Wednesday, 30 November 2011

Saint Andrew: book-ending the Church year with a commitment to mission

Church and Cult … Saint Andrew’s Church reflected in a shop window in Suffolk Street, Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Patrick Comerford

30 November 2011: Saint Andrew the Apostle

Church of Ireland Theological Institute,

5 p.m., the Community Eucharist.

Isaiah 52: 7-10; Psalm 19: 1-6; Romans 10: 12-18; Matthew 4: 18-22.

May I speak to you in the name of + the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

First of all, “Happy Name Day” (χρόνια πολλά για το όνομα σου) to every Andrew among us. Your name day may come at the end of the year, but alphabetically you managed to be ahead of the class and first to be picked for much of your childhood ... it is just as well you were named after Andrew and not after Zebedee in this evening’s Gospel reading.

Our two Andrews may be prejudiced in favour of noticing these sorts of things.

So too may the Director, who is not only a graduate of St Andrews, but has served in two parishes where there have been churches named Saint Andrew’s, in Coleraine and in Lurgan.

But how many among you have noticed the two churches in Dublin that are named after Saint Andrew?

One is Saint Andrew’s in Westland Row, close to the Dart station at the east end of Trinity College Dublin; the other is on the corner of Suffolk Street and Saint Andrew’s Street, close to the West or main entrance to TCD, near the bus stop many of us use in Suffolk Street.

Both churches continue the name of a mediaeval church, built on a site near the City Hall, close to Dublin Castle, and dating from the early 13th century.

In the 17th century, the Church of Ireland parish church of Saint Andrew’s was relocated east, so it could be nearer to the newly developing suburbs around Trinity College. There it also became the parish church of the Irish Parliament and the Stock Exchange. An oddly-shaped church with a cone-shaped roof, it was known as the “Round Church.”

It was replaced in 1800 by another new, round church, designed by Francis Johnston. You may notice how that round shape is still reflected in the bend on the street at Suffolk Street and Saint Andrew Street, with Church Lane and Trinity Street leading down to College Green.

But the new church suddenly lost its social appeal when Parliament was abolished at the Act of Union in 1800. Greater disaster came when it burned to the ground in 1860.

The cloister-like colonnade on the north side of the former Saint Andrew’s Church in Suffolk Street (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Yet another new church, the present building, was built. Instead of rebuilding a round church, this one was designed in the Gothic Revival style by Lanyon and Lynn of Belfast. However, the church never recovered its parochial life, and it lost its potential for mission and ministry in that part of the city centre.

I remember Saint Andrew’s being used by the Ministry of Healing, certainly in the 1970s and the 1980s. But, when it closed in 1993, it had only two remaining parishioners. The building was sold, and since 1996 it has housed the Dublin Tourism Information and Booking Office.

Saint Andrew, carved by Edward Smith, crowns the portico of Saint Andrew’s Church in Westland Row, Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Although Francis Johnston was also one of the architects, Saint Andrew’s in Westland Row was built in a very different architectural style. The other architects, designers and decorators included John Boulger and James Lever, and they built it in the classical style with echoes of the baroque of the Roman tradition, rather than the Gothic of the Church of Ireland’s Saint Andrew’s.

Outside, the church has a Doric portico, crowned by a statue of Saint Andrew, sculpted by Edward Smith.

He holds the X-shaped or saltire-style cross on which the apostle was said to have been martyred.

These two Saint Andrew’s churches bookend Trinity College Dublin – one at the east end and one at the west end. What an ecumenical – albeit unplanned – gesture. But Saint Andrew’s Day also bookends the Church year. This is the first great saint’s day in this new Church Year, which began on Sunday last, the First Sunday of Advent. And, in a rare occurrence, Saint Andrew’s Day is both the first and last great feastday of this church year, coming before the First Sunday in Advent, which falls on 2 December in 2012.

But these two churches also speak about the mission of the Church today.

One is seeking its relevance today, trying to attract local business people with its experiments in “no-questions-asked” confessions, Gospel choirs and Masses that try to attract local business people.

The other, in some ways, speaks about our failures or inadequacies in inner-city mission. Despite the healing services and lunch-time Holy Communions, the church had long lost its relevance before we all woke up to what was happening in the 1990s.

Let me digress for a moment. Some years ago, I was introducing a group of visiting Irish Church leaders to a Patriarch in an Eastern Mediterranean city. Bishops, priests and mission personnel were being received generously. On a table before us, there was a display of large icons, and I alone realised these were about to be presented to us as gifts as part of the hospitality.

But the mood then changed inexplicably. A monk was called over. The Patriarch nodded. The large icons were whisked away, and a tray of smaller icons was brought out. The Patriarch then immediately began to criticise the Western Church – all branches of the Western Church – for losing our priorities in mission.

He told us how he had seen churches in the inner cities in northern Europe turned into curry houses, garages, shops and cinemas. He told us how difficult it was for Christians to keep open their churches in mainly Muslim countries in the Eastern Mediterranean. But he insisted these churches should stay open, despite social and financial difficulties, because they are signs of mission and signs of the commitment of the Church, the whole Church, to where we find ourselves incarnationally.

We were asked: Are we committed to commerce? Or are we partners in mission?

And then smaller and less significant icons were handed out as parting gifts to the visitors, left with these harsh but pertinent questions: Are we committed to commerce? Or are we partners in mission?

The Apostle Andrew is a Gospel example of how we can be excited about mission.

Saint Andrew the Apostle was a fisherman, an every-day ordinary-day commercial occupation, working on the Lake of Galilee in partnership with his brother Simon Peter. He was a disciple of John the Baptist, and it is said that when Saint John the Baptist began to preach, Saint Andrew became one of his closest disciples. The story goes that Saint John the Baptist then sent two of his own disciples, the future Saint Andrew and Saint John the Evangelist, to Christ, declaring Christ to be the Lamb of God.

When he heard Christ’s call to follow him, Saint Andrew hesitated for a moment, not because he had any doubts about that call, but because he wanted to bring his brother with him. He left his nets behind and went to Peter and, as Saint John’s Gospel tells us in another account of his calling, he told him: “We have found the Messiah … [and] he brought Simon to Jesus” (John 1: 41, 42).

In answering our call to ministry and mission, we must not forget those who are closest to us, those in our families and those who have worked with us. But, at the same time, like Saint Andrew, we must be happy about leaving behind the nets of yesterday and not getting caught up in them.

Tradition says Saint Andrew was so obstinate and so stubborn at his martyrdom in Patras, in today’s western Greece, that he insisted on being splayed on an X-shaped cross. He said he was unworthy to be crucified on a cross of the same shape as the one on which Christ had been crucified.

Unlike the other disciples named in our Gospel reading – Peter and James and John, the sons of Zebedee – Andrew never gave his name to an Epistle, never gave his name to a Gospel. But Andrew, the first-called of the Apostles, truly took up his cross and followed Christ. And he called others to do the same.

His stubborn and obstinate commitment to mission, to travelling for the Gospel, has made him the patron saint of mission work and the patron saint of Constantinople, Greece, Romania, Ukraine, Russia and Scotland.

That stubborn and obstinate commitment to Christ, to the point of a martyr’s death, makes Andrew an appropriate saint to start off the Church Year at the beginning of Advent. As Sunday’s Gospel reading (Mark 13: 24-37) reminded us, Christmas is meaningless without looking forward to the coming of Christ again in glory.

This evening, Saint Andrew, the first-called of the Apostles, reminds us of the meaning of our call to ministry and mission.

The other day, I was looking at the sad reflection of old Saint Andrew’s in the windows of a shop in Suffolk Street called, of all things, “Cult.”

If the Church is to remain Church and not become a cult, then we must have a new commitment to relevance and to mission.

When you leave here, casting aside the nets of study, assignments and dissertations, may you remain stubborn and obstinate, like Saint Andrew, the first-called of the Apostles, in your commitment to Christ, to his Church and to his mission.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism and Liturgy, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a canon of Christ Church Cathedral. This sermon was preached on Saint Andrew’s Day, 30 November 2011, at the Community Eucharist in the institute chapel.

The Johannine Letters (7): III John

The Temple of Trajan on the Acropolis of Pergamon, in Bergama, Turkey … Gaius appears to have been a lay member of the Church, although a later tradition in the Church held that the Gaius addressed in III John became Bishop of Pergamon.

Patrick Comerford

The Third Letter of John

1 Ὁ πρεσβύτερος Γαΐῳ τῷ ἀγαπητῷ, ὃν ἐγὼ ἀγαπῶ ἐν ἀληθείᾳ.

2 Ἀγαπητέ, περὶ πάντων εὔχομαί σε εὐοδοῦσθαι καὶ ὑγιαίνειν, καθὼς εὐοδοῦταί σου ἡ ψυχή. 3 ἐχάρην γὰρ λίαν ἐρχομένων ἀδελφῶν καὶ μαρτυρούντων σου τῇ ἀληθείᾳ, καθὼς σὺ ἐν ἀληθείᾳ περιπατεῖς. 4 μειζοτέραν τούτων οὐκ ἔχω χαράν, ἵνα ἀκούω τὰ ἐμὰ τέκνα ἐν τῇ ἀληθείᾳ περιπατοῦντα.

5 Ἀγαπητέ, πιστὸν ποιεῖς ὃ ἐὰν ἐργάσῃ εἰς τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς καὶ τοῦτο ξένους, 6 οἳ ἐμαρτύρησάν σου τῇ ἀγάπῃ ἐνώπιον ἐκκλησίας, οὓς καλῶς ποιήσεις προπέμψας ἀξίως τοῦ θεοῦ: 7 ὑπὲρ γὰρ τοῦ ὀνόματος ἐξῆλθον μηδὲν λαμβάνοντες ἀπὸ τῶν ἐθνικῶν. 8 ἡμεῖς οὖν ὀφείλομεν ὑπολαμβάνειν τοὺς τοιούτους, ἵνα συνεργοὶ γινώμεθα τῇ ἀληθείᾳ.

9 Ἔγραψά τι τῇ ἐκκλησίᾳ: ἀλλ' ὁ φιλοπρωτεύων αὐτῶν Διοτρέφης οὐκ ἐπιδέχεται ἡμᾶς. 10 διὰ τοῦτο, ἐὰν ἔλθω, ὑπομνήσω αὐτοῦ τὰ ἔργα ἃ ποιεῖ, λόγοις πονηροῖς φλυαρῶν ἡμᾶς: καὶ μὴ ἀρκούμενος ἐπὶ τούτοις οὔτε αὐτὸς ἐπιδέχεται τοὺς ἀδελφοὺς καὶ τοὺς βουλομένους κωλύει καὶ ἐκ τῆς ἐκκλησίας ἐκβάλλει.

11 Ἀγαπητέ, μὴ μιμοῦ τὸ κακὸν ἀλλὰ τὸ ἀγαθόν. ὁ ἀγαθοποιῶν ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ ἐστιν: ὁ κακοποιῶν οὐχ ἑώρακεν τὸν θεόν. 12 Δημητρίῳ μεμαρτύρηται ὑπὸ πάντων καὶ ὑπὸ αὐτῆς τῆς ἀληθείας: καὶ ἡμεῖς δὲ μαρτυροῦμεν, καὶ οἶδας ὅτι ἡ μαρτυρία ἡμῶν ἀληθής ἐστιν.

13 Πολλὰ εἶχον γράψαι σοι, ἀλλ' οὐ θέλω διὰ μέλανος καὶ καλάμου σοι γράφειν: 14 ἐλπίζω δὲ εὐθέως σε ἰδεῖν, καὶ στόμα πρὸς στόμα λαλήσομεν.

15 εἰρήνη σοι. ἀσπάζονταί σε οἱ φίλοι. ἀσπάζου τοὺς φίλους κατ' ὄνομα.

1 The elder to the beloved Gaius, whom I love in truth.

2 Beloved, I pray that all may go well with you and that you may be in good health, just as it is well with your soul. 3 I was overjoyed when some of the friends arrived and testified to your faithfulness to the truth, namely, how you walk in the truth. 4 I have no greater joy than this, to hear that my children are walking in the truth.

5 Beloved, you do faithfully whatever you do for the friends, even though they are strangers to you; 6 they have testified to your love before the church. You will do well to send them on in a manner worthy of God; 7 for they began their journey for the sake of Christ, accepting no support from non-believers. 8 Therefore we ought to support such people, so that we may become co-workers with the truth.

9 I have written something to the church; but Diotrephes, who likes to put himself first, does not acknowledge our authority. 10 So if I come, I will call attention to what he is doing in spreading false charges against us. And not content with those charges, he refuses to welcome the friends, and even prevents those who want to do so and expels them from the church.

11 Beloved, do not imitate what is evil but imitate what is good. Whoever does good is from God; whoever does evil has not seen God. 12 Everyone has testified favourably about Demetrius, and so has the truth itself. We also testify for him, and you know that our testimony is true.

13 I have much to write to you, but I would rather not write with pen and ink; 14 instead I hope to see you soon, and we will talk together face to face.

15 Peace to you. The friends send you their greetings. Greet the friends there, each by name.


The Third Epistle or Letter of John (III John), written in the form of an Epistle, is the 64th book of the Bible. It is the second-shortest book in the Bible when we count the number of verses, and it is the shortest book if we count the number of words in the Authorised or King James Version.

The four principal characters in this half-page letter – just enough to fit on one side of one small piece of parchment or papyrus – are:

1, The author, who identified himself only as “the Presbyter,” “the Elder,” or “the Priest (Ὁ πρεσβύτερος, Ho Presbyteros).

2, The recipient of the letter, who is named simply as Gaius, an ordinary, common name in the Eastern Mediterranean at that time.

3, Diotrephes (Διοτρέφης), the self-serving and controlling Church leader.

4, Demetrius or Dimitrios (Δημήτριος), who is commended as a disciple.

1, The author: The Presbyter

III John is written by a man identified only as “the Presbyteros.” The language of this epistle is remarkably similar to that in II John, and scholarly consensus holds that one and the same person wrote both II John and III John.

However, there is a debate over whether or not the same author also wrote Saint John’s Gospel, I John or the Book of Revelation. Modern scholars tend to agree that the Johannine literature is the work of a number of people, all known as John, rather than one single person.

I John does not give direct information about its author, but it was considered apostolic, alongside Saint John’s Gospel. II and III John, in comparison, are written by the mysterious “elder,” “priest” or “Presbyter.” This difference was responsible for the belief that II and III John were written by someone other than John the Divine. Paradoxically their acceptance in the canon was due to the change in belief that they were in fact of apostolic origin.

The late attestation for III John in the third century, and doubts about its authority that continued even until later, are probably due to the lack of certainty about who was the author of the Johannine epistles.

Even in the Early Church, there were those who argued that John the Presbyter who wrote II John and III John was a separate person from the John who wrote I John.

Although Eusebius believed that the Disciple John, Saint John the Divine, wrote Saint John’s Gospel and the three Johannine epistles, doubt about who was the real author of II and III John was probably a factor in their being disputed.

By the end of the fourth century, the Presbyter or the author of II and III John was thought to be a different person to the Apostle John. Although Jerome attributed the epistles to John the Apostle, his opinion was not shared by all.

In an official Church ruling at the Council of Rome, it was declared that the author of I John should be known as John the Evangelist, while the author of II John and III John should be known as John the Presbyter.

Some scholars have suggested that both II John and III John are cover letters for I John, and that this explains how they have survived with the Biblical literature.

2, The recipient: Gaius

III John is addressed to Gaius (Caius). However, we have little reliable information about the identity of this person. The name Gaius was very common in the Roman Empire.

We know little or nothing about the Gaius addressed in III John, although some writers have tried to identify him with one of the other men of the same name associated with Paul:

● Gaius of Macedonia, who was the Apostle Paul’s “companion in travel” (see Acts 19: 29) – he was among those seized by Demetrius and the other silversmiths in the riot in Ephesus during Saint Paul’s third missionary journey;
● Gaius of Derbe, who was among those who accompanied Paul from Greece “as far as Asia,” during his third missionary journey (see Acts 20: 4);
● Gaius, who was baptised by Paul in Corinth (see I Corinthians 1: 14), who may be the same person as the next Gaius;
● Gaius of Corinth, who was Paul’s host while he was in Corinth and writing his Letter to the Romans, and who joined him in his greetings (see Romans 16: 23).

The Gaius who is address in III John appears to have been a lay member of the Church, although a later tradition developed within the Church that he was Bishop of Pergamum, the predecessor of Antipas, who is referred to in the Book of Revelation as “Antipas, my witness, my faithful one, who was killed among you, where Satan lives” (Revelation 2: 13), i.e., in the Mysian capital city of Pergamum, 60 km north of Smyrna (present-day Izmir).

Pergamum or Pegamon (Πέργαμος, modern Bergama), whose name means “citadel,” stood on a 1,000-ft high hill, commanding the surrounding valley of the Caicus. Pergamon was an important kingdom in the Hellenistic period. For their support of the Romans in the Macedonian wars, the Attalid dynasty of Pergamum were rewarded with the Seleucid domains. The Attalids remodelled the Acropolis of Pergamon, and built the Great Altar of Zeus and the Library of Pergamon, which was the second largest library in the Greek-speaking world. The manufacture of parchment (pergaminus) was perfected in Pergamum when there was shortage of period of papyrus.

Pergamon, which was described by Pliny as “by far the most distinguished [city] of Asia,” is one of the Seven Churches of Asia Minor named by John (Revelation 1: 11). But it was also a centre for the worship of Zeus, Athene, Dionysius and Askeplios, and of the imperial festal cults. John says the people of Pergamon lived in the darkness of idolatry and in extreme impurity, they were slaves to passions, they were slanderers and tyrants, and they were incestuous – in other words, as John says, they were the servants of Satan.

A fourth century tradition recorded in the Apostolic Constitutions (7.46.9, ca AD 370) says that John the Apostle ordained this Gaius as the first Bishop of Pergamon, and that he was succeeded by Antipas the Dentist. Tradition says that in the year 92 AD the aged Antipas was dragged to the temple of Artemis before which stood an ox cast in bronze. There his opponents heated the bronzed ox and hurled Antipas into the red-hot molten ox. From within the molten ox, it is said Antipas glorified God with thanksgiving, and prayed for his flock and for the entire world until he died his martyr’s death.

However, the tradition that Gaius was Bishop of Pergamon is questionable because of itsrelatively late date. The only definite information we have about this Gaius is in III John, where he is spoken of as “the beloved” (verses 1, 2, 5, 11), as “walking in the truth” (verses 3, 4), and as doing things “faithfully” and with love (verses 5-6). It is obvious that he is well known to the author, but it is not so certain that they have met personally, because the report of the conduct of Gaius towards the brothers has been received second-hand by the author (verse 3).

Nor can we determine with certainty whether Gaius belonged to the same local Church as Diotrephes (verse 9), or whether he was the leader of another local Church.

It is clear that the author of III John regarded Gaius as blessed because of his kindness to travelling missionaries, and regarded him as orthodox in his faith (verse 3). He saw him as a valuable ally in the controversy with the secessionist opponents and their false Christology, which is discussed at length in I John.

3, Diotrephes

Diotrephes appears to be an influential person, perhaps the leader of a local Church known to Gaius, but of which Gaius himself is not a member. Diotrephes is introduced as someone who loves to be first, someone who is arrogant, and someone whose behaviour reflects this.

We know little about Diotrophes apart from what we read in III John 9-11. Although the letter is addressed to Gaius, Diotrophes is a figure of authority in the Church, whatever his position was. Was he a priest (presbyter or elder), deacon or teacher? Whatever he was, whatever his motives may have been, Diortophes had taken complete control of his church and forbids those who are part of his church to have full communion with the wider, universal church, represented by John the Presbyter.

Diotrophes so loves having pre-eminence that he refuses even to allow the letter from John to be read in the church. Why would Diotrophes not allow a letter from an apostle or disciple to be read in his Church? We are not told. But we can learn seven things about Diotrophes which John tells us to be aware of and tells us not to follow (see verses 9-11):

1, Ambition: he loves pre-eminence. This runs the danger of trying to be equal with Christ, for Colossians 1: 18 teaches us that Christ has pre-eminence in the Church and in all things.

2, Self-exaltation: he has lifted himself over the other members of the Church in his search for pre-eminence (verse 9).

3, Slanderous: he is talking about his fellow Christians with malice, and is talking nonsense about others to bring up unjustified charges.

4, Inhospitable: he refuses to welcome the other brothers or sisters.

5, Hypocrite: he desires his own will even though he is still an active leader in the church.

6, Bigoted: he judges or disciplines without cause (verse 10), casting those out who accept other brothers and sisters in the Church.

7, Controlling: he is using his will as he is lording it over the Church.

How can one man gain such complete control in the Church? Christ warns us (Matthew 7: 15) to beware of false prophets in sheep’s clothing – they look like Christians, they preach like Christians, they act like Christians, but their motives are to prey like wolves on the true sheep.

It has been suggested that the description “loves to be first” only indicates that Diotrephes sought prominence or position in this Church, and that he had not yet attained any real authority. But his actions described in these verses suggest otherwise. He is able to refuse or to ignore the author’s previous written instructions (verse 9), and he is able to have other people put out of the Church for showing hospitality to the travelling missionaries (verse 10).

Diotrephes refuses to acknowledge the written communication mentioned by the Presbyter at the beginning of verse 9, and so does not recognise the author’s apostolic authority.

It seems probable that Gaius belongs to one local Church, perhaps he is even in charge of it, while Diotrephes is in another church that is known to Gaius but to which Gaius does not belong.

It has been suggested that the author, the Presbyter, has attempted to make an earlier visit to the Church of Diotrephes, but that he was turned away. However, there is nothing in the context to suggest an unsuccessful prior visit by the author. But in verse 9 he explicitly indicates an earlier letter written to Diotrephes, which Diotrephes apparently ignored or suppressed.

Diotrephes refuses to show any hospitality to the travelling visitors (verse 10) or to welcome the brothers already mentioned by the author. Because Diotrephes did not recognise the authority of the Presbyter, then if the author comes to visit the Church he will expose the behaviour of Diotrephes for what it is and call attention to the deeds he is doing.

The genuine nature of the faith of Diotrephes is called into question, because he has obviously done what is bad (verse 11b; compare this with verses 9-10). In John’s terminology, it is clear that the phrase “has not seen God” is equivalent to “is not a genuine Christian” (see John 3: 17-21; I John 3: 6, 10; and I John 4: 7, 20).

The exhortation to not imitate what is bad but to imitate what is good is clearly a reference to the evil behaviour of Diotrephes. The Presbyter wishes that Gaius would continue to assist the missionaries. He exhorts him not to follow the negative example of Diotrephes, but to do what is right.

4, Demetrius (Δημήτριος, Dimitrios):

Dimitrios (Greek, Δημήτριος, male form of Demeter), meaning son of Demeter, is a common name in the classical world and the name of several notable people in classical antiquity and in later eras in the Greek-speaking world. The name is also commonly spelled as Dimitrios and Dimitri by Byzantine scholars and by Greek people to this day.

However, the name Dimitrios occurs in only two places in the Bible, both in the New Testament: there is Dimitrios, a worshipper of Diana and a silversmith in Ephesus who incites a riot against the Apostle Paul (see Acts 19: 24-41); and there is Dimitrios, the disciple who is commended in III John 12.

In III John, there is an implicit contrast between the bad behaviour of Diotrephes and the good reputation of Dimitrios. But it seems more likely that this Dimitrios may be one of the travelling missionaries – perhaps even their leader – rather than the leader of a local Church. Unlike Diotrephes, Dimitrios appears to have supported the missionaries himself.

Later tradition in the Orthodox Church says that this Dimitrios became Bishop of Philadelphia (Φιλαδέλφεια), the sixth of the seven churches of Revelation.

Date of writing

Traditionally, the Johannine letters have been dated to the late first century, in part to match the dating of Saint John’s Gospel. I and II John are both concerned with the same issue, making it safe to assume that they were written about the same time. III John is not connected to the situation found in the previous two letters, which means it may have been written at another time.

Although II and III John follow a similar format, this only implies that they are written by the same author, and not necessarily that they were written at the same time. The ideas about the Church and about mission expressed in III John are less Johannine that those found in the other Johannine literature, and may imply that the ideas are more developed and that III John was the last of the epistles to written, although it is hard to be certain about this.

When it comes to dating III John, scholarly opinions range from a date between the 60s and 90s to a date as late as 100 to 110 AD. Raymond Brown, for example, suggests a date of between 100 and 110, with all three epistles being written in close proximity. Any later date is thought to be unlikely as parts of the first two Epistles were quoted by Polycarp and Papia.

Location of writing

The ruins of the Temple of Artemis in Ephesus, one of the seven wonders of the classical world (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Church tradition has placed all the Johannine letters in Ephesus, although the letters themselves do not implicitly support or contradict this opinion. Internal and external evidence suggests Saint John’s Gospel was written in Ephesus.

The first knowledge of the Johannine letters comes from Asia Minor, which supports the theories linking them with Ephesus. Both II and III John refer to travelling, implying that the communities may not have been in the same location, although that would have had to be in the same general vicinity.

Additionally, the teaching opposed in I John may link that letter with Cerinthus, and therefore along with the other Johannine letters with Ephesus.

Early citations

The earliest possible citations of III John come from Tertullian and Origen of Alexandria. Tertullian quotes a brief phrase – “follow the better things,” from III John, although the phrase might equally have been adapted from the Septuagint version of Psalm 37: 27. Origen’s Commentary on Saint Matthew’s Gospel also refers to the use of the concept of the logos in III John 7. Irenaeus, writing in Aversus Hareses (3.16.7) around the year AD 175, quotes I John 4: 1-2 and II John 7-8 as from “the Letter of John,” but he does not quote from III John.

And so, it is not surprising to find that the Muratorian Canon accepts I and II John, but not III John. The first reference to III John is in the middle of the third century. Eusebius says that Origen knew of both II John and III John. However, Origen is reported as saying “all do not consider them genuine.” Similarly, Origen’s pupil, Dionysius of Alexandria, was aware of a “reputed Second or Third Epistle of John.” Around this time, III John is thought to have been known in North Africa and it was referred to in Sententiae Episcoporum, produced by the Seventh Council of Carthage.

There was doubt too about the authority of III John, with Eusebius listing III John along with II John as “disputed books,” despite describing them as “well-known and acknowledged by most.” All three Johannine epistles were recognised by the 39th festal letter of Athanasius, the Synod of Hippo and the Council of Carthage. Additionally, Didymus the Blind wrote a commentary on all three Johannine letters, showing that by the early fifth century they were considered as a single unit.


III John is preserved in many of the old manuscripts of the New Testament. Between the different copies there are no major difficulties or differences, meaning that there is very little doubt over determining the original text.


III John appears to be a private letter, written to commend to Gaius a party of Christians led by Dimitrios. They are strangers in the place where he lives, and they have gone on a mission to preach the Gospel (see verse 7).

The purpose of the letter is to encourage and strengthen Gaius, and to warn him against the secessionist party led by Diotrephes, who refuses to co-operate with the Presbyter who is writing the letter.

In this letter, we return once again to typical Johannine emphases and themes, including the emphasis on truth (verses 1, 3, 8), “walking in truth” (verse 4), “the Name” (verse 7, RSV), and brotherly love (verses 5 and 6).

Verse 1:

This opening greeting identifies both the sender and the recipient. It is the shortest opening greeting for a New Testament epistle, but is characteristic of secular letters of the time.

The opening word “from” found in some translations is not in the Greek text, but is used with licence to indicate the sender of the letter.

The author does not identify himself by name, but simply as the Presbyter (Ὁ πρεσβύτερος, ho presbyteros), the priest or the elder. The author’s self-designation is similar to the reticence of the author of the Gospel of John when it comes to identifying himself, and this is the same self-designation used by the author of II John.

On the other hand, Gaius is named, and is also commended for the truth that is in him. It is clear that the Presbyter regards Gaius as orthodox in his faith and teaching and a valuable ally in the controversy with the secessionist opponents and their false Christology (see I John).

The prepositional phrase ἐν ἀληθείᾳ (en aletheia) is similar to the phrase used in II John 1, although it is not qualified here as it is there. This is not merely the equivalent of an adverb (“truly”), but is a theological statement affirming the orthodoxy of Gaius. “Truth” is the author’s way of alluding to theological orthodoxy in the face of the challenge by the opponents (see I John 3: 19).

Verse 2:

In any opening conversation in the Greek-speaking world, it would be rude not to ask about someone personally, about their health, and about their family. In the opening verses of III John, the writer makes the usual, courteous, polite inquiries about the physical and spiritual health of Gaius. But he then goes beyond those polite inquiries.

The noun ψυχή (psyche) is used ten times in Saint John’s Gospel and twice in I John. Of these, six of the ten uses in John and both uses in I John refer to a person’s “life” (as something that can be laid down). In John 10: 24 and 12: 27, the ψυχή is that part of a person where emotions are experienced; one’s ψυχή is held in suspense or deeply troubled. This is, in other words, the immaterial part of a person as opposed to the physical existence.

“Just as it is well with your soul” – the equivalent contemporary idiom would be to ask about someone’s “spiritual” health as well as their physical health. The author affirms that Gaius is indeed well-off spiritually, and he prays that his physical health would match his spiritual health, that Gaius would be as well off physically as he is spiritually. It is spiritual health that should be the standard by which my physical health is measured, not the other way round.

Verse 3:

Being faithful in the truth, living in the truth or walking in the truth, are good translations of what the Greek describes here as “walking in truth.” The Greek verb here, περιπατέω (peripatéo), which refers to conduct or lifestyle, is common in the New Testament (see I John 1: 6, II John 4, and the numerous references in the Pauline literature).

Here the phrase refers to conduct that comes about when a person has “truth” residing within them, and it may refer to the indwelling of the Spirit of Truth (see II John 2). In the specific context of III John, the phrase refers to true Christians who are holding fast to an apostolic Christology in the face of the secessionists who are their opponents and who challenge to orthodox teaching.

Verse 4:

The Greek clause “that I hear” (ἵνα, ina) indicates content. This is more smoothly expressed as an English infinitive. This ἵνα clause indicates the result of such support for the travelling missionaries. The Christian who helps to support them becomes a co-worker in the truth. Although the dative τῇ ἀληθείᾳ (ti aletheía) is somewhat difficult to specify, it would appear to indicate a sense of co-operation with “the truth” which is at work through the missionaries.

There is precedent in the Johannine literature for understanding “truth” as personified (John 8: 32, “the truth will make you free”; possibly also I John 3: 19). More explicitly, the Holy Spirit is identified in I John 4: 6 as “the Spirit of Truth” (see also I John 5: 6). And so the “truth” at work in the missionaries is the Holy Spirit, who works through their efforts. The Christian who supports them becomes a co-worker with the Spirit of God himself.

Verse 5:

The author has already described Gaius as “dear friend” or “beloved” (τῷ ἀγαπητῷ, to agapeto) in verse 1. He addresses Gaius in the same way in verses 5 and 11 (᾿Αγαπητέ, agapeté). This is a term of true endearment and real personal warmth, much as it is used in I John 2: 7.

When the author commends Gaius for demonstrating his faithfulness in what he has done, he could be commending him for his faith as in the shared Christian faith, as well as praising him for his faithful service to the travelling friends (brothers), the missionaries. Gaius has assisted them, and they have now returned with a report of this to the author (III John 3).

Verse 6:

The “Church” is mentioned here, but not in either I or II John, or in Saint John’s Gospel. So which Church is the Presbyter referring to here?

The Church where Gaius is a leader?

The Church where the author is a leader?

A different local Church where the “brothers” are?

Or, perhaps, the universal or catholic Church, the Church at large?

Since the suggestion in III John 3 is that the “brothers” have come and testified in the author’s Church about the things that Gaius has done for them, the “Church” mentioned here is probably the author’s Church, where he is living at the time of writing … which I have suggested is Ephesus.

Other possibilities cannot be ruled out, but they seem unnecessarily complicated.

Verse 7:

“For they began their journey… ” “For they have set out …,” or “they have gone forth.” The verb gone forth (ἐξέρχομαι, exérchomai) evidently refers to some form of missionary activity; it is used of Paul’s travels (Acts 14: 20), and when he sets out on his second missionary journey (Acts 15: 40).

The NRSV translation, in speaking of “for the sake of Christ,” misses the more accurate and vital rendering, “in the Name,” which is found in most other translations, including the RSV.

Many writers, when they comment on “the Name,” point to one of three possibilities:

1, The name of God is suggested by the unqualified noun with the Greek article. In Rabbinic literature, “the Name” is a frequent substitute for the Tetragrammaton, YHWH (יהוה), the name of God, which is too sacred to be pronounced. This may make sense in III John, because in the previous verse the writer tells Gaius to send the missionaries on their way “in a manner worthy of God.”

2, Some commentators understand “the Name” as the self-designation of the Johannine community, or as a reference to the Christian Church at large, or as a way of designating Christians before the title “Christian” came into common usage.

3, Other commentators suggest that this is a reference to the name of Jesus. The Apostle Paul uses a similar phrase in Romans 1: 5. In I John 2: 12, the author says “your sins are forgiven on account of his (Christ’s) name.” Saint John’s Gospel also refers to believing “in the name of Jesus” (John 1: 12; 3: 18). This interpretation is forced on the reader in the NRSV translation.

In this verse, we are also presented with an image of the early Christian preachers in the Church, who are careful to reject assistance and hospitality from those who are not Christians.

The word ἐθνικός (ethnikós) occurs only four times in the New Testament (see also Matthew 5: 47; 6: 7 and 18: 17). Here it is virtually synonymous with the far more common ἔθνος (ethnos), which is used on 162 occasions in the New Testament. Both refer to the nations or the Gentiles, the non-Jewish people of the world.

Since the issue here is support for the travelling missionaries, and there is no indication that the author would want to forbid receiving support from Gentile converts to Christianity, the word nations must refer to Gentile unbelievers, or idolatrous pagans. The travelling missionaries sent out to combat the false teaching of the secessionist opponents accept nothing by way of support from non-Christians.

Verse 8:

If they cannot accept hospitality and assistance from non-Christians who are not monotheists, then hospitality and generosity from fellow Christians become more vital, and so they are commended here (verse 8). Having commended Gaius for his faithful service to the travelling missionaries in the past (see III John 5), the Presbyter now asks him for additional assistance at this time, asking him to send them on their way in a manner worthy of God.

Apparently the missionaries are on their way to visit the area where Gaius’ church is located a second time. They had been there once before and had returned with a good report of how Gaius had assisted them. It is entirely possible that they themselves carry with them the present letter (III John) as a letter of introduction.

Along these lines it has been suggested that Dimitrios (see verse 12) is one of these travelling missionaries, perhaps the leader of the delegation, and that the Presbyter is formally introducing Dimitrios to Gaius, because when he was there the last time he was a stranger (verse 5) but Gaius still assisted him.

Clearly the author does not refer to himself alone by using the first person plural pronoun “we” here, since the issue is support for the travelling missionaries. It stands in contrast to the pagans mentioned in the previous verse, and is thus to be understood as inclusive of all true Christians: the author, Gaius, and all true Christians. All true Christians ought to support the endeavours of these travelling missionaries in their efforts to counteract the heretical teaching of the opponents.

Verses 9:

Diotrephes appears to be an influential person, perhaps the leader of a local Church known to Gaius, but to which Gaius himself does not belong. He has rejected a previous letter from the Presbyter, which we do not know. Diotrephes reviles the Presbyter, and blocks his missionaries.

The description of Diotrephes as one who loves to be first suggests he is arrogant, and his behaviour displays this. He refuses to acknowledge the written communication mentioned by the Presbyter at the beginning of verse 9, and so did not recognise the author’s apostolic authority.

The church mentioned here, which the author says he may visit (verse 10) is not the same as the one mentioned in verse 6, to which the author apparently belongs (or of which he is in charge).

But what is the relationship of this church in verse 9 to Gaius, to whom the letter is addressed?

It is sometimes suggested that Gaius belongs to this church, but that seems unlikely, because the author uses a third-person pronoun to refer to the other members of the church (among them). If Gaius were one of these it would have been much more natural to use a second-person pronoun: “Diotrephes, who loves to be first among you.” Thus, it seems probable that Gaius belongs to (or is in charge of) one local church while Diotrephes is in another, a church known to Gaius but to which he does not belong.

Since the verb ἐπιδέχομαι (epidéchomai) can mean “receive into one’s presence” it has been suggested that the author himself attempted a previous visit to Diotrephes’ Church but was turned away. There is nothing in the context to suggest an unsuccessful prior visit by the author, however; in verse 9, he explicitly indicates a prior written communication which Diotrephes apparently ignored or suppressed.

The verb ἐπιδέχομαι can also mean “accept” in the sense of “acknowledge someone’s authority” and such a meaning better fits the context here: Diotrephes has not accepted but instead rejected the authority of the author to intervene in the situation of the travelling missionaries (perhaps because Diotrephes believed the author had no local jurisdiction in the matter).

Verse 10:

Verse 10 tells us that Diotrephes refuses to show any hospitality to the travelling missionaries, to welcome the brothers already mentioned by the author.

It has been suggested that the description “loves to be first” only indicates that Diotrephes sought prominence or position in this Church, and had not yet attained any real authority. But his actions described in these verses suggest otherwise. He is able to refuse or to ignore the author’s previous written instructions (verse 9) and he is able to have other people put out of the Church for showing hospitality to the travelling missionaries (verse 10).

The third-class condition (ἐὰν ἔλθω, ean eltho) seems to be used by the author to indicate real uncertainty on his part as to whether he will visit Diotrephes’ church or not.

Because Diotrephes does not recognise the authority of the Presbyter, then if the author comes to visit the Church he will expose the behaviour of Diotrephes for what it is and call attention to the deeds he is doing.

Diotrephes is not accused of any heresy or wrong doctrine. But the Presbyter lays serious charges against Diotrephes before the Church:

1, He is engaged in spreading unjustified charges against the author with evil words;
2, He refuses to welcome the brothers (the travelling missionaries) himself;
3, He hinders the others in the church who wish to help the missionaries; and
4, He expels people from the church or throws them out if they aid the missionaries. While Brown suggests that Diotrephes may have been a bishop in his Church, he may not have had the ultimate authority in the Church to expel these people, yet he was responsible for instigating the action taken against them.

Verse 11:

The statement “whoever does evil has not seen God” is asyndetic, and its abrupt introduction adds emphasis. The statement reiterates the common Johannine theme of behaviour as a sign of real faith, also found in I John in 3: 6; 4: 7; and 4: 20; and in Saint John’s Gospel (3: 17-21).

By implication, the genuineness of Diotrephes’ faith is called into question, because he has obviously done what is bad (verse 11b; compare this with verses 9-10). In John’s terminology, it is clear that the phrase has not seen God is equivalent to “is not a genuine Christian” (see John 3: 17-21; I John 3: 6, 10; and I John 4: 7, 20).

The exhortation to not imitate what is bad but to imitate what is good is clearly a reference to the evil behaviour of Diotrephes. The Presbyter wishes Gaius to continue assisting the missionaries, and exhorts him not to follow the negative example of Diotrephes, but to do what is right.

Implicitly there may be a contrast between the bad behaviour of Diotrephes and the good reputation of Demetrius, which is mentioned in the following verse. But it seems more likely that Demetrius himself is one of the travelling missionaries – perhaps even their leader – rather than the leader of a local Church who, unlike Diotrephes, has supported the missionaries himself.

Verse 12:

Dimitrios is apparently someone Gaius would have heard about, but his character is not known to him. And so the Presbyter is writing to Gaius to attest to the good character of Dimitrios.

It appears that Dimitrios is coming to Gaius’ church and needs hospitality and assistance, so the author is writing to commend him to Gaius and to vouch for him. It is difficult to know more about Dimitrios with any certainty, but the author is willing to give him a powerful personal endorsement (we testify to him too).

Dimitrios may well have been the leader of a delegation of travelling missionaries, and may even have been the bearer of this letter to Gaius. The writing of letters of introduction to be carried along by representatives or missionaries in New Testament times is also found in the Pauline writings (see I Corinthians 16: 3).

Verse 13:

The farewell address in verses 13-15 is similar to that in II John, with the added salutation of peace and greetings in verse 15.

The Greek phrase used in verse 13 is “ink and pen,” which in modern English we would express in reverse order as “pen and ink.” The figurative phrase with pen and ink is parallel to II John 12, suggesting that both letters may well have been written at about the same time and in similar situations.

Verse 14:

The author tells Gaius that he has more to say, but does not wish to do so in writing. He would rather talk to him in person. It appears that the author anticipates a personal visit to Gaius and his Church in the very near future. This may be the same visit mentioned in connection with Diotrephes in verse 10. Gaius’ church and Diotrephes’ church may have been in the same city, or in neighbouring towns, perhaps Pergamon as tradition suggests, so that the author anticipates visiting both on the same journey.

The Greek says “speak mouth to mouth,” an idiom for the contemporary English equivalent, which is “speak face-to-face.” He would like them to talk tête-à-tête.

Verse 15:

It is possible that the designation friends (φίλοι, phíloi) indicates that these are personal friends of Gaius who send their greetings. But if this is the case it is somewhat surprising that their names are not mentioned, especially when the author instructs Gaius, Greet the friends there by name. More likely this is an alternative to “brothers” (ἀδελφοί, adelphoí) as an early Christian self-designation, especially within the Johannine community. It may have arisen in the Johannine community from the teaching of Jesus: “You are my friends if you do what I command you” (John 15: 14).


Richard Hooker’s statue at Exeter Cathedral ... for Hooker, the Church is identified by the outward profession of faith taken at face value

For Richard Hooker, one of the great Anglican divines, the Church was identified not by the traditional marks of Word, Sacrament and Discipline, as the Reformers argued, nor by the notes of antiquity, unity and universality, as the Roman Catholics argued, but by the outward profession of faith taken at face value. Rome and Geneva defined the Church by non-essentials, rather than the fundamental profession of Christ. Only God can draw distinctions between the invisible and visible Church. We can only draw distinctions between the sound and the corrupt visible Church.

In III John, is the writer saying Diotrephes has placed himself on the corrupt side, as opposed to the sound, side of the Church? Or has his continuing failure to accept the missionaries and their apostolic message amounted to a denial of the faith professed by the Church?

Some questions for discussion:

● How important is hospitality in the Church?
● Would you welcome missionaries from another Church in your own Church?
● If John’s missing Letter to Gaius was unearthed in an archaeological dig in Pergamon today, should it be accepted as part of the canon of the New Testament?
● How do we balance respect for authority and the delegation of autonomy within the Church?
● Diotrephes is not accused of any heresy, but is indicted for schism. Do you agree with the patristic consensus that schism is worse than heresy?
● To what degree can the Church contain diversity, respect pluralism, and maintain unity?

Next: The Book of Revelation, an introduction.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism and Liturgy, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, Dublin. These notes were prepared for a Bible study in a tutorial group with MTh students on Wednesday 30 November 2011.

Monday, 28 November 2011

Paying tribute to the Keeper

Front Square in Trinity College Dublin in the dark and the rain this evening (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Patrick Comerford

The Christmas lights were decked across Grafton Street this evening as I made way to Trinity College Dublin for a reception in the Long Room in the Library. We were gathered to pay tributes to Dr Muriel McCarthy, who retired last month as Keeper of Marsh’s Library.

Muriel has been on the staff of Marsh’s Library for the past 44 years, and was Keeper for the last 22 years, until she retired on 13 October. Among those present to pay tribute to Muriel were her twin sister, Mairead, and Mairead’s husband, the Wexford historian and journalist Nicky Furlong; Muriel’s son, the filmmaker Justin McCarthy; and clergy, librarians, historians and academics from throughout Ireland.

Muriel was the first woman to be appointed Keeper, and has published a history of the library. Her contribution to the cultural life of Ireland has been recognised by many awards, including honorary degrees from Trinity College Dublin and the National University of Ireland Maynooth, life membership of the Royal Dublin Society and the Old Dublin Society, the Lord Mayor’s awards in 1988 and 1994, and being appointed a lay canon of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Armagh.

We were regaled with stories about Muriel’s achievements at Marsh’s, which include restoring the fabric of the building, creating and developing the Delmas Conservation Bindery and computerising the entire library catalogue which is now available on the internet.

Those paying tribute to her included Archbishop Michael Jackson of Dublin, the Provost of Trinity College Dublin, Professor Patrick Prendergast, and the Vice-Provost, Dr Jane Ohlmeyer, who is the Erasmus Smith’s Professor of Modern History at Trinity College Dublin. All three are ex-officio Governors and Guardians of the Library, and were introduced by Muriel’s successor, Dr Jason McElligott, who read for his Ph.D. in modern history at Saint John’s College, Cambridge. Since 2008, he has worked at the Trinity Long Room Hub, the arts and humanities research institute at TCD.

The other Governors and Guardians of Marsh’s Library include the Dean of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, the Dean of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin, the Archbishop of Armagh and the Chief Justice of Ireland.

Marsh’s Library is in Saint Patrick’s Close, beside Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, and it is said that to study and examine the books in Marsh’s Library “is to explore Europe’s great cultural heritage.”

Marsh’s Library, which stands in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral Close, was founded over 300 years ago in 1701 by Archbishop Narcissus Marsh (1638-1713), a former Provost of Trinity College Dublin.

This was the first public library in Ireland, and is one of the few 18th century buildings left in Dublin that is still used for its original purpose. We were told too that many of the books in the library are still on the shelves allocated to them by Archbishop Marsh and by the first librarian, Elias Bouhéreau.

The Library was formally incorporated in 1707 by an Act of Parliament called “An Act for settling and preserving a public library for ever.” As one speaker asked, which wise legislator today would now introduce an act containing the words “for ever”?

The 1707 Act vested the house and books in a number of religious and state dignitaries and officials and their successors as Governors and Guardians of the Library.

In 1705 Narcissus Marsh paid £2,500 for the library of Bishop Edward Stillingfleet of Worcester, almost 10,000 books and then regarded as the finest private library in England. In turn, Archbishop Marsh left all his books to the library, and when he died in 1713 he was buried nearby in the grounds of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral.

The first librarian, Dr Elias Bouhéreau, was a Huguenot refugee who fled France in 1695. Later, Bishop John Stearne of Clogher, bequeathed his books to Marsh’s Library in 1745.

There four main collections in the library include 25,000 books from the 16th, 17th and early 18th centuries, including 80 books printed before 1501, 430 books printed in Italy before 1600, 1,200 books printed in England before 1640, and 5,000 books printed in England before 1700. There is a large collection of liturgical works, missals, breviaries, books of hours of the Sarum use, Bibles, and books on theology and religious controversy, as well as books on medicine, law, science, travel, navigation, mathematics, music, surveying, classical literature and Irish history.

Other proud possessions include a Latin version of the Lives of the Irish Saints, dating from about 1400, and rare 16th century madrigals printed in Venice, Antwerp and London.

Through her lectures, her books and her work Muriel has raised the profile of Marsh’s Library in recent decades. In recognition of her achievements, we were told, the Governors have established a Research Fellowship fund in her name.

As I left the lbrary and walked across Front Square, the rain had started coming down. Perhaps winter has arrived. But it is less than a month to Christmas.

The Christmas lights decked across Grafton Street this evening (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Liturgy 8.2: Seminar, the ‘Word’ expressed in music and art

Stained glass windows in the chapel of Gormanston College, Co Meath ... inspired by the architecture and art of Coventry Cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

EM8824: Liturgy, Worship and Spirituality

Year II, 14:00 to 16:00, Mondays, Hartin Room:

Liturgy 8.2: 28 November 2011

Seminar: the ‘Word’ expressed in music and art.

For this seminar, linking the word, in its liturgical context, with music and art, I have chosen some of my favourite examples from paintings, architecture, music and poetry.

1, Paintings:

My two chosen paintings are Holman Hunt’s Light of the World and Stanley Spencer’s The Resurrection, Cookham (1923-1927).

1.1: Holman Hunt, The Light of the World

“Be like those who are waiting for their master ... that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks” ... Holman Hunt’s The Light of the World

One of the earliest images I have of Christ is William Holman Hunt’s The Light of the World – it was the first image of Christ I remember being shown to me by my grandmother as a small boy in her house in West Waterford.

There are two original copies of this famous painting. The first painting was moved to Keble College, Oxford, and became so popular that Holman Hunt was asked to paint a larger copy. This second version was sold on condition that it toured the world to preach the Gospel and the purchaser would provide cheap colour reproductions. After travelling the world, this second version of The Light of the World was presented to Saint Paul’s Cathedral, London, in 1904. There it remains to this day as “a painted text, a sermon on canvas.”

There are countless copies of this painting in vestries and sacristies, rectories and vicarages, and homes throughout the Anglican Communion.

Despite the popularity of this great work of art, few people know what the artist was trying to say, or the spiritual depths he searched, as he worked on this painting. Yet it remains one of the great artistic expressions of Anglican spirituality.

Holman Hunt was a founding member of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood – those young artists and poets of the Victorian era who reacted vigorously against “the frivolous art of the day.” They included Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his sister, the poet Christina Rossetti. Their paintings of religious or romantic subjects were clear and sharply focused. They believed that art is essentially spiritual in character and that mediaeval culture had a spiritual and creative integrity that was lost in later eras.

William Holman Hunt (1827-1910) received his middle name through a clerical error at his baptism in 1827 in Saint Mary’s, Ewell, near Epsom. He was raised in Cheapside in an evangelical family, where he spent much time reading the Bible. He left school at 12, but he persuaded his parents to send him to the Royal Academy Schools to train as a painter.

Holman Hunt began painting The Light of the World in 1851. When it was displayed in 1853, it was harshly criticised. But John Ruskin defended Holman Hunt, and curiosity about the painting reached such a pitch that it went on a national tour by demand.

Holman Hunt later recalled: “I painted the picture with what I thought, unworthy though I was, to be by Divine command, and not simply as a good subject.”

To achieve realism, Holman Hunt did much of this painting at night by the light of a lamp in Ewell, where he was baptised.

The work is full of symbolic meaning, with the contrasts between light and dark, and between luxuriant, abundant plants and the thorns and weeds. The painting shows Christ, the Light of the World (John 8: 12), knocking on an overgrown and long-unopened door: “Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you, and eat with you, and you with me” (Revelation 3: 20).

In his painting, Christ’s head bears two crowns: the earthly crown of shame and his heavenly crown of glory. The thorny crown is beginning to bud and to blossom. These are not thorns from a hawthorn hedge, or briars from an overgrown garden in England. These are thorns from branches thrown by soldiers in Palestine on a barrack-room brazier, with spikes three to four inches long, twisted into a rough-and-ready crown set firmly on Christ’s head, each sharp spike drawing blood.

Christ’s loving eyes look directly at you wherever you stand to view this painting. But the sadness on his face is painful. His listening aspect shows that even at the eleventh hour he knocks, hoping for an answer. His hands are nail-pierced, his half-open right hand is raised in blessing, but his feet are turned away, as if he is about to go. For he has been knocking, and he has been left waiting.

For Christ’s royal mantle, Holman Hunt draped his mother’s best tablecloth around his model, but the symbolism was lost on many. Christ who knocks at the door invites us to his table and to the heavenly banquet. The mantle might be a liturgical cope, linking this scene with the eschatological promise in the Eucharist. This cope or mantle is secured by the Urim and Thummim, clasped by the Cross in a symbol of Judaism and Christianity being brought together.

Christ’s robe is seamless, symbolising the unity of the Body of Christ.

Christ’s lantern lights up his features, the doorway, and the way ahead. “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Psalm 119: 105). To those living in darkness, Christ is waiting to enter their lives. The cords of the lamp, twisted around Christ’s wrist, symbolise the intense unity between Christ and the Church.

The shut door has no latch, no handle, no keyhole – it can only be opened from inside. But the iron-work is rusted, for it is a long time since this door has been opened. The door to our hearts has to be opened from within, through repentance and faith, faith that flowers and bears fruit.

The door is overgrown with the dead weeds and trailing ivy that choke up flowers and any fruit. They would not be there had the door been kept open. All the plants have been overtaken by brambles, because this a place to which the gardener has not come.

Above flies a bat, blind and unable to see in the darkness, long associated with ruin and neglect. Below, the fruit has fallen to the ground and some are rotten. Yet the light from the lamp shows this fruit has come from a good tree.

I think of yesterday’s Gospel reading (Mark 13: 24-37) as I ask: When Christ comes knocking at your door, will those in the house be prepared and ready?

Will Christ be welcome to sit down and eat? Will he find the fruits of faith are flowering? Or will they be crushed and scattered on the ground beneath him?

1.2: Stanley Spencer, The Resurrection, Cookham (1923-1927):

Stanley Spencer, The Resurrection, Cookham (1923-1927):

This painting hangs in the Tate Gallery in London and I have been intrigued by it long before it was used to illustrate a major feature of mine in The Irish Times.

Stanley Spencer (1891-1956) believed that the divine rested in all creation. His earthy Christian faith and his preoccupation with death and resurrection are reflected in many of his works. His mural for the Sandham Memorial Chapel in Burghclere, dedicated to the dead of World War I, has an altarpiece depicting the Resurrection of the Soldiers.

Stanley Spencer was born in and spent most of his life in the Thames-side village of Cookham in Berkshire, about 30 miles west of London. One of 12 children, he seems to have had an enchanted childhood. Perhaps this explains why he saw his home town of Cookham as a paradise in which everything is invested with mystical significance.

Characters and stories drawn from the daily Bible readings with his father inspired his future work. Much of his greatest work depicts Biblical scenes, from miracles to the Crucifixion. However, they are set not in the Holy Land, but – like this painting, The Resurrection, Cookham (1923–1927) – are set in Cookham, which he referred to as “a village in heaven.” Cookham and its familiar figures became the ingredients for most of his paintings, with actual villagers depicted as Biblical characters.

The Resurrection, Cookham is the first of a great series of resurrection paintings. The entire population of the village – including Spencer – is seen popping out of their graves in the churchyard in Cookham, looking as dapper as ever, squinting in the sunlight of bright sunny day.

Christ is enthroned in the church porch, cradling three babies, with God the Father standing behind. Spencer himself appears near the centre, naked, leaning against a grave stone. His fiancée Hilda Carline – whom he married in 1925 while working on this painting – lies sleeping in a bed of ivy. At the top left, we can see risen souls being transported to Heaven in the pleasure steamers that then ploughed along the River Thames.

But do you notice anything odd here? This is a resurrection without a last judgment. It seems everyone in Cookham is to be forgiven their sins.

Some questions:

Do you think either of these artists is trying to say something about liturgy of word and liturgy of sacrament in these paintings?

What connection is Holman Hunt’s image of Christ making with Eucharistic symbolism?

How is he trying to make visual connections between the Eucharist and the Word?

What is Stanley Sepncer saying about the goodness of people and the way we conduct funerals, preach at funerals, or preach about the resurrection?

2, Architecture:

Once again, I have two choices this afternoon. But instead of choosing two Gothic revival churches designed by Pugin, I have chosen two works of modern architecture, one Anglican and one Roman Catholic: Coventry Cathedral in the English Midlands, and the Church of the Sacred Heart in Laytown, on the coast of Co Meath.

2.1: Coventry Cathedral

John Hutton’s ‘Screen of Saints and Angels’ at the entrance to Coventry Cathedral, reflecting the ruins of the old, bombed cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

In the 1990s, a national poll in Britain saw Coventry Cathedral elected as Britain’s favourite 20th century building. It never fails to move, excite and delight all who visit and worship here, and it had a remarkable influence on church architecture from the 1950s on, influencing even the design of my own school chapel in Gormanston, Co Meath.

The cathedral’s international work, through its Ministry of Peace and Reconciliation and the Community of the Cross of Nails, has provided spiritual and practical support in areas of conflict throughout the world, and has made Coventry Cathedral known internationally.

The story of Coventry dates back for more than 1,000 years, and includes the story of the 12th century Priory Church of Saint Mary, the mediaeval Parish Church Cathedral of Saint Michael and the modern Coventry Cathedral, also named after Saint Michael.

Saint Mary’s, the earliest cathedral in Coventry, was founded as a Benedictine community in 1043. The modern Diocese of Coventry was formed in 1918, and Saint Michael’s Church became its cathedral. On the night of 14 November 1940, Coventry was destroyed by German bombs, and along with it the cathedral was burned down.

The decision to rebuild the cathedral was taken the next morning. But rebuilding was not to be an act of defiance; rather, it was to be seen as a sign of faith, trust and hope for the future. The vision of the Provost at the time, the Vey Revd Dick Howard, led the people of Coventry away from feelings of bitterness and hatred and led to the cathedral’s Ministry of Peace and Reconciliation.

Instead of sweeping away the ruins or rebuilding a replica of the former church, the leaders of the cathedral community took the courageous step to build a new cathedral and preserve the remains of the old cathedral as a moving reminder of the folly and waste of war.

Sir Jacob Epstein’s bronze statues of Saint Michael and the Devil on the wall outside Coventry Cathedral (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

The foundation stone was laid on 23 March 1956 and the new cathedral was consecrated on 25 May 1962, and Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem was written to mark the occasion. The ruins remain hallowed ground and together the two create one living Cathedral.

The new cathedral was an inspiration to many fine artists of the post-war era. The architect Sir Basil Spence commissioned works from Graham Sutherland, John Piper, Ralph Beyer, John Hutton, Jacob Epstein, Elisabeth Frink and others.

The modernist design of Coventry Cathedral caused much controversy at the time, but it rapidly became a hugely popular symbol of reconciliation in post-war Britain. The interior is notable for:

Facing the world ... the Gethsemane Chapel in Coventry Cathedral

● The large tapestry of Christ, designed by Graham Sutherland.
John Bridgeman emotive sculpture of the Mater Dolorosa in the East end.
● John Piper’s Baptistery window that fills the full height of the bowed baptistery; it is made of 195 panes, ranging from white to deep colours.
● The stained glass windows in the Nave, by Lawrence Lee, Keith New and Geoffrey Clarke, facing away from the congregation, the opposite pairs representing a pattern of growth from birth to old age, and culminating in heavenly glory nearest the altar, with one side representing Humanity, the other side representing the Divine.
● The Great West Window known as the Screen of Saints and Angels, engraved directly onto the screen in expressionist style by John Hutton.
● The foundation stone, the ten stone panels inset into the walls of the cathedral called the Tablets of the Word, and the baptismal font, designed and carved by Ralph Beyer, a German émigré.
● The Chapel of Christ in Gethsemane, at the end of the liturgical south aisle (to the right of the altar and tapestry), featuring a striking gold mosaic of a Byzantine-like angel, offering the chalice. The angel was designed by Stephen Sykes, and the chapel is separated by a bronze screen in the shape of a crown of thorns.

2.2: The Church of the Sacred Heart, Laytown, Co Meath:

The East Window of the parish church in Laytown looks out onto the beach and across the Irish Sea (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Laytown is one of the locations for my regular each walks. But, from an architectural perspective, the most captivating building on the shoreline at Laytown is the Church of the Sacred Heart. The first church on this site was built in 1879, but was demolished in the 1970s to make way for the new parish church. The façade from the original 19th century church has been retained, but the new building is a 1970s circular-plan single room.

Light shafts in the walls and the ceiling illuminate the interior of church. Behind the altar, a large window looks out to the sea, with a 20-ft wooden cross on the hill behind the window.

The foundation stone for the new church was blessed by Pope John Paul II at Knock in September 1979, and the church was blessed and opened in October 1979. But the architects incorporated into the new church the façade of the earlier church, with its yellow brick gable-fronted entrance and buttresses, set on a rock-faced limestone plinth. It has a pointed arch door opening and triple lancet windows with a limestone dressing.

They must be deeply spiritual moments when the rising sun shines in from the Irish Sea through the large east window during early morning Masses, or the sea outside is wild and the waves are high on a winter’s Sunday morning.

The façade of the 19th century church has been retained as part of the modern parish church in Laytown (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

3, Music:

Vaughan Williams co-edited the English Hymnal with Percy Dearmer, and wrote the scores for many of our popular carols

Secular understandings of “Anglican culture” include shared music from Henry Purcell to John Rutter. I have already mentioned Benjamin Britten in the context of Coventry Cathedral, but think too of composers like William Byrd, Edward Elgar, Orlando Gibbons, Herbert Howells, John Ireland, John Marbeck, Hubert Parry, Charles Villiers Stanford, Thomas Tallis, Ralph Vaughan Williams and Charles Wood, to name but a few.

Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958), one of the greatest English composers of the last century, was the musical editor of The English Hymnal, which he co-edited with Percy Dearmer. He wrote symphonies, chamber music, opera, choral music, and film scores, arranged a number of hymns, adapting them to popular melodies, and collected English folk music, folk dance and songs.

I was first introduced to the music of Vaughan Williams 40 years ago when I was 19 and I was staying in Wilderhope Manor on the slopes of Wenlock Edge. It was 1971 and I was walking through Shropshire, visiting small towns and villages such as Much Wenlock, Church Stretton, Longville and Shipton. Appropriately, the warden of the youth hostel suggested I should listen to Vaughan Williams’s On Wenlock Edge.

Six settings of poems from A.E. Housman’s A Shropshire Lad make up On Wenlock Edge, which is Vaughan Williams’s first totally characteristic work. The landscape inhabited by Housman is that of a mythical, idealised Shropshire, similar to the Wessex evoked in the novels of Thomas Hardy. His dominant themes are love, and a post-industrial pastoral nostalgia, infused with expressions of disillusionment at the sacrifice of the young soldiers going to war, never to return.

His other works include In the Fen Country (1904), Norfolk Rhapsody No. 1 (1906, revised in 1914), The Wasps, based on the play by Aristophanes (1909), On Wenlock Edge (1909), Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis (1910, revised in 1913 and 1919), Fantasia on Greensleeves (1934) and The Lark Ascending (1914). In all these works, Vaughan Williams is characteristically English, and Bishop Edward Darling and Donald Davison, in their Companion to Church Hymnal, say: “Many would claim he was the greatest 20th century English composer.”

A vicar’s son, Vaughan Williams was born in Down Ampney, Gloucestershire. His father, the Revd Arthur Vaughan Williams, who died in 1875, was the Vicar of Down Ampney, while his mother, Margaret Susan Wedgwood (1843–1937), was a direct descendant of the Staffordshire potter Josiah Wedgwood, and was related to the Darwin family – Charles Darwin was a great-uncle and Tony Benn is a distant cousin. With a background like that, it is little wonder that Vaughan Williams grew up with life-lasting democratic and egalitarian ideals – a socialist who refused all honours except the Order of Merit, which he accepted after the death of Elgar in 1935.

At the Royal College of Music, Vaughan Williams studied under the Irish composer Charles Villiers Stanford. Later, as he read history and music at Trinity College, Cambridge, he became friends with the philosophers George Moore and Bertrand Russell.

During World War I, he was a private in the Royal Army Medical Corps. His war-time experiences eventually led to his complete deafness in old age, but his Pastoral Symphony (Symphony No. 3) draws on his experiences as an ambulance volunteer. During World War II, he spoke up for his fellow composers Britten and Tippett who were conscientious objectors.

When he died in 1958, he was buried in Westminster Abbey. His second wife, the poet Ursula Wood, claimed he was an “atheist … [who] later drifted into a cheerful agnosticism.” But he is a deeply mystical and spiritual composer, and many of his works have religious subject-matters.

His hymn settings include To be a pilgrim, based on John Bunyan’s hymn Who would true valour see, using the traditional Sussex melody Monk’s Gate; the tune Sine Nomine for William Walsham How’s For All the Saints; the tune Forest Green for the carol O Little Town of Bethlehem by Phillips Brooks; and his setting for Come Down, O Love Divine, named Down Ampney after his birthplace. He wrote settings for canticles, carols and masses, and composed a Te Deum in G for the enthronement of Cosmo Lang as Archbishop of Canterbury in 1928.

With Percy Dearmer and Martin Shaw, Vaughan Williams can be credited with the revival and spread of traditional and mediaeval English musical forms. Without Vaughan Williams, it is impossible to imagine the English Hymnal (1906), for which he was the musical editor and in which he collaborated with Percy Dearmer.

In collaboration with the organists of Saint Mary’s, Primrose Hill, Martin and Geoffrey Shaw, Vaughan Williams and Percy Dearmer later produced two more hymnals, Songs of Praise (1925) and The Oxford Book of Carols (1928). These hymnals have been credited with reintroducing many elements of traditional and mediaeval English music into the Church of England, as well as carrying that influence into the rest of the Anglican Communion.

Without Vaughan Williams, where would Anglican liturgy, hymnody, music and spirituality be today? As David Johnson said in an essay in The Tablet (23 August 2008): “The preoccupation with the journey of the soul shines through the work of Ralph Vaughan Williams. His music is the enduring legacy of one of the most insightful and visionary of pilgrims.”

4, Poetry:

The Presentation of Christ in the Temple, Andrea Mantegna, 1460, Staatliche Museen, Berlin

Much of the language of The Book of Common Prayer (2004) draws on the cadences and rhythms of English poetic forms. Perhaps, it was this lack of literary grace that made the Alternative Prayer Book less popular.

The poet TS Eliot saw a deep connection between his poetry and his liturgical life. But perhaps one poem more than other, A Song for Simeon, which is based on the canticle Nunc Dimittis (Luke 2: 29-32), links Eliot with the tradition of Anglican canticles and the tradition of Choral Evensong, and with the Anglican tradition of liturgical preaching:

Nunc Dimittis

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace;
according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation,
which thou hast prepared before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles
and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

Eliot titles his poem A Song for Simeon, rather than A Song of Simeon, which is the English sub-title of the canticle in The Book of Common Prayer.

A Song for Simeon (TS Eliot)

Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blooming in bowls and
The winter sun creeps by the snow hills;
The stubborn season had made stand.
My life is light, waiting for the death wind,
Like a feather on the back of my hand.
Dust in sunlight and memory in corners
Wait for the wind that chills towards the dead land.

Grant us thy peace.
I have walked many years in this city,
Kept faith and fast, provided for the poor,
Have given and taken honour and ease.
There went never any rejected from my door.
Who shall remember my house, where shall live my children’s children
When the time of sorrow is come?
They will take to the goat’s path, and the fox’s home,
Fleeing from the foreign faces and the foreign swords.

Before the time of cords and scourges and lamentation
Grant us thy peace.
Before the stations of the mountain of desolation,
Before the certain hour of maternal sorrow,
Now at this birth season of decease,
Let the Infant, the still unspeaking and unspoken Word,
Grant Israel’s consolation
To one who has eighty years and no to-morrow.

According to thy word.
They shall praise Thee and suffer in every generation
With glory and derision,
Light upon light, mounting the saints’ stair.
Not for me the martyrdom, the ecstasy of thought and prayer,
Not for me the ultimate vision.
Grant me thy peace.
(And a sword shall pierce thy heart,
Thine also).
I am tired with my own life and the lives of those after me,
I am dying in my own death and the deaths of those after me.
Let thy servant depart,
Having seen thy salvation.

This is one of four poems by Eliot published between 1927 and 1930 and known as the Ariel Poems.

TS Eliot (1888-1965) is as one of the great poets of Anglican spirituality – indeed he was one of the major Christian poets of the 20th century – and his Ash Wednesday (1930) was written to mark his baptism and confirmation as an Anglican in 1927.

In Journey of The Magi and A Song for Simeon, Eliot shows how he persisted on his spiritual pilgrimage. He was baptised and confirmed in the Church of England on 29 June 1927. Journey of the Magi was published two months later, in August 1927, and a few months later Faber, for whom he worked, published A Song for Simeon as part of a series of Christmas booklets.

Both Journey of The Magi and A Song for Simeon draw on the journeys of Biblical characters concerned with the arrival of the Christ-child. Both poems deal with the past, with a significant epiphany event, with the future – as seen from the time of that event, and with a time beyond time – death. The narrator in Journey of the Magi is an old man, with the first two stanzas recalling the journey from the East to Bethlehem through “cities hostile and towns unfriendly” – perhaps reflecting a difficult period of Eliot’s own journey.

In that poem, Eliot draws on a sermon from Christmas 1622 preached by the Caroline Divine, Bishop Lancelot Andrewes (1555-1626): “A cold coming they had of it, at this time of the year; just the worst time of the year, to take a journey, and specially a long journey, in. The ways deep, the weather sharp, the days short, the sun farthest off in solistitio brumali, the very dead of winter.”

Eliot wrote:

A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.

A Song for Simeon is also put in the mouth of an old man, the prophet Simeon in the Temple in Jerusalem. Here too, Eliot draws on a Christmas sermon by Andrewes: “Verbum infans, the Word without a word, the eternal Word not able to speak a word.” In Eliot’s words, the old man sees a faith that he cannot inhabit in “the still unspeaking and unspoken Word.”

In both poems, Eliot uses images that are significant for those exploring the Christian faith, images that are also prophetic, telling of things to happen to the Christ Child in the future. For example, in Journey of the Magi, we are told of “three trees on the low sky” – the three crosses that will erected on Calvary, and of “hands dicing” and “pieces of silver” – the Roman soldiers throwing dice for Christ’s clothes and the thirty pieces of silver paid to Judas.

So too, there are several examples of prophetic imagery in A Song for Simeon:

Before the time of cords and scourges and lamentation …
Before the certain hour of maternal sorrow …

These refer to the scourging of Christ at his crucifixion and his mother weeping as he was crucified.

This poem starts with a winter scene:

Lord, the Roman’s hyacinths are blooming in the bowls and
The winter sun creeps by the snow hills;
The stubborn season had made stand.

In this poem, Eliot confines his comments on things of the past to four lines in the second stanza. In contrast to Journey of the Magi, which concentrates more on a physical journey, Eliot here places his emphasis on the time that has been spent making an inner journey of faith:

I have walked many years in this city,
Kept faith and fast, provided for the poor,
Have given and taken honour and ease.

We are aware too, that Simeon is very old. He is hanging on, waiting for God’s promise, so that he can die:

My life is light, waiting for the death wind,
Like a feather on the back of my hand.

Just as Eliot had his inner searches and wanderings, in which he moved about from one place to another. The difficulties with his wife Vivien’s illness contributed to a separation and the complete breakdown of their marriage, adding to Eliot’s sense of disillusion with life. In both these poems, Eliot focuses on an event that brings about the end of an old order and the beginning of a new one.

Eliot structures A Song for Simeon around lines from the prayer spoken by the priest Simeon as recorded in Luke 2: 29-32:

Master, now you are dismissing
Your servant in peace,
according to your word;
for my eyes have seen your salvation …

Simeon too was a witness. Although he was not present at Christ’s birth, he witnessed the presentation of the Christ-child when he was brought by his parents to the Temple as an eight-day-old. Yet Simeon did more than just witness the child, “Simeon took him in his arms” (Luke 2: 28) as he prayed. In his blind faith, he comes to hold the Body of Christ, and to see the child for who he really is. As Joseph and Nicodemus do when they take him down from the Cross, and as we do at the Eucharist, he becomes a bearer of Christ as he holds the Body of Christ in his hands and so becomes too part of the Body of Christ at one and the same time.

Three times in the poem, Simeon asks for peace. Is he referring to the peace that will come with his own death? Or the peace of Christ that passes all understanding? As Christians, we don’t believe that death is the end of our journey. Even before death, Eliot marks his baptism and confirmation as, if not the end of, then a triumph on, his spiritual journey. He has come to a place of faith, and now he is encouraged to continue on his spiritual journey.

The poem can be read as a song for Simeon to sing, or as a song to be sung for Simeon. We can imagine ourselves listening to Simeon’s prophetic voice, or imagine the voice of a poet singing on Simeon’s behalf or in his honour at a later age, from a viewpoint and with insights denied to Simeon himself.

In the Canticle Nunc Dimittis, the old Simeon in prayer in the Temple in Jerusalem prays: “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.” By contrast, Eliot’s speaker sings: “Lord, the Roman hyacinths are blooming in bowls.” This is not prayer at all. Instead, it sets an unexpected scene. The flowers, protected from the winter cold, are Roman, the property and pride of the pagans. Hyacinths were named after Hyacinthus, the youth killed by mistake by Apollo when his rival, Zephyrus, turned the flight of a discus.

The winter sun creeps by the snow hills as the speaker waits for the death wind. Pagan flowers and the pagan myth of a young man’s death flourish in the world of Eliot’s speaker and provide the language for speaking of life and death and life beyond.

Voices are heard from the Christian future, which the blind Simeon will not see. He is still waiting for the wind to blow, imagines only the death wind that will bear him away.

“Grant us thy peace” – the speaker evokes the Agnus Dei from the liturgy. Here we have a prayer for the peace that the Eucharist will offer, although Simeon will never share in the Eucharist.

In the first stanza, he tells of his own death.

In the second stanza, he speaks of the destruction of Jerusalem, decades later, by Rome’s armies. We are pointed towards New Testament images of the foxes that have holes, while the Son of Man has nowhere to rest; of the speaker’s descendants, in flight from Jerusalem from foreign faces and swords, and who will have to occupy the foxes’ homes.

In the third stanza, that flicker of light becomes a blaze of allusions. The Christ will tie cords to drive the traders from the Temple, will be whipped and scourged, and hear the lamentation of the weeping women of Jerusalem on the way to his death on a hill, above the “abomination of desolation,” and to his mother’s sorrow: Stabat mater dolorosa.

Simeon’s death is imminent, but far more is to come, for with the birth of this child a whole world is passing away, ages old and with no tomorrow.

In Nunc Dimittis, Simeon pleads: “Lord now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace.” But the word will be fulfilled in a faith and in an age that Eliot’s speaker can see only in prophecy.

Eliot capitalises “Thee” for the one and only time, as his speaker looks forward to the praise offered by the Church: “They shall praise Thee and suffer in every generation …”

Simeon warns Mary: “A sword will pierce your own soul also.” But we might ask whether the heart, Eliot’s speaker says will be pierced is God’s own heart.

The weary speaker concludes by praying:

Let thy servant depart,
Having seen thy salvation.

At the very end of the poem, we seem to have arrived at the start of Nunc Dimittis. All that we have read so far is now seen in a new light, as a prelude to the canticle. The poet, now baptised, has the hope of a greater hope, having seen his salvation. He is tired of his former life, there is consolation as derision turns to glory. Baptised into the death of Christ, he has been born into new life.

Some links for this seminar:

Keeping score

Douglas Galbraith charts important landmarks in the history of English church music

[The Church Times, 24 September 2010]

Voices raised, hearts lifted

To mark the publication of Sing Praise, the Church Times and the Royal School of Church Music asked people to nominate the best hymns. Jeremy Davies looks at the top five:

[The Church Times, 24 September 2010]

Keeping art and soul together

Pat Ashworth finds that the art of commissioning works for churches has changed a great deal since the swashbuckling days of Walter Hussey

[The Church Times, 19 November 2010]

Let’s have a show of hands

To mark the centenary of the birth of Dean Walter Hussey, Chichester Cathedral commissioned Jaume Plensa’s sculpture Together for its main aerial space. Anthony Cane’s diary tells the inside story of the commissioning process.

[The Church Times, 19 November 2010]



End-of-semester visit

Next week:

Theology of the whole people of God; the theology and rites of ordination; gender and ministry.

9.2: Seminar: Spirituality of ministry; readings on the minister as person, private public and holy.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism and Liturgy, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute. This essay is based on notes prepared for a seminar on 28 November 2011 in the Module EM8824: Liturgy, Worship and Spirituality, on the MTh course.