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CONTINUITY CONFERENCE SERIES

13th JANUARY 2001

Birmingham Oratory of the Immaculate Conception

LEARNING FROM THE PAST:

THE VICTORIAN PATH TO ROME

Madeleine Beard

(published by Mass of Ages, May 2001)

Learning from the past; I wish to speak about a time, not long ago, when the Catholic Church was rapidly gaining ground in this, the Dowry of Mary. I wish to speak about a time when Almighty God, working through particular people, people inspired by Our Lady and the saints, devoted their lives to spreading the truth of Catholicism in this land of martyrs. And having set their minds to what they were about, they achieved great things for the Catholic Church in this country. This Oratory, here in Birmingham, is an extraordinary testimonial to the difference that just one man could make. It was John Henry Newman’s freely chosen, carefully weighed and considered decision to join the One True Church, that act of will divinely inspired, that moment in a room in a village not far from Oxford, which had a profound and lasting effect on innumerable men and women in this country. Men and women whose lives and families thereafter benefited directly from his example. And there were others like him. Not as famous, not as learned, but many many English men and women who, by the grace of Almighty God, freely chose to embrace the True Faith.

My book Faith and Fortune, began when I happened to notice a book in a library simply called Converts to Rome. Turning its pages, I discovered it to be an alphabetical list of converts to the Church from the time of the restoration of the Hierarchy in 1850 until 1910, a wave of conversions which continued until about 1959. One particular person caught my attention, The Hon. Charles Pakenham. Born in 1821 at Pakenham Hall in County Westmeath, he went to Winchester and Sandhurst and became a Captain in the Grenadier Guards. He resigned his commission to enter the austere novitiate of the Italian Passionist Order. His biographer wrote that he was the true Christian soldier, haunted, amid the activities and pleasures of his military calling, by visions and presentiments of higher things. And when people ask me why so many people became Catholics, one can only say that it was through the mysterious workings of Divine Grace. Indeed, someone once pointed out to me that all the converts about whom I have written were drawn to the Church through devotion to the Blessed Sacrament and devotion to Our Lady.

At the age of twenty Charles Pakenham was given a holy book by a coachman, someone gave him a holy medal, and he decided to read a book of sermons by Newman. He then started to fast. Later on he remembered stepping into his cab or stalking along the streets of London in the fashionable hours, knowing that he had not tasted food that day. On the Feast of the Assumption 1850 he was received into the Church at Hastings by Bishop Wiseman. He recalled that “The spirit of irreligion had sunk so very deeply into society in England that I stood quite alone. I found no sympathy anywhere.” He went to live with his uncle in Worcestershire, three miles from the nearest Catholic Church of the Passionist Priests at Broadway. The presence of the young Guardsman at Mass caused something of a sensation and even more so when he was admitted into the monastery as a novice, exchanging the uniform of a Guardsman for the rough black distinct habit of the Passionists. Inside the monastery, Captain Pakenham suffered. The sound of the bells tormented him. He experienced indescribable anguish. But after three long days his heart suddenly overflowed with sweetness and consolation which, once gained, remained with him always. Every day his happiness increased. Long summer days were filled with work and prayer. His biographer wrote: “Éas the novice entered his cell after the evening prayer and glanced out on the quiet landscape, still glimmering under the soft and mystic light of departing day, the quietude and beauty of his surroundings mirrored the peace of his beautiful soul”. “How little have I given up for so much,” was his thought each evening as he knelt for a last word of thanksgiving to Almighty God before composing himself to rest. Taking the name of Brother Paul Mary of St. Michael the Archangel he took his solemn vows and on this day, absorbed in prayer before the Tabernacle in the chapel, his almost transfigured look, the pale ascetic features lighted with a joy and peace not of this earth, gave token of the extraordinary graces with which his soul had been favoured. As a Passionist Priest he became Superior of the Passionist House in Dublin. He died at the age of 46. When, thirty years later, his coffin was moved, the body was discovered perfectly intact and incorrupt. There was then, I realised, a particular and unknown story to tell of the men and women, contemporaries of Newman, who made the journey to the One True Church, whether in this country or as a result of making the journey to the City of Rome itself. Men and women who, by their Faith and example, devoted their lives to restoring the One True Faith in Britain.

I would like to pay tribute to the Miles Jesu team for all they are doing in continuing this quest, with this series of meetings with the intention of building up the Faith among Catholics and drawing others in. In doing this we draw on our unchanging Faith and seek to make it known. The Catholic Church celebrates the Feast Day of St. Peter and St. Paul on the same day. That is because the Catholic Church celebrates at the same time the rocklike tradition of St. Peter and the brilliant evangelisation of St. Paul. It is that combination which makes life above all so interesting for us as Catholics. Miles Jesu means Soldiers of Christ. For we are undertaking a spiritual battle in this country. And I think it is so inspiring that young Americans should be undertaking this task with such energy and with such devotion. Because one of the intangible yet vital components of fighting any battle is that of morale. And in order to raise our morale as Catholics we need only look at what is happening to the Church in many parts of America.

I speak from recent experience. Six months ago I was asked to speak in an inner city parish in the Mid West in a town not far from Chicago, in Rockford, Illinois. This is a thriving parish frequented by large families who are rediscovering their Catholic inheritance. The nineteenth century church is being restored, the Faith taught as it should be, and parishes like this are gaining ground all over America. Someone who came to my talk, which was called Winning Souls in Hostile Territory, was Thomas A. Nelson. He is the founder of TAN Books, a Catholic publishing company, whose large warehouse I visited in Rockford. The mission of Thomas Nelson is that of reprinting, reproducing and distributing the great classics of devotional Catholic literature, theology and spirituality so that Catholics can truly learn from the past. As a result, the wise and inspiring writings of forgotten saints, priests and Catholic authors are seeing the light of day again. Books as always quite simply draw in and inform people, whether Catholic or non-Catholic, practising or lapsed. Holy books do make a difference. A good Catholic book can achieve a great deal and can actually fulfil its purpose, which is to make us think. And how astonishing it is to know that, not far from this hall, there is such an historic library here in Newman’s Oratory.

If we are to think about being Soldiers of Christ, then I think it worth mentioning that in this country our strong military tradition is reflected in the very meticulous way we perform any ceremonial occasion. This is something we are very good at. And up until the Reformation, English Catholics celebrated Mass using the very elaborate Sarum Use, which was driven underground in 1558. The simpler Roman Rite which eventually replaced it demonstrated our allegiance with Rome. And this Mass is what the Protestant observer in Rome in the nineteenth century would have seen. The Apostle of the Midlands, the Passionist priest Father Ignatius Spencer, managed to summarise the reaction of the Protestant observer at seeing Mass celebrated. “They find the priest saying Latin prayers and producing breathless attention by his own silence.” Spencer goes on, “It is not our object to explain Catholic mysteries, but it may be as well as to hint that if a stranger to Jerusalem happened to wander to Calvary on the great day of the Crucifixion and believed in the divinity of the Victim who hung upon the cross, he would find more devotion in kneeling in silence at His feet than in listening to the most eloquent declamation he could hear about it. Such is the case with the Catholic now as then; he knows the same Victim is offered up still and when the great moment arrives in the middle of the Mass, he would have everything to be hushed and silent, except the little bell that gives him notice of that moment.”

It was, therefore, an inspired decision on the part of Newman to found an Oratory here in Birmingham. Because central to the existence of an Oratorian Priest is the meticulous celebration of the mystery of the Mass. Learning from the past, Newman saw that this was a community that had flourished from its foundation by St. Philip Neri in Rome at the end of the sixteenth century. Indeed St. Philip himself used to observe the young English men training for the priesthood in Rome, knowing the dreadful deaths that awaited them on their arrival in this country. They died for the Mass. This was the Mass that Newman brought to the Oratory here in Birmingham. The Oratorian tradition is also that of emphasis on the paramount importance of Confession. And if you come to Mass here in this church, which I hope you will, you will always see, before and after every Mass here in the Oratory, one of the priests in one of the Confessionals. Never has Confession in this country been so much needed. How wise Newman was. And the reason why St. Philip Neri’s Congregation of Priests are called Oratorians is simply because of his love of devotional music, hence Oratorios. That tradition is alive still in the Oratories in this country.

I was privileged to be here, on the occasion of the 150th anniversary celebrations of the foundation of the Oratory here in 1998, when the Director of Music here did so much to revive that great musical tradition. What a great loss it was to the Catholic Church in this country when that very talented Director of Music, Richard Hoban, died suddenly at the age of 33. Drawing upon the past, during his short life, he revived many a forgotten Mass from many forgotten, mainly Spanish, composers. This was Catholic music, I believe, performed at its best. Because Catholicism is an emotional religion. Catholicism appeals to the heart, the mind and the senses. It is about beautiful music, beautiful vestments, beautiful liturgy, beautiful altars. It is about beautiful tabernacles, beautiful monstrances and beautiful mosaics. It is about beautiful churches, paintings and statues. All this you will find here in this Oratory. And as Catholics we treat such places with reverence. Where the Blessed Sacrament is reserved we allow others to pray by remaining very, very quiet. Before Mass and after Mass. Because we believe and we know that Almighty God is present in the tabernacle as He is in the tabernacle in every Catholic church.

What a privilege it is to be Catholic, to have Almighty God among our midst. And I am speaking to you as a Catholic because of grandparents whom I never met, whose grave I visit in Kent, who both made the decision to join the Church on my grandfather’s return from the Western Front in 1919. How grateful I am to Vincent and Katharine Beard for their fidelity to the One True Faith and for handing it on to their children.

Such was and is the success here of this Church that only ten years ago another Oratory was founded in this country, in Newman’s beloved Oxford. As one of the Priests said at the time, “We were experimenting with tradition.” That experiment has worked. The Oratory Church in Oxford, with its priests and congregation, is thriving and it is full of young Catholics. And last year, just six months ago, for the first time for more than thirty years, the Blessed Sacrament was carried in procession from the Oratory to Blackfriars. And because of the suggestion of one Jesuit priest, Benediction was held at Campion Hall, to the south of the city. So it was that for the first time since 1558 the Blessed Sacrament was carried in procession through the City of Oxford.

As Soldiers of Christ, we are called to fight a spiritual battle. Someone who certainly did this throughout her life was the American foundress of my school, Cornelia Connelly. Like so many of her generation, she visited Rome, France, Spain and Italy. Here are some impressions. Visiting Seville one traveller wanted to visit the Cathedral. A priest lifted the heavy curtain and ushered her in. Leaving behind the heat and the crowds, she recalled, “My first impression was that of peace. Wherever the eye looked it was delighted; nay more, the mind was soothed and rested.” At that time in Seville Cathedral, at its eighty altars, five hundred Masses were said every day. One traveller was forced to admit that on the Continent it was difficult to be insensible to the spirit which pervaded every church, however small. At the Basilica of St. Paul-Outside-the-Walls one English visitor observed the open, airy look communicated by the abundant light falling everywhere on objects of splendour, filling the mind with amazement which defied description. A Doctor of Divinity on entering St. Peter’s observed that if the intention of Michaelangelo had been to cause breathlessness, astonishment, an inability to cross the threshold, the silent pointing of a finger towards the High Altar and dome, and to continue that silence while walking from one end of the basilica to the other, then Michaelangelo had been successful. The Hon. Edward Legge wrote in his diary that the spectacle was far too grand to describe. When the golden tints of the Italian sun entered the sanctuary, the evening beams of the dusty sun passing through the high windows, the figures in the paintings seemed to come alive. In Rome, some English visitors, such as Cornelia Connelly, were granted an audience with the Pope. That same Pope, Gregory XVI, had warned the founder of the London Oratory, Father Faber, before he was a Catholic, to think of the salvation of his own soul, saying to him: “May the grace of God correspond to your good wishes and deliver you from the nets of Anglicanism, and bring you to the true Holy Church.”

That same Pope specifically asked Cornelia Connolly to start schools in England for the education of Catholic girls who at that time would have to go to France or Belgium for their schooling. Hers was an odd and perplexing mission because at that time she was not even a professed novice and was the mother of four children. After she and her husband had become Catholics her husband suddenly announced that he wished to be ordained a priest. Her life therefore was always difficult, confusing and complicated. Nevertheless she undertook her mission, came to Birmingham, to the Convent of Mercy at Handsworth, then moved to Derbyshire where the first priests to hear the Sisters’ Confessions were Jesuits from Mount St. Mary’s. Learning from the past, Cornelia based the Society of the Holy Child Jesus on the Society of Jesus, founded by St. Ignatius Loyola. Like the Jesuits, her mission was to influence the influential in this country. From Derbyshire she then set up a school on the south coast of England near Hastings at St. Leonard’s. While there she used to take the pupils on picnics. Deciding one afternoon where to go, she opened a book of sketches of ruins. The page opened at The Old Palace at Mayfield in East Sussex, the former summer residence of the Archbishops of Canterbury, for long an ivy-covered ruin since its destruction in 1545. Soon after this picnic the Old Palace and its surrounding farmland came up for sale. Thanks to the American Duchess of Leeds, Louisa Carroll, the site was purchased. So it was that from my room at Mayfield in the 1970s I looked out on the restored ruins of what had been the great hall owned by the Archbishops of Canterbury, now the school chapel. It was thanks to such Faith and fortune that the past was rediscovered and restored, not abandoned, but gloriously incorporated into a thriving community and school. Catholicism was quite unexpectedly brought back into that one part of Sussex. I remember someone once saying to me in somewhat disparaging terms that the Catholic Church was medieval. I was quite young at the time and I remember I said: “Oh no, it is much older than that.”

So it was at Mayfield that the Archbishops’ residence was built on what was the tenth century shrine of St. Dunstan, well known for his battles with the Devil. In fact one of the first things I was shown at Mayfield on my arrival in 1972 was the tongs St. Dunstan had used when he had wrestled with the Devil. Because as Soldiers of Christ today we fight the same enemy as St. Dunstan fought. As Catholics we believe in the existence of evil. As Our Blessed Lord taught us to pray, “Deliver us from Evil.” How wise the Church was to give us a specific prayer to help us undertake this, because as Catholics not only do we believe in the existence of evil, but we believe in the existence of angels and archangels. “St. Michael, Archangel, defend us in the day of battle. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and the snares of the Devil. May God rebuke him we humbly pray, and do thou O Prince of Heavenly Host, by the power of God, cast down to Hell Satan and all the evil spirits who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.” As Catholics we are here to save our own soul. It is the most precious thing we have. It is the soul which animates the body. We must not put our soul in danger. As Catholics, we have much to draw on in this quest. The recitation of the rosary, holy water, holy medals, scapulars, Exposition of the Blessed Sacrament. Our very vocabulary as Catholics is different.

Not long ago I watched a quiz programme on television which requires letters chosen at random to be put together in the longest possible word. The word that emerged on this occasion was novena. The dictionary had to be consulted. A very large television audience was then informed that a novena was a prayer said by Catholics every day for nine days. So when people say that all religions are all the same, we can tell them that they are not. We believe in the miraculous nature of relics. And just nine months ago, here in Birmingham, the relics of the seventh century saint St. Chad were carried for the first time for thirty years from their resting place above the High Altar in St. Chad’s Cathedral on Shadwell Street. We followed the relics out through the main doors of the cathedral; we followed the relics as we walked on a pavement next to the busy traffic; we turned down a side street, turned left again, up a hill and back into the Victorian cathedral, the first Catholic cathedral built in this country since the Reformation. A cathedral built by the brilliant convert Pugin, a cathedral which in 1840 announced the revived presence of the Catholic Church in this country. A cathedral which contains the relics of a seventh century saint, once Bishop of the vast Midland See of Mercia, who chose Lichfield as his episcopal seat, a Bishop who fulfilled his high office with true piety and apostolic zeal, a Bishop who visited his people, preached the Gospel, and gained countless souls for Almighty God by his sweet humility, his perfect charity and his glowing faith. He died on 2nd March 672 and was buried in the Church in Lichfield.

Four hundred and seventy six years later his relics were transferred to Lichfield Cathedral where they remained until the Reformation, when the shrine was destroyed. But some of the relics were removed for safekeeping and hidden by a family called Hodgetts, of Woodsetton, near Dudley. On his deathbed in 1651 Henry Hodgetts handed over the relics of St. Chad from their secret hiding place in the four poster bed. He gave them to a Jesuit priest. They were subsequently kept at Aston Hall near Stone in Staffordshire in a box, underneath the altar, where they were forgotten. In 1840 they were discovered again. The following year, 1841, the relics were solemnly translated to the Cathedral not far from here in Shadwell Street and placed in the specifically designed casket above the High Altar. This year the relics will be taken out in a procession again, on 4th March. Some years ago I was on a pilgrimage in France with a Catholic parish from Arlington, Virginia. A young woman suddenly announced to the priest: “Father, I don’t like all these relics. You’ve got a bone here, a tooth here. I don’t like them.” And the priest said, “Well, get over it Carla.”

Those relics discovered in Aston Hall was owned by the Italian Order of Passionist Priests, founded by St. Paul of the Cross at the end of the eighteenth century. Speaking no English, knowing little of England, St. Paul of the Cross had a vision of the conversion of England. Thirty years after the death of St. Paul of the Cross, Blessed Dominic Barberi had a vision of England in the same chapel. And it was from Aston Hall that Dominic Barberi made the unexpected journey across country in the rain, arriving at night at the request of Newman, to be received into the One True Church.

I have spoken of St. Chad in the seventh century, St. Dunstan in the tenth century. Sixty years after the first millennium, in the eleventh century, Our Lady appeared in a miraculous dream at Walsingham. Thereafter the shrine of the Holy House became a place of pilgrimage as well known as Rome, Santiago and Jerusalem. The Slipper Chapel, dedicated to St. Catharine of Alexandria, patron saint of pilgrims, which fell into disuse and remained largely untouched, where nothing but the Mass has been celebrated, was reconsecrated as recently as 1897. On my recent pilgrimage to Rome I was asked to present a print of my watercolour painting of Our Lady of Walsingham to Cardinal Ratzinger and told him of England’s national shrine and its statue of Our Lady of Walsingham burnt in 1538. An archway of the great abbey at Walsingham still remains. As recently as 1955 the statue of Our Lady of Walsingham was placed in the Slipper Chapel. Our Lady of Walsingham sits on a throne between pillars with seven rings, representing the Seven Sacraments: Baptism, Confession, Holy Communion, Confirmation, Holy Matrimony, Holy Orders, the Last Rites.

What heavenly treasures we possess as Catholics. Only the Catholic Church can heal this sinful, broken world. You won’t find the Seven Sacraments anywhere else. Let us pray that through the intercession of Our Lady of Walsingham that the One True Church shall return to this country, this land of martyrs. Let us pray too that that great commemoration, the Tyburn Walk, in London, shall not be discontinued. Because, crucial for our survival, is our absolute reliance on and pride in our English Catholic past.