Categories: faith
Date: 09 November 2008 00:21:25
Shameless repost, this, posted on my other blog whilst this one was down having its oil changed and tyres pumped up (many thanks to Dave and Chris and the other wibsite technical people for all their hard work).
I have had a slowly-growing devotion to John Henry Cardinal Newman for a while. Nice chap, convert, writer, preacher, counsellor and educator, pastor, Oratorian, and servant of the poor, and all round Good Egg.
He's currently on the track to sainthood in the Catholic Church, with his beatification expected some time next year, subject to the Vatican's processes, which will make him the first English non-martyr to be beatified since the Reformation. As part of the beatification process, the Vatican requires that bodies are exhumed, and this was done in October of this year - you may know that the grave was found to be empty of physical relics of the Cardinal, but there were various things found in the grave, such as brass fittings from the coffin, the Cardinal's pectoral cross, and "fragments" of vestments, which may yet prove to contain remains of the body - it is a slow process, picking through three boxes of textile remains.
The Cardinal's relics were put on display for veneration from the evening of Thursday 30th October until Saturday evening last week, prior to solemn Mass for All Saints and the translation of his relics to a side chapel at the Oratory.
And I, not quite sure how, but I'm putting it down to Cardinal Newman's intercession, got a ticket to the Mass, despite applications having closed about a week before I discovered I needed a ticket.
There was something deeply moving about the relics that were on display. His breviary and his rosary stood in mute testament to a life of prayer, the beads of his rosary worn and darkened with age and long use - as his eyesight failed in his old age, and he could no longer see to read his breviary, he switched to the old custom of saying the rosary in place of the breviary, with each Hail Mary representing a psalm he could no longer read. His pectoral cross was a silent witness to his obedience to Christ's injunction "take up your cross and follow Me," for in converting to the Catholic Church when he did, he was committing an act that was quite beyond the pale - it cost him his job and many of his friends.
One of the Cardinal's last wishes was to return to the dust from which he had been formed, and the silver-topped glass vial, containing soil from the grave, stood as a sign that this wish had been granted by the Lord in Whose service his life was poured out.
The Mass on Sunday was incredible. Oratorians have not lost the ability to do a Solemn Mass with the dignity and reverence which it deserves, and, the two hours that Mass took simply flew by. Yes. Two hours. I can still smell the incense in my scarf and jacket, and feel the immense sense of trusting faith in the intercession of those who have gone before us. I had not realised how much I missed the Latin Mass, which was what I attended when I first came into the church. Methinks I must start going to the London Oratory more often.
I did take some photos over the weekend, because I wouldn't be me if I hadn't, and you can see them at this flickr set.
Oh, and there is a strongly-worded letter even now winging its way to Barclays customer services department, in which the phrases "cash machine ate my debit card," "stranded in a strange city with no money," "having to borrow money off friends and relatives," will feature largely.