From the Rack to Reconciliation
Catherine Pepinster, The editor of the Tablet, reflects on the service held in the Tower of London to remember our four British Jesuit Martyrs
Is there any place with a name more resonant, more chilling, than that of Traitor’s Gate? Today the Thames still laps at the wooden doors of the riverside entrance to the Tower of London, just as it did 400 years ago when prisoners were rowed along the capital’s waterway, all of them to endure certain incarceration and so many of them to face death. First Catholics, then Protestants and later Catholics again were brought to the royal fortress amid the twists and turns of the years following the Reformation. Queens were beheaded at the Tower, other royal women executed there, and countless more endured the rack after their betrayal by spies and informants.
Then, on a rainy afternoon, as the tourists from across the globe left the Tower, with their film of the Bloody Tower, the ravens and the armouries, a steady procession walked the other way, some of them people who would once have been feared rather than welcomed in this place. For Saturday 6th May was an extraordinary moment in the history of religion in Britain. Dozens of Jesuit priests and brothers, together with relatives, friends, their students and pupils, and members of the Church of England gathered to commemorate four men: Jesuit martyrs who lost their lives, caught up in the tangled web of plot, deceit and conspiracy that led to the thwarted attempt to blow up Parliament, an event Britain remembers every year on 5th November.
And what was remarkable about that Saturday was that the memorial service that these people attended was held not only with the imprimatur of the Catholic Church’s hierarchy - Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O’Connor, head of the Church in England and Wales, was present, together with Archbishop Faustino Sainz Munoz, the papal nuncio - but with the support of the British Establishment. The service was held in the Tower’s Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula, with the sanction of Bishop Richard Chartres, Dean of the Chapels Royal, and the permission of the Queen. Four hundred years after the first Elizabeth was first imprisoned here by her Catholic sister, Mary - and in her turn sent Catholics to their death - the second Elizabeth, another Protestant Queen, gave her blessing to this service. It was one of commemoration, but also a service that recognised the scandal of division among Christians, and recalled the sacrifices made by those who died for their beliefs.
One by one, through the service, as the choir of the Chapel Royal sang, candles were lit for the four Jesuit martyrs, together with a fifth for all who died in the Tower of London. Those remembered included St Nicholas Owen, a Jesuit brother, carpenter and mason by trade, who used his skills in the construction of ingenious priest-holes for the concealment of fugitive priests in safe houses. He was captured and tortured to death, dying on the rack at the Tower in 1606. Then Blessed Edward Oldcorne, and Blessed Ralph Ashley, another brother, both falsely accused of involvement in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605: They were hanged, drawn and quartered a year later. And finally, Fr Henry Garnet, Superior of the English Jesuits, who had heard of the Gunpowder Plot within the confessional and was accused of treason for refusing to break the seal of confession. He too was hanged in 1606.
As Pope Paul VI put it in his homily at the canonisation of the 40 Martyrs of England and Wales in 1970, read again at the service at St Peter ad Vincula: ‘the high tragedy in the lives of these martyrs was that their honest and genuine loyalty came into conflict with their fidelity to God and the dictates of their conscience’.
That fidelity to God, and its expression in a particular vivid spirituality of the time, was conveyed in the choice of readings and the way the service was patterned on the ancient devotion of the Five Wounds of Christ. From a recusant book the words of a hymn were taken by Henry Walpole SJ:
Loe here I see thee faintinge goe, with Crosse which thou hast borne;
Imbrued with Blood from top to toe, lyke one that were forlorne;
Like one forlorne alack for greefe, with torments over-runne
And alle deare Lord to seeke releefe for that which man hath done.
Should these martyrdoms and sacrifices be recalled in this way, at a time when ecumenism should be our watchword, when religious fundamentalism of a different kind is on the increase, and when tolerance and understanding can so easily be jeopardised by any hint of triumphalism?
It was a question Fr Michael Holman, provincial superior of the British Jesuits, asked in his reflection during the service. ‘Their lives and deaths speak to us of rivalries mostly forgotten and hurts largely healed,’ he said, ‘so we can remember them but respectfully keep our distance.’
But, in this year in particular, this is not the Jesuit way. For the Society of Jesus, worldwide, is also celebrating the 450th anniversary of the death of its founder, St Ignatius Loyola, and the 500th anniversary of the births of St Francis Xavier and Blessed Pierre Favre, two of Ignatius’ first Companions, and the order’s Superior General, Peter-Hans Kolvenbach, has urged its members not just to have history lessons, but to ensure that the spirit of such men thrives in the present. And it is a missionary spirit.
‘The needs of men and women living today largely without Christ, in a society that largely bases itself upon the untruth that our salvation lies in what we possess and in what we achieve, with so much human breakdown and social injustice, should move us just as much as our forebears were moved long ago by the plight of men and women living outside the sacramental life of the Catholic Church,’ said Fr Holman. ‘Having met Christ we cannot rest until we have done what we can to help others know him too. Whereas the ministry of these four men and their many companions was silent, hidden and in secret, our witness today needs to be vocal, visible and in the light. Whereas theirs was a vision that set them at odds with others who believed in Christ, ours, happily, can only be realised today when we speak and work together.’
Four hundred years ago, as Fr Garnet awaited his punishment for his alleged involvement in the Gunpowder Plot, might he have dreamed of England after his death?
Perhaps he would have longed for a time to come when England would once more be Catholic, rather than Scotland and England being the cornerstones of Protestant Europe. But he probably never could have conceived on that May day in St Paul’s Churchyard, as he awaited execution, that one day, Catholics would unite with Protestants within the fortress of the Tower of London, sanctioned by another Elizabeth, to recall the deaths of martyrs and pray forgiveness for the scandal of divisions, harsh words and easy judgements. That would have seemed a miracle beyond imagination.
Thanks to the author, and to The Tablet, for permission to reproduce this article.
Is there any place with a name more resonant, more chilling, than that of Traitor’s Gate? Today the Thames still laps at the wooden doors of the riverside entrance to the Tower of London, just as it did 400 years ago when prisoners were rowed along the capital’s waterway, all of them to endure certain incarceration and so many of them to face death. First Catholics, then Protestants and later Catholics again were brought to the royal fortress amid the twists and turns of the years following the Reformation. Queens were beheaded at the Tower, other royal women executed there, and countless more endured the rack after their betrayal by spies and informants.
Then, on a rainy afternoon, as the tourists from across the globe left the Tower, with their film of the Bloody Tower, the ravens and the armouries, a steady procession walked the other way, some of them people who would once have been feared rather than welcomed in this place. For Saturday 6th May was an extraordinary moment in the history of religion in Britain. Dozens of Jesuit priests and brothers, together with relatives, friends, their students and pupils, and members of the Church of England gathered to commemorate four men: Jesuit martyrs who lost their lives, caught up in the tangled web of plot, deceit and conspiracy that led to the thwarted attempt to blow up Parliament, an event Britain remembers every year on 5th November.
And what was remarkable about that Saturday was that the memorial service that these people attended was held not only with the imprimatur of the Catholic Church’s hierarchy - Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O’Connor, head of the Church in England and Wales, was present, together with Archbishop Faustino Sainz Munoz, the papal nuncio - but with the support of the British Establishment. The service was held in the Tower’s Chapel of St Peter ad Vincula, with the sanction of Bishop Richard Chartres, Dean of the Chapels Royal, and the permission of the Queen. Four hundred years after the first Elizabeth was first imprisoned here by her Catholic sister, Mary - and in her turn sent Catholics to their death - the second Elizabeth, another Protestant Queen, gave her blessing to this service. It was one of commemoration, but also a service that recognised the scandal of division among Christians, and recalled the sacrifices made by those who died for their beliefs.
One by one, through the service, as the choir of the Chapel Royal sang, candles were lit for the four Jesuit martyrs, together with a fifth for all who died in the Tower of London. Those remembered included St Nicholas Owen, a Jesuit brother, carpenter and mason by trade, who used his skills in the construction of ingenious priest-holes for the concealment of fugitive priests in safe houses. He was captured and tortured to death, dying on the rack at the Tower in 1606. Then Blessed Edward Oldcorne, and Blessed Ralph Ashley, another brother, both falsely accused of involvement in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605: They were hanged, drawn and quartered a year later. And finally, Fr Henry Garnet, Superior of the English Jesuits, who had heard of the Gunpowder Plot within the confessional and was accused of treason for refusing to break the seal of confession. He too was hanged in 1606.
As Pope Paul VI put it in his homily at the canonisation of the 40 Martyrs of England and Wales in 1970, read again at the service at St Peter ad Vincula: ‘the high tragedy in the lives of these martyrs was that their honest and genuine loyalty came into conflict with their fidelity to God and the dictates of their conscience’.
That fidelity to God, and its expression in a particular vivid spirituality of the time, was conveyed in the choice of readings and the way the service was patterned on the ancient devotion of the Five Wounds of Christ. From a recusant book the words of a hymn were taken by Henry Walpole SJ:
Loe here I see thee faintinge goe, with Crosse which thou hast borne;
Imbrued with Blood from top to toe, lyke one that were forlorne;
Like one forlorne alack for greefe, with torments over-runne
And alle deare Lord to seeke releefe for that which man hath done.
Should these martyrdoms and sacrifices be recalled in this way, at a time when ecumenism should be our watchword, when religious fundamentalism of a different kind is on the increase, and when tolerance and understanding can so easily be jeopardised by any hint of triumphalism?
It was a question Fr Michael Holman, provincial superior of the British Jesuits, asked in his reflection during the service. ‘Their lives and deaths speak to us of rivalries mostly forgotten and hurts largely healed,’ he said, ‘so we can remember them but respectfully keep our distance.’
But, in this year in particular, this is not the Jesuit way. For the Society of Jesus, worldwide, is also celebrating the 450th anniversary of the death of its founder, St Ignatius Loyola, and the 500th anniversary of the births of St Francis Xavier and Blessed Pierre Favre, two of Ignatius’ first Companions, and the order’s Superior General, Peter-Hans Kolvenbach, has urged its members not just to have history lessons, but to ensure that the spirit of such men thrives in the present. And it is a missionary spirit.
‘The needs of men and women living today largely without Christ, in a society that largely bases itself upon the untruth that our salvation lies in what we possess and in what we achieve, with so much human breakdown and social injustice, should move us just as much as our forebears were moved long ago by the plight of men and women living outside the sacramental life of the Catholic Church,’ said Fr Holman. ‘Having met Christ we cannot rest until we have done what we can to help others know him too. Whereas the ministry of these four men and their many companions was silent, hidden and in secret, our witness today needs to be vocal, visible and in the light. Whereas theirs was a vision that set them at odds with others who believed in Christ, ours, happily, can only be realised today when we speak and work together.’
Four hundred years ago, as Fr Garnet awaited his punishment for his alleged involvement in the Gunpowder Plot, might he have dreamed of England after his death?
Perhaps he would have longed for a time to come when England would once more be Catholic, rather than Scotland and England being the cornerstones of Protestant Europe. But he probably never could have conceived on that May day in St Paul’s Churchyard, as he awaited execution, that one day, Catholics would unite with Protestants within the fortress of the Tower of London, sanctioned by another Elizabeth, to recall the deaths of martyrs and pray forgiveness for the scandal of divisions, harsh words and easy judgements. That would have seemed a miracle beyond imagination.
Thanks to the author, and to The Tablet, for permission to reproduce this article.