Not made for Death, but for Life

Happy Easter to all readers!  I have been meaning to blog sooner, but have been particularly busy over the last month or so.  And there has been no shortage of news – most significantly the loss of Pope Francis on Easter Monday.  We had of course been well aware of his serious illness the previous month, but he had seemed to be recovering – and had we not seen the pictures of him in St. Peter’s Square the previous day, and had he not wished us a happy Easter, and met the Vice-President of the United States, and in his Easter homily (albeit read aloud on his behalf), declared that “we were not made for death, but for life”?  So to lose him was rather a jolt.

I suppose, in a way, it is appropriate: he was ever the Pope of the dramatic gesture, with a sense of the theatrical about him, and was always encouraging us to put our feet where our faith is.  Perhaps, in his dying on Easter Monday, we might see a similar thing.

Yet I remember this aspect of him taking a little getting used to at first, especially after the careful manner of Pope Benedict.  Pope Francis had less time for words, even a certain impatience with them, and perhaps the same went for formalities.  He always gave the impression that there was no time to lose, and so it is characteristic that he should have had his foot on the accelerator to the very end.  This was a man who in embraced a disfigured man without hesitation; who actually knelt to kiss the feet of the warring leaders of South Sudan, who amid evening rainfall calmly blessed the whole world in those vertiginous first weeks of the pandemic.  A critic might call it a ‘PR papacy’, and indeed any photo-op carries the risk of playing to the camera; yet these images, which were challenging and conscience-pricking, were also a kind of riposte to the age of the age of airbrushing and virtue-signalling.

Embed from Getty Images

The media, of course, also put their own spin on him, as is their wont; to them he was simply the Pope who wanted to make the Church more ‘progressive’ and ‘forward-looking’, and apparently a change from previous Popes (which is of course a jab at Pope Benedict, something they can never resist).  But as ever the media reveal their selective hearing, choosing to ignore the moments when he expressed himself with startling directness, capable of criticising liberal and conservative excesses with equal enthusiasm, while also pointing out that the Christian faith transcends either.  He was perfectly willing to fire from both barrels, and indeed I have found him more chastening and challenging than I did the supposedly stricter (but actually very gentle) Pope Benedict.

Yet of course he did strike a particular tone of mercy.  His description of the Church as a field-hospital has stayed with me, as with so many: the priority of getting people, in whatever condition or state of life, out of the rain and the cold of the world, and into the warm and dry of the Church.  He is right this is a world that urgently needs the Church (the world’s largest provider of healthcare, and its largest educational institution, and perhaps the largest humanitarian organisation overall, even before we get onto spiritual matters…).  He was right we cannot necessarily afford to wait until everything is neat and tidy before putting out into the deep.  Similarly, his promotion of a ‘culture of encounter’ has encouraged me to overcome my reserved nature and speak (and, I hope, listen!) to more people.  Finally, his extension of mercy above all – the unique priority of the Christian faith – was also absolutely urgent.  So, may the Lord soon welcome him to his reward, and grant him the eternal life in which he taught us to hope.

Now, as we await his successor, here again is his final homily:

Christ is risen, alleluia!

Dear brothers and sisters, Happy Easter!

Today at last, the singing of the ‘alleluia’ is heard once more in the Church, passing from mouth to mouth, from heart to heart, and this makes the people of God throughout the world shed tears of joy.

From the empty tomb in Jerusalem, we hear unexpected good news: Jesus, who was crucified, ‘is not here, he has risen’.  Jesus is not in the tomb, he is alive!

Love has triumphed over hatred, light over darkness and truth over falsehood.  Forgiveness has triumphed over revenge.  Evil has not disappeared from history; it will remain until the end, but it no longer has the upper hand; it no longer has power over those who accept the grace of this day.

Sisters and brothers, especially those of you experiencing pain and sorrow, your silent cry has been heard and your tears have been counted; not one of them has been lost!

In the passion and death of Jesus, God has taken upon himself all the evil in this world and in his infinite mercy has defeated it.  He has uprooted the diabolical pride that poisons the human heart and wreaks violence and corruption on every side.  The Lamb of God is victorious! That is why, today, we can joyfully cry out: ‘Christ, my hope, has risen!’ .

The resurrection of Jesus is indeed the basis of our hope.  For in the light of this event, hope is no longer an illusion.  Thanks to Christ — crucified and risen from the dead — hope does not disappoint!  Spes non confundit!  That hope is not an evasion, but a challenge; it does not delude, but empowers us.

All those who put their hope in God place their feeble hands in his strong and mighty hand; they let themselves be raised up and set out on a journey.  Together with the risen Jesus, they become pilgrims of hope, witnesses of the victory of love and of the disarmed power of Life.

Christ is risen!  These words capture the whole meaning of our existence, for we were not made for death but for life.  Easter is the celebration of life!  God created us for life and wants the human family to rise again!  In his eyes, every life is precious!  The life of a child in the mother’s womb, as well as the lives of the elderly and the sick, who in more and more countries are looked upon as people to be discarded.

What a great thirst for death, for killing, we witness each day in the many conflicts raging in different parts of our world!  How much violence we see, often even within families, directed at women and children!  How much contempt is stirred up at times towards the vulnerable, the marginalised, and migrants!

On this day, I would like all of us to hope anew and to revive our trust in others, including those who are different than ourselves, or who come from distant lands, bringing unfamiliar customs, ways of life and ideas!  For all of us are children of God!

I would like us to renew our hope that peace is possible!  From the Holy Sepulchre, the Church of the Resurrection, where this year Easter is being celebrated by Catholics and Orthodox on the same day, may the light of peace radiate throughout the Holy Land and the entire world.

I express my closeness to the sufferings of Christians in Palestine and Israel, and to all the Israeli people and the Palestinian people. The growing climate of anti-Semitism throughout the world is worrisome.  Yet at the same time, I think of the people of Gaza, and its Christian community in particular, where the terrible conflict continues to cause death and destruction and to create a dramatic and deplorable humanitarian situation.

I appeal to the warring parties: call a ceasefire, release the hostages and come to the aid of a starving people that aspires to a future of peace!

Let us pray for the Christian communities in Lebanon and in Syria, presently experiencing a delicate transition in its history.  They aspire to stability and to participation in the life of their respective nations.  I urge the whole Church to keep the Christians of the beloved Middle East in its thoughts and prayers.

I also think in particular of the people of Yemen, who are experiencing one of the world’s most serious and prolonged humanitarian crises because of war, and I invite all to find solutions through a constructive dialogue.

May the risen Christ grant Ukraine, devastated by war, his Easter gift of peace, and encourage all parties involved to pursue efforts aimed at achieving a just and lasting peace.

On this festive day, let us remember the South Caucasus and pray that a final peace agreement between Armenia and Azerbaijan will soon be signed and implemented, and lead to long-awaited reconciliation in the region.

May the light of Easter inspire efforts to promote harmony in the western Balkans and sustain political leaders in their efforts to allay tensions and crises, and, together with their partner countries in the region, to reject dangerous and destabilising actions.

May the risen Christ, our hope, grant peace and consolation to the African peoples who are victims of violence and conflict, especially in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, in Sudan and South Sudan.  May he sustain those suffering from the tensions in the Sahel, the Horn of Africa and the Great Lakes region, as well as those Christians who in many places are not able freely to profess their faith.

There can be no peace without freedom of religion, freedom of thought, freedom of expression and respect for the views of others.

Nor is peace possible without true disarmament!  The requirement that every people provide for its own defence must not turn into a race to rearmament.

The light of Easter impels us to break down the barriers that create division and are fraught with grave political and economic consequences.  It impels us to care for one another, to increase our mutual solidarity, and to work for the integral development of each human person.

During this time, let us not fail to assist the people of Myanmar, plagued by long years of armed conflict, who, with courage and patience, are dealing with the aftermath of the devastating earthquake in Sagaing, which caused the death of thousands and great suffering for the many survivors, including orphans and the elderly.  We pray for the victims and their loved ones, and we heartily thank all the generous volunteers carrying out the relief operations.

The announcement of a ceasefire by various actors in the country is a sign of hope for the whole of Myanmar.

I appeal to all those in positions of political responsibility in our world not to yield to the logic of fear which only leads to isolation from others, but rather to use the resources available to help the needy, to fight hunger and to encourage initiatives that promote development.  These are the ‘weapons’ of peace: weapons that build the future, instead of sowing seeds of death!

May the principle of humanity never fail to be the hallmark of our daily actions.  In the face of the cruelty of conflicts that involve defenceless civilians and attack schools, hospitals and humanitarian workers, we cannot allow ourselves to forget that it is not targets that are struck, but persons, each possessed of a soul and human dignity.

In this Jubilee year, may Easter also be a fitting occasion for the liberation of prisoners of war and political prisoners!

Dear brothers and sisters,

In the Lord’s Paschal Mystery, death and life contended in a stupendous struggle, but the Lord now lives forever.  He fills us with the certainty that we too are called to share in the life that knows no end, when the clash of arms and the rumble of death will be heard no more.  Let us entrust ourselves to him, for he alone can make all things new!

Happy Easter to everyone!

An ‘Easter banger’ (to coin a phrase!) from OLEM, Our Lady of the English Martyrs in Cambridge, Easter Vigil, 24th April, 2025: Peter Latona’s setting of the antiphon for the Rite of Sprinkling: ‘I saw water flowing from the right side of the Temple’ (‘Vidi aquam’).

Happy Easter!

This year I went to one of South London’s larger churches for the Easter Vigil Mass.  It was the night before the clocks went forward, so there in the last dark evening we stood, numbering at least six hundred I should think, outside the unlit church — without temple or tabernacle, like the wandering tribes of Israel.  Up from the foot of the hill drifted the grimy surf of traffic-noise; more distinct was the high whine of the trains on the main line and their percussion over points; while the Crystal Palace and Croydon transmitters glimmered silent and sentinel on their far hill.  Before the west door of the church a brazier stood ready, like the one by which Peter had warmed himself and hotly denied his Lord, except that over this brazier quite different words were about to be said:

“Christ yesterday and today; 

the Beginning and the End; 

the Alpha and the Omega.  

All time belongs to him, 

and all the ages.  

To him be glory and power 

Through every age and for ever.  Amen.”

So proclaimed Fr. David, his voice thinned but strangely clarified by the outside air, while into the Paschal Candle he carved the Cross, the letters Alpha and Omega, and the digits of the year of our (risen!) Lord 2024.  Then from the brazier the candle was lit – the first light – and we heard the first call, the first music: “Lumen Christi”.  “Deo Gratias,” we answered.  No verb; only nouns and names – but indicative, subjunctive and imperative were all implicit in that single candle-flame.  This was a good light — a light by which, if we drew near it, we should find our hope.  This was our signal to follow the candle as it was carried into the cavernous church, and so, slowly, slowly, we shuffled back through the west door.  Passing through the porch we were plunged into such complete darkness that I was reminded of the beginning of Genesis, of the words which in fact we would hear again shortly afterwards – of the formless void and the darkness covering the earth.  But there, straight ahead at the east end of the church, the head of the procession had reached the altar: from the light from the Paschal candle a host of other waiting candles had been lit, so that the whole apse was now aglow.  “Oh my goodness,” whispered a girl behind me, “This is so beautiful.”  The first day — and God saw that it was good.

For at Easter the world really is recreated.  As the Paschal flame is passed from pew to pew and candle to candle, as this most dramatic of all the Church’s liturgies unfolds, everything grows gradually richer and fuller and brighter.  By the light spreading and strengthening through the church we saw, as in the first chapter of Genesis, new creations appearing verse by verse: the vaults above, the flowers proliferating where on Good Friday there had been only bare stone — and the human face, in six hundred lovingly-crafted permutations, illuminated and transfigured by the new fire.  Then, at the Gloria, as if on the seventh day, came the loudest and most exuberant possible noise – all bells jangling, all pipes blasting.  It was the steady but emphatic banishment of darkness and death. 

“I sometimes think we Catholics are better at Lent than at Easter,” observed Fr. David in his homily. “We have had fasting; now it is time for feasting.  This is the beginning of the season of guzzling!”  But no shallow or self-deceiving merriment, this.  It follows naturally from a conclusion drawn in the light of reasonable faith, albeit faith in an extraordinary, even outrageous proposition.  If Christ is God made man, if He took human flesh, and if, having been put to death, He is now, somehow, unaccountably but incontrovertibly alive, then we too are completely changed.  And nothing and nobody good and rightly cherished or pleasing to God has ever been, or ever will be, lost to Him.  Even death is not the end of us.

We have not forgotten the desolation of Good Friday, nor the fears and hardships of our own lives.  Evil and death and all its schemes and attempts at reinvention have not yet been driven out.  But they have been dealt a mortal blow.  A mortal blow if Christ, wearing our flesh and our nature, standing for us and in our place, can undergo the worst that evil and death can deal out, can indeed be annihilated, but can yet rise bodily from the dead and walk free from his own tomb.  If it is possible for His human body, then it is possible (through Him) for our human bodies.  The forces of death and of evil can flail as wildly as they please, for a season, but the final plug is already pulled on them; the clock is ticking for them.  We, meanwhile, are homeward bound.

The choir of Hereford Cathedral sing ‘Good Christians all, Rejoice and Sing’ to Melchior Vulpius’s tune ‘Gelobet sei Gott’ (1609).

Christus Vincit

Every Holy Week I find myself noticing a new detail in the readings — one year it was Pilate’s ‘astonishment’ at Jesus’ answers in the Temple; another it was Christ’s line, ‘All who are on the side of truth listen to my voice’.  This year, amid the irresistible drama of the Easter Vigil, two things struck me about St. Matthew’s account of the Resurrection: firstly, the curious detail that, having rolled the stone away from the tomb and frightened the guardsmen almost to death (is it irony, even an outright joke, to say that they ‘looked like dead men’?), the angel is specifically described as ‘sitting’ on the stone — in my mind’s eye I see quite a casual pose.  Then, having delivered his Universe-inverting message to the dumbfounded women — ‘He has risen, as he said he would’ — he directs them to Galilee: ‘It is there you will see him.’  But in fact Jesus comes to meet them almost straightaway, before they have even had a chance to tell the other disciples.

Crossed wires on the angel’s part, the first of millions of church muddles over the centuries?  Or is Jesus so eager to reveal himself that He makes a last-minute change of plan for the sake of the women, even if the others must wait?  Either way, on this third day, in this third garden, all has come miraculously right.  The Devil is defeated, and comfortably, emphatically enough that the mighty stone, yesterday a sound and silent seal on death, is now demoted to a convenient park bench for his former, unfallen, fellow.

Happy Easter to one and all!

A setting of the Easter plainchant ‘Christus vincit’ by Martin Baker (until 2019 Master of Music of Westminster Cathedral) sung here by the choristers of King’s College Cambridge and the King’s Singers under Daniel Hyde.  An enticing blend of sound-worlds, in that Westminster Cathedral choir has a harder, purer, more Latinate sound, whereas King’s is typically softer and warmer and more Anglican.   The chant itself is a rather subversive repurposing of an acclamation originally sung for Roman generals or emperors, but now sung by Christians for the true general, the true emperor, Christ.

Happy Easter!

Where all was dark there is suddenly fire; where there was death there is life once more.  Happy Easter to one and all!

In Święta Lipka in north-eastern Poland, on the 4th May 2019, an irresistible arrangement of a familiar tune is sung by participants in one of the many Liturgical Music Workshops that are run by Hubert Kowalski (conducting) and others across the country and elsewhere in Europe.  They sing, ‘Pan zmartwychwstał i jest z nami’ — ‘The Lord is risen, and is with us’ — or, as we know it in Britain, ‘Jesus Christ is risen today’.

Happy Easter!

 Wishing all readers a very happy Easter!

The choir of King’s College, Cambridge, sing the arrangement by Henry Walford Davies (1869–1941) of Jean Tisserand’s great hymn O filii et filiae.

‘Dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness’

If we had not descended into the darkness of the Passion, into the depths of Good Friday and the dread of the tomb; if we were not living, too, through the shadow cast by the pandemic, then we would not have heard the Exsultet, the exultant Easter poem-prayer, in quite the same way: sung unforgettably by Fr. Mark, joy filling the chapel of Fisher House, the Catholic student chaplaincy of the University of Cambridge, and, through the speakers, filling the room where I sat in south London.

Joy, paradoxical joy for this sorrowful world: the tomb does not have the last word!  Death has no dominion!

This is the night
of which it is written:
The night shall be as bright as day,
dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness. 

The sanctifying power of this night
dispels wickedness, washes faults away,
restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to mourners,
drives out hatred, fosters concord, and brings down the mighty. 

[…]  

O truly blessed night, 
when things of heaven are wed to those of earth,
and divine to the human. 

Therefore, O Lord,
we pray you that this candle,
hallowed to the honour of your name,
may persevere undimmed,
to overcome the darkness of this night.
Receive it as a pleasing fragrance,
and let it mingle with the lights of heaven.
May this flame be found still burning
by the Morning Star:
the one Morning Star who never sets,
Christ your Son,
who, coming back from death’s domain,
has shed his peaceful light on humanity,
and lives and reigns for ever and ever.  Amen.

Wishing all readers, and any who happen upon this blog, a very happy Easter.

P. S.  The Easter Vigil Mass from Fisher House can be watched here.  The Exsultet begins about ten minutes into the video.

Happy Easter!

Wishing a happy Easter to all readers of this blog.

    Had Christ, that once was slain,
    Ne’er burst his three-day prison,
    Our faith had been in vain —
    But now hath Christ arisen.

from G. Ratcliffe Woodward’s hymn ‘This joyful Eastertide’

Wells Cathedral, Somerset, from the south-east.  April, 2018.

‘Let this holy building shake with joy…’

The Easter Vigil Mass in my South London parish, 2008

Exult, let them exult, the hosts of heaven,
Exult, let Angel ministers of God exult,
Let the trumpet of salvation
Sound aloud our mighty King’s triumph!

Be glad, let earth be glad, as glory floods her,
Ablaze with light from her eternal King,
Let all corners of the earth be glad,
Knowing an end to gloom and darkness.

Rejoice, let Mother Church also rejoice,
Arrayed with the lightning of his glory,
Let this holy building shake with joy,
Filled with the mighty voices of the peoples.

This is the opening (in English translation) of the Exsultet, the Church’s beautiful hymn for the Easter Vigil.  Beautiful it is in its images, its language and its theological underpinnings — which somehow make themselves felt even to those like me who do not understand every gesture or reference — and a poetic treat indeed after bitter Lent. 

It has occurred to me how full Holy Week is of paradoxes.  There is Palm Sunday and the divine, asisine entrance into Jerusalem.  There is the first Eucharist on Maundy Thursday followed by the year’s only Massless day, Good Friday.  Easter is itself, of course, the universe’s greatest paradox (life everlasting springing from where God had known death), but it encompasses other, smaller twin-truths.  At the Easter Vigil there is the candle-light which blazes all the more brightly for the darkness it has to dispel.  Thus, turning to the candle, we sing:

But now we know the praises of this pillar,
Which glowing fire ignites for God’s honour,
A fire into many flames divided,
Yet never dimmed by sharing of its light,
For it is fed by melting wax,
Drawn out by mother bees
To build a torch so precious.

It seems astonishing at first, the difference in scope between, on one hand, the praise of these bees in their tiny particularity (a passage brought back a few years ago by the new translation of the Missal) and, on the other, the praise of the massive and cosmic truth that is the burden of this prayer.   There, as the poet compasses the eternal, is the microscopic and prosaic in the same breath: another paradox for the list.  And we have already praised the ‘happy fault’, the ‘necessary sin of Adam’, ‘that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer’ (a mystery also mentioned in the fourteenth-century English carol ‘Adam lay ybounden’).

How, then, should these fine words sound when sung?  Here is a bracing Polish rendition of the Exsultet by Fr. Mateusz Łuksza, a Dominican priest of Jarosław:

Wishing a Happy Easter to one and all!

Ascension Day

Happy feast of the Ascension!  I think some music is called for: here is Gerald Finzi’s anthem God is gone up (op. 27, no. 2):

Don’t forget that Easter carries on until Pentecost (Whitsun), so if you haven’t been feasting since the Triduum as energetically as you fasted in Lent, you’ve been doing it wrong!

Alleluia!

Happy Easter!  Having followed the world’s Saviour out into the desert of Lent and along the way of the Cross, now we too may rise as he did.  Yes, we the Church are audacious enough to stake all we stand for on the truth that Jesus Christ, who was man and God, rose wholly and bodily from the dead and, in doing so, defeated death itself.  This is the central belief which we hold and profess with a straight face, and the reason we have firm hope in everlasting life.  Otherwise, to paraphrase St. Paul, we might as well all give up and go home. 

To assent to this truth turns our view of the world upside down and inside out.  But that is what the Church is for.  As G.K. Chesterton says, it is not the tenets of the Church but the world’s dull, secular logic that is the wrong way up.

Now for some music: the Arnold Singers from Rugby School sing Simon Lindley’s arrangement of one of our best Easter hymns at the church of St Mary the Virgin, Hanbury (from the BBC’s Songs of Praise):

Today is also a double cause for celebration, being Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI’s ninetieth birthday…  As I shall never tire of saying again and again and again, I am proud to number among the Benedict generation who came of age in faith under his gently staunch, warmly courageous teaching.  It is largely to Joseph Ratzinger that we owe the Catechism of the Catholic Church, the lucid, intellectual, meticulous compendium of the faith which is the place for anyone, inside or outside the Church, to take their questions.  From his writings the dawn of faith will break in many minds. And, as Pope, his visit to the United Kingdom in 2010, in which he saw hope in this country where we ourselves had forgotten it, and during which he accordingly encouraged us with a challenging, invigorating message, was a milestone in my life and in the history of the Church in Great Britain.  Herzliche Glückwünsche und Gebete, lieber Benedikt, zu diesem herrlichen runden Geburtstag!

Holy Week Begins

　　Sometimes they strew His way,

　　And His sweet praises sing,

　　Resounding all the day

　　Hosannas to their king:

　　Then “Crucify!”

　　Is all their breath,

　　And for His death

　　They thirst and cry.

With the arrival of Holy Week comes around again one of the best hymns in the English language.  It is also one of the hardest to sing, not at all because it is too technical or too complex, but rather because, in tight, lean verse (see how lightly those flawless rhymes wear their music), it expresses itself rather too simply and starkly for comfort.  It would be one of the finest poems ever written — a beautifully-wrought match of meaning and metre, which John Ireland’s music perfects —  even if it did not also grasp so unflinchingly, so firmly and so painfully the truth at the paradoxical heart of the Christian faith: the ‘love to the loveless shown that they might lovely be.’  This hymn has not lost an iota of its charge since it was set down by Samuel Crossman (1623–1683) nearly four hundred years ago.   It defies a glib rendition: the words grab ungently at the heart.

For anyone who wishes to see the paradox laid bare, who wants to behold a single expression of what the Church is all about, Mass on Palm Sunday is perhaps the occasion when this is keenest.  The Church withdraws physically into itself: the furnishings and decorative aids to prayer are removed or veiled; the altar is stripped, the faith is pared right down to its core.  The stage is set and the soul is prepared for the contemplation of the historical events upon which all our other teachings and doctrines and music and art are founded: the paradoxes of and cusps between Old and New Testaments, the fulfilments of ancient prophecies and instinctive split-second actions of particular people at particular moments, the folly of man and the humility of Christ and (in the end) the Crucifixion and the Resurrection.  This Sunday precipitates the reluctant but faithful commemorations of these events.

As part of the Palm Sunday liturgy, there is the actual dramatisation of Christ’s Passion according to one of the Gospels. The lines given to the congregation to read aloud are those of any plural speaker, which are normally those of the crowds or mobs that accumulated at Gethsemane, the Temple and Golgotha.  That these are in fact different crowds assembling at various points over the course of the Passion becomes increasingly less important as we go on, not only because the crowds’ words and moods are not substantially different from each other’s, but because we must be made to acknowledge that, had we been there, we would (‘to a man’) have been the crowd, and indeed that we continue to be the crowd to this day.  We have to fill our mouths with bile and sarcasm, clamouring to save a murderer and have the Prince of Life slain.  “We want Barabbas!”; “His blood be on us and on our children!”; “If he is the Son of God, let him come down from the cross!”  And so on.  It is a relief to rinse out our mouths with the Creed.

But without this, and without the coming desolate, dry-throated liturgies of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, there can be no Easter.  As the liturgy puts it, we are ‘following in his footsteps, / so that being made by his grace partakers of the Cross, / we may have a share also in his Resurrection and in his life.’

‘Rise heart; thy Lord is risen’

After Lent’s long flatness and sinking into bitter hollowness in Holy Week, especially on Good Friday (which this year, for the first time I can remember, was not shrouded in pallid cloud at three o’clock), Easter has dawned upon us.  Happy Feast!

Here is a setting by Ralph Vaughan Williams (again, sorry) of fitting words by George Herbert:
  

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 musick is but three parts vied
                                                  And multiplied,
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,

And make up our defects with his sweet art.

George Herbert (1593–1633)

I cannot resist including another monunental rendition of the same music at the Royal Albert Hall in London on the Last Night of the Proms in 2004:

An Irish Easter Prayer

One of the good things about Easter’s forty days is that, even in the sixth week, it is still not too late for me to recommend this post by Maolsheachlann O Ceallaigh, the ‘Irish Papist’, though I had meant to do so much sooner than this…

‘Amen’ is my hearty response to all the prayers, but one set of petitions in particular I would like to reproduce and make my own (my own prayer, that is, as opposed to my own blog-post!):

I pray that the arts, entertainments and manners of our society will reflect more gentleness, idealism, chivalry, respect and wonder. I pray especially that childhood innocence will be protected and valued, in this era when there are so many forces ranged against it. I pray, too, that our societies will come to have a greater honour and esteem for old age.

These words particular resonate with me, and I echo them fervently.  It seems to occur to people so rarely to express a wish for such things, perhaps because they often seem so remote in our brash era, or maybe even because of fear of being shouted down by the very coarseness in question, that I sometimes feel quite alone in believing that they should be upheld.  Whenever I am reminded that in truth I am far from alone, I feel a surge of hope.

Since I am recommending that particular post, I might as well recommend the whole ‘Irish Papist’ blog (hopefully without damaging its reputation too much!).  Recommending a blog, as opposed to a book, for example, is actually more difficult than it might sound: it is surprisingly easy to misread blogs and writers, which can change in character and flavour in unforeseen ways.  Still, of all the blogs I read, even the most regular, this has been my favourite for some time, because its articles are thoughtful, uplifting and principled, though never gratuitously confrontational.  Maolsheachlann O Ceallaigh is a writer and university library assistant in Dublin, and has plenty of opportunity to observe the pageant of life — from an Irish perspective, which is interesting for me, writing in Britain — and from a Christian perspective, with misgivings about modernity, but not without a good deal of hope and joy.   It is certainly a Catholic blog, but serves less to comment specifically on matters Catholic than to house a Catholic writer’s all-purpose, all-subject journal.

What is more is that, every so often, new metrical verse is posted — a thing almost unthinkable in the twenty-first century!  Thank goodness somebody is keeping the flame alight.

‘Glory be to God for dappled things…’

… and for the sight of England on Easter Sunday.

View S.W. from Rudgwick, W. Sussex.

Alleluia! He is risen! …

… He is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

Happy Easter to one and all!

‘One far fierce hour and sweet…’

And so we enter Holy Week; the long pilgrimage of Lent is nearly over, but there is a hard path yet to tread, right down into the cold depths of mankind’s heart, and then a stiff climb straight towards dazzlement.

The rest of G.K. Chesterton’s Palm Sunday poem is here: such wonderfully plain words!  It is not easy to write like that.