What is in Kelvin's Head?

We’ve a feast on our hands

30/05/2013

We’ve a feast on our hands today at St Mary’s. Today is a day set apart in the calendar of our church on which Christians may give especial thanks for the institution of Holy Communion. It is the very last of the festivals whose date changes according to Easter. Because Easter was early this year, so today, Corpus Christi is earlier than it often is too.

Corpus Christi is related to Holy Week in another way too. The day on which Communion was instituted in the church is Maundy Thursday. That’s when we remember the Last Supper in the Upper Room. The Last Supper is perhaps confusingly the First Communion. (Or at least it is if you discount the other eucharistic meals in the gospels where Jesus breaks bread and shares it, such as the feeding of the five thousand). Maundy Thursday though is a day when we’ve got so much to think about and so much going on that we tend not to think about the supper itself. We get so quickly caught up in the story of Jesus’s arrest in the garden, trial and crucifixion the next day that we don’t have much time to ponder, or indeed, celebrate, the meal itself.

Hence, Corpus Christi. We get the chance today to rejoice in the meal.

I used to go across to celebrate Corpus Christi in Edinburgh with Fr Kevin Pearson. Sometimes we would make it a trip for servers and other hangers on. Indeed, on one ocassion, Fr Kevin invited me to preach. When Fr Kevin became Bishop Kevin a couple of years ago, I decided to have a go a reviving the feast in the west and started to celebrate it in Glasgow. And today, I’ve asked Bishop Kevin to come and preach at it.

It is a fairly complicated, wizz-bang kind of liturgy with much to think about. However, the essential ideas are easy to grasp. Firstly that God is really present when the Eucharist is celebrated. Secondly that God comes amongst God’s people and walks with them. Thirdly that it is OK to be joyful and happy. Indeed, joy is at the core of what we do.

So, Corpus Christi. A sermon from Bishop Kevin. Flower scattered (no, strewn!) before the Lord of Heaven and Earth. The glorious Vierne Messe Solonnelle from the choir. And joy for everyone.

Kick off 7.30 pm. All welcome.

[There’s a facebook event here: https://www.facebook.com/events/467625339986048/ if you want to invite facebook friends)

Bishop of Argyll and The Isles, Corpus Christi, Kevin Pearson

9 responses to “The Lament Question”

kimberly

12/08/2009

ask it in the singular, and the answer is: because you’re a four.

you’ll have me playing the funeral ikos next.

Reply
kimberly

12/08/2009

the other answer is about possibility being revealed in limits.

Reply
kelvin

12/08/2009

Its not just me though, and not just fours.

Reply
Aaron Orear

12/08/2009

I think because sorrow touches the core of the human condition – we are mortal but can perceive immortality. “He has made everything suitable for its time; moreover he has put a sense of past and future into their minds, yet they cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.” (Eccl. 3:11)

Reply
Erp

12/08/2009

I understand Aristotle talks about catharsis and various philosophers have followed up on that idea.

Perhaps it arouses sadness both from the art itself but also from our own sources festering within and allows us to let go. We feel better for the letting go, the lessening of our own internal sadness, and so perceive the art as beautiful.

Reply
RosemaryHannah

12/08/2009

Kimberly was there before me. However, even I, a nine, can sometimes see the beauty in sad things. For me they do two things (may be more but two are most obvious). The first is the catharsis thing. The second is to make me less lonely. Look, here am I weeping, but all around me people sit in the same sorrow. It is not just my sorrow – I am not alone.

I have long thought there is another answer, one I do not properly understand but I have (I think – and who am I to think it). Deep in God there is a huge well of sorrow. Unless we experience sorrow we cannot understand God. When we sorrow we tap into that well, and become closer to him.

And being a nice cheerful nine, I will now add that I live in hope that having sorrowed with him, we will share also and even more fully in the joy which swallows the sorrow. Delete this last paragraph from your mind on reading, it will only spoil the joy of the sorrow.

Reply
Elizabeth

13/08/2009

Edgar Allan Poe said the most beautiful thing in the world is a beautiful, dead woman. Nice, eh?

Reply
Ritualist Robert

14/08/2009

Surely it’s because the concept of beauty is independent from concepts such as ‘sadness’ and ‘happiness’ – just as a G major chord might be loud or soft, but that volume has no effect on its G major-ness.

Reply
Steve

14/08/2009

I remember Augustine saying (don’t ask me where) that for a picture to be beautiful it requires dark colours as well as bright.

There is also a hint of an answer in this poem by Edwin Muir:

Yet still from Eden springs the root
As clean as on the starting day.
Time takes the foliage and the fruit
And burns the archetypal leaf
To shapes of terror and of grief
Scattered along the winter way.
But famished field and blackened tree
Bear flowers in Eden never known.

Blossoms of grief and charity
Bloom in these darkened fields alone.
What had Eden ever to say
Of hope and faith and pity and love
Until was buried all its day
And memory found its treasure trove?
Strange blessings never in Paradise
Fall from these beclouded skies.

Reply