THE OATH OF OBEDIENCE.
In order to realise the absolute absurdity of the continuity theory, and to see how thoroughly Roman Catholic England was right up to the "Reformation," it is enough for us to turn back the hands of the great clock of time some few hundred years, and to visit England at any period during the long interval between the sixth and the sixteenth century.
One of the first facts that would strike any observant visitor to our shores in those days, would be the attitude of the Church in England towards the Holy See. Every Archbishop, every metropolitan from the time of St. Augustine himself, a.d. 601, up to the sixteenth century, not merely acknowledged the authority of the Pope, but solemnly swore to show him reverence and obedience. Furthermore, even when an Archbishop had been appointed and consecrated, he could not exercise jurisdiction until he had received the sacred pallium, which came from Rome, and was received as the symbol and token of the authority conferred on him by the supreme Pastor. The pallium itself, "taken from the body of Blessed Peter," is a band of lamb's wool, and was worn by each Archbishop as the pledge of unity and of orthodoxy, as well as the fetter of loving subjection to the Supreme Pastor of the One Fold, the "apostolic yoke" of Catholic obedience.
In the early Saxon times, long before trains or steamers had been invented, we find Primate after Primate of All England undertaking the long and perilous journey over the sea, and then across the Continent of Europe, and over the precipitous and dangerous passes of the Alps, down through the sunny and vine-clad slopes of Italy, in order to receive the pallium in person from the venerable successor of St. Peter, in the great Basilica in Rome. But, whether they actually went for it themselves in person, or whether special messengers were sent with it from Rome to England, they always awaited its reception before they considered themselves fully empowered to exercise their metropolitan functions. By way of illustration, it may be interesting to consider some special case, and we will then leave the reader to judge whether we are dealing with an England that is Catholic or an England that is Protestant; with an England united to the Holy See and to the rest of Catholic Europe, or an England independent of the Holy See, isolated, and established by Law and Parliament, as it is to-day—an England in possession of the truth, which is universal and the same everywhere, or an England clinging to error, which is local, national and circumscribed.
It does not much matter what name we select; any will answer our purpose. Let us then take Simon Langham, as good and honest an English name as ever there was. It is the year 1366, some two hundred years before the Church in England cut itself off from the rest of Christendom. The metropolitan See of Canterbury is vacant. The widowed Diocese seeks, at the hands of the Pope, Urban V., a new Archbishop. After mature inquiry and consideration the Pope selects Simon Langham. And who is he? Who is this distinguished man, now called to rule over that portion of the one Catholic Church represented by England? If we study his history we shall find that he in no way resembles the typical amiable Anglican Canon of the present day, with a wife and children, living within the Cathedral close, but that he is a simple, austere, Benedictine monk. He has been living for some time past in the famous Abbey of Westminster. He was first a simple monk, then he was chosen Prior, and finally Lord Abbot. Some years later, i.e., in 1362, he was appointed to the vacant See of Ely. By whom? Well, in those days the Church was not a mere department of the State, so it was not by the Crown. No: nor by the Prime Minister, as in the Anglican Church of to-day. But, as history records, by a special Papal Bull. Thus, at the time we are now considering, viz., 1366, he had been Bishop just four years. Now, the Primatial throne of St. Augustine, as already stated, has become vacant, and Simon Langham, the Bishop of Ely, is appointed Archbishop of Canterbury, and Lord Primate of England.
As with all the other Archbishops before the "Reformation," he cannot exercise his metropolitan powers till he has received from Rome the insignia of his office, viz., the sacred pallium. On this occasion the Archbishop does not go himself to Italy, to receive it from the hands of the Sovereign Pontiff, but it is brought by special messengers from Rome to England.
We may well imagine the interest these visitors from the Eternal City would excite among the population of London. Their dark complexion and bright, black eyes, and foreign appearance would, no doubt, attract considerable attention. Of course they would be made welcome and be shown the chief sights of the city. They would greatly admire, for instance, the beauty of Westminster Abbey, and would probably ask its history. Then they would be told how it originated with St. Edward the Confessor. How he had made a vow to go on a pilgrimage to the tomb of the Apostles at Rome, like a loyal Catholic, in order to pay homage to the successor of St. Peter, whom Christ appointed as head of the Church; how the pious King, finding his kingdom in danger of invasion, and his authority threatened, and not daring to absent himself, begged the Pope to release him from his vow; how the Pope at once commuted it, and bade him build a church instead, in honour of St. Peter; and so forth. Then they would very likely visit the inmates of the Abbey. The Benedictine monks who served the Abbey would entertain them, and ask after their brethren in Italy. Some of these English monks would in all likelihood have been educated at Subiaco, where St. Benedict first lived, or at Monte Cassino, where he died, and where his body still lies. In any case, these English monks were undoubtedly true children of St. Benedict, and followed his rule, and were animated by his spirit, and rejoiced to acknowledge him as their founder and spiritual father. There was nothing of the modern Anglican, and nothing insular about them!
In the meantime the great day arrives. It is the 4th of November in the year 1366. The bells of the Abbey are ringing a merry peal. The Faithful are flocking in to witness the Archbishop receive the Pallium, the symbol of jurisdiction, and the sign that all spiritual authority emanates from St. Peter, who alone has received the keys, and from his rightful successors in the Petrine See of Rome.
It is a grand ceremony, and we have even to-day, in the old Latin records, a full account of what took place. Anything more truly Roman Catholic, or less like the Anglican Church of the "Reformation," it would be difficult to imagine.
It was directed by the rubrics, that the Cathedral clergy should be called together, at an early hour, and that Prime and the rest of the Divine Office should be recited, up to the High Mass. Then the cross-bearers and torch-bearers and thurifers, and the attendants carrying the Book of the Gospels and other articles of the sanctuary, are drawn up in processional order in the chancel. Two and two, followed by priests and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, they walk down the nave. Then comes the Archbishop himself, robed in full pontificals, though, out of respect to the Pallium, with bare feet. The rubric on this point is explicit, viz., "nudis pedibus". Behind the Archbishop come the Prior and the monks wearing copes. In this order they all pass through the streets of London to the gate of the city to meet the Papal Commissioner who bears the Pallium. He is dressed in an alb and choir-cope, and solemnly carries the Pallium enclosed in a costly vessel either of gold or of silver. As soon as the procession meets the Pallium-bearer it turns round, and those who issued forth retrace their steps towards the Abbey. Last but one walks the Archbishop, and last of all follows the bearer of the Pallium. On reaching the church the Pallium is reverently laid on the high altar. The Archbishop then remains, for some minutes, prostrate in prayer before the high altar. Then the choir having finished their singing, the Archbishop rises, and turning to the assembled multitude, gives them his blessing. He then approaches the altar, and with his hands upon the holy Gospels, takes the following solemn oath.
Now, gentle reader, we are anxious that you should pay particular attention to the words of this oath. They may be found in Wilkins' Concilia (vol. ii., p. 199), in the original Latin, just as they were uttered by Simon Langham, and other Archbishops, in old Catholic days. We give them translated into English. And, as you read them, ask yourselves whether the Archbishops who uttered them were genuine Roman Catholics, or merely Parliamentary Bishops of the local and national variety, belonging to the present English Establishment.
We take our stand in spirit in Westminster Abbey, on the 4th day of November, 1366, and, in common with the rest of the vast congregation which fills every available space, we listen to the newly elected Archbishop, as in clear, ringing words, with his hands on the Gospels, he swears as follow:—
"I, Simon Langham, Archbishop of Canterbury, will be from this hour henceforth faithful and obedient to St. Peter, and to the Holy Apostolic Roman Church, and to my Lord the Pope, Urban V., and to his canonical successors."
Surely, some of us would open our eyes pretty wide if we saw the present Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury with his hands on the Gospels taking that oath. Yet we are assured, ad nauseam, that the Church to which Simon Cardinal Langham belonged is the same as the present Church of England, which repudiates the authority of the Pope altogether. The same? Well, yes; if light and darkness, and sweetness and bitterness, are the same. But let us read the whole of the oath: "I, Simon Langham, will be from this hour henceforth faithful and obedient to St. Peter, and to the Holy Apostolic Roman Church, and to my Lord the Pope, Urban V., and to his canonical successors. Neither in counsel or consent or in deed, will I take part in aught by which they might suffer loss of life, or limb, or liberty. Their counsel which they may confide to me, whether by their envoys or their letter, I will, to their injury, wittingly disclose to no man. The Roman Papacy and the royalty of St. Peter, I will be their helper to defend and to maintain, saving my order, against all men. When summoned to a Synod I will come, unless hindered by a canonical impediment. The Legate of the Apostolic See I will treat honourably in his coming and going, and will help him in his needs. Every third year I will visit the threshold of the Apostles, either personally or by proxy, unless I am dispensed by Apostolic licence. The possessions which pertain to the support of my Archbishopric, I will not sell, nor give away, nor pledge, nor re-enfeoff, nor alienate in any way, without first consulting the Roman Pontiff. So help me, God, and these God's Holy Gospels."
If you, who read these lines, had stood by, and listened to this oath, would it leave any doubt in your minds as to the religion of the Archbishop? Could you possibly mistake it for the religion of the present Church of England?
Was the present Anglican Archbishop of Canterbury chosen and appointed by the Pope? Did he take a vow of celibacy? Does the present Archbishop acknowledge publicly and officially that he receives his jurisdiction from the Pope? Did he receive the Pallium from Rome, sent by special Papal messengers? Did he stand up and swear on the Gospels that he would be faithful and obedient to his Lord the Pope? Did he promise to visit Rome every three years, to give his Lord the Pope an account of his diocese? Nothing of the kind. Yet we are gravely told that there is no break between the Church of St. Anselm, and Simon Langham, and of Cardinal Fisher, on the one hand, and the Church of the present Archbishop of Canterbury on the other!
Why are these good men so exceedingly anxious to prove that black is white? Why will they assert and re-assert, in every mood and tense, that things most opposite are identical, and things most unlike are exactly the same?
We will deal with that question in the next chapter. All we now affirm is that the reason is abundantly clear and evident, though little creditable to these perverters of history.