In everyday speech, an apology is normally a gracious acknowledgment of fault with a corresponding plea for forgiveness. However, when the theological fault lines of history are showing the rupture of their tectonic plates, an apology means anything but that.
Perhaps the most formative document for understanding the Church of England in the late-16th century is John Jewell's Apology of the Church of England. This is a short work, when compared to much of the literary output of the times, but it's a seminal and essential work for students of and those interested in Anglican formulation.
Having fled England for the safe haven of continental Europe during Bloody Mary's reign, Jewell returned upon Elizabeth I's ascendancy and was named Bishop of Salisbury in 1560. Known for his sermons and his evangelistic zeal, he channeled his passion into a classic defense of Anglicanism viz a viz the Roman Catholic Church. At a time when the Council of Trent's rumblings accused Protestants of variance to the truth, Jewell took their accusations head on in his Apology.
Jewell is a master of the English language, using words to fine effect as he begins with the reasons why he is writing before demonstrating how the doctrine of the Church of England, the Protestant Reformation, and the church of the New Testament and post-apostolic age all align. He focuses specifically on the nature of Christ as sole Mediator and the dominical sacraments of baptism and Holy Communion...and those two are the only ones, according to Jewell. His rhetorical guns blazing at full capacity over the last half, he levels massive shots of cross-examination against Rome. He carefully rebuts accusations that the Church of England had broken communion with the "true church" and would destroy peaceful, civil government.
Jewell was, of course, a product of his times, and he does get quite punchy. In rejecting pontifical authority, he refers to the Pope as 'Lucifer', 'the forerunner of the Antichrist', and one who has 'forsaken the faith.' Such commentary might be hard for many readers to swallow, although it pales in comparison to the vitriol present in correspondence between Martin Luther and Sir Thomas More. One might also wish to consider that Jewell still had throbbing memories of the bloodletting of martyrs under Mary. When you have friends like Thomas Cranmer, Nicholas Ridley, Hugh Latimer, and John Bradford, among others, torched by the queen's decree, it drives the sibilance of one's writing.
In all, Jewell never pretended this defense was a matter of comfort and ease. He knew otherwise, and it is most appropriate he put this in words, as well: "We, in good truth, expected neither glory, riches, pleasure, nor ease, from this separation; for all those our enemies abound with, and we enjoyed a much greater share of them when we agreed with them. Neither do we shun peace and concord, but we will not fight against God to be at peace with men."
Uncompromisingly firm, truly hopeful. Just like solid theology should be.
Sunday, April 22, 2018
Saturday, April 7, 2018
Recent Readings: A Grand Meal For the Spirit
If books are food, then we might all think of some that are memorable three-course meals that satisfy. Others might be a good midnight snack, like a short, cozy mystery. Still other works might fall into a forgetable fast food gobble that is quickly forgotten and does the soul little if any good. And there are works which are more ipecac than food and we wish we could violently upchuck their contents.
Given these gastronomical ideals for the discipline of reading, I propose that Philip Edgcumbe Hughes' Theology of the English Reformers is a full, delectable dinner of fine food, excellent wine, and solid conversation at table with worthy folk. One could even imagine savoring good victuals and drink in a proper setting, like the refectory of St. Anselm's Theological College in P.D. James' Death in Holy Orders. Hughes runs the full gamut of Anglican excellence from the glory days of the Reformation cut from the Henrican, Edwardian, and Elizabethan cloth of its day.
Hughes is not writing to narrate the developments of the English Reformation, although one can track its path throughout the ample quotations provided. Rather, Hughes' goal is to synthesize and provide a harmony of the theological probings of the English Reformers, whether from the pens of Thomas Cranmer or Richard Hooker, the proclamations of Hugh Latimer or John Jewell, or the "captivity epistles" of John Frith or Nicholas Ridley. And yes, he succeeds magnificently.
Hughes scores literary arrangement points by placing a beginning chapter filled with excerpts from the prison letters of Reformers who languished in jail awaiting sentence or execution. He does so to demonstrate that what follows in succeeding chapters is of supreme importance. These are no dry, ivory tower pontifications, but doctrines and Biblical captivations that demanded the Reformers follow to the bitter end if need be.
Throughout the remainder of the book, Hughes arranges the Reformers' core values by systematic topics: Holy Scripture, justification, sanctification, preaching, worship, the sacraments, pastoral ministry, the relation of church and state, and the importance of truth dwelling in proper unity with others.
Hughes carefully organizes his presentation, spending time crafting each Reformers' statements in each chapter, but he keeps the theological sections moving along through varied nuances. Each chapter is worth the price of the book alone many times over.
The reader comes away from Hughes' magnum opus with a clear view of the teaching of the English Reformers and the consistency of their teachings. In addition, the words of Cranmer, Jewell, Hooker, et al, demonstrate a fundamental and deep connection and consistency with the doctrine of the New Testament and primitive Church of ancient history. These are not Johnny-come-lately innovations, but the fruits of a historic faith.
One added strength of the book come with its appendices. We are given a glossary of key players in English Reformation history, be they monarchs, pre-Elizabethan Reformers, or churchmen of Elizabeth's reign, plus a listing of continental Reformers of influence. There is also a re-statement of the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion in modern English, which wasn't necessary but appreciated by this reader.
A final note: In this age of disconnectedness and tribalism, I was greatly encouraged by the final chapter on "Truth and Unity". Hughes laid out Cranmer's considerable correspondence with Reformers throughout Europe in the years following the death of Martin Luther. We find that Cranmer was building connections and momentum toward a magnificent council of Reformed churchmen, which included Lutherans like Philip Melancthon as well as the French/Genevan reformer, John Calvin himself. Seeking to bridge the areas that separated them and to find concord on the particulars of Holy Communion, Cranmer was receiving much accord and acclamation for this idea, and Calvin himself wrote the following in response to Cranmer's invitation: "As far as I am concerned, if I can be of any service, I shall not shrink from crossing ten seas, if need be, for that object. If rendering a helping hand to the kingdom of England were the only point of issue, that of itself would be a sufficient motive to me. But now--when the object sought after is an agreement of learned men, gravely considered and well framed according to the standard of Scripture, by which churches that would otherwise be far separated from each other may be made to unite--I do not consider it right for me to shrink from any labors or difficulties."
That gives me chills, which is not to be surprising. The entire scope of Hughes' tome did that from opening cover to final page. It's difficult to conceive of any other work of its kind that compares.
Given these gastronomical ideals for the discipline of reading, I propose that Philip Edgcumbe Hughes' Theology of the English Reformers is a full, delectable dinner of fine food, excellent wine, and solid conversation at table with worthy folk. One could even imagine savoring good victuals and drink in a proper setting, like the refectory of St. Anselm's Theological College in P.D. James' Death in Holy Orders. Hughes runs the full gamut of Anglican excellence from the glory days of the Reformation cut from the Henrican, Edwardian, and Elizabethan cloth of its day.
Hughes is not writing to narrate the developments of the English Reformation, although one can track its path throughout the ample quotations provided. Rather, Hughes' goal is to synthesize and provide a harmony of the theological probings of the English Reformers, whether from the pens of Thomas Cranmer or Richard Hooker, the proclamations of Hugh Latimer or John Jewell, or the "captivity epistles" of John Frith or Nicholas Ridley. And yes, he succeeds magnificently.
Hughes scores literary arrangement points by placing a beginning chapter filled with excerpts from the prison letters of Reformers who languished in jail awaiting sentence or execution. He does so to demonstrate that what follows in succeeding chapters is of supreme importance. These are no dry, ivory tower pontifications, but doctrines and Biblical captivations that demanded the Reformers follow to the bitter end if need be.
Throughout the remainder of the book, Hughes arranges the Reformers' core values by systematic topics: Holy Scripture, justification, sanctification, preaching, worship, the sacraments, pastoral ministry, the relation of church and state, and the importance of truth dwelling in proper unity with others.
Hughes carefully organizes his presentation, spending time crafting each Reformers' statements in each chapter, but he keeps the theological sections moving along through varied nuances. Each chapter is worth the price of the book alone many times over.
The reader comes away from Hughes' magnum opus with a clear view of the teaching of the English Reformers and the consistency of their teachings. In addition, the words of Cranmer, Jewell, Hooker, et al, demonstrate a fundamental and deep connection and consistency with the doctrine of the New Testament and primitive Church of ancient history. These are not Johnny-come-lately innovations, but the fruits of a historic faith.
One added strength of the book come with its appendices. We are given a glossary of key players in English Reformation history, be they monarchs, pre-Elizabethan Reformers, or churchmen of Elizabeth's reign, plus a listing of continental Reformers of influence. There is also a re-statement of the Thirty-Nine Articles of Religion in modern English, which wasn't necessary but appreciated by this reader.
A final note: In this age of disconnectedness and tribalism, I was greatly encouraged by the final chapter on "Truth and Unity". Hughes laid out Cranmer's considerable correspondence with Reformers throughout Europe in the years following the death of Martin Luther. We find that Cranmer was building connections and momentum toward a magnificent council of Reformed churchmen, which included Lutherans like Philip Melancthon as well as the French/Genevan reformer, John Calvin himself. Seeking to bridge the areas that separated them and to find concord on the particulars of Holy Communion, Cranmer was receiving much accord and acclamation for this idea, and Calvin himself wrote the following in response to Cranmer's invitation: "As far as I am concerned, if I can be of any service, I shall not shrink from crossing ten seas, if need be, for that object. If rendering a helping hand to the kingdom of England were the only point of issue, that of itself would be a sufficient motive to me. But now--when the object sought after is an agreement of learned men, gravely considered and well framed according to the standard of Scripture, by which churches that would otherwise be far separated from each other may be made to unite--I do not consider it right for me to shrink from any labors or difficulties."
That gives me chills, which is not to be surprising. The entire scope of Hughes' tome did that from opening cover to final page. It's difficult to conceive of any other work of its kind that compares.
Sunday, April 1, 2018
Recent Readings: Two Screwy Mysteries, For Differing Reasons
One-quarter of the way through the year, and I have to say that to be nearly one-third of the way through my reading goal gives a certain amount of satisfaction. Of course, when one reads at that pace, it means he can come across both worthy and weak endeavors. Such took place within the last fortnight as I read through Henry James' classic novella The Turn of the Screw and M.C. Beaton's latest Hamish Macbeth installment, Death of an Honest Man. Two different books; two vastly different experiences from this reader.
I will say that everyone should read James' classic. The Turn of the Screw is psychological suspense of the highest order, inventively drafted by James himself at the end of the nineteenth century. The young governess who takes responsibility for a wealthy man's nephew and niece at the Bly estate finds herself in an ever-tightening grip of horror. The children Miles (who has just been expelled from his boarding school) and Flora receive attention and lessons from the governess, who is curious for the reason behind Miles' expulsion. As the days go by, the governess notices apparitions of a man and a woman around the estate. She learns from housekeeper Mrs. Grose that the figures are Peter Quint and Mrs. Jessel. Quint was an estate employee and Jessel was the governess' predecessor. The two allegedly had a dubious relationship in the past and spent much time with the children before their untimely deaths. The book unravels with continued bizarre behavior from the children, which frays at the governess' nerves.
James builds the suspense, layer upon layer, in a manner that plays with the reader's nerves, as well. Is the horror really within the apparitions, or is it suspense that finds derivation in the mind and expectations of the reader? Are the figures really there, are they supernatural, or are they figments of the governess' imaginations? The result is a well-written story that immensely satisfies the reader. And ideally, it will satisfy viewers, as well. Steven Spielberg is finishing production of a 2019 film called The Turning to be based on The Turn of the Screw.
M.C. Beaton is well known for her Agatha Raisin and Hamish Macbeth mysteries. What they hold in common is a fast pace that will enable readers to cover the story in three or four days. I have read several of the Agatha Raisin books and ended up in the same vein at the end of each--wishing that the murderer would go ahead and eliminate the annoying Miss Raisin herself. By contrast, Hamish--the charming copper from the Highlands town of Lochdubh (pronounced lock-DOO)--projects a warm personality with a kind heart toward his pets. Not wanting to do his job too well (so that he doesn't get promoted outside of his beloved Lochdubh), he keeps ambition in check and is willing to give other cops credit for cracking the cases he solves.
In Death of an Honest Man, Paul English, a newcomer to the village of Cnothan, spend too much time in brutal, vindictive honest diatribes toward the townspeople. Hamish discovers English's body in a peat bog, so it appears that at least one person who had muttered "I could kill him" just had.
The murder leads the reader on a whirlwind tour of starts and stops, rabbit trails, and other storyline red herrings that cross over and barely connect with one another. Yes, Hamish eventually tracks down the killer thanks to the connections of his intuition more than anything else. But his worry over his wild cat, battles with other constables like the deceptive Blair, and other overly-used and tiring matters fail to play critical roles in advancing the plot. I fully realize my book sales drag well behind Mrs. Beaton's, but I refuse to put what few readers I have through a disconnected blizzard of separated micronarratives to bide time before the arrest. Better to have a maximum of three to four strong threads to pull the story together, and ask a lot of your readers that way.
In the end, I read Beaton's book for the sake of the character of Hamish. But even I admit that the lovable policeman can only keep my patience going so far. The fragmented elements of plot that scatter through Beaton's novels wears me down and hardly lifts the spirit. Story matters, and it's high time that Beaton herself learned and applied that to avoid the Sartre-like literary dysentery that has marked much of her recent work.
I will say that everyone should read James' classic. The Turn of the Screw is psychological suspense of the highest order, inventively drafted by James himself at the end of the nineteenth century. The young governess who takes responsibility for a wealthy man's nephew and niece at the Bly estate finds herself in an ever-tightening grip of horror. The children Miles (who has just been expelled from his boarding school) and Flora receive attention and lessons from the governess, who is curious for the reason behind Miles' expulsion. As the days go by, the governess notices apparitions of a man and a woman around the estate. She learns from housekeeper Mrs. Grose that the figures are Peter Quint and Mrs. Jessel. Quint was an estate employee and Jessel was the governess' predecessor. The two allegedly had a dubious relationship in the past and spent much time with the children before their untimely deaths. The book unravels with continued bizarre behavior from the children, which frays at the governess' nerves.
James builds the suspense, layer upon layer, in a manner that plays with the reader's nerves, as well. Is the horror really within the apparitions, or is it suspense that finds derivation in the mind and expectations of the reader? Are the figures really there, are they supernatural, or are they figments of the governess' imaginations? The result is a well-written story that immensely satisfies the reader. And ideally, it will satisfy viewers, as well. Steven Spielberg is finishing production of a 2019 film called The Turning to be based on The Turn of the Screw.
M.C. Beaton is well known for her Agatha Raisin and Hamish Macbeth mysteries. What they hold in common is a fast pace that will enable readers to cover the story in three or four days. I have read several of the Agatha Raisin books and ended up in the same vein at the end of each--wishing that the murderer would go ahead and eliminate the annoying Miss Raisin herself. By contrast, Hamish--the charming copper from the Highlands town of Lochdubh (pronounced lock-DOO)--projects a warm personality with a kind heart toward his pets. Not wanting to do his job too well (so that he doesn't get promoted outside of his beloved Lochdubh), he keeps ambition in check and is willing to give other cops credit for cracking the cases he solves.
In Death of an Honest Man, Paul English, a newcomer to the village of Cnothan, spend too much time in brutal, vindictive honest diatribes toward the townspeople. Hamish discovers English's body in a peat bog, so it appears that at least one person who had muttered "I could kill him" just had.
The murder leads the reader on a whirlwind tour of starts and stops, rabbit trails, and other storyline red herrings that cross over and barely connect with one another. Yes, Hamish eventually tracks down the killer thanks to the connections of his intuition more than anything else. But his worry over his wild cat, battles with other constables like the deceptive Blair, and other overly-used and tiring matters fail to play critical roles in advancing the plot. I fully realize my book sales drag well behind Mrs. Beaton's, but I refuse to put what few readers I have through a disconnected blizzard of separated micronarratives to bide time before the arrest. Better to have a maximum of three to four strong threads to pull the story together, and ask a lot of your readers that way.
In the end, I read Beaton's book for the sake of the character of Hamish. But even I admit that the lovable policeman can only keep my patience going so far. The fragmented elements of plot that scatter through Beaton's novels wears me down and hardly lifts the spirit. Story matters, and it's high time that Beaton herself learned and applied that to avoid the Sartre-like literary dysentery that has marked much of her recent work.
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