'Your little Prayer Book': the distinctive 'Anglican coded' practice

The Sign of the Cross is the most universally "Catholic coded" thing in the world.

The comment appeared on X in the midst of a debate on Christmas Day about the ecclesiastical identity of the McCallister family in 'Home Alone'. (Yes, you read that correctly.) This particular comment was regarding Kevin crossing himself while saying Grace before a meal. This matter, of course, is not entirely straightforward. Kevin, as some contributors pointed out, crosses himself in the Orthodox fashion. A previous comment achieved 'community note' status when, after describing Kevin walking into a church on Christmas Eve as "one of my earliest encounters with Catholicism in film", it was pointed out that the church in question was actually Episcopalian - albeit with some clearly Roman Catholic statues added. To return to Kevin crossing himself, various contributors to the debate also pointed out that many Lutherans and Anglicans/Episcopalians also made the sign of the Cross. 

What I think is fair, however, is the assumption that crossing oneself in Western Europe and North America will lead most people to assume that it does signify Roman Catholic faith. To that extent, it is "Catholic coded", in the same way that reverencing an icon is 'Orthodox coded' or carrying a Bible is 'Evangelical coded'. It is not that making the sign of the Cross, or reverencing an icon, or carrying a Bible are uniquely Roman Catholic, Orthodox, or Evangelical - but they are practices which broadly signal a particular tradition.

This led me to wonder what might be 'Anglican coded'. The answer, I think, should be that described by Alison Milbank in her paper 'Common as Muck' (published in the Prayer Book Society's journal Faith and Worship, Trinity 2012):

When I was younger, everyone used the same book, whether for high, lavishly sensual worship or low-church simplicity, and people owned their own prayer-books for use at home. This meant that even using your little prayer-book to say the Lord’s Prayer or ‘Lighten our darkness…’ united you to your brothers and sisters. I still feel this as I use my tiny 2 inch BCP to say my daily office on my way to work.

Lifting our copy of the BCP from the book shelf, or taking it from our pocket or bag, and opening it to pray is 'Anglican coded'. It is not, of course, that other Christian traditions do not have prayer books. To continue the film theme, we might think of Tom Hanks' character in 'Greyhound' (2020), Commander Ernest Krause, a faithful Lutheran praying from Luther's Small Catechism. This, however, rather makes the point: praying the daily prayers from Luther's Small Catechism is clearly 'Lutheran coded'. Opening the BCP to pray is similarly 'Anglican coded'.

As Alison Milbank notes, this requires two things. Firstly, the BCP as shared, common text. Secondly, a lay culture in which owning "your little prayer-book" is normative. Regarding the first point, it is a peculiarly CofE-centric view to dismiss as antiquated the notion of a BCP as a shared, common text. Milbank reminds us that, contrary to the CofE's approach of "the multiple door-steps of Common Worship", "other Anglican provinces have managed to revise their prayer books, including the older liturgies, and still keep to one manageable book, with less choice". TEC BCP 1979 and the CofI BCP 2004 are both obvious examples of this. 

If opening a Prayer Book to pray is to remain 'Anglican coded', it needs to be the case that a Prayer Book is common. Without this, the distinguishing character of Anglican piety disappears, lost under a deluge of disparate alternatives.

On the second point, renewing a lay culture of ownership of the Prayer Book is necessary. Within living memory in the CofI - it was the case at my Confirmation as a teen in the mid-1980s - it was commonplace for each Confirmation candidate to receive a Prayer Book from their parish. I am grateful to be serving in a parish where this practice has been renewed. Here was the custom that, while Prayer Books were available in the pews, those regularly attending divine service would bring their own Prayer Books. 

Why was this important? It ensured that the Prayer Book was available at home, providing a means to sustain and nourish prayer and devotion outside of divine service. As Alison Milbank implies, this did not mean that vast numbers of laity were praying Matins and Evensong by themselves. It did, however, mean that the collect, epistle, and gospel of the week could be used for meditation; or the that the collects of Matins or Evensong could be said; or that some of the day's appointed psalms could be read. 

A particular aspect of this lively culture is captured by Milbank's use of the phrase "your little prayer-book". Older editions of the Prayer Book - even when combined with a hymnal - were designed to be compact, easy to slip into a pocket or bag, and unobtrusive. Even where aspects of the Prayer Book tradition have been maintained, this particular aspect has, unfortunately, been lost. Thus, for example, the CofI BCP 2004 measures 20cm long and 13cm wide. Contrast this with an old copy of the BCP 1662, combined with Hymns Ancient and Modern, which I picked up in a second-hand bookstore: 14cm long and 9cm wide. The popular BCP International Edition also demonstrates that such designs can still be delivered. While it is slightly thicker than BCP 2004 - 4cm compared to 3cm - it remains more compact: 16cm long, 11cm wide. 

Perhaps one of the most moving testimonies to the older lay culture regarding the Prayer Book can often be found in their inside page. When coming across Prayer Books in second-hand bookstores, it is nearly always the case that the owner's name can be found on the inside page. I have three older Prayer Books opened on my desk as I write this post. The oldest dates from 12th May 1863, a gift presented to George H. Fleming by the Culdaff (a village in County Donegal) Young Men's Association. The second dates from 29th December 1946, a gift to Rhoda on the occasion of her marriage, from Pamela. The third simply bears the name A.J.H. Harries, with the date 17.12.50.

Names, places, occasions, times, relationships: when we see these inscribed in the inside page of a Prayer Book it speaks of how this older lay culture of owning a "your little prayer-book" quietly nurtured and sustained prayer in numerous lives, in contrasting circumstances, over a lifetime, over centuries.

To lose this 'Anglican coded' practice is not only to lose a significant means of shaping Anglican identity. It is also to lose an effective, unifying, adaptable expression of Anglican piety. There is little, if anything, that can be suggested as having replaced it, which has important - and visible - consequences for both Anglican identity and piety. Mindful of the various fashionable projects and causes in which Anglican institutions choose to invest time, attention, and resources, little would be lost and much would be gained if these were simply abandoned and that time, attention, and resources given to renewing the once and - we might hope - future lay Prayer Book culture.