a Catholic Christian, never mind an Englishman of homely and nostalgic temperament. This sense of isolation may seem unlikely, given that I have millions of fellow believers around the world, to say nothing of the friends we find in old books. And indeed, it has been my astonishing blessing over the last ten years to get to know more people of like mind than I once could ever have hoped for. Even so, it can be lonely. Things are not what they used to be: all sorts of vital traditions, principles, morals and manners seem unable to withstand the caustic solvent of liquid modernity, and only in certain niches like family homes does the old culture thrive. In such times, I have found, it helps to seek the company, even the virtual company, of others who think and feel along the same lines.
Having said this, the blog is not just supposed to be a balm for gloom. I try to write in both major and minor keys. It is supposed to be as much a positive celebration of poetry, music, churches, landscapes and traditions, and other oddments as a record of what has passed. Indeed, one regret about the blog is that it hasn’t seemed to leave me much room for humour, which I can more easily give free rein in emails to unfortunate friends. Exposed to the windswept steppes of the Internet, lacking the context and shared experience which are so essential to humour, in which misunderstanding seems so easy, and perhaps amid the kind of virtual stage-fright that results, I find it much harder to crack jokes — no doubt to the benefit of all.
Thank you to everyone who has read, or commented on, or enjoyed, or been sent to sleep by this blog over the past decade. I don’t know how much longer Some Definite Service will last, but as long as it seems worthwhile, I will try to offer, as far as I can manage, the kind of refuge that I myself seek in other blogs, and a candle of witness to the many good and gentle things I see in the world. For, ultimately, those are the things that will endure, or are at least the token of the eternal verities. Hope, that slow-burning thing, may have to wait ten, or a hundred, or two thousand years, but it will outlast all opposition, and even all blogs, until it is vindicated in the end.
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| John Everett Millais’ portrait of John Henry Newman on display at Arundel Castle (W. Sussex), 13th September 2019. |
