The Dowry of Mary and a Catholic Theology of Place

It often feels as though I am the last one in the country but I am one of those Catholics that have never been quite able to reconcile the Church of Rome with Britishness. I am more likely to be found in a CofE church on Sunday than an RC one, and in self-description am increasingly tending to insert an ‘Anglo’ before ‘Catholic’, thus standing in the Great British tradition of having one’s fudge and eating it. It seems all the more ridiculous when there are so many examples of Roman Catholics who want for nothing in patriotism, from G.K. Chesterton to Jacob Rees-Mogg, for whom there is no contradiction in bowing to the House of Windsor and kneeling before the Bishop of Rome. 

And when I attend an RC Mass among the diverse congregation smell the incense, hear the hymns I grew up with, I feel the gravitational pull, back to the Holy Mother Church. But it isn’t long before I think of the pews in some Anglican edifice I know, generally older, almost always emptier, but no less filled with God’s presence. My personal theology, probably tinged with Hegelian heresy, has always been informed by the contours of History. If one believes that humanity is collectively manifesting a divine plan, and, as I do, that a Protestant United Kingdom has brought special gifts to the world within that plan, one is ever drawn to the conclusion that the English Reformation, even allowing for its destructive and cruel messiness, was an exhalation of God. More terrestrially, a connection to place also ranks highly for me, and the writings of the Rev. Giles Fraser have convinced me that my predilection for cultural rootedness and Union flags in churches is not some idolatrous affliction but does have a seat at the theological supper, albeit one in the corner with ecotheology and Christian yoga. Much as a Brexiteer feels a more assured grip on sovereignty when not outsourcing it to Brussels, God speaks to me more directly through the Queen’s quiet, domestic Christmas Day speeches than claims of papal infallibility. 

                                                                           

But the thing about the Catholic Church is, it has an answer for everything. I have no doubt that the Rededication of England to the Dowry of Mary is for the most part exactly that: an earnest effort to rejuvenate English Catholicism through its unique historic devotion to Our Lady (a title that apparently originates in the English language, from an eighth-century Anglo-Saxon poet). 

But from the perspective of one who came to faith through connection to history and identity, the Rededication looks mightily like a love-bomb across the bows of the Reformation, back, deep, into the heart of an almost forgotten English Christianity. Thought to have originated during the reign of the saintly Edward the Confessor (1042-66), the term ‘Dowry of Mary’ was first referred to in a document of 1350, in which a mendicant friar had claimed “it is commonly said that the land of England is the Virgin’s dowry”. In medieval England, dowry had come to refer to the portion of land left by a lord to his widow; which is why the Dowager Countess in Downton Abbey had so much time to be sassy. At Westminster Abbey in 1381, Richard II dedicated his kingdom to the Virgin as thanksgiving for its salvation from the Peasant’s Revolt, giving form to what many already felt in their marrow. Archbishop of Canterbury Thomas Arundel would've felt fully justified in claiming in 1399

"we English, being the servants of her special inheritance and her own dowry, as we are commonly called, ought to surpass others in the fervour of our praises and devotions.”

...and in 1415 English priests to seek intercession from 'the Virgin, protectress of her dower' on the eve of Agincourt. Every English king from Henry III (1207-72) made pilgrimage to Walsingham, the most important English Marian shrine, until - you guessed it - Henry VIII (1491-1547).

The Reformation was a traumatic severance of England's devotional attachment to Mary. The Dowry itself was not spared; under Edward VI (1547-53), a wall painting depicting Edward III (1327-77) and family making offerings to the Virgin and Child in a small chapel in the Palace of Westminster was covered up with oak panels, not to be rediscovered until the union of Parliaments in 1800. According to the historian Fr Thomas Bridgett writing in 1875, the painting: 

"is not, nor does it record, an act of private devotion… Acolytes were holding lighted tapers and two angels were represented as taking part in a solemnity. It is the consecration of England, through its Sovereign to the Blessed Virgin. It was before the eyes of every King and noble until hidden by Edward VI." 

Apart from in the hidden hearts and priest-holes of recusant families, Mary was an estranged mother to England until 1893 when Pope Leo XIII initiated a masterstroke overture to a fully emancipated Catholic population and their curious compatriots. At his request, the Bishops of England & Wales consecrated England to the Virgin, along with St Peter. The Holy Father's language clearly sought to mine an English Marian identity lying beneath the surface of a flinty Protestant exceptionalism:

"…the wonderful filial love which burnt within the hearts of your forefathers towards the great Mother of God… to whose service they consecrated themselves with such abundant proofs of devotion, that the Kingdom itself acquired the singular title of Mary’s Dowry"

More than a century later, much of the grammar of 2020's Rededication is also steeped in appreciation for collective memory. The slogan of the official organisers Behold2020 is continuity defined: "The Dowry. Ever Ancient. Ever New." The promotional YouTube videos also have this built in: "Our history is the key to our future," an unmistakeably millennial narrator tells us: "The historical love of Mary is an important part of our national identity." Another video shows youthful pilgrims braving Storm Dennis on the King's Lynn-Walsingham way: "...it's been a great bonding experience of pilgrimage, but it's also been a real experience of connecting with our history. So much of the whole project...is about really rediscovering our English Christian heritage...". 
           
                                                

            

                                                                                                On point.

Never mind Dowry of Mary, this is like manna from Heaven. Do they know how long I've waited to hear the phrase "our English Christian heritage" from a sub-25 year-old outside of a Britain First video? And who'd have thought it would be found under the auspices of the Catholic Church of England & Wales, who frankly in recent years I've come to associate more with touting Labour and Remain than wholesome National Treasure hunts. 

                                                                           
The echoes of history are yet more audible in the Rededication ceremony itself. Streamed from the Catholic National Shrine of Our Lady at Walsingham, the Act of Entrustment is read out, a prayer and congregational response passage that draws on the prayer of Erasmus (1532), Pope Leo's Consecration to the Mother of God (1893), the prayer for England of Cardinal Griffin (1948) and the Act of Consecration by Pope John Paul II in 1982. For those who go for historical flesh on their theological bone, this is quite a CV. 

As if that isn't enough, as the Rededication element of the service ends, I detect a familiar hymn playing on the organ. The lyrics are known to me too..."And did those feet"...but it can't be...surely, not- in the Catholic Church? "in ancient times" But it is! Obviously I join in from my living room. It's jarring and odd, and I'm quite sure the priest leading has never sung it before in his life (did he just sing "England's mountains clean"...?) but it's genius. 

As all the excitement settles into a regular rhythm of Sunday Mass, I am quite prepared for normal service to resume and receive a haranguing about why I should love paying taxes. But I am pleasantly surprised again. Msgr John Armitage's homily contains references to Alban and the English martyrs, and to the Christian foundation of our laws, epitomised in Magna Carta. Running a society with no regard for its past "is like leading the people through a minefield", we are warned. Geography is given its due too, as Walsingham is placed in the context of a network of National Marian Shrines throughout the British isles, including Cardigan in Wales, Carfin in Scotland and Knock in Ireland. In a rhetorical volley worthy of no less a national moment than the London 2012 Opening Ceremony, Msgr Armitage defines 'dedication' as an 'act of giving', which is linked to John 15:13 ("Greater love hath no man than this") found on so many of our village war memorials, which in turn is connected to the present frontline battles fought by our NHS staff. "A new visitation of Mary is at hand, in our hour of need." Of all the comparisons between our medical and military heroes made in these weeks, this is surely among the most graceful (and a good time to recall that Danny Boyle considered the priesthood). 

Finally, he returns to the martial, with a reference to Sir Gawain and the Green Knight with Sir Gawain's devotion to Mary expressed thus:

"on the inner half of his shield her image painted,
that when he beheld her his boldness never failed." 

                                                                            
Does any of this matter? As usual, the answer is a resounding yes and no. Clearly, feel-good sermons in little red, white and blue packages aren't as important as saving souls or tending the sick, matters on which I am singuarly unqualified to comment. And we should ever guard against the pitfalls of idolatry, and - worse - the negating of that precious revelation that in Christ "there is neither Jew nor Greek" (Galatians 3:28). And I'm quite aware that this essay's focus scarcely overlaps with the main purpose of the Rededication.

But it matters because in the spiritual vacuum of modern life, people - especially the young - are desperately searching for identity. Many of those seeking it on what now passes for the Left are headed down the kaleidoscopic wormhole of identitarian 'pronoun politics', or hitching their wagons to great unworkable behemoths like the EU or UN. Some of those more Rightward-inclined are flirting with the dangerous alt-right quacks who pose as the saviours of Western civilisation from their parents' loft conversions. I would contend that a tried n' tested blend of national flag and universal faith - tempered by Athenian reason of course - might be a healthier thymotic diet.

The question, for me, is who is best placed to provide it, in this country at least. I would still say the Church of England. But if "her image painted" is Rome's secret weapon, the dear old CofE may find another lane on which it has some catching up to do.