From the Rector

The 17^th of this month brings us Palm Sunday. The previous Sunday, the fifth in Lent, started us out on ‘Passiontide’. And so it comes to pass that on Palm Sunday the Church commemorates Christ’s entry into Jerusalem to accomplish his saving work by dying and rising again. If there is a party marked by a joyful procession, the party is also, vitally, a point of departure for a passion. So the liturgy of the day has two distinctive features, the procession and the reading of the Passion Gospel.

The procession is the first of the commemorative liturgical actions of Holy Week (see Services for April) which remind us of the main events in the last week of Jesus’ ministry. Palm or any other types of branches are carried, although they are secondary to the procession itself. But the procession does not only remind us of what happened then. It is an act of praise to Christ the King who reigns and triumphs on the cross, and it expresses our own readiness to take up our cross and follow our crucified and risen Lord, as we go with him through Jerusalem and then out into the place of suffering and death.

The practice of giving palm crosses has long been established as a devotional act. It is important that it is done at the very beginning just before the ‘Palm Gospel’ is read and not within the services in church, for this would put the emphasis at the wrong point. The reading of the second gospel, the ‘Passion Narrative' launches us into the heart of Holy Week. Although the services of this week are shaped by the historical events of the final week in Jesus’ earthly life, taken together they form an extended celebration of the victory he won over death. The solemn reading of the story of the passion and death of Jesus Christ is an essential part of the liturgy of Palm Sunday. Coming almost immediately after the triumphal procession, it reminds us that the kingly power of Christ is the power of self-giving love alone.

As Professor Brian Cox in his BBC2 television series ‘Wonders of the Universe’ confidently proclaimed:  ‘our story is its (the cosmos’) story’.  Christians are bound to remember this month that whilst chemically this may be true, other aspects of our human story find meaning in the story of self-giving love dramatically acted out not in the heavens but on the very earth we tread.

St. Faith’s offers you a chance this Passiontide to discover this indispensible dimension of ‘our story’.

Peter Jones

From the Editor

Welcome to the April 2011 edition of Faith Matters. This month it is all change for our magazine.

Colin Carter, who during his extremely successful Editorship has produced more than 100 editions, has decided to retire.

Colin in his last ‘From the Editor’ contribution commented that he has been “…associated with Faith Matters since September 2002 and viewed it as a challenge, enjoying it very much”. Taking the magazine onwards in a time of change will definitely be a challenge, and hopefully an enjoyable one too.

We have some exciting changes ahead of us at St Faith’s. We have the up and coming new portable, and indeed flexible nave altar, which as Canon Peter Jones has written and discussed about (see Faith Matters March 2011 edition) will start to allow a variety of worship. Many new and varied activities will be able to make use of the space soon to be provided in the North Transept.

This being a time of looking to the future, the magazine has decided to take the opportunity to start changing itself.

 You will have read Colin’s ‘Editor’s Reflections’ in the March 2011 edition, which in its content clearly sets out some ideas for the future of the magazine, such as the ‘correspondence column’ and perhaps some Q&As about our church and faith?

You may start to spot the differences as the magazines are published. If you have any suggestions and ideas for content or articles for the magazine please let us know.

The history of a magazine for the Parish of St. Faith is long, and following Colin Carter as the most recent Editor is a daunting task, but continuing to grow communication for St Faith’s will be an exciting time for everyone.

Jane Rowthorn

A Portion with the Great

A few weeks ago I was searching for something, and came across the following, written 63 years ago, in response to an exercise set by one of my English lecturers when I was a student.  I thought it may be of interest in this month which brings us Holy Week and Easter.

Trevor Hopkinson

We live in the presence of history, and the older ones among us can recall the actual occurrence of events earlier in our lifetime which have now found a place in the history books.  But too few of us is it given not only to have been present at such an event, but to have played no small part in it as well.  It would naturally be expected, then, that these select persons would look back with pride and pleasure on their participation in such an incident, on their moment of fame, and that they would be considered by their contemporaries as being among the most fortunate and favoured of all people.

How, then, can I convey to others the dilemma in which I find myself?  I was present at, and played a part in, an event unique in the history of the world, the far-reaching effects of which are yet to be felt by generations still unborn.  But none of my fellows has acknowledged my good fortune at having participated therein, because none has so far recognised the tremendous significance of that event.  To them it appeared as no more than a commonplace happening, to be seen almost every day somewhere in the Empire.  And I?  I cannot begin to persuade them of its true meaning, nor can I feel the first stirrings of pride or pleasure, for the memory of the part I played in it, though I did but answer the call of duty, now fills me with utter shame and sorrow.  But let me tell you what happened, that you may judge for yourselves.

I was on overseas service at the time, with only another month to pass before my tour of duty in that country would be at an end, and I should be on my way back to Rome, my wife, and family.  As may have been expected, I was experiencing an acute attack of boredom, tinged with a certain measure of impatience to be on my way, while deep down there was a feeling of restlessness, of impending excitement.  I suppose this feeling was at the prospect of seeing home and family again after such a long absence, and on occasions it would rise to the surface, only to be forced down again by a fresh wave of boredom and weariness.

My name, I should have told you, is Lysias Paulinus, and I am a centurion in the army of His Imperial Majesty of Rome.  At the time of the strange event which I am about to relate, I was stationed with my company in the Fortress Antonia in Jerusalem.  Though I had been in that distant part of the empire for some seven years, I had only recently been sent to Jerusalem itself.  It was a miserable country in which to do military service, yea and a dangerous one!

The Jews were a proud and independent race, with a religion and god of their own, whom they worshipped with fanatical zeal which often overflowed into the political and national spheres.  About this time, indeed, there was an intensely nationalistic party which drew many of its keenest supporters from among the young men of the Galilean hill-country, who are possessed of a fiery temperament.  These Zealots, as they call themselves, were spreading unrest and discontent amongst the Jews, with their propaganda talks and popular demonstrations aimed at the overthrow of Roman rule, and the restoration of an independent Jewish kingdom.

One day – it was the fourth year of office of Pontius Pilate as Procurator of Judea – I was reclining on a couch in the Officers’ Quarters in the fortress, and talking to some of my fellow officers.  Not surprisingly our conversation had turned to our homes and the approaching reunion for some of us with our families.  It was, I remember, just before the Jewish Feast of the Passover, and we were rather anxious in our minds because these Jewish feasts were times when popular feeling ran high, when rioting and other disorders were more than a possibility, and none of us was feeling well-disposed towards the prospect of active duty in such circumstances, lest it should in some way delay our return to Rome. We were interrupted by the entrance of an orderly, bringing me an order from Pontius Pilate himself, to turn out for escort duty.  Cursing the gods for my ill-fortune, I buckled on my sword, picked up my helmet, and went out to my men.  As we had feared, there was trouble with the local inhabitants again.  One of those accursed Jewish hotheads had apparently been stirring up trouble, and had been condemned to death; I had to provide an escort and execution party.  I marched a section of my company into Pilate’s Judgment Hall and prepared to take charge of the prisoner.  Still angry, and cursing under my breath that I should have been called for this duty, I glanced across at the condemned man.  Though I have no love for these lawless Jews, I was yet struck with something akin to compassion when I first beheld him.  He was not like the usual run of troublemakers.  There was a certain air about him, a peculiar grace, despite the fact that he was bent and bleeding from a scourging, which compelled my whole attention, and seemed to arouse in me every spark of emotion, of love and goodness, right from the depths of my soul.  I felt strangely lightened, detached from the world, as though the nectar of the gods was flowing through my body like sap through a tree.

The voice of Pilate, cold and hard as the blade of a knife, and as sharp, cut into my trancelike appreciation of the prisoner. “Take him away and crucify him; but I find no wrong in him!”

My men, in stolid silence, fell in, with the Jew in their midst, and with measured tread marched him out.  We had three prisoners to crucify; the Jewish rebel and two thieves.  A considerable and very mixed crowd followed us up the hill just outside of the north wall of the city; a dirty, greasy rabble, out to enjoy themselves for the most part, watching others suffer.  They were thoroughly worked up at the prospect of seeing this trouble-maker being put to death, for he appeared to be the leader of an unpopular religious sect.  As they went along, this mob was reviling and taunting him, yet he looked harmless enough, as he submitted himself to the soldiers and allowed himself to be nailed to the cross.

When the three crosses had been raised into position, he looked round about him at the crowd.  There was a strange look on his face beneath the lines of suffering and pain, a look of pity and love, as one sees on the face of a loving parent who sees his child commit some act of deliberate wickedness, yet cannot condemn him.  He cried out, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!”

Profoundly moved, I wondered what he might mean, and who this person could be he addressed as father, but I could think of no rational explanation. My soldiers were casting lots for his coat, according to the custom which gives them the victim’s clothing.  Standing on the fringe of the crowd, and keeping very quiet, was a small knot of Jews, mostly women, sobbing in anguish.  As the man on the cross beheld them, he looked tenderly on one of the women, (his mother, I discovered later), and indicating a man near her, one of his friends, he said, “Woman, behold your son!”, and looking at the man, “Behold your mother!”  “What manner of man is this,” I thought, “who in the acute agony of such a death can yet make provision for those he leaves behind?”

I was becoming more and more interested in this lonely yet commanding figure, hanging there on a tree, the object of the crowd’s ridicule and contempt.  My mind began to recall some talk in the Officers’ Quarters about a Jew who had been stirring up trouble by claiming to be the son of the Jewish god, and I guessed this must be he.  In Rome we should have paid scant attention to such a man, but these excitable Jews were making a national issue out of it!  Ah, well it was really no concern of mine, I thought.  I had my duty to do, and intended to see that it was carried out to the letter.

As I stood thus ruminating, I became aware of an uncanny darkness creeping over the hill.  There was a peculiar tenseness in the air, a sense of some invisible power, of things moving beyond our mortal ken.  I began to feel afraid and ill at ease.  For the first time in my military career I felt unsure of myself, that I had lost control of things. I could not withdraw my gaze from that pitiful and dejected figure on the centre cross.  The longer I beheld him, the more I felt incapable of helping myself. Pilate’s words came back into my mind: “Take him away and crucify him; but I find no wrong in him!”

“No wrong in him!”  And he was hanging there on a cross, dying the most shameful death the Roman Empire could devise!  The consciousness of my own shortcomings was borne in on me more and more as I observed him.  The darkness deepened.  From the cross came a cry, seeming to be more of triumph than despair, “It is finished!”  The figure drooped in death, his head bowing forward.  Even as he did so, I felt a sudden surge as of some glorious, rejuvenating force pass through my whole being.  My depression and troubles of a few moments before went as of a weight being lifted from me.

The ground began to tremble and shake, as with an earthquake, and the rumble of thunder rent the air.  Involuntarily, my gaze still fixed on the man I had executed, I cried out, “Truly, this man was the Son of God!”                                                                                         

Praise

If with pleasure you are viewing any work a man is doing.

If you like him, or you love him, tell him now.

Don’t withhold your approbation

Till the parson makes oration and he lies with snowy lilies on his brow.

For no matter how you shout it,

He won’t really care about it.

He won’t know how many teardrops you have shed.

If you think some praise is due him,

Now’s time to slip it to him.

For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead. 

More than fame and more than money,

is the comment kind and sunny,

And the hearty, warm approval of a friend.

For it gives to life a savour, and it makes you stronger, braver,

And it gives you heart and spirit to the end.

If he earns your praise-bestow it

If you like him, let him know it,

Let the words of true encouragement be said.

Do not wait till life is over

And he’s underneath the clover.

For he cannot read his tombstone when he’s dead.

Supplied by Hilary Deadman

 Parish Retreat Day at The Study Centre  St John the Baptist church, Shedfield

Our rector will give three short talks based on extracts from Keith Ward’s book ‘Christianity – a guide for the perplexed’ which will cover the death of Jesus, the Resurrection, and the Ascension and Pentecost. Using Holy Week as a kind of hinge which looks back at what it was that Jesus did that led him to crucifixion at the hands of his own people and forward to the glorious aftermath which has taken over the lives of believers.

On Monday 18th April, time 10am - 4pm.  Cost £7.00. Sign up sheet in church. Please bring a packed lunch, tea/coffee will be provided.  If you would like a lift please see either the Rector or Sandra Haggan.

Tunisia after the Revolution

Sybel and I flew to Tunisia on 18 February expecting to spend six days there followed by four in Libya, where we wanted to visit the Roman cities of Sabratha and Leptis Magna. It soon became clear however that it would not be sensible to continue to Libya, so we ended up with a more comprehensive tour of Tunisia.

We were a small group of 8, organised by Jules Verne – 12 had been expected, but 4 evidently took fright at the last moment and failed to show up. In fact due to the combination of wintry weather and political anxieties, we had the sites almost entirely to ourselves. We started at Carthage – the centre of a maritime Phoenician empire which collided with expansionist Rome and was destroyed in BC 146. The Romans later rebuilt the city and the north of modern Tunisia became the heart of one of the most prosperous and important provinces of the Roman Empire, producing much of the grain and olive oil needed to feed Rome itself. It is still productive, with a climate and terrain similar to Italy’s and millions of olive trees as one travels south. We saw plenty of evidence of the Roman period, notably at the museum in Tunis which has a wonderful collection of the most beautiful mosaics that we had ever seen, and the great amphitheatre at El Jem – more impressive than the Coliseum at Rome. We also visited  the remains of the city of Uthina south of Tunis, still an archaeological site, where we saw another amphitheatre as well as baths, private houses with mosaic flooring, an aqueduct and part of a large temple on the Capitol hill.

The Vandals overran the province in the 430s AD – a serious loss for Rome as they cut off the food supply; and the western half of the empire soon collapsed. It was reconquered by the East Roman (Byzantine) Emperor Justinian in 534, then lost to the Muslim Arabs in the late 7^th century. The population in the late Roman period had mostly converted to Christianity – St Augustine’s see of Hippo is just across the modern Algerian border – but now gradually became Muslim. One of the highlights of our trip was the visit to the historic mosque at Kairouan, with a beautiful carpeted prayer-hall and a ceiling supported by a forest of antique pillars.

 Several Muslim dynasties came and went during the next millennium, with the country ending up in the 16^th century as an outlying province of the Ottoman Turkish Empire. The west Mediterranean became a region of conflict during this long period, with the Muslims initially capturing Sicily and most of Spain, followed by a Christian counter-attack from the mid-11^th century onwards – first by the Norman kings who conquered Sicily and southern Italy and tried to move on into north Africa, then by Spain. We saw evidence of this in the forts (ribats) built by Muslim rulers up and down the coast in an attempt to protect their territory against these invaders.

We also saw towns in which Muslim and Jewish refugees from Spain had been resettled – a reminder of the centuries in which Jews generally got much better treatment from Muslim regimes than from Christians.

To be continued in May’s FM

Michael and Sybel Laird

The Dean’s Award

On Saturday, 29^th January  2011, Head Chorister, Katherine Faulkner  and her deputy - St Faith’s Chorister Amy Frost, travelled to Portsmouth Cathedral to be examined for their Dean’s award.   For several months they had been studying hard for an hour before Evensong, in order to cover the extensive syllabus.  

The girls had to sing three verses of a four-line hymn, the second verse of which was unaccompanied.   This showed whether they could keep in tune!   They then sang eight verses of a psalm and an anthem they had chosen.   The examiner watches for good posture and was listening throughout for good tone, diction, breath control, rhythmic accuracy, dynamic contrasts and general musicality. 

The aural requirements are equally searching.   Candidates have to clap a simple rhythm, sight read a melody, sing back (like an echo) two-bar phrases, and identify intervals - major 3^rd’s, minor 3^rd’s perfect 4^th’s and 5^th’s.   They are then questioned on their chosen anthem to see if they know the names of both treble and bass clefs.  They are asked about various dynamics and general Italian terms, and about the time values of selected notes, and have to explain the time signature and the key signature.

The choristers are then questioned on their chosen anthem and quizzed about the composer and the lyricist, what century they lived in and when they died.   They can be asked what language their anthem is in, and, if it’s in a different language, what the words mean. They have to know where the words are taken from, an ancient prayer, or a psalm, or from the Bible.  They have to give an opinion on how successfully the composer has set the words to music, if he has he captured the mood of the piece well and if so, how.   They also have to suggest an appropriate season of the Church’s year when their anthem could be sung.

After nearly 20 minutes the girls were tiring but they still had to be really alert, for they were now questioned on their chosen major festival of the church’s year.   They had to show they understood the Biblical story behind the festival, suggest a hymn and an anthem they could sing that would help to explain the festival’s meaning.   Further searching questions were asked about the psalms– who wrote them, how many there are and what are the longest (and shortest) psalms.  They also had to be prepared for questions on their chosen psalm.  

Attention then switched to the Sunday morning service.   Questions were asked about the sung parts of the service, their Latin names and English meanings, and the order in which they are sung.

Finally the choristers were asked to discuss their ministry as a chorister – what inspires and motivates them and what special responsibilities they undertake.

To have a working knowledge, both theoretical and choral, of all the above takes a great deal of hard work.   To give up so much of their time studying and practicing for this award says a great deal about each of them as choristers.   In achieving the coveted Dean’s award they have shown great dedication.   We are extremely lucky here at St Faith’s to have such musical and hard-working choristers to lead us in our worship.

Sylvia Willey - Organist & Choir Director

 

An Englishman in the French Resistance - Part one by Alan Hakim

Roger Bryant’s article in January’s issue about Mary Lindell reminded me of the wartime adventures of my cousin Gerald Hakim.  He was born in 1900 in Hertfordshire, and remained proud to be British up till his death at the age of 96, but he lived for nearly all his life in Nice.

When the war broke out in 1939, he was of course 39 years old.  His first reaction was to apply to the War Office in London to do a useful job.  They turned him down as ‘too old’: little did they know.

He was at that time the President of the Ski Club of Nice, so after this setback, he was approached by the local frontier police for help.  He knew all the passes, and was able to track down spies who had thought they could cross between France and Italy undetected.  For a time he was able to stay in Nice, living with his father and sister Jasmyn in the family flat, and working at the British Consulate, and was recruited by an old friend to pass messages, using his local knowledge, through ‘post boxes’ – friendly residents willing to work in secret for the Allied cause.  His local one in Nice turned out to be the respectable Miss Perry, proprietor of the London Tea Room.  In March 1941, the Vichy Government let it be known that it was improper for the Ski Club to have a British President, so he was forced to stand down – but not before collecting a quantity of blank membership cards for future use to justify any resistant’s caught wandering in the mountains.  Soon after that, Vichy decided that all British residents should be moved inland, away from the coast and the frontier.  So he moved to the Department of Isère, near Grenoble.  His father and Jasmyn were both very ill, and were allowed to stay, and in the autumn, he was allowed back to see them.  His father now being at the point of death, he overstayed the permitted time, and was arrested and taken to Vals-les-Bains, in the centre of France, well away from the areas he knew, and interned in the Grand Hotel along with several prominent Frenchmen who had fallen foul of Vichy.  This turned out to be fairly luxurious, with food much easier to obtain than in Nice, and a relaxed attitude to going out during the day.  In January 1942, they were released, and he was able to return briefly to Nice before the Prefect, fiercely anti-British, ordered him back to the Isère.

 

 A New Direction for Sunday Club

St. Faith’s Sunday Club has started the Roots magazine programme or learning – find out more on their website:

www.rootsontheweb.com

If you are aged between 3 and 11 come and join in the fun.  Lots of exciting activities each time we meet.

What’s on in April

3^rd – it’s a Family Service in St. Faith’s church

10^th – from the Roots programme Lent: Free to believe

17^th – Godly Play: the Easter Story

24^th – Easter Day Service (no Sunday Club on Easter Day)

Sunday Club meet most weeks in Church House (upstairs) in The Pallant from 9.15am  We are then escorted to Church to join in at the end of the service.

For any more information please contact Penny on 023 9247 2054

From the Registers

27 March – Baptism of Myles Sebastian Aston

27 March – Baptism of Phoebe Lorraine Elliss