'You will think that all its light shineth for you, and confess that God hath manifested Himself indeed, in the preparation of so divine a creature'

This has been a week of sunshine, and here's Thomas Traherne, to teach me how to appreciate it (from Centuries of Meditations, II.7-12):

Place yourself therefore in the midst of the world, as if you were alone, and meditate upon all the services which it doth unto you. Suppose the Sun were absent; and conceive the world to be a dungeon of darkness and death about you: you will then find his beams more delightful than the approach of Angels: and loath the abomination of that sinful blindness, whereby you see not the glory of so great and bright a creature, because the air is filled with its beams. Then you will think that all its light shineth for you, and confess that God hath manifested Himself indeed, in the preparation of so divine a creature. You will abhor the madness of those who esteem a purse of gold more than it. Alas, what could a man do with a purse of gold in an everlasting dungeon? And shall we prize the sun less than it, which is the light and fountain of all our pleasures? You will then abhor the preposterous method of those, who in an evil sense are blinded with its beams, and to whom the presence of the light is the greatest darkness. For they who would repine at God without the sun, are unthankful, having it: and therefore only despise it, because it is created.

It raiseth corn to supply you with food, it melteth waters to quench your thirst, it infuseth sense into all your members, it illuminates the world to entertain you with prospects, it surroundeth you with the beauty of hills and valleys. It moveth and laboureth night and day for your comfort and service; it sprinkleth flowers upon the ground for your pleasure; and in all these things sheweth you the goodness and wisdom of a God that can make one thing so beautiful, delightful and serviceable, having ordained the same to innumerable ends. It concocteth minerals, raiseth exhalations, begetteth clouds, sendeth down the dew and rain and snow, that refresheth and repaireth all the earth. And is far more glorious in its diurnal motion, than if there were two suns to make on either side a perpetual day: the swiftness whereby it moves in twenty-four hours about so vast an universe manifesteth the power and care of a Creator, more than any station or quiet could do. And producing innumerable effects it is more glorious, than if millions of Angels diversly did do them.

Did the Sun stand still that you might have perpetual day, you would not know the sweetness of repose: the delightful vicissitudes of night and day, the early sweetness and spring of the morning, the perfume and beauty in the cool of the evening, would all be swallowed up in meridian splendour: all which now entertain you with delights. The antipodes would be empty, perpetual darkness and horror there, and the Works of God on the other side of the world in vain.

Were there two suns, that day might be alike in both places, standing still, there would be nothing but meridian splendour under them, and nothing but continual morning in other places; they would absume and dry up all the moisture of the earth, which now is repaired as fast as it decayeth: and perhaps when the nature of the sun is known, it is impossible there should be two: At least it is impossible they should be more excellent than this one; that we might magnify the Deity and rest satisfied in Him, for making the best of all possible works for our enjoyment...

Entering thus far into the nature of the sun, we may see a little Heaven in the creatures. And yet we shall say less of the rest in particular: tho' every one in its place be as excellent as it: and this without these cannot be sustained. Were all the earth filthy mires, or devouring quicksands, firm land would be an unspeakable treasure. Were it all beaten gold it would be of no value. It is a treasure therefore of far greater value to a noble spirit than if the globe of the earth were all gold. A noble spirit being only that which can survey it all, and comprehend its uses. The air is better, being a living miracle as it now is, than if it were crammed and filled with crowns and sceptres. The mountains are better than solid diamonds, and those things which scarcity maketh jewels (when you enjoy these) are yours in their places. Why should you not render thanks to God for them all? You are the Adam or the Eve that enjoy them. Why should you not exult and triumph in His love who hath done so great things for you? Why should you not rejoice and sing His praises? Learn to enjoy what you have first, and covet more if you can afterwards.

A Month Since Michaelmas

These are some pictures I took a month ago, on Michaelmas day, at Canterbury. I was there for Evensong, but not because it was Michaelmas - because it was the 1000th anniversary of the day the city fell to the Vikings. I had forgotten that day fell on Michaelmas (even though it's right there in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle entry, so I should have remembered), though Michaelmas is, of course, a rather important feast in Oxford terms, the day for which the autumn term is named.

The cathedral was all in gold. There's a particular time of year when Evensong falls exactly at the right time - so that you go inside in late afternoon sunshine and come out to find the sun has just set. All the hours of the day (in the monastic sense) mark stages, and while Evensong is always beautiful - and in one way, always the same - it's different when the whole service takes place in complete winter darkness or in bright, unchanging summer sunlight. That evening was like that; it gets dark just too early now, and certainly will be too late after tomorrow when the clocks go back. The perfect time must be the last week in September.

This was the west window, towards the end of the service, when (for the part which commemorated the Viking siege) the clergy and congregation processed out of the choir and into the nave. This window confronted us as we came through the door, the grand golden steps down to the nave spread out before us.

As the choir left the nave, they sang 'Rorate caeli' - a glorious touch, considering the occasion. It was such a stroke of genius that I wanted to congratulate someone for it, but wouldn't have known whom to praise. 'The holy cities are a wilderness' - the writer of the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle himself couldn't have chosen a more fitting lament. 'Þær man mihte ða geseon yrmðe þær man oft ær geseah blisse on þære earman byrig þanon com ærest Cristendom 7 blis for Gode 7 for worulde' ('there wretchedness might be seen where bliss had often been seen before, in that wretched town from where there first came to us Christianity and joy before God and before the world') might almost be the Anglo-Saxon version of the passage from Isaiah on which 'Rorate caeli' is based. 'Our holy and glorious temple, where our ancestors praised you, has been burned with fire...'

The chant continued as the choir disappeared into the darkness of the church, echoing to the last distant note.

Particularly memorable to me was the moment at the beginning of the service, when I chose, almost at random, a rather obscure seat some way from the choir (a poor strategical choice, made on impulse; despite the impression one might justly get from how often I post about Canterbury Cathedral, I find the people a little intimidating). So it was entirely by chance that I found I was sitting in a dazzling shaft of sunlight, the last light of the setting sun, coming through this window high in the west side of the south porch:

The sun was so bright it almost blinded me (this picture was taken afterwards, when it had subsided a little). It was a real 'gleam of glory'. And the saint who shone so startlingly on me, on that Michaelmas day?

St Michael, of course.

For the means of grace and for the hope of glory

The 'General Thanksgiving' from the Book of Common Prayer:

Almighty God, Father of all mercies, we your unworthy servants give you humble thanks for all your goodness and loving-kindness to us and to all whom you have made. We bless you for our creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life; but above all for your immeasurable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ; for the means of grace, and for the hope of glory. And, we pray, give us such an awareness of your mercies, that with truly thankful hearts we may show forth your praise, not only with our lips, but in our lives, by giving up our selves to your service, and by walking before you in holiness and righteousness all our days; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory throughout all ages. Amen.

So shall each fear, each fret, each care

A hymn by the splendidly-named Horatius Bonar (1808-1889), whose most famous hymn is probably 'I heard the voice of Jesus say'. Hymns Ancient and Modern has it to the tune 'Richmond', aka 'City of God, how broad and far' but according to these people you could also sing it to that crazy (but wonderful) tune 'Ellacombe' -i.e. 'The day of Resurrection! Earth tell it out abroad' (yes. That one.)

Anyway. I think these words are too gentle for either tune, but I may be simply being sentimental. In particular, I absolutely love the penultimate verse. Read it and see what you think.


Fill thou my life, O Lord my God,
in every part with praise,
that my whole being may proclaim
thy being and thy ways.

Not for the lip of praise alone,
nor e'en the praising heart,
I ask, but for a life made up
of praise in every part:

Praise in the common things of life,
its goings out and in;
praise in each duty and deed,
however small and mean.

Fill every part of me with praise;
let all my being speak
of thee and of thy love, O Lord,
poor though I be, and weak.

So shalt thou, Lord, from me, e'en me,
receive the glory due;
and so shall I begin on earth
the song forever new.

So shall each fear, each fret, each care
be turned into a song,
and every winding of the way
the echo shall prolong;

So shall no part of day or night
from sacredness be free;
but all my life, in every step
be fellowship with thee.

Gratefulnesse

George Herbert, of course.


Thou that hast giv’n so much to me,
Give one thing more, a gratefull heart.
See how thy beggar works on thee
By art.

He makes thy gifts occasion more,
And sayes, If he in this be crost,
All thou hast giv’n him heretofore
Is lost.

But thou didst reckon, when at first
Thy word our hearts and hands did crave,
What it would come to at the worst
To save.

Perpetuall knockings at thy doore,
Tears sullying thy transparent rooms,
Gift upon gift, much would have more,
And comes.

This notwithstanding, thou wentst on,
And didst allow us all our noise:
Nay, thou hast made a sigh and grone
Thy joyes.

Not that thou hast not still above
Much better tunes, than grones can make;
But that these countrey-aires thy love
Did take.

Wherefore I crie, and crie again;
And in no quiet canst thou be,
Till I a thankfull heart obtain
Of thee:

Not thankfull, when it pleaseth me;
As if thy blessings had spare dayes:
But such a heart, whose pulse may be
Thy praise.

Thanksgiving

O my Lord, my Lord, I thank Thee
For that I am,
that I am alive,
that I am rational:

For nurture,
Preservation,
governance:
for education,
citizenship,
religion:

For Thy gifts of grace,
Nature,
estate:

For redemption,
Regeneration,
instruction:
for calling,
recalling,
further calling manifold:

For forbearance,
Longsuffering,
long longsuffering towards me,
many times,
many years,
until now:

For all good offices I have received,
Good speed I have gotten:

For any good thing done:
For the use of things present,
thy promise
and my hope
touching the fruition of the good things to come:

For my parents honest and good,
Teachers gentle,
benefactors always to be had in remembrance,
colleagues likeminded,
hearers attentive,
friends sincere,
retainers faithful:

For all who have stood me in good stead
By their writings,
their sermons,
conversations,
prayers,
examples,
rebukes,
wrongs:

For these things and all other,
Which I wot of, which I wot not of,
open and secret,
things I remember, things I have forgotten withal,
things done to me after my will or yet against my will,

I confess to Thee and bless Thee and give thanks unto Thee,
And I will confess and bless and give thanks to Thee
all the days of my life.

What thanks can I render to God again
For all the benefits that He hath done unto me?

Lancelot Andrewes (1555-1626)