The subject of the 1928 Book of Common Prayer always ignites a little nostalgia for my Anglican days. So it was in that frame of mind that I began rummaging through some old discs this afternoon looking for misplaced articles I had written. Because I am still an admirer of Charles I of England, whom Anglo-Catholics traditionally venerate as a saint (and who, in my opinion, may well be a saint), I was pleased to have recovered the following article commemorating his martyrdom:
**********************************************************
SAINT CHARLES, KING AND MARTYR
“Constant from cradle to the grave,
Gold of a loving heart he gave,
Prayer was his frankincense and breath,
And myrrh his brave and kingly death.”
- D.F.G.
This 30th of January marks the 350th anniversary of the Martyrdom of King Charles I, commemorated worldwide by the faithful Anglican remnant in the spirit of the Royal Martyr’s final request: “Remember!” Saint Charles is unique as the only saint to have been canonized by the Church of England since the Reformation, and therefore has a special claim on our affections. Yet many of us are reticent and embarrassed when it comes to his veneration: protestantism has told us that no man’s sanctity is better than another’s; democracy has told us that monarchs can only be tyrants and despots; egalitarianism has told us that patriarchy is oppression; modernism has told us that religion is superstition; post-modernism has told us that history is irrelevent. These lies, and others, have been so deeply woven into our post-Christian worldview that Saint Charles is something of a scandal to us. Nevertheless, traditional Christians will seek to recover the ancient wisdom behind the Church’s veneration of her holy saints and martyrs, for by their lives and witness they direct us to Christ the Incarnate God.
England in the 17th century was in want of order. Protestant dissent from the doctrines of the English Church, and from the established laws of the Kingdom, became increasingly vocal and violent. Radical and impatient demands were raised for the abolition of the Prayer Book, of bishops, of altars, of images, of candles and bells and anything remotely smacking of “popery”. The peaceful foreign policy of Charles I, which sought friendship rather than war with the Catholic monarchies of the continent, was hotly resented by a growing band of anti-Catholic fanatics. Queen Henrietta Maria (for whom the American colony of Maryland was named), herself a foreign-born Roman Catholic, was equally resented by the dissenters, not the least because French priests were permitted to attend to her spiritual needs at the royal court. Meanwhile Archbishop Laud was devotedly restoring Anglican worship to its historic catholic roots, and a new generation of theologians were rigorously defending the apostolic faith and order of the English Church. None of this was to the satisfation of the Puritans, who perceived it all as a sinister scheme to return England to papal tyranny.
While dissenters were sometimes treated roughly, the rule of Charles I was remarkably tolerant by 17th century standards, and creative in seeking accomodation. Despite the brewing troubles, his reign was characterized by such peace and stability that the English people were soon to look back upon it as a “golden age” of Arthurian quality, even a time of national renaissance. England never had a more dedicated patron of the arts, or a greater friend of learning and scholarship, than King Charles I. Most significantly, his rule produced a theological and liturgical flowering in the English Church of such beauty and inspiration that it has left an indelible mark upon all of Western Christendom.
Ultimately war would begin to ravage the British Isles, and the king would steadfastly refuse to capitulate to Puritan demands that would have resulted in the destruction of the Anglican Church. The king’s cavaliers fought valiantly, but the gathering storm of determined Puritan rebels, aided by an emerging class of wealthy merchants, proved too strong for them. The targets of the enemy — then as now — were chiefly the Prayer Book and the Apostolic Succession. King Charles could have saved his own life, and probably his throne, had he been willing to destroy the English Church in the bargain. But the Church was his mother, at whose knee he had been taught the love of his blessed Savior, and the king took seriously his annointed role as her Defender. Charles wrote thus in 1629:
“For we call God to record, before whom we stand, that it is, and always hath been, our own heart’s desire to be found worthy of that title, which we account the most glorious in all our Crown, Defender of the Faith.”
Throughout the hostilities Charles always accepted the rebels’ calls for negotiation, for he had no desire to crush them or alienate them. Yet it was clear to him that the Puritans’ religious demands extended far beyond changes in the external rites of the Church. As he writes on 1649:
“For the difference between me and the rebels concerning the Church is not bare matter of form or ceremony, which are alterable according to occasion, but so real, that if I should give away as is desired, here would be no Church, and by no human probability ever to be recovered; so that, besides the obligation of mine oath, I know nothing to be an higher point of conscience.”
Tragedy would seem to have triumphed at the eventual victory of Oliver Cromwell’s Puritan forces. Archibishop Laud was martyred on the 10th of January, 1645, loyal to the end. Charles was imprisoned and rudely interrogated before a kangaroo Court. The Puritan inquistitors gave no satisfactory answer to the king’s persistant question: “I would wish to know by what authority I am brought hither.” For it was just as Charles concluded, “I see I am before a force”. Though he had been awkward in youth and afflicted with a stammer, Charles conducted himself with the utmost dignity and grace in the face of cruel adversity. Perhaps it takes a father to imagine the pain of heart he must have endured — for a king is a father to his people — hated and persecuted by rebellious children whom he loves with a paternal love. Yet this is the truest imitation of the love of God, whose love for men is so seldom requited; this is the love of Christ from the Cross, who endured persecution unto death, who until the very end loved His people and prayed that they might be forgiven. That Charles had that same benevolence towards his subjects is illustrated by his words in a letter written from prison to his son, the Prince of Wales:
“It is all I have now left me, a power to forgive those that have deprived me of all; and I thank God I have a heart to do it, and joy as much in this grace, which God hath given me, as in all my former enjoyments; for this is a greater argument of God’s love to me than any prosperity can be … For those that repent of any defects in their duty toward me, as I freely forgive them in the word of a Christian King, so I believe you will find them truly zealous to repay, with interest, that loyalty and love to you which was due to me.”
The Court pronounced the barbarous sentence of regicide, and Charles was delivered into the hands of his executioners on the 30th of January. He was not bitter; on the contrary, he was convinced in his own heart that this temporal injustice was in fact divine justice for his own sins. He was particularly grieved over his previous signing of the death warrant for the Earl of Strafford as a concession to the Puritans, a gut-wrenching decision for which he now publicly repented. As he would say from the scaffold:
“God forbid that I should be so ill a Christian as not to say God’s judgments are just upon me. Many times he does pay justice by an unjust sentence … an unjust sentence that I suffered for to take effect, is punished now by an unjust sentence upon me.”
The king prepared for his death by hearing the lessons from the Office for that day, and mysteriously, by some divine grace, the 2nd Lesson for the 30th of January was the crucifixion of Christ from the Gospel of St. Matthew. What comfort that must have been to him in his last hours! Our Royal Martyr was then given the Sacrament and his last meal before the final, terrible events unfolded. A little tract titled “The Sanctity of Charles I” illustrates:
“Then, when finally standing on a scaffold, he delivered, according to the custom of those times, his last discourse, he concluded with a declaration that echoed, within his own predicaments, the statement made by his Catholic grandmother, Mary, Queen of Scots, as she was going to meet the very same type of violent death. For, whilst she had said, at that hour, that she was dying in the religion of her fathers, he likewise proclaimed: ‘I die a Christian of the Church of England, as I found it left to me by my father.’ After which, having handed his George to Bishop Juxon and pronounced that single last word so infinitely pregnant with meaning of ‘Remember!’, he knelt down in perfect control, prayed and gave himself the signal for the blow that dispatched his admirable Christian soul before his Maker, his Judge, and his Love.”
The executioner then raised the severed head of Charles Stuart for all to see. The solemn hush was broken by groans from the crowd, in marked contrast to the hideous executions of the French Revolution where the blood-thirsty mob could not contain its glee. Somehow, the English people could not rejoice in regicide. Even Cromwell was heard to grumble that night, “Cruel necessity!”. People from the crowd rushed forward, in spite of the troops, to soak their handkerchiefs in his blood, to obtain some hair from his head or beard, or chips from the block, or threads from his garments. It is now known that miraculous healings have occured from the application of his relics, direct evidence of our saint’s intercessory power. His coffin was taken to Windsor draped in black, but before it reached the vault for burial it was a pure and glistening white, the color of the Resurrection: a gentle snow had begun to fall, in another timely sign from Heaven. People remembered that he had been dressed in white on the day of his Coronation, and so the Royal Martyr became known henceforth as the White King, and white roses became customary tributes on his feast day.
The life and death of King Charles the Martyr is instructive in these last days, when love and loyalty are so little valued, and when both Church and State appear to have lost their divine sanction in the eyes of men. He reminds us that the Faith of our fathers is ever in need of valiant defenders and staunch confessors; he proves that traditional Christian orthodoxy is not incompatible with a charitable tolerance; he shows us that this broken world contains no lasting kingdom, that ultimately we are meant for the eternal Kingdom of Heaven. Let us then imitate the zeal and steadfastness of our beloved Anglican saint, and seek his intercession for our little corner of the Church that owes so much to him.
Blessed Lord, in whose sight the death of Thy saints is precious: We magnify Thy name for Thine abundant grace bestowed upon Thy chosen servant, Charles, king and martyr; by which he was enabled so cheerfully to follow the steps of his blessed Master and Saviour in a constant meek suffering of all barbarous indignities, and at last resisting unto blood, and praying for his murderers. Let his memory, O Lord, be ever blessed among us, that we may follow the example of his courage and constancy and great charity; For Jesus Christ’s sake, our only Mediator and Advocate. Amen.
(Collect of Charles Stuart, King and Martyr)
Leave a reply to The White King