Advent, Winter days, and the Old High imagination
It is at least partly related to the arrival of Winter with December days, a desire for churches and liturgy to reflect the healthy stripping away in the natural world that comes with Winter. Winter's sharpness clears away that which cannot sustain us and thus focusses us on light and life.
It was Washington Irving (a good churchman) who said, "But in the depth of winter, when nature lies despoiled of every charm, and wrapped in her shroud of sheeted snow, we turn for our gratifications to moral sources".
The Winter days of Advent invite us to think of churches and liturgy which likewise are without gaudy distractions or excessive ceremonies, not hindering us turning in heart, mind, and soul, through scripture, prayer, and sacrament, to the Source of Righteousness, Grace, and Truth, the One who alone can sustain us in the winter of this world.
And so, with the days short, the mornings dark, the sun setting in late afternoon, the trees bare, the landscape quiet, and the frost falling, my thoughts turn to 18th century churches with their triple decker pulpits, plain windows, Commandment boards, and modest simplicity, without the sometimes gaudy, often fussy accretions of the Victorians.
Amidst the bright and often loud distractions of the early Christmas season around us, a space of modest simplicity would be welcome, were the senses are not confronted with constant distractions, in which we can be still as we hear the call to approach "the throne of the heavenly grace" with "a pure heart and a humble voice".
I think about the uncluttered, plain character of Morning Prayer on the Sundays of Advent, "decently and demurely read in ... parish churches" (to quote Trollope regarding Barchester).
Rowan Williams warns that the "beautiful, elegiac" tones of Advent, the "richness of religious eros" permeating this season, can too easily appeal to us; too easily harden us to the call to repentance issued by the Prophets, by the Forerunner, and by Our Lord's proclamation "take heed to yourselves ... Watch ye therefore, and pray always".
The uncluttered, plain character of Cranmerian Morning Prayer perhaps is what is needed in such a season, not overwhelming the heart, mind, and soul with overly rich liturgical fare. Rather, we would have Morning Prayer's balanced diet of confession, praise, and prayer as the context for "reading, and meditation in God's word" on the Sundays of Advent.
When Cranmer's majestic Advent collect is the only liturgically distinctive feature of the season, perhaps - "now in the time of this mortal life" - this emphasises "the last day" for which the collect prays that we will be prepared. An abundance of liturgical references to the images and themes of Advent might end up crowding out what should be the central focus: "when he shall come again in his glorious Majesty to judge both the quick and the dead".
It might be objected that the Old High imagination is forgetting that its romantic notion of 18th century Anglicanism would mean that the great Advent hymns would be lost. The Old High heart, however, is not ideological about this (or, indeed, much else): a few much loved, meaningful Advent hymns can easily be integrated in Morning Prayer.
Even, however, if others insist that the Old High imagination is not permitted to make room for hymns, the metrical psalms bound up 18th century editions of the Prayer Book would allow us to sing psalms with ancient Israel in the darkness of exile, the petitions, laments, and yearnings of the psalter shaping our Advent prayers.
Now, no, this nostalgia is not a call for a reactionary RETVRN. It is not an angry diatribe against contemporary Anglicanism, nor a deluded demand that we must restore pre-Victorian norms. Rather, as Andrew Rumsey (Bishop of Ramsbury) has said:
[nostalgia] is not ridiculous, nor is it bound to become morbid and dysfunctional: indeed, at times of accelerated change, a little "living in the past" can be a vital means of regaining one’s bearings, as well as consoling and creative.
Understood in this way, the nostalgia of the Old High imagination might suggest what might be particularly valued and cherished in the Anglican and Episcopal tradition in these days of Advent, even as our parish churches and liturgy are significantly different to those of the 18th century, Old High ethos.
We can value and cherish praying traditional Morning and Evening Prayer during Advent: BCP 1662 in the Church of England, Rite I in TEC's BCP 1979, Canada's BCP 1962, Order One in the Church of Ireland's BCP 2004.
We can offer the psalms with ancient Israel, in daily prayer and when they are said or sung on the Sundays of Advent.
Cranmer's Advent majestic collect might still be heard in contemporary Anglican liturgies.
In most places, there are no Commandment boards and the Commandments very rarely have a place in contemporary Communion liturgies: but we can read and meditate upon the Commandments in our Prayer Books. "Lord, have mercy upon us, and write all these thy laws in our hearts, we beseech thee."
Our parish churches are notably less plain than those of the Georgians. And yet, a certain modesty and even plainness can still be found and valued in many an Anglican and Episcopal church. Lord's Table and pulpit of wood. The simplicity of the prayer desk. Stained glass commemorating biblical events. Memorials to parishioners of yesteryear. All noble, usually modest, not ostentatious.
And we can also be thankful for those Anglican and Episcopal churches known to us that retain the plain modesty of earlier times. (In my own case I am particularly thinking of The Middle Church in the heart of Jeremy Taylor country.)
For the Old High heart, there may indeed be clutter and distraction in contemporary Advent liturgies: an oversupply of symbolism, too many themes, a plethora of unnecessary liturgical options. And - of course - often there will not be Sunday Morning Prayer.
Old High nostalgia in Advent, however, is not to be a cause for resentment or argument, or disrupting the devotions of others. It is, rather, to clarify for the Old High heart what is to be cherished, what consoles and guides, what strengthens and sustains.
(The photographs are of Old Trinity, Dorchester, Maryland: a building which gives wonderful expression to 18th century Anglican piety.)
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