Sunday, 25 March 2012

The sun shines on the ‘canon in residence’

Unseasonal sunshine on the River Liffey this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Patrick Comerford

I am the canon-in-residence in Christ Church Cathedral this week. So I had a busy day, preaching at the Choral Eucharist this morning, and taking part in Choral Evensong later this afternoon.

The setting for the Eucharist this morning was Francis Grier’s Missa Trinitatis Sanctae, composed in 1991 for Trinity Sunday in Westminster Abbey.

This English composer has been a chorister at Saint George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle, a music scholar at Eton, and an organ scholar at King’s College, Cambridge, as well as Assistant Organist and then Organist at Christ Church Oxford. He has written extensively for the Anglican choral tradition, and he was an appropriate composer for our Eucharist on Passion Sunday this morning as his latest work The Passion.

In the afternoon, the settings for the Preces and Responses were by Thomas Ebdon (1738-1811), while the settings for the canticles Magnificat and Nunc Dimittis were from the Evening Service in F Minor by Alan Gray (1855-1935), once the organist at Trinity College, Cambridge.

A sunny afternoon in Trinity College Dublin (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

In between, there was time for lunch at the Taverna in Dublin’s Italian Quarter on the north side of the River Liffey, and for a stroll through Trinity College and along Grafton Street and Wicklow Street. The sun was warm, there were bright reflections in the river, and it seems as though the arrival of Summer Time has brought exceptional early summer sunshine too.

After Evensong, the temperature was still hovering between 16 and 20, which is simply unbelievable in Ireland for this time of the year. The extra hour summer time gives was a chance not to pass on. Two of us went back across the river again, and out to the North Bull Island for a stroll along the long beach on this lengthy, narrow offshore island.

Long stretches of sand, sunshine and a view across to Sutton from Bull Island this afternoon (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

We parked near the sand-dunes, and crossed onto the beach, which was bathed in warm hazy sunshine. The sand was flat and the tide was out. Despite the hazy sunshine, there were views across Dublin Bay to Bray Head in the south and Sutton and Howth Head nearer to the north.

Although this can be a very crowded beach in the summer, the tide was out in the late afternoon, and in places there were open, isolated broad stretches of sand.

Families were playing with kites, children were making sandcastles, a few younger men were learning to dive on the flat sands – even the ice-cream sellers were out in their vans with their hurdy-gurdy tunes. One couple had found a lengthy sandbank to walk along and in the reflections it looked as though they were walking on water.

Hazy sunshine at the wooden bridge linking Dollymount and Bull Island (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

On the way back from Dollymount, we stopped to look at Clontarf Castle, which is said to date back to 1172, when Hugh de Lacy built the castle on the site as part of an inner circle of defences protecting Dublin. Later, the Knights Templar and the Knights Hospitaller had a house on this site until the Dissolution of the Monasteries at the Reformation in the 16th century.

Clontarf Castle later passed to the Fenton and King families, but during the Cromwellian era, Clontarf was granted in 1649 to John Blackwell, who sold it to John Vernon, who was Quarter-Master General of Cromwell’s army. The family motto was Vernon Semper Viret, “Vernon always flourishes,” and the Vernon family remained in Clontarf for almost 300 years.

George Frideric Handel was a frequent visitor to Clontarf Castle during his stay in Dublin for the premiere of his Messiah in 1742. Dorothy Vernon of Clontarf Castle was from Hanover and was said to be “particularly intimate” with the composer, who wrote a piece called Forest Music for her, said to combine German and Irish melodies. It is said that the area of Dollymount takes its name from this member of the Vernon family.

Clontarf Castle ... home to the Vernon family for almost 300 years (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

Between 1835 and 1837, the distinguished Irish architect William Vetruvius Morrison rebuilt Clontarf Castle for the Vernon family. The last direct descendant line of Vernons to live at Clontarf Castle was Edward Kingston Vernon (1869-1967), who inherited Clontarf from his father in 1913.

Edward Kingston lived in the castle for only six months before leasing it to his nephew John George Oulton, and the castle was sold to the Oulton family in 1933. JG Oulton died in Clonttarf Castle in 1952, and his son Desmond Oulton had to sell the castle to pay death duties and debts. The building lay vacant for a number of years until 1957, but has since become a four-star hotel.

It was after 6, and the sun was still warm – the temperature was still around 15 or 16. As we reached the north bank of the Liffey, there was a warm glow from the sun on the waters of the river. And there are promises that this sunny weather is going to continue for the rest of this week ... a good week for “the canon-in-residence.”

Sunshine in the lingering late evening on the banks of the River Liffey (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2012)

‘Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out’

A carving of Saint Philip on the pulpit in Saint Philip’s Church, Leicester ... was he trying to keep people from seeing Jesus? (Photograph: Patrick Comerford, 2011)

Patrick Comerford

Christ Church Cathedral Dublin,

Sunday 25 March 2012,

The Fifth Sunday in Lent,

11 a.m., Choral Eucharist

Jeremiah 31: 31-34; Psalm 51: 1-13; Hebrews 5: 5-10; John 12: 20-33.

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

I wonder: what drives you with Passion?

What fills you with Passion?

What gets your heart moving to the point that you want to get going, to do something about it?

I’m asking because this Sunday was once popularly known as “Passion Sunday” – it was the name given in many traditions of the Church to the Sunday before Palm Sunday, until some confusion arose after the Liturgical reforms of the 1950s and the 1960s. But The Book of Common Prayer in the Church of Ireland and Common Worship in the Church of England still refer to these last two weeks in Lent as “Passiontide.”

Passion Sunday is so important that we are not celebrating the Feast of the Annunciation this morning. It normally falls on 25 March, but we have moved it to tomorrow [Monday, 26 March 2012] and this morning our Bible readings are the Lectionary readings for Passion Sunday.

I imagine that the Greeks who are in Jerusalem in time for the Passover and who come to Jesus in our Gospel reading this morning, must have been caught up in the passion and the tumult in the city that day.

Because they are Greeks, I imagine, they come to Philip and Andrew, and say they want to see Jesus. Perhaps they have heard the commotion, seen the crowds, realised they are present at a great moment in time and in history.

As Greeks, they probably approached Philip and Andrew expecting that they would understand them – for these are the two disciples with Greek names.

But do they get to see Jesus?

We do not know, we are never told if they get to see him before, later on this chapter, he goes away and hides (John 12: 36).

All we know is that they go to Philip; Philip puts them on hold and he goes to Andrew; and Andrew and Philip conspire to put them on hold as they go to Jesus.

Recently I was in Saint Philip’s Church in Leicester where the carving of Saint Philip on the pulpit made me wonder whether he was on a mobile phone, talking to someone, as if he had left these waiting Greeks on hold.

Don’t you just hate it when you’re on the phone and someone puts you on hold when you make a call … when they play that awful “musak”? And then, inevitably, instead of being put through, you get cut off

But if they could overhear, through the clamouring crowds, they might have heard that Jesus is never going to put them on hold or to cut them off.

Instead, the Holy Spirit speaks of the coming glory, and then Jesus tells us that the ruler of this world will be driven out (verse 31) and that Christ is going to draw all people to himself (verse 32).

Would it fill you with Passion if you knew that the values of this world are going to be overthrown and that all people are going to be drawn into Christ’s plans for the Kingdom?

Would it stir you with passion if you were feeling cheated by our economic and financial structures, feeling cheated by many of our politicians, feeling cheated by the prospect of your children emigrating or your house being repossessed or the threat of long-term unemployment, to hear Christ say, as he says this morning: “Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out” (John 12: 31)?

The Annunciation ... Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s painting, Ecce Ancilla Domini! (1850), now in the Tate Gallery, London

It’s a passion that stirs the Virgin Mary after she realises the consequences of the Annunciation – which we are going to celebrate tomorrow instead of today.

After realising the consequence of her Yes to God’s plans, she sets out, she goes “with haste” (Luke 1: 39) to see her cousin Elizabeth, who is pregnant too, and shares in words of passion her vision:

for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
and sent the rich away empty. (Luke 1: 46-53)

It’s the same passion that inspires the Prophet Jeremiah as he writes this morning of his vision of a new covenant that is going to be written in the hearts of the people (Jeremiah 31: 31-34).

Jeremiah has spent much time and energy pointing out to the people how over the generations they have systematically violated the covenant that was agreed with God on Mount Sinai.

They have violated that Covenant through an economic policy that abuses the poor.

They have violated that Covenant through a foreign policy that depends on arms.

They have violated that Covenant by theological practices that offend God, and by illusions of privilege before God.

They have violated that Covenant in a way that brings with it severe sanctions, culminating in the destruction of Jerusalem and the deportation of its leading citizens.

But, in the wake of brokenness and shame, defeat and anxiety, Jeremiah then asserts God’s resolve to renew this broken covenant, God’s promise to “make a new covenant.”

The law, once written on stone tablets, will now be written “on their hearts” (verse 33) – the people will be faithful, and following the Law will be a matter of individual conscience and willpower. Instead of the Covenant on Mount Sinai, which was written on stone tablets, this new covenant will be written on our hearts. And in the verses that follow this reading (verses 36-40), we are promised that this Covenant will last for ever.

This covenant depends on the mutual fidelity of God and the people. This covenant is a genuine, a passionate new beginning.

God is willing to begin anew. God is ready to forgive. God promises that this new relationship is one marked by generosity and grace on God’s part.

Because of God’s readiness, God’s generosity, God’s promises, we have the hope that it can all begin again.

This promise of a new covenant resonated with the early Christians who wanted to articulate the newness of God that they experienced through Christ.

God’s gracious generosity permits, allows, demands forgiveness and reconciliation, even for those who do not seem to deserve it. The American theologian Walter Brueggemann calls this claim in Jeremiah “the staggering readiness of God to forgive.”

And he goes on to ask whether there are modern, contemporary parallels of the predicament that Jeremiah finds?

In a sermon last October, he said that the ‘Occupy Wall Street’ protest and similar protests around the world serve as a vivid and unmistakable reminder that our economy is one marked by “a broken social covenant whereby too many are shut out of the economic covenant that makes society possible and workable.”

When we think about “forgive and forget” in our society, it contradicts the prevailing patterns in our society, where nothing is ever forgiven and nothing is ever forgotten: the Ulster Covenant, the Men of the Somme and whether they were stabbed in the back by the men of 1916, the War of Independence, the Civil War, the “Troubles.”

When and where can we ever think about “beginning again”?

But God’s generosity reaches beyond our need to be satisfied by retaliation.

And in a renewed, covenantal society, would our values revolve around the command to love our neighbour? What are the political and socio-economic implications of that?

God invites us to a fresh generosity, to move beyond petty and deep resentment, to embrace each other. Brueggemann says: “Where there is no forgiveness and no forgetting, society is fated to replay forever the same old hostilities, resentments, and alienations. What forgiveness accomplishes, human as well as divine, is to break the vicious cycles of such deathly repetition.”

Jeremiah continues to challenge us about what we need to do, and to remind us of what does not need to be. We are invited to move beyond “fate” to possibility.

When Jeremiah promises a new covenant that overturns the old order and that is written on our hearts, when Christ announces that Now, Now, is the judgment of this world, now, now is the ruler of the world being driven out, do you think this would bring passionate hope to those who have been counted out in the past?

And if so, how can we, as the Church, ensure that it stirs them up with passion today, that it renews their confidence, that it sets their hearts on fire, that it gives new life to their faith, that they come alive with Easter hope for all, for the whole earth, for the whole creation?

What if Jeremiah is right this morning?

What if Christ is right this morning?

If they are right, then we have no need to fear. We need to follow. When Christ is lifted up, he draws all people to him: the Greeks who are telling Philip and Andrew that they want to see Christ, but are put on hold; the Pharisees who fear Christ is stirring up the people; the prophets of doom; and the peasants just trying to get by.

The God who Christ proclaims, the God who created the universe, is still drawing the universe towards the justice for which it aches. That God is calling. The days are surely coming. God wants to inscribe God’s just and liberating word on our hearts, and for all, from the least to the greatest, to know it, to experience it, and to celebrate it.

And so, may all we think, say and be to the praise, honour and glory of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.


Most merciful God,
who by the death and resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ
delivered and saved the world:
Grant that by faith in him who suffered on the cross,
we may triumph in the power of his victory;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Post Communion Prayer:

God of hope,
in this eucharist we have tasted
the promise of your heavenly banquet
and the richness of eternal life.
May we who bear witness to the death of your Son,
also proclaim the glory of his resurrection,
for he is Lord for ever and ever.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism and Liturgy, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a canon of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin. This sermon was preached at the Choral Eucharist in the Cathedral on Sunday, 25 March 2012.

Poems for Lent (30): ‘Fifth Sunday In Lent’ by John Keble

The University Church of Saint Mary, Oxford, where John Keble preached his Assize Sermon in 1833 (Photograph: Patrick Comerford)

Patrick Comerford

Until the reform of the Roman liturgy in the 1960s, this Sunday, the Fifth Sunday in Lent, was known as Passion Sunday. This Sunday remains Passion Sunday in many member Churches of the Anglican Communion, and while the name is not used in the calendar or directory of the Church of Ireland, both The Book of Common Prayer in the Church of Ireland and Common Worship in the Church of England describe these last two weeks in Lent as Passiontide.

In those Anglican Churches that follow the Sarum Use, crimson vestments, altar frontals and hangings come into use on the Fifth Sunday in Lent – replacing the Lenten array of unbleached muslin cloth. Vestments are crimson until, and including, Holy Saturday. Reflecting the recent playing down of Passiontide, the liturgical resources in the Church of England’s Common Worship now suggest red for Holy Week only, with the exception of white for the Eucharist on Maundy Thursday.

I hope to say a little more about Passion and Passiontide in my sermon at the Choral Eucharist in Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin, later this morning at 11 a.m..

The priest-poet John Keble (1792-1866), who died on 29 March 1866, is commemorated in the Calendar of the Episcopal Church of Scotland later this is week on Thursday (29 March) – although the Church of England remembers him on 14 July – is regarded as the founder of the Oxford Movement because of his Assize Sermon, preached in Great Saint Mary’s, Oxford, on 14 July 1833.

Some years earlier, in The Christian Year (1827), Keble sought to provide a poem for each Sunday and major feast day or festival in the Church of England. This led to his appointment as Professor of Poetry in Oxford University in 1831.

I am preaching at the Cathedral Eucharist in Christ Church Cathedral later this morning. But my Poem for Lent this morning, ‘Fifth Sunday In Lent,’ comes from Keble’s collection The Christian Year.

Fifth Sunday In Lent, by John Keble

And Moses said, I will now turn aside, and see this great sight, why the bush is not burnt. – Exodus 3: 3.

The historic Muse, from age to age,
Through many a waste heart-sickening page
Hath traced the works of Man:
But a celestial call to-day
Stays her, like Moses, on her way,
The works of God to scan.

Far seen across the sandy wild,
Where, like a solitary child,
He thoughtless roamed and free,
One towering thorn was wrapt in flame –
Bright without blaze it went and came:
Who would not turn and see?

Along the mountain ledges green
The scattered sheep at will may glean
The Desert's spicy stores:
The while, with undivided heart,
The shepherd talks with God apart,
And, as he talks, adores.

Ye too, who tend Christ’s wildering flock,
Well may ye gather round the rock
That once was Sion’s hill:
To watch the fire upon the mount
Still blazing, like the solar fount,
Yet unconsuming still.

Caught from that blaze by wrath Divine,
Lost branches of the once-loved vine,
Now withered, spent, and sere,
See Israel’s sons, like glowing brands,
Tossed wildly o’er a thousand lands
For twice a thousand year.

God will not quench nor slay them quite,
But lifts them like a beacon-light
The apostate Church to scare;
Or like pale ghosts that darkling roam,
Hovering around their ancient home,
But find no refuge there.

Ye blessed Angels! if of you
There be, who love the ways to view
Of Kings and Kingdoms here;
(And sure, ’tis worth an Angel’s gaze,
To see, throughout that dreary maze,
God teaching love and fear:)

Oh say, in all the bleak expanse
Is there a spot to win your glance,
So bright, so dark as this?
A hopeless faith, a homeless race,
Yet seeking the most holy place,
And owning the true bliss!

Salted with fire they seem, to show
How spirits lost in endless woe
May undecaying live.
Oh, sickening thought! yet hold it fast
Long as this glittering world shall last,
Or sin at heart survive.

And hark! amid the flashing fire,
Mingling with tones of fear and ire,
Soft Mercy’s undersong –
’Tis Abraham's God who speaks so loud,
His people’s cries have pierced the cloud,
He sees, He sees their wrong;

He is come down to break their chain;
Though nevermore on Sion’s fane
His visible ensign wave;
’Tis Sion, wheresoe’er they dwell,
Who, with His own true Israel,
Shall own Him strong to save.

He shall redeem them one by one,
Where’er the world-encircling sun
Shall see them meekly kneel:
All that He asks on Israel's part,
Is only that the captive heart
Its woe and burthen feel.
Gentiles! with fixed yet awful eye
Turn ye this page of mystery,
Nor slight the warning sound:
"Put off thy shoes from off thy feet -
The place where man his God shall meet,
Be sure, is holy ground."


Most merciful God,
who by the death and resurrection of your Son Jesus Christ
delivered and saved the world:
Grant that by faith in him who suffered on the cross,
we may triumph in the power of his victory;
through Jesus Christ our Lord.

Post Communion Prayer:

God of hope,
in this eucharist we have tasted
the promise of your heavenly banquet
and the richness of eternal life.
May we who bear witness to the death of your Son,
also proclaim the glory of his resurrection,
for he is Lord for ever and ever.

Canon Patrick Comerford is Lecturer in Anglicanism and Liturgy, the Church of Ireland Theological Institute, and a canon of Christ Church Cathedral, Dublin.