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Synopsis: Anglicanism, from the time of King Henry VIII until well into the 18th century, was defined in part by a cult of monarchy; for much of that time, it was believed that the anointed monarch had the ability to miraculously cure certain diseases. One of these monarchs, King Charles I, who was martyred on 30 January 1649, later became the first commemorated Anglican saint. Yet his feast day, like our royalist heritage, has been forgotten. If Anglicanism is to find a way forward, it must come to terms with its past, and creatively reinscribe it into both its present and future. In what follows, I consider what a reinscription might look like, and what its theological precedents are.



III. Reinscribing: Festival and Pedagogy

All of this, it should be noted, presupposes the theological validity of the Church setting aside certain times for particular points of reflection. One of the main differences between the developing Anglican and Puritan movements of the late-16th century pertained to the authority of the Church in commanding things such as this, which were not expressly commanded in Scripture. The Anglican position, defended most brilliantly and influentially by Richard Hooker in his unfinished work Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, held that the Church has the right to do as it sees fit in matters that were not expressly forbidden by Scripture: “Those things which the Law of God leaveth arbitrary and at liberty are all subject unto positive laws of men, which laws for the common benefit abridge particular men’s liberty in such things as far as the rules of equity will suffer” (V.71.4). Thus, the Church may enjoin certain liturgical and devotional patterns upon its members, such as days of feasting and fasting. Hooker, writing against his opponent Thomas Cartwright, had much to say about both in the fifth book of the Laws, arguing most broadly that “The sanctification of days and times is a token of that thankfulness and a part of that public honor which we owe to God for admirable benefits” (V.70.1). This sanctification of times is a part of the broader pattern of Christian living, Hooker argued, and leads to a disciplining of the passions. This is only fitting, for “the Church of Christ,” he writes, is “the most absolute and perfect school of all virtue” (V.72.2).

The public character of Hooker’s writing should be kept in mind; religious virtue was, at the same time, civic virtue. Because classical Anglican political theology believed that the national Church was to include the entire nation, Hooker’s argument with Cartwright and other moderate Puritans was not just about what happened in the Church, but what happened in the public sphere as well. Church holy days were also civic holidays in this socio-ecclesiological vision. Thus, to argue about the Church’s holy days was simultaneously to argue about the nation’s own self-understanding. Defining “Festival solemnity” as “nothing but the due mixture as it were of these three elements: praise, bounty, and rest” (V.70.2), Hooker sought to persuade his readers of both the spiritual and civic benefits that were had by celebrating the Church’s holy days. The expression of praise occasioned by feast days was, he wrote, “partly a mean to refresh those poor and needy” who otherwise lacked the ability to celebrate (V.70.3; cf. V.71.10). By making feast days also days of charity, the larger community was brought together by the Church, which facilitated, in however limited or abundant a fashion, the redistribution of goods to those who were in need. Naturally, such celebration entailed the cessation of work for the day so that citizen-parishioners could “spend the flower of our time happily” by celebrating “these religious and sacred days” (V.71.11).

Hooker penned his words in a pre-industrial, pre-capitalist world. It is not unhelpful to imagine what the actual practice of such days of “festival solemnity” might have looked like; involving the nation, these holy days therefore involved both the village and the family units as well. If we were to take both the feasts and the fasts of the Church with as much ecclesial seriousness and joy as Anglicans in the 16th century did, we might find that those outside of the Church would be drawn into celebrating our festivals, that those within our church would find themselves animated by the persons and events that these festivals commemorate, and that these celebrations would carry on to our children and our children’s children. It is precisely this emphasis upon our children that is most important, however. Festivals would ideally be Eucharistic celebrations involving hagiography, poetry, and hymnody. Yet, more than this, saints’ feast days could – and should – incorporate something of carnival and its attendant creativity. There is much to be said for laughter, there is much to be said for drama, and there is much to be said for letting children lead the way in such practices. The future of any community – whether political or ecclesial – lies with its youngest members. Why not have every young child wear a crown (whether made at home or in Sunday school) during the festival liturgy for King Charles the Martyr? Why not have the children re-enact his martyrdom at a set moment in the liturgy? Feast days and fast days may no longer involve the entire nation (if they ever did), but they can still involve the entire family. “Festival solemnity” would therefore be pedagogical, guiding the perfection of our adult passions into virtues, and stirring the imaginations of our youngest to such an extent that they would someday see such celebrations from their childhood as worthy of being passed on to their own.

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