Movies were of course made possible by watching thousands of pictures consecutively at some speed. Slow them down or stop them and one encounters individual frames, often with a feeling of eccentricity and frozenness. There is something of this phenomenon about this interesting but anomalous volume by a distinguished, indeed venerable, novelist and literary critic.

A very brief introduction sets the scene: “This book describes the spirit and nature of English Christianity, as it has developed over the last 1,400 years.” In reality, however, things are not quite as they seem, for what follows are 23 cameos, 12 of individuals, another set in which characters are grouped, and then still fewer that are effectively conceptual in approach (e.g., establishment and Scripture).

This individuality, the capturing of one frame, is magnified by the deliberately repetitive device used for chapter headings “Religion as … History, Opposition, Transformation,” and even “Religion as Atheism.” The chapters vary in quality, but frequently offer interesting insights into their very different subjects.

We begin with Bede, who for Ackroyd marks the beginning of English faith. Of course, the name of Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People acts as something of an opening title sequence. The dramatis personae follow, as do some glimpses of the scenery against which the individual stories are set. As elsewhere in the book, scattered throughout the chapters are some supporting roles — in this case Caedmon, Gildas the Wise, William of Malmesbury, and others.

Julian of Norwich comes next, offering a very different medium through her mystical writing. After her follows John Wycliffe, and then later reformers, including Tyndale, Cranmer, and Foxe. Richard Hooker is next, under the title “Religion as Orthodoxy.” Hooker’s genius is well characterized here, and indeed so are the origins of Anglicanism (as it became known much later). In a dangerously sweeping comment, however, we read: “Hooker did not discover or interpret Anglicanism. He invented it.”

The Puritans appear next for dissection and after them Lancelot Andrewes and John Donne. Curiously, one of the most seminal periods of English religion, presided over by the Caroline Divines, does not merit a chapter of its own. Instead, George Herbert and Nicholas Ferrar are counted separately as poets and William Laud is given his own chapter.

As we move into the 17th and 18th centuries, the introductory chapter is “Religion and Sect.” George Fox, John Bunyan, John and Charles Wesley, William Blake and later William and Catherine Booth all join the panorama. The chapter on Newman and the Tractarians is a good summary of that formative time, but rather unexpectedly Evangelicalism then follows, whereas the determinative period for this eruption preceded that of the Oxford Movement.

The stormy waters surrounding the ritualists and then the “Deposited Prayer Book” of 1928 do not really figure. Instead, we are accelerated into a discussion of atheists — oddly gathered from the 19th, 20th, and 21st centuries — and Charles Bradlaugh, Annie Besant, and Richard Dawkins appear simultaneously.

The last three chapters, “Religion as Argument,” “Religion as Contemporary,” and “Religion as Theology,” introduce G.K. Chesterton, C.S. Lewis, a multitude of Pentecostalists and charismatics, and then three late 20th-century “radical theologians.” John Robinson, John Hick, and Don Cupitt form a rather arbitrary epilogue.

The separation of the text into these often short scenes or frames means that one loses any clear sense of one continuous movie, so there is not really any proper narrative describing “a development of the English soul,” as promised in the introduction. Instead, we encounter an exercise in journalism rather than scholarship.

A reference to the “Methodist or Anglican faith” rather than tradition is but one example of an unease with the complex depth of the religious background. This does not deny a real value for this book. The cameos are often effective and interesting summaries, and the book could be useful for introducing something of the background of English religious history. But the contents are not obviously what is described on the outside of the tin.

Emily Dickinson’s famous aphorism captures the spirit of this book perfectly: “Tell the truth but tell it slant, / Success in circuit lies.” Joshua Jipp is clear that almost all commentators on Paul’s theology have felt compelled to make it fit the matrices of systematic theology. In doing so, Jipp argues, they fail to grasp the aim of Paul’s writings and the richness of their application to human life lived within the atmosphere of the Christian faith. He applies this analysis to those whom he describes as the “ancient philosophers” (both Greek and Latin) and our contemporary world, a selection of “positive psychologists.”

Following an introductory chapter on “Pauline Theology as a Quest for Living a Good Human Life,” the book divides into two parts. The shorter first part focuses on the vision of the ancient philosophers and then the contribution of positive psychology.The second part describes “A Pauline Theology of the Good Life.” The thinking behind this methodology is made clear, early on, when Jipp notes: “While he does not use the language of eudaimonia, Paul’s letters bear the hallmarks of those ancient eudaimonistic moral philosophers who posited a singular supreme good for humanity’s life orientation.”

Hence, the second main chapter offers a useful survey of ancient philosophy, including Socrates, the Stoics, Epicureans, and Cynics, Aristotle, Cicero and Seneca. There are three indices — a table of the ancient philosophical writers, the usual table of biblical references, and a list of contemporary scholars. The third chapter offers a similar analysis of writers from the positive psychology school.Throughout the book, the argument is set out under a number of main theses. Although these are helpful, on one level, charting the course of Jipp’s argument, on another level, they present a certain irony inasmuch as they offer a new set of matrices replacing those of systematic theology.

Throughout this analysis, there are broad references to the similarities but also the contrasts between the ancient and contemporary witnesses. This process is continued at a more detailed level as Jipp describes what he believes to be Paul’s parallel but contrasting eudaimonistic account of human flourishing. Here, Paul’s theology is described under four generous headings — transcendence, moral agency, love, and spiritual practices.

At the start, Jipp sets out his stall: “In what follows, I make the case that Paul’s letters make excellent sense as offering robust profile of the story and goal of human existence as being orbited toward sharing in the life of God through the person of Christas humanity’s supreme good.” The analysis of the early philosophers makes good sense in capturing the eudaimonistic thread in Paul. The contemporary witnesses feel to be a rather more eccentric choice for contrast.

This is an invigorating account, since in relation to many other Pauline studies, Jipp’s analysis does effectively “tell it slant” — it is a refreshing contrast to most traditional approaches. Indeed, it is also a clear and attractive introduction to a eudaimonistic moral theology, which feels to have fallen out of fashion of late, and is an approach to some extent almost “endemic” in Anglican moral theology. There are afew quibbles. It is odd that Jipp doesnot include a more significant analysis of Romans 12:1-15, which could be seen as a Pauline manifesto for a eudaimonistic moral theology. The reversion to theses feels repetitive, but these are small complaints about what is otherwise a refreshingly different approach to Pauline theology.

The publication of the English Hymnal in 1906 was a significant milestone in the development of Anglican worship and hymnody, even though the Archbishop of Canterbury banned its use for a time, after its publication! It brought together a host of stars with Ralph Vaughan Williams as its musical editor and Percy Dearmer as overall editor; poets G.K. Chesterton and Laurence Housman, and composer Gustav Holst are also credited in the preface, where the editors noted that “The English Hymnal is a collection of the best hymns in the English language, and is offered as a humble companion to the Book of Common Prayer for use in the Church.”

In 1933, a revised edition with more hymns and better plainsong accompaniments was published, but it was not until 1986 that the New English Hymnal was published — again under an excellent team both literary and musical. Then, later still, the supplement New English Praise appeared in 2006.

The much-delayed publication of The Revised English Hymnal (intended for publication in 2018) is another milestone in the history of English hymnody. Once again, distinguished writers, hymnologists, and composers have been consulted, and there is an introduction by Rowan Williams, 104th Archbishop of Canterbury.

There are significant changes in this very comprehensive volume. Of the 680 hymns,185 will be new to those who have been used to earlier editions. The plainsong collection remains strong and indeed improved, and there is a much-enlarged liturgical section that could be useful in all situations.

Also included is a section gathering contemplative and meditative chants. A good selection from the pen of the late Jacques Berthier of Taize strengthens the breadth of the hymnal. There are eight eucharistic settings. Among them is David Thorne’s accessible but also musically interesting Mass of St. Thomas, which Thorne composed in the late 1980s for Portsmouth Cathedral’s less formal Sunday Mass. It is now widely used in parishes across England. Rather more recherche and with a more specific constituency are some Welsh hymns in the original language.

There has been a determined effort to make language inclusive without resorting to barbaric bowdlerization of distinguished poetry. So, for example, Timothy Rees’s “God is love, let heaven adore him” is sensitively altered to avoid exclusively male language. Almost all the general hymns gathered in early editions remain, and they are supplemented by new material. Cecil Spring-Rice’s anthem-like “I vow to thee my country,” sung to Gustav Holst’s memorable Jupiter from his Planets suite, is omitted.

Both musically and lyrically, the book is stronger. Many of the more recent but now standard tunes are now included. So Maurice Bevan’s Corvedale for use with Fr. Frederick William Faber’s “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy” is now the first tune for that hymn. John Mason’s fine hymn “How shall I sing that majesty” is there with Kenneth Naylor’s beautiful melody, Coe Fen, as is William Ferguson’s brilliant Cuddesdon set alongside Christopher Idle’s “Glory in the Highest” and Godfrey Thring’s “From the eastern mountains.” This first-rate tune can also be effectively used with other hymns, such as W.H. Monk’s “At the name of Jesus.” More recent works also feature more attractive harmonies. David Willcocks’s classical harmonizing of “Away in a manger” is one good example.

There is a wide selection of more recent good hymnody. Veteran hymn-writer Timothy Dudley-Smith makes a rich contribution. Best known of all, perhaps, is his remarkable paraphrasing of the Magnificat in “Tell out, my soul, the greatness of the Lord,” sung to Walter Greatorex’s admirable tune, Woodlands. His “O Christ the same through all our story’s pages,” sung to the Londonderry Air, is very powerful. Abbot’s Leigh by Cyril Taylor is now firmly coupled with “Glorious things of thee are spoken.”

Michael Saward’s “Christ triumphant, ever reigning” has become a firm favorite sung to John Barnard’s strong melody Guiting Power. Other new and welcome appearances are Roman Catholic writer Patrick Brennan’s hymn for Christ the King, “Hail Redeemer, King divine,” sung to Charles Rigby’s King Divine, and H.R. Bramley’s Christmas hymn, “The great God of heaven has come down to earth,” sung to the traditional English carol tune A virgin unspotted, harmonized by Martin Shaw.

There are some surprising omissions. For example, Daniel Schutte’s “I the Lord of sea and sky,” now very widely sung, and with good lyrics and tune, is not here. Not one of Graham Kendrick’s many compositions is included. Although Kendrick will not be everyone’s choice, he has written some attractive hymns. Perhaps “The Servant King” is his best, but “Shine, Jesus, shine” is now very popular among the young. The absence of anything by Kendrick’s collaborator, Stuart Townend, also is odd. Despite the controversy over the substitutionary atonement language in one verse of “In Christ alone,” others of his hymns include good lyrics and interesting tunes.

This collection aims to stand firmly in the tradition described in the preface to the original English Hymnal as “a collection of the best hymns in the English language.” Someone has to decide what this might mean, and overall, the editors have succeeded. Toward the end of his introduction, Rowan Williams writes: “What it seeks to do is to offer a resource for the service of God that is grounded in the ideal of nourishing a ‘sensing’ or ‘feeling with the Church’ — using our words and music as a means of allowing the patterns and rhythms of God’s own action to shape our lives.” The Revised English Hymnal is an outstanding contribution to Anglican liturgy, music, and literature.

Intercommunion Between the Episcopal Church and the Polish National Catholic Church
An Introduction and Sourcebook
Compiled by Richard J. Mammana Jr.
Project Canterbury, pp. 131, $15.99

A noble cluster of buildings at Fulneck, to the west of Leeds in northern England dating back to 1744, is the most significant evidence of the Moravian Church in Britain, and comprises a school, a chapel, and housing. Moravians arrived in the United States at about the same time.

Fulneck is but one example of the 18th-century renewal of the Moravian tradition throughout the world. Moravians trace their origins to 1457, well before the 16th-century Lutheran reformation. The seeds of the tradition lie in the Bohemian reformer Jan Huss and his followers. Close links remain with the Evangelical Church of Czech Brethren. Moravians number about 750,000 adherents worldwide and 60,000 in the United States.

The church is interesting from a scholarly, historical, and ecumenical perspective. Within Moravians’ tradition, there are parallels with Anglicanism, through their three orders of ministry — deacons, presbyters, and bishops — and a strong sacramental emphasis.

This collection of documents assembled here will be of great value to ecumenists. In 1995, the Fetter Lane Agreement was signed between the Church of England and the Moravian Church of Britain and Ireland. The Church of Ireland has since allied itself to this agreement, in which the two churches have achieved significant theological convergence and recognize each other as churches.

This collection includes two American documents dating to the late 19th century and six English and German documents from the early 20th century. Finally, a chronological bibliography gathers supporting documents from John Amos Comenius in the 1660s and more recent material, including Colin Podmore’s very useful critical supportive work.

The Polish National Catholic Church largely parallels Old Catholics in Europe. European Old Catholics issue from the Declaration of Utrecht in 1889, from which emerged the Union of Utrecht. This now comprises Old Catholic churches in the Netherlands, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, the Czech Republic and the Polish National Catholic Church. Effectively, it was the declaration of papal infallibility that caused the schism of these churches from the Holy See. These churches are all in communion with the Anglican Communion.

The Polish National Catholic Church in the United States (PNCC), however, is not in communion with the Union of Utrecht and generally espouses a more conservative theological stance. The documents gathered in this volume cover the conversations relating to intercommunion between the PNCC and the Episcopal Church from 1947 to 1976.

Warren C. Platt provides an introduction on intercommunion. At a 1955 meeting in Buffalo, the PNCC stood back from that part of an earlier agreement between Old Catholics and Episcopalians allowing intercommunion.

In 1955, however, intercommunion was established between the PNCC and the Anglican Church of Canada. Platt’s essay details the complex web of discussions, which were further complicated by the Episcopal Church’s decision to ordain women. A further hindrance has been the PNCC’s willingness to engage in conversations with continuing Anglican churches in the United States.

Both these collections are useful for ecumenical theological dialogue and for scholars of ecclesiology and church history. The Moravian volume would have been much enriched by an essay similar to Platt’s in the PNCC collection. Those wishing to use the historical material here should read Colin Podmore’s useful essays noted in the bibliography.

The Rt. Rev. Stephen Platten is the retired Bishop of Wakefield.

St. John Passion

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One of the most powerful moments of Holy Week is the proclamation — either spoken or in the remarkable plainchant setting by Victoria — of John’s account of Jesus’ passion. But equally remarkable is the St. John Passion commissioned to be written by the new Thomaskantor (music director) at Leipzig, on his appointment in 1723, one Johann Sebastian Bach.

Bach’s St. John Passion made its first appearance on Good Friday in 1724. Revised for three subsequent performances, a final version was never produced. The fourth version was sung in 1749. This unusual musicological history provoked the quirky subtitle given in the program notes here — the “Incomplete Complete!” The received version now performed is a hybrid, including material from all four versions. Sometimes seen as the lesser of Bach’s passions alongside the far longer setting of Matthew, many would now argue that its compactness and use of drama gives the St. John Passion the edge over all Bach’s other sacred music.

The passion in John’s Gospel is, of course, the most sophisticated of the four. It abounds in the use of literary irony, in the dialogue on kingship and in the recurring description of Jesus’ “lifting up,” which holds together his passion and exaltation/resurrection, This element, when added to its juxtaposition of the priestly and secular authority and Jesus’ consistent self-possession in his passion, makes for an intense degree of dramatic tension.

Bach exploits this tension to the full throughout, with his varied use of chorales, recitatives, solo voice arias, and choruses. The achievement is astonishing, seeing how much more of a challenge the composition of a full-scale passion would have been in comparison with the cantatas that were usually expected of him. The composer makes it clear that this was not to be an operatic piece but rather a devout meditation, aiming to inspire the congregation to a greater depth of reflection on this day, the day of all days.

Philippe Herreweghe’s recording with the Collegium Vocale Gent is a tour de force and reinforces his reputation as one of the great contemporary interpreters of the one who is seen by some as “the greatest composer of all time.” That argument, of course,  will recur often in this, Beethoven’s 250th year!

The opening chorus establishes a dramatic depth which is maintained throughout. But the contrast of this with the chorales’ lyrical phrasing and lightness of approach moves the listener progressively deeper into the mystery of John’s writing and its unique ability to chart the tensions of Christ’s trial and agonies. This is further established by the great rhythmic sensitivity established and developed as the drama unfolds. Any hint of operatic showmanship is avoided, but despite the intensity and comparative length of the passion narrative, both the intensity and lingering beauty never disappoint, nor allow the work to feel “slow” in a dramatic sense.

The entry of the great Latin hymn Gloria, laus et honor brings its own pathos and richness at that supreme Johannine moment, when Pilate declares: “What I have written, I have written.” The hymn’s response is “In meines Herzens Grunde, dein Nam und Kreuz Allein” — “in the inmost reaches of my heart, thy name and cross alone.”

Herreweghe’s rendering offers the listener a most subtle and moving way into the mystery of Good Friday. The tempo is brisk and strong, but never breathless; the diction is outstanding and the recording quality impeccable. Bonuses are the intriguing program notes, which abound in insight. Michael Maul begins: “The bass quavers sound like the merciless blows of a chisel on stone, the violins’ semiquavers interweave a pure infinite tapestry of sound….” His reflection on Robert Schumann’s appreciation of the work and his insights into Bach’s own engagement with it over four versions are fascinating.

Ultimately, however, it is the power of the text and music together which bespeak more of the theology and spiritual power of John’s dialogue and drama than might issue from countless more purely prosaic analyses: “Behold the Man!”

The Rt. Rev. Stephen Platten is honorary assistant bishop in the Dioceses of London, Newcastle, and Southwark.