New Museum at Rievaulx Abbey

English Heritage just opened a new museum at Rievaulx Abbey, one of the great Cistercian monasteries of England, and the media are covering it with the theme of what Henry VIII's commissioners left behind as they ransacked the suppressed abbey. From the BBC:

Artefacts from an abbey destroyed by Henry VIII have gone on display for the first time in nearly 500 years.

The items at Rievaulx Abbey, near Helmsley, North Yorkshire, are being displayed following a £1.8m redevelopment by English Heritage.

Objects on display include a half-tonne lead bar stamped with Henry's emblem which is all that remains of the abbey's roofs and windows.

Rievaulx Abbey was destroyed by royal command in 1538.

Other exhibits include medieval stone carvings, chess pieces and gold coins that tell the story of the first Cistercian abbey in the north of England.

Dr Michael Carter, for English Heritage, said: "Rievaulx Abbey is one of the most important abbeys in England and the setting one of the most beautiful.

"It was a place of huge spiritual significance for the country and one utterly transformed by dramatic upheavals under Henry VIII."

The Telegraph story explains the significance of that lead bar:

It is all that remains of the abbey’s roof and windows, melted down and stamped as crown property, ready to add to the haul from the site.

Instead it remained were it was left for centuries until eventually being found under a pile of fallen rubble.

Historians believe it may have been trapped when the commissioners, in their haste to extract anything of value, caused part of the building to fall buring (sic) their haul beneath.

The Guardian describes the collapse of the tower:

It may have been the work of stripping the abbey of anything saleable – tomb ornaments, altar slabs, good timbers, metal, windows, cut stone – which destabilised the whole structure. The tower collapsed into the nave, burying the salvaged material that had been stacked up for removal, and the stretch of medieval tile paving beneath it. . . .

“There were no skeletons in the rubble so we think the collapse must have happened overnight,” said curator Susan Harrison. “It must have happened literally the night before they were going to take it all away, because it was all found stacked up neatly just inside the door, ready to be moved out.”

The Daily Mail has a great photo post as two Cistercian monks visit their order's great abbey's ruins:

These ghostly pictures show monks returning to the derelict ruins of an abbey 500 years after it was pulled down by Henry VIII.

The men can be seen walking around the grounds of Rievaulx Abbey, near Helmsley in North Yorkshire, which was once one of the richest and most spiritually significant abbeys in England - before it was destroyed on the orders of the king and Thomas Cromwell in 1538.

The crumbling ruins - which were visited by Father Joseph and Brother Bernard - stand out as they sit against the leafy background of the North York Moors.

The Cistercian monks read from a 500-year-old prayer book as they wondered (sic) around the shell of the ancient building.

St. Aelred of Rievaulx, pray for us! St. Waldef of Melrose, pray for us!

Image credit, under CC license from Wikipedia.

Echoes of the Dissolution of Monasteries--in Philadelphia

Father Zuhlsdorf posted a link to a story from The Daily Mail of photos taken in Philadelphia of partially demolished, abandoned Catholic churches. As I scrolled through the story, I kept thinking of the Dissolution of the Monasteries under Henry VIII, which left so many beautiful chapels and churches in ruins.

From the remains of these churches in Philadelphia, you can see that they were beautiful sanctuaries of worship; with wonderful architectural bones still standing, there are still glimmers of the art that filled the niches and the side chapels. Parishioners worshipped there, went to Confession on Saturday evening, brought their babies to be baptized, their sons and daughters to be married, their fathers and mothers to be buried. They paid their tithe and left bequests--you can imagine the life of the parish from the life of your parish today.

The parish priests said their first Masses, prepared First Holy Communion and Confirmation classes for the Sacraments, instructed pre-Cana couples--and then sadly, all of them had to see the church stripped, closed, and even partially demolished. The people in the parish may have fought against the closure, raised funds, held raffles, applied for historic building protections, petitioned The Holy See--whatever their efforts, the church was still closed and they went to another parish or parishes.

At the end of the article, the photographer, Matthew Christopher, explained his fascination with these ruined churches:

Mr Christopher's fascination with abandoned spaces started when he was a child. He enjoyed looking at artwork set in buildings that have since decayed.

His fascination with churches stemmed from this genre of art, as many painters in the late 1700s and early 1800s would paint churches and abbeys, closed under Henry VIII.

Later this year a book named 'Abandoned America: The Age of Consequence' will be released documenting some of the most spectacular ruins, including Mr Christopher's church pictures.

You can see more of his spectacular photographs on his website, Abandoned America, and its related Facebook page.

The common folk protested the suppression of the monasteries in England with the Pilgrimage of Grace, but as Father Zuhlsdorf comments, we don't need an uprising--we Catholic laity have to think about the glories of the legacy we've received and help it survive and thrive:

The point is that parishes have bills to pay and parishes need priests.  If you don’t pay the bills and if you don’t provide solid vocations to the priesthood through prayer, promotion and sacrifice, this is what happens.  That means that you, dear readers, must with joy support interest in a vocation to the priesthood in your families.  It also means that you should also provide feedback and support for formation for priests.  Lousy priests can equate to everything from emptying pews to emptying coffers.  Be engaged.

So, photos like these can also underscore the creative destruction that takes place from time to time everywhere.  Sometimes things break down.  Then something new is rebuilt.

But none of what you want and need as Catholics is free.  You can and must (it is a precept of the Church) contribute by your time, your talents and your treasure.

My husband and I have the great good fortune to live and have lived all our lives in a diocese that has grown with new churches and parishes being built in its major metropolitan area, but certainly rural churches have had to close and consolidate the Catholic communities because of changes in population. The parish church I grew up in was demolished to make way for a highway expansion--and that was sorrowful to me even though it wasn't that beautiful to my taste. I was confirmed there and both my sister and I were married there. In other words, it can't always be helped--but when it can, it's up to the Catholic laity to be faithful and fruitful!

When we attend Mass today in the parish church of St. Anthony of Padua, so lovingly and carefully restored several years ago, and so lovingly and carefully built many years ago, I'll look around gratefully for the survival of its beauty, pray for the benefactors, living and dead. Perhaps you can do the same thing today in your parish church. Bon dimanche--Good Sunday!

Attribution: Photograph by Mike Peel (http://www.mikepeel.net/).

The Ruins of Netley Abbey by George Keate

Nancy Bilyeau is posting a series on the monastic ruins of England at a site called A Bloody Good Read and uses the evocative line, "In Lone Magnificence, a Ruin Stands" for the posts. It's from a poem by George Keate:

Hence all the trivial Pleasures of the Crowd,
Folly's vain Revel, and that treach'rous Art
Which captivates the Gay, or sooths the Proud,
And steals each better Purpose from the Heart.

More welcome far the Shades of this wild Wood
Skirting with cheerful Green the seabeat Sands,
Where NETLEY, near the Margin of the Flood
In lone Magnificence a Ruin stands.

How chang'd alas! from that rever'd Abode
Which spread in ancient Days so wide a Fame,
When votive Monks these sacred Pavements trod,
And swell'd each Echo with JEHOVAH'S Name!

Now sunk, deserted, and with Weeds o'ergrown,
Yon aged Walls their better Years bewail;
Low on the Ground their loftiest Spires are thrown,
And ev'ry Stone points out a moral Tale.

Mark how the Ivy with Luxuriance bends
Its winding Foliage through the cloister'd Space,
O'er the green Window's mould'ring Height ascends,
And seems to clasp it with a fond Embrace.—

With musing Step I pace the silent Isle,
Each moss-grown Nook, each tangled Path explore,
While the Breeze whistles through the shatter'd Pile,
Or wave light-dashing murmurs on the Shore.

No other Noise in this calm Scene is heard,
No other Sounds these tranquil Vaults molest,
Save the Complainings of some mournful Bird
That ever loves in Solitude to rest.

Haunts such as these delight, and o'er the Soul
Awhile their grateful Melancholy cast,
Since through all Periods she can boundless roll,
Enjoy the Present, and recall the Past!—

Here, pious Hermits from the World retir'd
In Contemplation wing'd their Thoughts to Heav'n;
Here, with Religion's heart-felt Raptures fir'd,
Wept o'er their erring Days, and were forgiv'n.

Race after Race succeeding, in these Cells,
Learn'd how to value Life, learn'd how to die;
Lost are their Names, and no Memorial tells
In what lone Spot their mould'ring Ashes lie!

Mute is the matin Bell which us'd to call
The wakeful Fathers from their humble Beds;
No midnight Taper glimmers on the Wall,
Or o'er the Floor its trembling Radiance sheds!

No sainted Shrine now pours its Blaze of Light
Bidding the zealous Bigot hither roam;
No holy Relick glads the Pilgrim's Sight,
Or lures his Foot-steps from a distant Home!—

Now fainter to the View each Object grows,
In the clear West the Day's last Gleams are seen,
On Night's dim Front the Star of Ev'ning glows,
And dusky Twilight aids the solemn Scene.

Again quick Fancy peoples all the Gloom,
Calls from the Dust the venerable Dead,
Who ages since lay shrouded in the Tomb,
And bids them these accustom'd Limits tread.

Swift as her Wish the shadowy Forms appear,
O'er each chang'd Path with doubtful Step they walk,
From their keen Eyes she sees Amazement stare,
And hears, or thinks she hears, the Spectres talk.

E'en now they pass, and fading like a Dream
Back to their hallow'd Graves again they go;
But first bequeath one pitying Sigh, and seem
To mourn with me the Fate of all below!—

Disparted Roofs that threaten from above,
The tott'ring Battlement, the rifted Tow'r,
With many a scatter'd Fragment loudly prove,
All conqu'ring TIME, the Triumphs of thy Pow'r.

These speaking Stones one sacred Truth maintain,
That Dust to Dust is Man's predestin'd Lot;
He plans, and labours, — Yet how much in vain!—
Himself, his Monuments, how soon forgot!—

Forgot on Earth, — but one there sits on high
Who bids our Virtues to his Throne ascend,
Pleas'd he beholds them with Parent's Eye,
To give our Hope new Wings, and crown our End!—

And you, YE FAIR, of gayer Scenes the Grace,
If Chance should lead you from the jocund Train,
Curious to visit this sequester'd Place,
Amidst its Ruins wander not in vain.

Whence do they still our silent Wonder claim
E'en in this low, this desolated State?
'Tis from Remembrance of their former Fame:—
They once were beautiful, they once were great!

'Tis Goodness best adorns the female Heart;
Asks a Respect which must with Years increase,
Lives, when the Roses from the Cheek depart,
And all the Joys of Adulation cease!

Forgive the Muse, if with an anxious Love
She wooes you to attend her friendly Lay;
Warns you, lest faithless to yourselves ye prove,
And in false Pleasures trifle Life away.

Know, in your Breasts is lodg'd a Spark divine
For ever prompting to each great Desire;—
Th' inconstant World must change, that still shall shine,
Nor Death's cold Hand e'er quench th' immortal Fire.

Ne'er may Dishonour's Blast an Entrance find,
O keep it sacred with a Vestal's Care,
Feed it with all the Graces of the Mind,
Nor fail to pour the social Duties there.

So o'er your Forms when TIME his Veil shall cast,
And ev'ry Charm by Age shall be decay'd,
Your fair Renown shall triumph to the last,
And Virtue guard the Conquests Beauty made.

According to Wikipedia, "Netley Abbey is a ruined late medieval monastery in the village of Netley near Southampton in Hampshire, England. The abbey was founded in 1239 as a house for Roman Catholic monks of the austere Cistercian order. Despite being a royal abbey, Netley was never rich, produced no influential scholars nor churchmen, and its nearly 300-year history was quiet. The monks were best known to their neighbours for the generous hospitality they offered to travelers on land and sea." (photo also from Wikipedia) Netley Abbey is on the English Heritage list.