HOMILY FOR BLESSED DAVID GUNSON PILGRIMAGE
Once again (both as he preached Blessed Hadrian Fortescue last week, and also the 'virtual' homily for the very depleted pilgrimage last year in lockdown) we are overjoyed to present the Pilgrimage Homily given formally, and in person, by Fr Stephen Morrison, OPraem, last night.
The Mass was offered by Fr Morrison at the Church of Our Lady of La Salette, Bermondsey. We had the added privilege of a visiting Oscott seminarian to serve the Mass, Mr Gregory Becket, a most felicitous circumstance, as he is of the family of Saint Thomas a Becket, to whom Blessed David's mother was related, so a cousin of our Martyr.
Grand Prior emeritus Fra' Ian Scott, and Monsignor Armitage, Chaplain of the Grand Priory, were present.
As every year, the Mass was followed by a silent walk along (to refer the Fr Stephen's homily) the Via Dolorosa of the Old Kent Road, also in happier times the Pilgrimage route to St Thomas's shrine in Canterbury. While much of London was apprently being flooded, we hardly had any rain. The Shrine prayers at St Thomas Waterings were followed by an al fresco supper.
Here, then, is Father Stephen's wisdom.
Feast of Blessed David Gunson, Martyr
(preached the day after the EUFA Cup Final in which England lost to Italy)
It was my privilege to preach at this year’s Grand Priory patronal feast of Bd Adrian Fortescue, last week, and it is therefore a double honour to have been asked to preach also for Bd David Gunson today. While my words this evening are not exactly a “second episode,” I will begin by picking up on just one of the points I made last Thursday, which will serve as our starting point today. And it is this: it happened here.
Last week I suggested that we take a special pride in the place and manner of our martyrs’ victory. “How proud we are that this via crucis was on our streets: the way to Tower Hill became Adrian Fortescue’s and Thomas Dingley’s climb to Calvary Hill, and the way to the famous pilgrims’ “stopping point” of St Thomas Waterings became the “statio ad Crucem” for Blessed David.” It happened here. Even more reason, surely, to pray that we, who carry the white Cross of the Order of St John, should be inspired to place our footsteps in those of Christ’s, and to climb Calvary’s hill ourselves, wherever that may be, as they did. As we make our little walking pilgrimage this evening, we might reflect that “it will be the greatest honour of our chivalry to walk in the train of the King of Kings, following the supreme witness of our confrere who once waited on and fought for an earthly Prince, and learned to do the same for the Prince of Peace.”
The events of 1539 and 1541 are not mere historical data. The red ink printed on our liturgical ordo is symbolic of innocent blood valiantly offered, the martyr’s palm, the victory laurels of heroes, and a trumpet call to the entire Church throughout the world – “Salvete, flores martyrum!” For the worldwide Order of St John keeps the feasts of Blessed Adrian and Blessed David, looking to these Englishmen for inspiration today, almost five hundred years later. Our confreres throughout the world turn to England. And what do they see? A fine sight! Not, or perhaps not only, our own delightful eccentricity…(!): rather, they see the tradition of chivalry and noble service going back centuries, with its various flowerings throughout that time, as Mary’s Dowry reveals her jewelled treasures one by one, century by century – the sons of England walk tall amid that hallowed number who distinguished themselves both in their tuitio fidei and their obsequium pauperum. And as if to reinforce my point about the “here and now” nature of our feast, even last night’s football game saw the secular world turn their eyes to our capital and see if England’s sons were up to it. They were also treated to an eccentric sight. The cup final may have ended in defeat for England, but there are some obvious caveats worth pointing out: firstly, “at the end of the day” (as they seem always to say to the press, after a game…) there are no real winners nor losers, and the comparison may seem trivial in the extreme: both teams in the cup final can surely shake hands and acknowledge each other’s strengths and weaknesses; but secondly, and more to the point, may I confess experiencing a little frisson of spiritual joy as I hung the flag of St George from our Priory window yesterday afternoon? Yes, there is the excitement of patriotic spirit; but to those of us with the eyes of faith to see, the red Cross of our Saviour, the emblem of our martyr-patron, is perhaps enduring because it is almost a sacramental. How many red crosses like this, I thought, are now fluttering in the breeze over our land? How many are hung out by unbelievers, or even by infidels and atheists? Are they not a silent but eloquent sign to Heaven that England, somewhere deep in its soul, has not forgotten Jesus Christ and His Cross, even if it might at face value be read as if they have? Could we who believe, therefore, not turn this gesture into a prayer, sent to Heaven by semaphore, in which England begs the Lord of Calvary not to forget her, even if she has so long forgotten him - yet not quite entirely? Is not this ancient sign of knightly service, taken up by crusaders – both saints and sinners – in years gone by a reminder to us, and perhaps also to God, of His formerly bestowed gifts, and our formerly returned service?
Call me a romantic if you will – but all it takes is a conscious act of the will, and even a humble flag-waving at a cup final can become an earnest prayer for a far more important victory.
If such symbolism is not lost on us, then we are ready to undertake this evening’s act of devotion. Our commemoration of Blessed David Gunson is also a sign to the whole world that a Calvary was climbed here, a passion undergone here, a sacrifice offered here, one which was a conscious and free imitation of that Calvary of Christ, that Passion of our Saviour, that Sacrifice of the Son of God, offered once far away and long ago, and renewed here on our Altars. Just as the miracle of the Holy Mass brings Calvary to us, and us to Calvary, the martyrs’ deaths provide a similar point of focus, since they died in imitation of Christ and following in His footsteps. Calvary came to London, and London to Calvary. A betrayal had already taken place. Herod, Pilate, the mob – they were all there. Paradise was promised to the penitent, and fruitfulness promised to the Church, by the bravery of an English sailor, stretching out his limbs to the butchers as once a Galilean carpenter did. Oh to have the eyes of faith in which to see the realities of this mystery! It happened here.
Suffering, in imitation of Christ, is something to which you and I are all called. And how we rebel against it! Each little inconvenience or trial, each experience of pain or sorrow, each twinge of our aching bodies and each thorn of anxiety in our souls – they are all invitations to participate in something glorious, and yet we naturally run away from them, ask the Lord to take such nails and thorns away, and may even think that we deserve better. Such a thought makes us feel ashamed, and unworthy of our calling. Don’t ask me for an easy answer to this, but how do we learn to embrace the Cross, as the saints did? Is there a way to open the eyes of our souls to see in the discomforts and sufferings of this life a real business-proposition from the King of Kings, to join Him in the enterprise of Saving the world? The currency used for this transaction is the Precious Blood, which we meditate upon this month. He pays the sum up-front, on the Cross, wiping out the debt of human iniquity. He asks only for our cooperation, our willingness to take up our own cross and follow Him. I say ‘ask’ but of course He really demands this of us, as a commandment of love, saying that if a man does not do so, he is not worthy of Him, as we read in the Gospel of the Mass (Jn 12:24-26), “Whoever serves me must follow me”. When the eyes of our confreres in the Order turn to London this evening, they see with us the worthy example of one who nobly cooperated with Christ, and took part in the economy of Salvation, wishing to lose his life in order to find it, and what a transaction it was! O admirabile commercium… The returns on his investment were beyond human imagining. In the eyes of the world, he lost everything, and England seemed to lose too. But in reality, having given everything, he gained even more – and so did England. In doing so, he was only paying in full what had already been promised before: On 12thJuly 1541 he completed the transaction first promised at his postulancy on 20thOctober 1533 and at his profession on 25thMay 1535. The First Class has many examples among its ranks of those who sealed their solemn vows in blood: “It is accomplished.” And so the passion was complete; tetelestai; and it happened here.
Our witness today is a martyrdom of sorts; we will silently witness to the fact that grace won a victory on our streets, while the secular authorities scored an own goal. No commemorative plaque would quite do it justice. In Nazareth, the proclamation over the Altar marks the spot of the Incarnation thus: “Hic Verbum caro factum est;” the Word became flesh here. We might need something more like that for St Thomas Waterings… This station along a pilgrim’s way became a calvary for David Gunson, Knight and Martyr. Here his blood was shed, in imitation of Christ, for you and for many. But let the real commemoration not be in brass; let it be writ large in our hearts this evening. Let us tell ourselves – I will accept the Cross, I will not run away from it, I will embrace it. And let us tell Our Lord – I wish to love and follow you, my Lord, I wish your footprints to be the path for my own rebellious feet to follow. Let me do it out of love. “This is my body, given for you, this is my Blood, poured out for you.” These words of yours, Lord, Blessed David made his own… and with trepidation, I wish to make the same offering of myself, here, and now. Whatever calvary you choose for me, Lord, here – take – this is my body. Here, take – this is my blood. De tuis donis ac datis –you gave it to me, and it already belongs to you, I have already promised it back to you as a down payment for Heaven: I complete the sacrifice, I see only endless mercy in your plan for me, I’m all yours.
And so, one man’s loss is a nation’s gain, an Order’s gain, Heaven’s gain – a win, finally, for our beloved country.
Blessed David Gunson, Pray for us.