One hundred and forty years have passed since the spire of Wentworth’s new parish church rose high above the tower of the old church to become a landmark visible for miles around. The building of the new church was begun on June 14th 1873 with the laying of a ‘memorial stone.’ The solemn occasion was described in vivid detail by a local versifier in lines which might well have been written by William McGonagall, of “Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv’ry Tay” fame if it weren’t for the fact that they couldn’t have been. In his autobiography McGonagall, who is widely regarded as the writer of the worst poetry in the English language, said this of himself: “I may say Dame Fortune has been very kind to me by endowing me with the genius of poetry. I remember how I felt when I received the spirit of poetry. It was in the year of 1877, and in the month of June, when trees and flowers were in full bloom.” Strange, then, that it was only a few weeks after that, on July 31st, Wentworth’s new church - a building the laying of whose foundation stone had been recorded in a manner worthy of McGonagall himself, and a the fine examples of English gothic revival architecture - was consecrated by the Archbishop of York.
On Sunday July 31st 1887 the tenth anniversary of the church’s consecration was observed, and the two sermons preached on that day (one of which was quite hard-hitting) have survived. On Sunday July 31st 1898 the church’s ”‘Coming of Age” was celebrated, and a special
It was a glorious June day just in the week before Whit Sunday. Chris and I had driven up to the Lake District intending to stay for two nights opposite a village church in the aptly named Crown & Mitre Inn. But we were in for a surprise. On arrival we were told that we’d been expected the day before - so instead of spending two nights there we could only have one. For our second night we’d have to go somewhere else.
The proprietor of the Crown & Mitre did at least find us somewhere - in a neighbouring village - and we were made very comfortable there. But again we were treated to something unexpected. When presented with our room key there was no number on it - just one word ‘FAITH.’ Was this some sort of joke at my expense? I didn’t think my
“You’re joking. Not another election!” Brenda from Bristol’s reaction to the prospect of having to endure over a month of non-stop electioneering will have been echoed by many. However important it is that we should all have our say, we can still suffer from election fatigue.
When the apostles elected a successor to the traitor Judas they simply drew lots, no doubt believing that by doing so they were placing the decision in God’s hands. The college of cardinals, when they meet in secret conclave to elect a new pope, expect the result of their ballots to reflect God’s choice. After his election Pope John Paul 1 was acclaimed by Cardinal Basil Hume as “God’s candidate.” Thirty-three days later he was dead. That doesn’t necessarily mean John Paul1 was not God’s candidate, but it
The funeral of The Revd Richard Buckley, in the form of a requiem mass, brought to mind some words inscribed on a modest tablet in St Paul’s cathedral commemorating its architect, Sir Christopher Wren: “Si monumentum requiris, circumspice” – “if you seek his monument, look around you.” Fr. Richard’s monument was not the building we were in, but rather the gathering of people, family, parishioners, friends and colleagues who had come to give thanks for his life and to share in the sacrament through which we are all, living and departed, joined together in one communion and fellowship.
I only knew Richard for a little over a year, but that has been long enough to appreciate his quiet courtesy. The relationship between a parish priest and his predecessor or successor is not always straightforward, and he handled it with a delicacy which immediately put me at ease. He couldn’t have been
Some good news for a change! On the evening of Sunday May 21st Holy Trinity Wentworth will be hosting a confirmation service. It’s several years since one was last held here, so it’s an opportunity not to be missed. Whether or not you are among those who have already expressed an interest, if you wish to be confirmed please get in touch with me as soon as possible so that suitable preparation can be arranged. Don’t be afraid. It doesn’t involve passing any exams.
In the Church of England confirmation is the traditional gateway to being admitted to Holy Communion. This has its merits, though with baptism being the one necessary rite of initiation there is no hard and fast rule about it. The Church of England also reserves the administering of
I’ve never been particularly fussy about how I’m addressed. I’ll happily answer to ‘Michael,’ ‘Vicar,’ ‘Father Michael’ or ‘Mr. Champneys,’ though I prefer not be called ‘Reverend.’ Crockford’s Clerical Directory rather pompously decrees that ‘Reverend’ should never be used this side of the Atlantic without the definite article and a Christian name or initial! ‘Your Reverence’, which always reminds me of the verger in Dad’s Army, is not given as an alternative – but it can hardly fail to raise a smile.
Such niceties of etiquette have always fascinated the Hyacinth Bouquets of this world, and most people like to get them right if they can. But whereas they’re of no great consequence, reverence itself does matter.
According to the Prayer Book catechism, learnt by heart by many generations of children, part of’ ‘my duty towards my neighbour’ is ‘to order myself lowly and reverently to all my betters.’ The trouble with that is that it reduces reverence to deference. Of course there’s no denying the value of good manners, but to give the impression that reverence is principally due to
The start of a new year makes us more conscious than usual of the passage of time – increasingly rapid as we get older - and that “man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live.” Few of us looking back over the last year would claim to have made the best possible use of it. Hence the practice of making New Year resolutions. I don’t go in for them, and not just because they’re usually so quickly broken that they make little difference. To me they smack rather too much of Pelagianism, that very British heresy which claims that we can become the good people we aspire to be simply by exerting our wills.
Samuel Johnson, a truly great Englishman, took a different approach. He acknowledged his need of God’s grace. And so, almost every year from 1745 to the end of life, having seen the New Year in and before going to bed he wrote a prayer for himself. He composed this one on January 1st 1773:
“Almighty God, by whose mercy my life has been yet prolonged to another year, grant that thy mercy may not be in vain. Let not my years be multiplied to encrease (sic) my guilt, but as age advances, let me become more pure in my thoughts, more regular in my desires, and more obedient to thy laws. Let not the cares of the world distract me, nor the evils of age overwhelm me. But continue and encrease thy loving kindness towards me, and when thou shalt call me hence, receive me to everlasting happiness, for the sake of Jesus Christ, our Lord.”
The fear of being overwhelmed by the evils of age is something which faces an increasing minority of us, and those of us who are struggling with it know all too well their need of help - both human and divine. What faces all of us at the beginning of 2017 is the fear of being
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