Sermon: Restoration Day

The Revd Canon Dr Nicholas Thistlethwaite is Sub Dean & Precentor

Preacher:: Nicholas Thistlethwaite
Date:: Sunday 30th May 2010
Service:: Evensong

On 29 May 1669, the mayor and aldermen of Cambridge attended divine service in their parish church, and then processed solemnly in their scarlet gowns to the town hall, where they partook of a dinner of salt fish, mutton, veal, bacon, beef, lamb, salads, capons, rabbits and claret at the public expense. They were celebrating Restoration Day – a public holiday, when, by the decree of Parliament, the nation gave thanks for the restoration of the king in 1660, expressing their thankfulness for what was termed ‘the wonderful deliverance of these Kingdoms from THE GREAT REBELLION [in capital letters], and all the miseries and oppressions consequent thereupon’, with bonfires, bell-ringing and general jollity of the sort that doubtless left a good many with sore heads the following morning. Parishes that wanted to demonstrate their attachment to the Crown might burn effigies of Oliver Cromwell and the regicides (those who had condemned Charles I to death), and the newly-restored bishops, in their visitations of the parishes under their jurisdiction, enquired whether the order of service for the anniversary, provided by Parliament, was used each year by the incumbent. You can still find this service in old copies of the Prayer Book. It is unequivocal in condemning what it terms ‘the unnatural rebellion, usurpation, and tyranny, of ungodly and cruel men’, and equally unambiguous in celebrating (I quote) the ‘miraculous providence [that] didst deliver us out of our miserable confusions’. The unlikely agent of this ‘miraculous providence’ was Charles II (the ‘Merry Monarch’), who finally gained his throne after eleven years of exile in Holland. But it was not only the monarchy that was restored in 1660. According to the Thanksgiving service (again): ‘by placing him on the throne of these kingdoms, [thou] didst restore also unto us the public and free profession of thy true Religion and Worship’. The restoration of the monarchy meant the restoration of the Church of England.

Yesterday was the 350^th anniversary of King Charles II’s return. Officially called ‘Restoration Day’, it was commonly known as ‘Oak apple Day’: a reference to the fact that Charles is supposed to have hidden in an oak tree as he made his escape from the kingdom in 1649.

That escape followed a terrible episode of civil war in which many thousands died. History tends to remember the jollier bits (the king hidden in a tree, or dressed as a female servant to evade the Parliamentarian soldiers) and perhaps that’s just as well: the reality was altogether grimmer, with bereaved wives, orphaned children, and the losers forced into exile or penury. The human cost (for which the Stuart kings bore significant responsibility) was considerable.

At the heart of the passionate arguments, both inside and outside Parliament, which eventually led to the outbreak of civil war were disputes about religion, and especially about the governance, doctrine and forms of worship of the Church of England. The Elizabethan settlement had established a sort of equilibrium which endured throughout the Queen’s reign, but left the nation deeply divided between the zealous Protestants known as Puritans, who wanted the Church reformed to bring it into line with the Calvinists who rejected government by bishops, taught predestination (the doctrine that the eternal fate of every human being was fixed and unalterable), and deplored the ceremonies – with their choirs, organs, formalised liturgies, and vestments – of traditional religion, and more moderate Christians who had no particular quarrel with bishops, found it hard to reconcile predestination with a merciful and loving God, and valued decency and order in public worship. With the appointment of William Laud as Archbishop of Canterbury in 1633, and his policy (supported by the king) of enforcing the use of the Book of Common Prayer, introducing more Catholic ceremonial in Church of England services, and hounding Puritan clergy, this uneasy consensus broke down. Puritan anger united with Parliament’s fury at the King’s attempt to rule without it, and civil war was the outcome.

In the ensuing revolt, Parliament dismantled the Church of England. Bishops were abolished; the use of the Book of Common Prayer in public worship was forbidden; churches were stripped of their furnishings, stained glass was smashed and paintings were defaced; cathedral foundations were dissolved and their estates were seized; some 3000 parish clergy were removed from their livings because they had supported the royalist cause. The Archbishop of Canterbury was beheaded in 1645, as was Charles I, four years later. England became a republic, with no king, no Established Church, and a multiplicity of nonconformist sects (Presbyterians, Baptists, Quakers, Muggletonians, Ranters, Levellers, Fifth Monarchists and Diggers) all claiming a monopoly of truth.

Amidst this religious anarchy, a residual Anglicanism survived. There is evidence that a good many parishes went on quietly using parts of the Book of Common Prayer. Most of the deprived bishops lived in retirement – though some (like John Cosin) were in exile, and others (like Matthew Wren) were in prison – and small groups of loyal Anglicans met secretly to celebrate Christmas (now officially outlawed) and other Christian festivals. It was persecution of a sort, though largely random and seldom very vigorous.

But like all persecution, it served to strengthen resolve and clarify objectives. Anglicans under Cromwell learned to value what they had lost. When Charles II was welcomed back in 1660, it was these Anglican loyalists who largely determined the character of the restored Church of England.

Now, a sermon should not be a history lesson (although this one is in danger of turning into one). I want to conclude, therefore, by mentioning three Anglican ‘values’ that survived the trauma of the civil wars and the years of persecution to emerge in the reinvigorated Established Church of the Restoration. These values are not exclusive to the Anglican way of being a Christian, but they are in our bloodstream and remain important to our self-understanding.

First, a sense of belonging to the worldwide Church. The sectarianism that flourished unchecked during the Cromwellian years saw the emergence of numerous congregations that peddled their own particular (not to say peculiar) version of the Gospel. By contrast, Anglicans increasingly thought of themselves as being related not only to other mainstream churches, but as directly descended from the earlier British Church and the Church glimpsed in the writings of the Latin and Greek Fathers. It was a way of asserting the validity of the Gospel preached from Anglican pulpits. As an earnest of this, Anglicanism attached importance to the outward marks of the universal Church. Hence, the reintroduction of the historic ministries of bishop, priest and deacon was a critical part of the settlement after 1660. In the seventeenth century, bishops were curiously ambivalent figures, part spiritual pastors, part earthly lords. But later, as the Anglican understanding developed, the role of the bishop as shepherd, apostle and teacher became clearer, and Anglicans now value a ministry that signifies that we are part of the worldwide Church today, whilst affirming that Anglicanism stands four square within a tradition stretching back to the earliest days of the Church.

Secondly, the doctrine of grace – the belief that a merciful God can forgive the penitent sinner, who is not, therefore, condemned to a predestined fate – was accepted as orthodox Anglican belief. To us, it seems uncontroversial, but it was hotly contested between Calvinists and moderate Anglicans in the early years of the seventeenth century and contributed to the irreconcilable differences that led ultimately to the outbreak of war. It was not that there were no Calvinists left in the Church of England after 1660, but the doctrine of the graciousness of God, who adopts us through the waters of baptism, embracing and healing our human frailty, was widely accepted as part of the Anglican synthesis.

Thirdly, the value of ‘the beauty of holiness’ was reasserted. The phrase is used to describe the aspirations of Archbishop Laud and his collaborators to create a worthy setting for Anglican worship, and especially for the celebration of the sacrament of the Holy Communion. Laud’s opponents accused him of ‘popery’, and one of the first decrees of Parliament after Charles I fled from London, was to order the discontinuance of ceremonial and the tearing down of altars, statues, organs and stained glass. An orgy of destruction followed in those parts of the country where Parliament’s writ ran. Yet after 1660 it all gradually returned – especially in cathedrals, college chapels, affluent town churches, and the estate chapels and churches of the gentry and aristocracy. Anglicans acknowledged that men and women can be moved to worship in and through the beauty of holiness. Religious imagery, music, orderliness and fine words can bring us to our knees (and there is nothing wrong or superstitious in that).

In 1660, Anglicans set out on the long road that led eventually to the Church of England we know today. So it is right (I would like to suggest) that we should not allow this 350^th anniversary year to pass without pausing briefly to remember where we have come from. In the words of one of the prayers from that Thanksgiving Service issued by Parliament:

And therefore not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name be ascribed all honour, and glory, and praise, with most humble and hearty thanks, in all Churches of the Saints: Even so blessed be the Lord our God, who alone doeth wondrous things; and blessed be the Name of his Majesty for ever, through Jesus Christ our Lord and only Saviour. Amen.