When is it appropriate to be silent? (see Luke 9: 21) … an icon of Christ the Blessed Silence
Patrick Comerford
We are continuing in Ordinary Time in the Church Calendar and this week began with the Seventeenth Sunday after Trinity (Trinity XVII). Today is one of the Ember Days in September. The calendar of the Church of England in Common Worship today (27 September) remembers Vincent de Paul (1660), Founder of the Congregation of the Mission (Lazarists).
I am on the way to Birmingham, to catch a flight to Dublin for lunch today that is planned as a reunion 55 years later of my school year. We were the Sixth Year in Gormanston College, Co Meath, in 1969. Before today begins, I am taking some quiet time this morning to give thanks, and for reflection, prayer and reading in these ways:
1, today’s Gospel reading;
2, a reflection on the Gospel reading;
3, a prayer from the USPG prayer diary;
4, the Collects and Post-Communion prayer of the day.
When is it appropriate to be silent? (see Luke 9: 21) … an icon of Christ the Blessed Silence
Luke 9: 18-22 (NRSVA):
18 Once when Jesus was praying alone, with only the disciples near him, he asked them, ‘Who do the crowds say that I am?’ 19 They answered, ‘John the Baptist; but others, Elijah; and still others, that one of the ancient prophets has arisen.’ 20 He said to them, ‘But who do you say that I am?’ Peter answered, ‘The Messiah of God.’
21 He sternly ordered and commanded them not to tell anyone, 22 saying, ‘The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, chief priests, and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.’
When is it appropriate to be silent? (see Luke 9: 21) … an icon of Christ the Blessed Silence
Today’s Reflection:
In today’s Gospel reading, after his profound confession of faith, Saint Peter is ‘sternly ordered and commanded them not to tell anyone.’ This is in sharp contrast to the response to this confession of faith in Saint Matthew’s Gospel, when Christ tells Saint Peter: ‘I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church …’ (Matthew 16: 18, NRSVA).
When is it appropriate to be silent and not speak out?
In Saint Mark’s Gospel, when Bartimaeus the blind beggar realises he is in the presence of Christ outside the gates of Jericho, ‘many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly’ (Mark 10: 48).
But are there times when words are not enough, when words are simply not appropriate?
As I look forward to today’s Gormanston reunion, I am reminded of a saying attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi: ‘Preach the Gospel at all times, and when necessary use words.’
There are moments when actions speak louder than words, and when our lifestyle and discipleship offer far better sermons than anything we may say in a sermon.
There are moments to cry out loudly in the presence of God, and there are moments when silence is so appropriate.
So, in my prayers and silent reflections this morning, my thoughts turned to the icon of Christ the Blessed Silence, an icon found in some traditions in the Greek and Russian Orthodox Churches, but that is not so well known outside Orthodoxy.
In this icon, Christ is portrayed as a youthful figure looking like a winged angel, his hands crossed against his chest, sometimes wearing a bishop’s mitre and dressed in a sakkos (σάκκος), the vestment worn by Orthodox bishops. In most of these icons, Christ is shown with an eight-pointed, shining nimbus.
The icon of Christ the Blessed Silence represents his sacrifice, through his young face and crossed hands, and his ecclesiastic mission in his attire. His angel-like face and the wings point to his ministry. In some of these icons, Christ is bareheaded, in others he wears the crown of a bishop, to show that he is both the Great High Priest and the King of Kings. In some icons of Christ the Blessed Silence, Christ holds the cross, spear and sponge of the Crucifixion.
The tradition of icons of Christ the Blessed Silence developed in the 14th and 15th centuries on Mount Athos, in Greece and in the Balkans. In Greece it was associated in Greece with the tradition of Hesychia. This Blessed Silence of Christ associates this icon with the hesychasts in the Eastern Orthodox tradition – the Greek ἡσυχία (hesychia) is a word for silence or quiet.
This icon is known in Russian as Spas Blagoe Molchanie or the Saviour of the Blessed Silence, and even as the Angel of Great Counsel. The earliest icon in this tradition in mediaeval Rus dates from the late 15th century. Christ is portrayed on the iconostasis or icon screen in the Cathedral of the Dormition in the Kremlin in Moscow, above the entrance to the sanctuary and dates from ca 1482 or perhaps later (1514-1515).
This image was widespread in the 17th century, and it is found special reverence in the 18th and 19th centuries among the Old Believers in Russia. Many of these icons were confiscated from the Old Believers and kept in archives in St Petersburg.
The icon of Christ the Blessed Silence Saviour is one of the few types in which Christ is represented in the form of an angel. In these icons, Christ is young and without a beard, looking like an angel or messenger, the angel of the blessed silence.
The sacred silence of Christ in this icon is also associated with the Christ who was born in time to be the Suffering Servant who died in Silence. In the traditional interpretations of Isaiah, the Suffering Servant passages are associated with the crucifixion of Jesus:
He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he did not open his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he did not open his mouth. (Isaiah 53: 7)
So, the suffering Christ was silent, and Christ the Angel of Great Counsel is the Son of God begotten in the Silence of Eternity.
Isaiah also says:
He will not cry or lift up his voice,
or make it heard in the street (Isaiah 42: 2).
These icons often also bear inscriptions from another passage in Isaiah:
The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him,
the spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the spirit of counsel and might,
the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord. (Isaiah 11: 2)
Sometimes Christ holds in his hand a scroll that reads: ‘You are the God of Peace, Father of Mercies, the Angel of Great Counsel.’ These words are in Irmos 5 in the Liturgy of the Nativity:
O God of peace and Father of mercies
Thou has sent to us the Angel of Great Counsel who grants us peace.
So we are guided to the light of the knowledge of God.
Waking early from the night we praise Thee, O Lover of men.
Traditionally, the words of Isaiah 9: 6 are associated with the birth of Christ and the Nativity narratives. They are best known in the English-speaking world because of their use in the libretto by Charles Jennens for Handel’s oratorio Messiah:
For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given:
and the government shall be upon his shoulder:
and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor,
The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.
Jennens was drawing on the text of the Authorised Version or King James Version of the Bible, which reflects the Hebrew text of the Bible as it was known in the 17th century. However, early Christians knew the Biblical texts not in Hebrew, but in the Greek of the Septuagint. In Greek, Isaiah 9: 6 reads somewhat differently:
The ‘Messenger of Great Counsel’ (Ο Μεγάλης Βουλής Άγγελος) in the Septuagint may also be understood as the ‘Angel of Great Counsel.’ Greek versions of the icon of the Angel of Great Counsel sometimes include the inscription:
ἐγὼ γὰρ ἐκ τοῦ θεοῦ ἐξῆλθον καὶ ἥκω:
οὐδὲ γὰρ ἀπ’ ἐμαυτοῦ ἐλήλυθα, ἀλλ’ ἐκεῖνός με ἀπέστειλεν.
For I came from God and now I am here.
I did not come on my own, but he sent me (John 8: 42).
As I think of the icon of Christ the Blessed Silence, I think too of the Logos begotten from God in Eternity and of the birth of the Christ Child in time. He is the one who was, who is and who is to come, the one to cry out loud to and the one in whose presence we should be silent too.
I have said with humour and full sincerity that when my coffin is being taken into the church at my funeral (later than sooner, I hope), that I want to hear Leonard Cohen’s ‘If it be your will’ … and when my coffin is being carried out I want to hear his ‘Dance me to the end of love.’
So often I want to be in control. I want to control the agenda, I want to control conversations, I want to control discussions. And I particularly want to control the words I use, the words others are going to hear me say.
And so, I am humbled at times when I listen to Leonard Cohen’s song, ‘If it be your will.’
Leonard Cohen ended many of those concerts singing this poem, which for me is about submission to God’s will, accepting God’s will, leaving God in control of my spirit:
Leonard Cohen sings of his nearly complete subjection to the divine will.
If he is told to be silent, he will be silent; if he is told to sing, he will sing.
If he is allowed to express his true voice (‘if a voice be true’), he will sing in praise of God from ‘this broken hill’ … from Calvary?
The mercy of God, the compassion of God, the love of God, redeems the burning hearts in hell … if it is God’s will.
Leonard Cohen’s great hope in this will leads to prayer, to the one who can ‘make us well’ if we devote ourselves to God, pray to God, sing to God. But he still prays to God to act on behalf of the suffering.
Cajoling God in song and poetry, Cohen says God has the power to ‘end this night’ of the darkness of the human condition, in which people are dressed in only dirty ‘rags of light’ that are fragmented, that are not fully whole and illuminated.
In this song, I imagine Christ on the cross as he speaks to God the Father as his agony comes to its close:
If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before.
The broken hill is Golgotha where he has been crucified, the rugged and rocky Mount of Calvary.
‘Let the rivers fill’ may refer to the water of his thirst, the water of his sweat, the water that streams from his side, the waters of baptism, the Living Water that will never leave us to thirst.
If it be your will
To make us well
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell.
The Dominican theologian Timothy Radcliffe says: ‘We must wait for the resurrection to break the silence of the tomb.’ We must speak up when it is necessary, and to have the courage to speak is ‘ultimately founded upon the courage to listen.’
Leonard Cohen, If it be your will:
If it be your will
That I speak no more
And my voice be still
As it was before
I will speak no more
I shall abide until
I am spoken for
If it be your will
If it be your will
That a voice be true
From this broken hill
I will sing to you
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing
From this broken hill
All your praises they shall ring
If it be your will
To let me sing
If it be your will
If there is a choice
Let the rivers fill
Let the hills rejoice
Let your mercy spill
On all these burning hearts in hell
If it be your will
To make us well
And draw us near
And bind us tight
All your children here
In their rags of light
In our rags of light
All dressed to kill
And end this night
If it be your will
If it be your will.
When is it appropriate to be silent? (see Luke 9: 21) … an icon of Christ the Blessed Silence
Today’s Prayers (Friday 27 September 2024):
The theme this week in ‘Pray With the World Church’, the Prayer Diary of the Anglican mission agency USPG (United Society Partners in the Gospel), is ‘Our God is Able.’ This theme was introduced on Sunday in reflections by the Revd Thanduxolo Noketshe, priest in charge at Saint Mary and Christ Church, Diocese of North East Caribbean and Aruba, Province of the West Indies.
The USPG Prayer Diary today (Friday 27 September 2024) invites us to pray:
Let us pray for the work and mission of the Diocese of Port Elizabeth in South Africa.
The Collect:
Almighty God,
you have made us for yourself,
and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in you:
pour your love into our hearts and draw us to yourself,
and so bring us at last to your heavenly city
where we shall see you face to face;
through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.
The Post Communion Prayer:
Lord, we pray that your grace
may always precede and follow us,
and make us continually to be given to all good works;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.
Collect, for the ministry of all Christian people:
Almighty and everlasting God,
by whose Spirit the whole body of the Church
is governed and sanctified:
hear our prayer which we offer for all your faithful people,
that in their vocation and ministry
they may serve you in holiness and truth
to the glory of your name;
through our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ,
who is alive and reigns with you,
in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
one God, now and for ever.
Yesterday’s reflection
Continued tomorrow
The school chapel in Gormanton was said to have been inspired by Coventry Cathedral … the year of 1969 meets for lunch in Dublin today (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)
Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible: Anglicised Edition copyright © 1989, 1995 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide. http://nrsvbibles.org
‘If It Be Your Will’ … Leonard Cohen and The Webb Sisters, Live in London
27 September 2024
TS Eliot’s marriage
in Hampstead and
the ‘gloomy’ house
‘with long dark corridors’
The former Hampstead Register Office on Haverstock Hill where TS Eliot and Vivienne Haigh-Wood were married in 1915 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2024)
Patrick Comerford
Today marks the birthday of TS Eliot, who was born 136 years ago in St Louis, Missouri, on 26 September 1888. I was in Hampstead this week to discuss the launch of a book in London next week, and I found myself in an irresistible search for some of the connections in Hamstead with TS Eliot.
Thomas Stearns Eliot married Vivienne Haigh-Wood in Hampstead Register Office on 26 June 1915 and they lived for two years with her parents in Compayne Gardens in West Hampstead.
Three of us met earlier this week at Hampstead Underground station, which was built in 1907 and is the deepest station on the London Underground network, and had lunch around the corner in Flask Walk – a narrow pedestrianised Regency street with antique shops and cafés.
It had been many years since I had spent any time in Hampstead, which is known for its bohemian and literary connections and for what is sometimes labelled dismissively as ‘Hampstead Liberalism’. ‘Hampstead Liberals’ are supposed to be a Guardian-reading North London subspecies of ‘Champagne Socialists’. In its obituary of Peter Jay on Tuesday, the Guardian referred to him being ‘born into the Hampstead Labour aristocracy.’
Certainly, during the Brexit referendum in 2016, it is said 75% or more in Hampstead voted to remain in the EU, so that alliterations sometimes invite comparisons between Hampstead and Hartlepool and Hull, post-industrial northern ‘red wall’ towns that voted to leave and turned from Labour to the Conservatives.
Hampstead has its coffee shops, an eclectic mix of restaurants and bars, Georgian and Regency architecture, antique shops, niche furniture outlets, colourful cobbled side-streets and centuries-old churches.
Hampstead also has many literary associations, with numerous plaques to writers from Agatha Christie to Edith Sitwell. John Keats lived in a Regency Villa beside Hampstead Heath now known as Keats House, where it is said he wrote ‘Ode To a Nightingale’ in the garden. George Orwell worked at a second-hand bookshop in Hampstead called Booklovers’ Corner around 1935-1936. John Betjeman wrote with affection about North London and his childhood in Hampstead and his feelings of ‘being safe in a world of trains and buttered toast.’
Evelyn Underhill, one of only 18 modern women whose lives are commemorated in the Church of England Calendar of Holy Days, is buried in the Additional Burial Ground of Hampstead Parish Church. Penelope Fitzgerald, Booker Prize-winning novelist, poet, essayist and biographer, lived in Hampstead and is buried in the churchyard.
The house at 3 Compayne Gardens where TS Eliot and Vivienne Haigh-Wood lived after their marriage (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2024)
The poet Thomas Stearns Eliot, one of the greatest poets of the 20th century and a central figure in English literature, was married in Hampstead and lived in south Hampstead for about two years.
Eliot was born 136 years ago today, on 26 September 1888. He was a visiting student at Merton College, Oxford, when he met Vivienne Haigh-Wood, and they were married in Hampstead Registry office on Haverstock Hill with no formal announcement. They were both 26 and had known each other for just three months. The witnesses were Lucy Ely Thayer, a sister of the poet and publisher Scofield Thayer who introduced the couple, and Vivienne’s aunt, Lillia C Symes.
The couple moved in with her parents at 3 Compayne Gardens, an 1870s house in South Hampstead that Eliot found ‘rather gloomy, with long dark corridors.’ Her father, the artist Charles Haigh-Wood (1854-1927), inherited a property portfolio from his Irish-born mother Mary (Haigh) Wood, including the rental from a group of six houses on Haigh Terrace, between the Mariners’ Church and Upper George’s Street in Dún Laoghaire, and a seventh house on Upper George’s Street, on the corner with Haigh Terrace.
During Eliot’s two years in South Hampstead, The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock was published in Chicago in 1915, although Eliot had written it four years earlier in 1911.
The actor and writer Edward Petherbridge has produced a short film, While the Music Lasts, about Eliot’s time in South Hampstead during World War I. He claims that during those two years the seeds were sown of The Waste Land. It was later published in 1922 and is one of Eliot’s most seminal works, his eulogy to culture in a world he felt had forgotten its roots.
Petherbridge’s film features a portrait of Eliot and some London street scenes by another former resident of South Hampstead, photographer Bill Brandt, whose work offers documentary of 20th century British life. The film also refers to the life of Mina Loy, the woman known as the ‘forgotten Modernist’, who grew up in Compayne Gardens.
The marriage was difficult, and ended in separation in 1933. Eliot said later: ‘To her the marriage brought no happiness … to me it brought the state of mind out of which came The Waste Land.’ Vivienne died in 1947, and the story of their tumultuous marriage is told in the film Tom and Viv (1994).
Three years after their separation and 20 years after he had lived at Compayne Gardens, Eliot recalled Hampstead as one the ‘gloomy hills of London’. In Burnt Norton (1936), he speaks of
… the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.
Next year marks the 110th anniversary of Eliot’s marriage in Hampstead Register Office on 26 June 1915 and 60th anniversary of his death on 4 January 1965.
Patrick Comerford
Today marks the birthday of TS Eliot, who was born 136 years ago in St Louis, Missouri, on 26 September 1888. I was in Hampstead this week to discuss the launch of a book in London next week, and I found myself in an irresistible search for some of the connections in Hamstead with TS Eliot.
Thomas Stearns Eliot married Vivienne Haigh-Wood in Hampstead Register Office on 26 June 1915 and they lived for two years with her parents in Compayne Gardens in West Hampstead.
Three of us met earlier this week at Hampstead Underground station, which was built in 1907 and is the deepest station on the London Underground network, and had lunch around the corner in Flask Walk – a narrow pedestrianised Regency street with antique shops and cafés.
It had been many years since I had spent any time in Hampstead, which is known for its bohemian and literary connections and for what is sometimes labelled dismissively as ‘Hampstead Liberalism’. ‘Hampstead Liberals’ are supposed to be a Guardian-reading North London subspecies of ‘Champagne Socialists’. In its obituary of Peter Jay on Tuesday, the Guardian referred to him being ‘born into the Hampstead Labour aristocracy.’
Certainly, during the Brexit referendum in 2016, it is said 75% or more in Hampstead voted to remain in the EU, so that alliterations sometimes invite comparisons between Hampstead and Hartlepool and Hull, post-industrial northern ‘red wall’ towns that voted to leave and turned from Labour to the Conservatives.
Hampstead has its coffee shops, an eclectic mix of restaurants and bars, Georgian and Regency architecture, antique shops, niche furniture outlets, colourful cobbled side-streets and centuries-old churches.
Hampstead also has many literary associations, with numerous plaques to writers from Agatha Christie to Edith Sitwell. John Keats lived in a Regency Villa beside Hampstead Heath now known as Keats House, where it is said he wrote ‘Ode To a Nightingale’ in the garden. George Orwell worked at a second-hand bookshop in Hampstead called Booklovers’ Corner around 1935-1936. John Betjeman wrote with affection about North London and his childhood in Hampstead and his feelings of ‘being safe in a world of trains and buttered toast.’
Evelyn Underhill, one of only 18 modern women whose lives are commemorated in the Church of England Calendar of Holy Days, is buried in the Additional Burial Ground of Hampstead Parish Church. Penelope Fitzgerald, Booker Prize-winning novelist, poet, essayist and biographer, lived in Hampstead and is buried in the churchyard.
The house at 3 Compayne Gardens where TS Eliot and Vivienne Haigh-Wood lived after their marriage (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2024)
The poet Thomas Stearns Eliot, one of the greatest poets of the 20th century and a central figure in English literature, was married in Hampstead and lived in south Hampstead for about two years.
Eliot was born 136 years ago today, on 26 September 1888. He was a visiting student at Merton College, Oxford, when he met Vivienne Haigh-Wood, and they were married in Hampstead Registry office on Haverstock Hill with no formal announcement. They were both 26 and had known each other for just three months. The witnesses were Lucy Ely Thayer, a sister of the poet and publisher Scofield Thayer who introduced the couple, and Vivienne’s aunt, Lillia C Symes.
The couple moved in with her parents at 3 Compayne Gardens, an 1870s house in South Hampstead that Eliot found ‘rather gloomy, with long dark corridors.’ Her father, the artist Charles Haigh-Wood (1854-1927), inherited a property portfolio from his Irish-born mother Mary (Haigh) Wood, including the rental from a group of six houses on Haigh Terrace, between the Mariners’ Church and Upper George’s Street in Dún Laoghaire, and a seventh house on Upper George’s Street, on the corner with Haigh Terrace.
During Eliot’s two years in South Hampstead, The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock was published in Chicago in 1915, although Eliot had written it four years earlier in 1911.
The actor and writer Edward Petherbridge has produced a short film, While the Music Lasts, about Eliot’s time in South Hampstead during World War I. He claims that during those two years the seeds were sown of The Waste Land. It was later published in 1922 and is one of Eliot’s most seminal works, his eulogy to culture in a world he felt had forgotten its roots.
Petherbridge’s film features a portrait of Eliot and some London street scenes by another former resident of South Hampstead, photographer Bill Brandt, whose work offers documentary of 20th century British life. The film also refers to the life of Mina Loy, the woman known as the ‘forgotten Modernist’, who grew up in Compayne Gardens.
The marriage was difficult, and ended in separation in 1933. Eliot said later: ‘To her the marriage brought no happiness … to me it brought the state of mind out of which came The Waste Land.’ Vivienne died in 1947, and the story of their tumultuous marriage is told in the film Tom and Viv (1994).
Three years after their separation and 20 years after he had lived at Compayne Gardens, Eliot recalled Hampstead as one the ‘gloomy hills of London’. In Burnt Norton (1936), he speaks of
… the wind that sweeps the gloomy hills of London,
Hampstead and Clerkenwell, Campden and Putney,
Highgate, Primrose and Ludgate. Not here
Not here the darkness, in this twittering world.
Next year marks the 110th anniversary of Eliot’s marriage in Hampstead Register Office on 26 June 1915 and 60th anniversary of his death on 4 January 1965.
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