Their undisguised incomprehension is a mark of how out of touch post-Reformation Britain has become with the tradition of remembrance, penance and pilgrimage that thrives elsewhere in Catholic Europe. Before Henry rejected the Pope's authority, such spectacles as the one I joined in with at Lindisfarne were commonplace, and their demands well understood by participants and observers alike as groups trudged along the lanes and byways of Britain from shrine to cathedral, abbey to holy well. That tradition ended in 1537 when such destinations were wiped off the map.
Subsequently, the very practice of pilgrimage was suppressed by Puritans who regarded it as too showy, too self-centred and probably too enjoyable. Today, it is all but lost to ignorance. Now acts of Christian witness lead to their participants being labelled, in Tony Blair's chilling phrase (when explaining why he kept quiet about his own faith when in Downing Street) as "nutters".
Walking with those "nutters" at Lindisfarne, I found a camaraderie and infectious good humour, despite the mud, the cold and the weight of the crosses. It immediately reminded me of being in Tarifa when, though we were carrying a shockingly real representation of the battered corpse of Jesus through the streets, the communal singing of hymns and reciting of the rosary lent the procession an air of carnival.
Catholic cultures do have that communal ability to take the sting out of the trials and tribulations of life. The traditional Irish wake may not change by one iota the finality of death, but it eloquently expresses the human solidarity of family, friends and neighbours in the face of life's great mystery. Compare that with our current cold efficiency, sanitising death in hospices, whisking away the corpse as soon as possible in euphemistically labelled Private Ambulances, and then encouraging the grief-stricken to get on with life as the best way of avoiding the terrible social gaffe of being morbid.
Piety is here taken as both negative and primitive, but in Catholic cultures it has an earthy wisdom to it, as Lady Antonia Fraser, the historian and biographer of several of the key Reformation figures, explained to me: "I put my mind back to what I loved about the Catholic Church as a 14-year-old convert, and in fact it's what I still love about it more than 60 years later: it was the religious use of the seasons, the acknowledgement and celebration of the seasons of the year via the feasts of the Church including the penitential seasons. So I still date my letters with such things as ‘22 November, Feast of St Cecilia', which of course celebrates music, to say nothing of Candlemas, just past, which was originally the feast of the lambs, transformed by the Church. So in a Catholic England we would still have all this holy roistering."
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