Saturday’s Easter Vigil for 2016 at Sacred Heart Church Hove

The Easter Vigil is probably my favourite liturgical celebration, combining the drama of fire, light and explosive sounds with anticipation of the imminent arrival of the holiest day of the year.

Normally the Vigil begins with the blessing and lighting of the paschal candle in the church car park. A new paschal candle is blessed and lit every year at Easter and then used throughout the year during special occasions such as baptisms and funerals.         

(Previously, passers-by who have seen the flaming brazier in the church's car park have innocently enquired whether we are ‘having a barbeque?’)

However Saturday’s weather forecast was for torrential rain and, sure enough, by 7pm it was bucketing down.  Fortunately, altar server Georges was prepared and had set up a fire in the church porch – with a bucket of water nearby and a fire extinguisher.

 

On schedule at 8pm all the lights in the church were extinguished and Fr Kevin and the other altar servers processed to the porch bearing the paschal candle. After blessing the fire, Fr Kevin cut the shape of a cross in the candle, then the Greek signs for Alpha and Omega, signifying God is the beginning and the end, and finally the numbers 2016. Five grains of incense were then inserted into the candle representing the five wounds of Christ - a tricky operation at the best of times but doubly difficult when the priest has to hold a small torch in his other hand!

 

Finally the large candle was lit from the fire and triumphantly borne into the dark church with the cry ‘The Light of Christ’ to which the response was ‘Thanks be to God.’ The refrain was said three times while the congregation lit their own small candles from the paschal one, passing the light to each other until a warm glow suffused the entire church, walls and all.

Fr Kevin then sang the Easter proclamation (Exsultet) which glories in the goodness of God who created all and His son who ‘broke the prison-bars of death.’   The congregation's candles were snuffed out so that the church was again in darkness, lit only by the faint glow of the paschal candle, now placed in a candlestand next to the altar.

There followed a series of readings from the Old and New Testaments, interspersed with prayers and psalms sung by the congregation – led by our magnificent choir (seemingly turbo-charged for the occasion) under Jane and our nimble-fingered organist.

After the last reading from the Old Testament there was a moment’s pause – before an explosion of noise and light as bells rang out, clappers sounded and all the lights were switched on. Servers scurried round ensuring that all the candles in the church were lit, even the ones ten feet up on the side walls that are only lit once a year.

 

Following the reading of the Gospel and the homily, we segued smoothly into the baptismal liturgy. Three individuals were to be baptised and four more were to be confirmed during the night’s celebrations. This part of the Vigil is particularly eagerly anticipated as the congregation seems to sense – and warmly welcomes - the catechumens’ desire to publicly acknowledge the faith that had led them on their journey to the altar at Sacred Heart.

 

Fortunately, our parish priest has a well-modulated singing voice and sufficient stamina, both of which are needed for the Vigil. After the Litany of the Saints was sung, the baptismal water was blessed, lowering the paschal candle into it several times as required by the Vigil rite.

 

 

Then the prescribed questions were put, the Oil of Catechumens was applied and, one by one, the individuals were baptised, a jug of –presumably warm or at least tepid – water was poured over the head three times while the words of baptism were pronounced.

 

 

Following this the three were clad in white garments and lit their own baptismal candles from the paschal one. Then, bearing their lit candles, they went into the body of the church, passing their light from person to person until the candles of the entire congregation were lit. The entire congregation was then invited to hold up their lit candles and renew their baptismal promises, renouncing Satan and all his works and promising to serve God in the holy Catholic church, following which the priest walked around the church sprinkling holy water on everyone – and, when he had returned to the altar, giving the altar servers and himself a good sprinkling.     

Then the newly-baptised three were joined on the sanctuary by the four persons to be confirmed in the faith, all seven standing facing the congregation, their sponsors standing behind them, one hand on the candidate's shoulder to indicate their support and sponsorship. Again, the prescribed questions were put and the candidates were anointed, this time with a different oil, the Oil of Chrism, the Holy Oil used to anoint prophets and kings. Several were visibly moved as Fr Kevin moved down the line, blessing and praying for each one.

 

 

The evening’s Vigil was concluded with Mass, more specifically the liturgy of the Eucharist, when the newly-baptised for the first time participated with the rest of the congregation.  

After Mass there were more than the usual amount of smiles, handshakes, hugs and arm squeezes as ‘Happy Easter’ greetings were exchanged.

One of the things that I find particularly moving about the Easter Vigil – apart from the drama of the occasion itself – was the way it attracts many people, visitors and locals, who do not regularly attend the church. Reaching across the pews to shake a stranger’s hand while wishing him or her a friendly ‘Peace’ or ‘Happy Easter’ often gets a fulsome response, particularly from the elderly. It’s a way of sharing the paschal candle’s light and warmth.   

As we left the church servers offered us a choice of wine gums or jelly babies from their baskets.

Eh…can we go back to chocolates next year, Fr Kevin?                

Hove’s Ecumenical Walk of Witness 2016

The annual ‘Walk of Witness’ was rather different this year.

 For a start, the weather was glorious with bright blue skies, nary a cloud in sight, with tropical – well for Hove - temperatures of 16 degrees Celsius (61 F). Not bad for the tail end of March and a lot better than last year’s cool and wet walk (see last year's Walk).

Walker numbers were up too; in 2014, I counted 150 walkers, last year 164 set off, and this year there was an increase to 182 (although that had fallen to 165 by the end of the walk). Part of the reason for the increase was the participation of the Chemin Neuf Community (a Roman Catholic ecumenical community founded in France 43 years ago).

The number of stops (‘Stations of the Cross’) was also reduced from seven to four. Instead of stopping outside several of the participating churches, as last year, the stops this year were at what may be loosely called ‘landmarks,’ ending as usual at St Andrew’s Church.

Finally, we walked a few hundred yards more this year as the procession started from the north side of Brunswick Square, rather than from the traditional start outside St John the Baptist’s Church.

 

The First Station - Jesus is Condemned to Death – was at the top of Brunswick Square, which is famed for its stunning Regency architecture. As the photo shows, there are renovations underway and quite a lot of scaffolding in the area.

After the reading and reflection we sang ‘Crown him with Many Crowns’ a composition by the prolific Victorian composer Matthew Bridges, written three years after he became a Roman Catholic as a result of the influence of John Henry Newman and the Oxford Movement.

 

Then we formed a straggling crocodile and, following the cross-bearer, we strolled for a few hundred yards along the pavement beside busy Western Road until we came to Palmeira Square, best known for its floral clock built in 1953 to commemorate the coronation of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth.

 

At this Second Station – Simon of Cyrene helps to carry the cross – we listened to the Gospel and a meditation and then sang (those of us that knew the tune!) the seventeenth-century hymn ‘My Song is Love Unknown.’ Among the 182 walkers was a dog that attempted its own version of the hymn but was dragged away by his unimpressed owner.

 

Then it was on to Hove Town Hall – and more scaffolding. By now a few of the elderly walkers had retired and the line of walkers itself stretched for more than 100 yards. Fr Kevin read the Gospel and gave a short reflection for the Third Station – Jesus speaks to his mother. Then we launched into one of my favourite hymns ‘Were You There when they Crucified my Lord?’ It was probably composed by African-American slaves in the 19^th century, likely before the American Civil War. The lyrics are simple, moving and beautiful while the tune has a call-and-response structure and the pained ‘Oh’ that begins the third line is sometimes sung with such a hold and slur that it sends goose-bumps down my spine. Brrrr!

 
Finally, the home stretch, past the pavement cafes, past the gawping shoppers of George Street, the procession made its way to the Anglican Church of St Andrew, beside the busy Church Road. The church is of a striking Norman-influenced design and is surrounded by a lovely old churchyard, replete with impressive gravestones and memorials. It is the final resting place of many prominent Hove families as well as Sir George Everest, who gave his name to the world’s highest mountain, and George Westphal, the last surviving officer to serve on Nelson’s flagship, the Victory, at Trafalgar.

 

And in this fittingly serene and weighty space we prayed the Fourth Station – Jesus dies on the Cross. After the meditation we sang another favourite, Isaac Watts’ timeless classic ‘When I survey the Wondrous Cross,’ still going strong after more than 300 years. They say that Isaac Watts was a sickly and unattractive child - but he was also something of a genius, studying Latin from age four, Greek at age nine, French from 11 and Hebrew from 13. He also had great skill at rhyming and – despite his father trying to thrash ‘this rhyming nonsense’ out of him, he went on to write more than 600 hymns.

For all of us, particularly the wilting elderly and the waning youngsters, it was time for refreshments in St Andrew’s Hall.

(A belated apology to some of my friends if I ignored you today: if you saw me behaving strangely, muttering to myself, I was just trying to count the number of genuine walkers. It’s not easy, you have to discount the ‘fellow travellers’ who walk alongside; in the end I restricted the numbers to those who carried the hymn sheet and their companions.)    

Lee Miller at the IWM London

Last week I spent a pleasant afternoon at the ‘Lee Miller: A Woman’s War’ photo exhibition at the Imperial War Museum, London.

The Imperial War Museum was a favourite haunt of the male members of our family for the past 20+ years, partly because of the ‘boys’ toys’ aspect of militaria, but also because of the displays’ ability to put flesh on the global conflicts of the 20^th century, politics red in tooth and claw.

 

The very entrance to the museum is a display of shock and awe with its twin 15-inch naval guns, each of them weighing 100 tons and capable of firing a shell more than 16 miles. The guns were built almost exactly 100 years ago and one of them last saw action during the invasion of Normandy in June 1944.

 

Inside, the atrium - unsympathetically re-modelled a few years ago - is stuffed with warplanes, tanks, artillery, rockets and other machines designed solely to destroy and maim.

Thankfully, the permanent gallaries provide space to reflect on various aspects of war, such as the moving display on the history of the Holocaust, the Ashcroft medal gallery, the Secret War displays that illustrate the extreme heroism of spies and guerillas, and the make-do spirit of A Family in Wartime.

The Lee Williams exhibition is on the third floor.

Frankly, before I went I knew very little about her apart from the fact that she was one of the very few female photographers who gained access to the Second World War theatres of conflict. There are many iconic phots from WW2 but I can recall only a handful of photographers: Eisenstaedt, Robert Capa, Joe Rosenthal, Dickey Chapelle…I’m flagging already! Before attending the exhibition, the only photo linked to Lee Williams that I remember was the one taken of her in Hitler’s bath – on the same day that the Fuhrer took his life. 

 

Elizabeth ‘Lee’ Miller was a quite remarkable woman. Born in the US in 1907, in her early 20s she was one of the most famous fashion models in New York and, by her mid-20s, she was living in Paris, collaborating with the famous surrealist Man Ray. Her circle of friends included Picasso and Jean Cocteau. After establishing a portrait and commercial photography studio in New York, she married an Egyptian, moved to Cairo – but it did not work out and she was living in London with the surrealist painter Roland Penrose (whom she later married) when war broke out. Refusing to flee for refuge to the US, she instead became a war correspondent for Vogue and Conde Nast.

Her war work, particularly photographing the horrors of the Nazi concentration camps at Buchenwald and Dachau, took a toll and she suffered from severe clinical depression after the war. Lee and Roland moved to Chiddingly, East Sussex where she transitioned into a successful gourmet cook before succumbing to cancer in 1977, aged 70.        

 

There are over 150 images (and Picasso’s portrait of her) in the exhibition, as well as uniforms, cameras, letters, videos and personal possessions.

Each visitor will take something memorable away from these black and white prints. For me, it was the variety of women’s work in the war years (including armed women in irregular Home Guard units), how fashion considerations impinged even on uniforms during wartime, and the memorable war-time portraits, such as the exhausted nurse at an evacuation hospital, the faces of refugees, collaborators, prisoners and unrepentant Germans.

 

The Red Admiral's Message

Winter lingers on with temperatures barely above 8ͦ C (46ͦ F) by day, freezing - or close to it - at night. The body craves warmth, the central heating is turned on earlier each evening; the mind too, seems chilled, stuttering along, taking refuge in a diet of tv news and documentaries, plus – hooray - the new series of Madame Secretary.

Lent arrived suddenly this year. Yesterday was Ash Wednesday and we left Mass with large black crosses of ash traced on our foreheads. It’s always interesting to see if anyone remarks on the sight. Despite shopping in the local Sainsburys supermarket and popping into another store, no-one queried it; perhaps it was British reserve, perhaps I generally look unkept, perhaps all the customers and serving staff were Christians, perhaps no one really cares any more...who knows.    

Today was ‘get some exercise before you turn into a vegetable’ day so I walked three miles to the local W H Smith, stationers. Walking is a great opportunity to mull over things and there are strategic, tactical, and relationship issues that need addressing in some of the charities that I work with; indeed, as I walked, lost in thought, a fellow volunteer phoned and complained for 30 minutes about a particular issue he had.

Then it happened. From the corner of my eye I caught sight of a moth or butterfly flitting across my path. I followed it for a few yards until it settled on a wall. What a beautiful sight! This was a Red Admiral butterfly, mostly black but with orange-red stripes and white splotches.

 

I’m sure there are more colourful butterflies, larger ones, maybe more lively ones – but this fellow transformed my day. I did not realise that the Red Admiral is one of a very small number of butterflies that can be seen throughout the year - even in December, January and February when the temperature is in single digits.

I’m not sure why, but the sighting suddenly changed everything. Maybe it was a foretaste of summer; maybe it was a reminder of the beauty of nature; perhaps it was telling me that even butterflies can take winter and cold in their stride, a lesson in tenacity and optimism. Whatever the message, all my concerns vanished, I noticed the sun was shining, the sky was blue and it was suddenly warm. Thank you, Red Admiral.         
 

Our Lady of Consolation

For this Year of Mercy our Bishop has had the inspired idea of having the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Mercy (one of her many titles), visit all the parishes of Arundel & Brighton Diocese  – not in person of course, but as an icon image of Our Lady of Consolation.

So it was that, on Monday evening this week, around 20 parishioners sat in the front few pews of the darkened church of the Sacred Heart. In front of us was the altar, on which stood two candles, and immediately before it were two more candles flanking the icon of Mary, Our Lady of Consolation, which was ours for 24 hours before moving on to the next parish. 

The icon normally resides in the Parish and Shrine of Our Lady of Consolation in West Grinstead, which is about 20 miles NNW of Brighton. The Shrine was the first Catholic one to be built in honour of Our Lady since the Reformation. When the church was built in 1876 the priest, Mgr Jean-Marie-Denis, searching for a title for the shrine, chose one that was well-known on the continent as it would have the advantage of well-established prayers, privileges and blessings. His choice was the famous and long-venerated  Consolata of Turin. An artist was selected to paint a copy of the icon in Turin, which was then placed in the West Grinstead Shrine Church.

According to legend, the original icon in Turin (now in the minor basilica of the Santuario della Consolata, Turin) was painted by St. Eusebius of Vercelli in the fourth century. The picture was then lost sight of for several hundred years until the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared to Ardoin, the last King of Italy in 1004 and asked him to restore her image. He did so and it was visited by many pilgrims and numerous miracles were recorded.

Early writers such as St. Benignus state that the name ‘Our Lady of Consolation’ was specifically bestowed on the icon by the Blessed Virgin, the first (and only) time she has named an icon.

Around the year 1080 wars, invasions, famine and pestilence spread ruin and devastation throughout the land and many buildings, including the chapel in Turin that contained the icon, fell into ruin.   

In 1104 the Blessed Virgin appeared to a blind man and asked him, if he wished to restore his sight, to journey to Turin and search for the miraculous picture. As his brothers thought him mad, he prevailed upon a servant girl to accompany him and, when he was within a mile of Turin, his eyes were opened and he saw a brilliant sun shining over a ruined chapel. His sight lasted only momentarily but, undaunted, he was led to spot and knelt in prayer – whereupon his sight was immediately and permanently restored.

The local bishop was persuaded to excavate the area and the icon was soon found, the chapel was restored and lots of miraculous healings followed. And so it remained until the nineteenth century when they were looking for a patron for the new church in West Grinstead. Nice story, eh? 

 

Peter James Territory

Brighton is the home territory of best-selling crime fiction author Peter James, writer of 32 novels including 12 featuring Roy Grace, Detective Superintendent of Sussex Police. He has been published in 36 languages and is rarely out of the pages of the local newspaper, the Argus, being involved in many worthy local charities and most recently donating his second police car to Sussex Police – the livery of this car (alongside the police markings) changing to reflect the book jacket of the current Roy Grace novel.

I thought of him today when I saw a crime scene in North Street, in the centre of Brighton, as I was shopping. Police tape cordoned off about 100 yards of the pavement while forensics officers and photographers scoured the scene. A street sleeper, a young girl, was allowed to remain in situ behind the cordon.

 

According to the Argus’s website, an unconscious man was found lying in a pool of blood at around 7am this morning. He is still in a critical condition. Police have arrested three people, two, a man and a woman, on suspicion of robbery, and a third man on suspicion of GBH (Grevious Bodily Harm), all remain in custody.       

Two Brighton Memorials

 

 

Statue of King George IV, King of Great Britain and Ireland (and Hanover) from 1820 until his death in 1830. This statue of the creator of the Brighton Royal Pavilion was raised by public subscription in October 1828 and is now his memorial.

 

 

Memorial to ‘Casey,’ also known as ‘Taffy One Penny’ because of the amount he would beg for. Casey was in his 40s when he died in January 2016 and this tribute at the base of the Clock Tower in the centre of Brighton is his memorial.