Abstract: During the early eighteenth century. Capuchin missionaries as well as Ursuline nuns built and maintained churches and schools for all people in south Louisiana, no matter their race or social stams. Under French and Spanish colonial rule, black Catholics supported all efforts toward interracial worship. After 1803, the diocese’s inclusive practices continued. By 1861 proselytization of large numbers of free people of color and slaves resulted in Catholic congregations with roughly equal numbers of blacks and whites. When parishes were officially created in 1861, they had an integrated membership. Interracial parishes survived the traumas of the Civil War and persisted until 1920 because the Catholic Church ministered to all races while other denominations excluded blacks. The use of the French language united congregations at a time when the use of English prevailed in society. The rough balance between blacks and whites also prevented racial supremacy. But the system had problems. Irish and German Catholics built exclusive "national" parishes and did not participate in the archdiocese’s interracial "territorial" parishes. All parishes maintained segregated schools. In addition, national church authorities tried to link the availability of money to the creation of racially segregated parishes. In 1895, an archbishop built the diocese’s first exclusively black church. After 1900, as the interracial congregations divided along racial lines, dark-skinned Sicilians replaced the former free people of color as the "inbetween" group in Louisiana’s

Abstract: "Religion and art spring from the same root and are close kin. Economics and art are strangers."(1) "Art is made out of the love of old and intimate things. We always underestimate the common things."(2) In her essays, interviews, and lectures of the Twenties, Willa Cather repeatedly argued that mass culture had effaced the history, meaning, and very nature of art. Machine-made imitations, vehicles of dissemination such as the radio and film, and the homogenization of cultural forms in an expanding middle-class all threatened art--for Cather the measure of a society, a realm she valued for its artifactual uniqueness, craftsmanship, staying power, and discerning audience. Indeed, she rarely referred to the contemporary culture as such--it was simply the negation of "human culture."(3) It was characterized by "articles made for great numbers of people who do not want quality but quantity, who do not want a thing that `wears,' but who want change--a succession of new things that are quickly threadbare and can be lightly thrown away."(4) For a writer who, in virtually all of her works, developed her characters through their perceptual habits and who focalized key meanings through physical objects, this new "culture" was a threat both to the way "old and intimate things" were appreciated and to the integrity of the things themselves. Cather wished to keep her art and appreciation "strangers" to "economics," and in the mid-to-late Twenties, her fiction shows her struggling to preserve the thing of beauty from the marketplace. Cather's intertwined commentaries on economics and art reveal that, in crucial ways, her aesthetics were complicit with commodity culture's levelling of distinction, and in her mid-Twenties novels, The Professor's House and Death Comes for the Archbishop, she responded by critiquing those aesthetics and modifying them to serve as a means of preserving and celebrating historical and cultural specificity. Cather's repeated invocation of religion in connection with art is interesting, for she was not religious in the supernatural or doctrinal senses. Rather than being motivated by belief, Cather seems to have found in the Episcopal and Catholic faiths a concentration of the values she sought elsewhere in life: discipline, formal structure, and stability. Most important was the cultural axis that religion provided.(5) She would articulate this most clearly in 1927's Death Comes for the Archbishop, in which Jean Latour's Catholicism is fully integrated with Cather's own cultural and aesthetic investments. More generally, Cather invoked religion both as a valorized origin of art and to separate the proper, reverential appreciation of good things from lax mass consumption. As in Archbishop, religion was leveraged into a model of disciplined aestheticism. Back in the beginning of art, when art was intertwined inseparably with religion, there had to be great preparation for its ceremonials. The creature who hoped for an uplifted moment often endured privation in preparation for that moment. I do not think we should sit at home, in the clothes in which we have been working all day and turn on the radio to hear the Boston Symphony. I think something more than passivity should be expected of the recipient of any such bounty as Brahms.(6) The radio was a logical target for Cather. In many ways, television's cultural presence was anticipated by this device around which huge numbers of Americans experienced the shift to long-distance, shared entertainment. In a famous 1936 preface, Cather asserted that the "world broke in two in 1922 or thereabouts," making the present quite separate from "yesterday's seven thousand years."(7) American purchasing power was on a steady rise in 1922, and just two years later, 5 million homes contained at least one radio, a number that would more than double in the next six years.(8) Working class families could build a battery powered radio for a few dollars. …

Abstract: First published in 1998, this book describes the surviving medieval remains there and the far more numerous manor houses and castles owned by the bishops, as well as their London houses. Apart from royal residences these are far the largest group of medieval domestic buildings of a single type that we have. The author describes how these buildings relate to the way of life of the bishops in relation to their duties and their income and how in particular the dramatic social changes of the later middle ages influenced their form. The work of the great bishop castle-builders of the 12th century is discussed, as are the general history of the medieval house with its early influence from the Continent, the changes in style of hall and chamber (still controversial) and its climax in the great courtyard houses of Cardinal Wolsey, Archbishop of York. The book includes over a hundred plans, sections and photographs of the surviving parts of bishops’ residences, with a survey of 1647 of the Archbishop’s palace at Canterbury before demolition.

Abstract: On 9 April 1514 Tamas Bakocz, archbishop of Esztergom and cardinal-legate of Pope Leo X, initiated the preaching of a crusade against the Turks in Hungary. On 24 April Gyorgy Dozsa Szekely, a minor nobleman serving with the garrison of Belgrade who had experience of fighting the Turks, was appointed as commander of the crusading army. Dozsa marched southwards from Pest on 10 May with the main body of crusaders, some 15,000 strong, for the most part peasants. Five days later Archbishop Bakocz and the Hungarian royal council called a halt to the preaching. Their cancellation was provoked by the fact that the crusade preaching had generated alarming social unrest, and on 22 May an encounter occurred at Varad in which an army of crusaders defeated a force of nobles. The crusade was now showing all the features of an uprising, and two days after the battle of Varad, coincidentally on the same day that Gyorgy Dozsa inflicted another defeat on the nobles at Nagylak, the king called off the crusade and ordered the peasant crusaders to return home. His command was ignored and attempts to organise local resistance against the various crusade armies met with only partial success. It proved necessary to recall Janos Zapolyai and the troops who were engaged against the Turks in the east. At the end of June Zapolyai marched in relief of Temesvar (Timisoara), the fortress which Dozsa was besieging, evidently with the plan to establish a strategic base between the Maros and the Danube. Here, on 15 July, the vojvoda smashed the crusading army and turned the tide of the revolt, which lasted for just a few more weeks.

Abstract: David C.R. Heisser* President Jefferson Davis in 1864 appointed Bishop Patrick Neison Lynch of Charleston, South Carolina, to be Commissioner of the Confederate States of America to the States of the Church. An ardent Confederate, Bishop Lynch undertook a mission to Europe to win recognition by the Holy See. As part of his contribution to the Southern cause he wrote a tract on slavery which was published in Italian, German, and French, but never in English.' This article discusses Lynch's participation in the Confederate propaganda effort, considers his ideas in the context of the time, and presents representative selections from his original English text. Lynch accepted appointment on March 3, 1864; on April 4 Secretary of State Judah P Benjamin instructed the Bishop to seek recognition and, more importantly, to work for "enlightening opinions and molding impressions" of European leaders. Lynch was to receive a monthly salary of $1,000 plus $500 for travel.2 In Patrick Lynch the Confederate government chose an acknowledged leader of the Catholic Church in America. Born in Ireland, he was brought up in South Carolina and studied for the priesthood at the seminary of the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith (Propaganda Fide), the department of the Roman Curia that administered the Catholic Church in America. Lynch had received his doctorate in Rome and spoke fluent Italian. He knew Alessandro Cardinal Barnabo, Prefect of the Propaganda Fide and an influential advisor to Pope Pius IX.3 When Fort Sumter fell to the Confederates Lynch ordered a Te Deum sung in his cathedral.4 He championed Southern independence in a public exchange of letters with Archbishop John Hughes of New York.5 Jefferson Davis admired Lynch for his work with sick and wounded servicemen and prisoners of war, and the Bishop was a member of the President's entourage during the latter's 1863 visit to Charleston.6 In an appeal to his faithful for prayers for peace Lynch praised the Confederate government and armies.7 During April, 1864, the Bishop ran the blockade and sailed to Europe.8 In Paris he met with Confederate agent John Slidell and propagandists Henry Hotze and Edwin De Leon, a fellow South Carolinian. Emperor Napoleon III gave Lynch an audience on June 14, and a few days later the Bishop traveled to Rome, arriving on the 26th.9 He took lodgings in that city, where he was to entertain prominent people and acquire a reputation for hospitality.'o To Giacomo Cardinal Antonelli, Papal Secretary of State, he communicated the Confederacy's desire for recognition. Antonelli was polite but non-committal. On July 4 Pope Pius IX received Lynch in private audience as Charleston's ordinary, but not as Confederate representative. Pius said of North and South, "It is clear that you are two nations," expressed willingness to mediate and opposition to sudden emancipation. "But still," remarked the Pontiff, "something might be done looking to an improvement in [the slaves'] position or state, and to a gradual preparation for their freedom at a future opportune time."" The Bishop had subsequent, cordial conversations with Pius and Antonelli, but made no progress toward recognition. Antonelli assured United States Minister Rufus King that Lynch was received only as a bishop making his ad limina visit.12 Just after his first audience with the Pope, Lynch wrote Benjamin, "I am now engaged in drawing up a paper on the actual condition and treatment of slaves at the South, at the request of Msgr. [Francesco] Nardi, one of the judges of the Rota, or supreme court of the papal States."13 All Confederate agents contended with the bad name slavery gave their country. These agents had organized a propaganda effort in Europe. Henry lotze edited and published the Index, a London newspaper presenting the Southern perspective. Across the Channel, the Emperor and his supporters generally favored the South, and progovernment newspapers reflected this, but Napoleon III had to pay close attention to French public opinion. …

Abstract: Introduction My memories of my first contact with the Bible go back to my days as a toddler in a typical Nigerian Igbo village. My father could not read or write, yet he owned a Bible. In fact, he owned the only Bible in the village, an enormous red-edged book. Nobody ever read this Bible. It was not acquired to be read like ordinary books. My father's Bible was carefully wrapped in white cloth and kept under lock and key in a wooden cabinet in which my father kept things he particularly treasured. Whenever you saw him open the cabinet and bring out the Bible, you knew there was to be a big palaver in the village: some kind of dispute was defying the ingenuity of the village elders which could only be settled by one of the contending parties swearing an oath. Taking an oath on my father's Bible was the most reliable way of solving such protracted disputes. For those first generation Christians, then, this Bible had replaced the sacred staff (ofo) of the traditional religion as an object for oath taking, thanks to the example of colonial court-room formalities. This bizarre personal recollection is meant as an invitation to leave familiar territory. It can be compared to the "once upon a time" openings of traditional folk tales, and I hope it serves to prepare you to follow me to the world of first and second generation Christianity as it is to be found in present-day Africa.(1) Africa is on record as the continent with the highest numerical Christian growth rate in the world.(2) And the Bible has been identified as "a major contributor" to this phenomenal growth.(3) The Bible is certainly very much valued and used by African Christians. Given the oral tradition that forms the background of African Christians, and given the literary tradition that the Bible represents, the question of the relationship between the Bible and culture in African Christianity becomes an intriguing one. How is the Bible used in the cultural environment of Africa by recent-generation African Christians? Here we shall not content ourselves with simply describing the present situation of the interaction of Bible and culture in Africa. We need to go further and ask more probing and critical questions with the aim of assessing the appropriateness of the relationship we discover. If we find the present model of the relationship between the Bible and culture in African Christianity to be inadequate, as well we may, then we will be compelled to suggest another model which we believe will prove more appropriate for the realization of the mission of African Christianity. Definition of Terms St Louis University historian Thomas P. Neill is quoted as saying, "How can you have a good fight if you define your terms?"(4) Since the purpose of this paper is to provoke not a good fight but a good reflection, it might be necessary to offer a working definition of some of the main terms utilized in this article. Bible The term "Bible" in this article is used in two closely related yet distinct ways: to refer to the "book" as well as to the "message". As book, suffice it to say that it refers to the books of the Old and New Testaments held by Christians as the inspired Word of God.(5) As message, it refers to the teaching to be found in this collection of books, and as such could be synonymous with the terms "gospel," "good news," "biblical tradition," "biblical revelation," etc. Culture To expect a human person to define culture is like expecting a fish to define the water in which it lives. For, "As water is to the fish, so culture is to the human person."(6) We are best served by a broad description of this all-encompassing reality, such as the one proposed by Orthodox Archbishop of Albania, Anastasios Yannoulatos, who has isolated seven "constant elements" found in every culture. These are: formation of a system of contact, of a code of understanding, that is of a language; solutions given to the very first needs for humankind's survival, concerning shelter and maintenance, that is, developing of an elementary technical skill and economics; regulation of the living together of the basic human unity, many-woman, for the perpetuation of the human species; organization of a clan, race, nation, which means a regulation of social relations; definition of what is good or bad, in other words, making social rules; artistic expressions of the beliefs and problematics of the individual and of society; experience of the "Holy," of what is beyond everyday reality, through a form of religious beliefs. …

Abstract: Joseph Cardinal Bernardin of Chicago was for twenty years the most influential US Catholic bishop; he was also a beloved public figure whose views commanded respect from Catholics and non-Catholics alike This posthumous collection of a number of his major addresses on central moral issues in contemporary American life voices the causes that were closest to his heart: the sanctity and protection of all human life, the reshaping of American society and institutions for the benefit of the poorest, the preservation of peace in the pursuit of justice, and the growth of mutual understanding and harmony within the Church Spanning the period from the early 1980s to just weeks before his death in late 1996, these essays demonstrate a remarkably sustained and thoughtful effort to articulate an overall framework for moral decisions - 'a consistent ethic of life' - and to affirm an active role for religious convictions in a pluralist democratic society Cardinal Bernardin applies the Church's moral and social teachings to complex policy issues in a way that respects religious freedom and invites both reflection from Catholics and dialogue with people of other beliefs Written in a clear and accessible style, this volume will be of value to everyone interested in Cardinal Bernardin's moral vision for political choices It will also be important for a wide range of readers concerned with in Christian ethics and the role of religion in the public sphere Joseph Cardinal Bernardin (1928-1996) served as the archbishop of Chicago from 1982 to 1996 and as archbishop of Cincinnati from 1972 to 1982 He was made a cardinal by Pope John Paul II in 1983 and received the Presidential Medal of Freedom in 1996 for his contribution to American civic life He wrote "The Gift of Peace" (Loyola University Press, 1997)

Abstract: At the close of the twentieth century, the ties that formerly bound church and state in Western Europe and North America have become disengaged despite efforts among some Christian groups to renew those connections. At the beginning of this century, however, the union between the Church of England and the state still remained firm. Political leaders, especially Tories, could generally rely on the established church to provide spiritual sanctions for government ac tions. One need only consider the support generally rendered by the Church of England for British efforts in the Great War.1 Nevertheless, the government could not always take church backing for granted. Such an exception arose in the failed campaign by the Foreign Office to gain the Church of England's unqualified endorsement for its blan ket imprecation of the new Bolshevik regime. It seems doubly strange since officials in the Foreign Office had sought church support for its condemnation of the Bolshevik treatment of the Russian Orthodox

Abstract: The great Catholic Sioux Congress of 1910 was very spectacular. For the first time a papal visitor was in attendance. From June 25-29, amid much ceremony, an extraordinary crowd of 4000 Sioux sodality dele gates and representatives from other tribes welcomed Archbishop Diomede Falconio to Standing Rock Reservation, Fort Yates, North Dakota. In numerous ways, the Sioux expressed their loyalty and devotion to the Church. By their actions they gave validation to years of missionary labor that provided authentication for their conversion to Christianity. John Grass, a young sodality leader and reservation judge exclaimed, "It is now high time for us to give over old Dakota customs, for the missionaries have had trouble working with us long enough." Another speaker, Little Fish, added a personal conviction. "Since the days when the Black Robe [a Sioux reference to Catholic missionaries, especially Jesuits] first came among us, I have grasped religion with one hand and the plow with the other. I am convinced that our people can live and prosper only if they cleave to these two things."1 Later they reiterated their feelings through ceremony by bestowing gifts on the papal delegates. Among the presents were money, to show generosity; a pipe and tobacco demonstrating symbolic surrender of tribal beliefs by giving up its sacred objects; and a Lakota name, "Inyan Bolsa" or "Standing Rock," denoting affinity between the Sioux and the Great Rock of Rome. Following was a great handshake when all persons in attendance shook hands with the papal representative while singing European Christian hymns translated into the Sioux language. This Congress celebrated the triumph of Christianity built upon years of experimentation and replication of successful missionary efforts. What this gathering did not reveal was the ambivalence and disinterest in the Church then growing on many Sioux reservations. Changing experiences in Sioux life were causing new reactions to Church involvement and participation. Missionaries

Abstract: On August 12, 1996, Cardinal Joseph Bernardin, Archbishop of Chicago († November 14, 1996), released a statement entitled “Called to Be Catholic Church in a Time of Peril,” which concretized an initiative called the Catholic Common Ground Project . This project is to be staffed by the thirteen-year-old, New York-based, National Pastoral Life Center, which was originally established under the auspices of the Administrative Committee of the U.S. Bishops' Conference. The peril which is the project's concern is the polarization that has developed in the Catholic Church in the United States in the course of the thirtyodd years elapsed since the close of the Second Vatican Council.

Abstract: NICHOLAS LOSSKY* As a non-Anglican asked to speak of the Anglican identity, I feel I must begin by stating my relation to Anglicanism. This relation began very early in my youth. When I visited Britain for the first time as a boy of sixteen, soon after the Second World War, I stayed with friends of my parents', the Lampert family in Oxford. This occasioned my very first encounter with an Anglican, Katharine Lampert, daughter of Sir Jasper Ridley, a kinswoman of Bishop Nicholas Ridley, one of the Martyrs whose feast day in the American Book of Common Prayer is celebrated on 16 October. Through my friendship with this very faithful Anglican, deeply attached to her Church to her dying day, my own interest in, and love for Anglicanism began and never waned since. It is my profound conviction that the Anglican Communion has much to contribute to the Ecumenical Movement. Since this conviction is expressed by an Orthodox, it will, I trust, surprise no one that it is not an unconditional opinion. It is based upon a certain conception of Anglicanism, its history and tradition, which understandably, may well not be shared or approved by many Anglicans. Let me add at this point that the contribution of Anglicanism to the Ecumenical Movement I have in mind is very close to the contribution to the same Movement that I envisage for my own Church. The most essential element of this Anglican contribution lies in the richness of its theological tradition, particularly as it was rediscovered in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, culminating in what some continue to regard as the so-called "Golden Age" of Anglicanism. One of the most outstanding twentieth-century witnesses to this rich theological tradition, an Anglican who in his person represents both America and England, T.S. Eliot, speaking of one of the representatives, if not the culminating figure of this "Golden Age," Lancelot Andrewes, wrote in 1928 that he "speaks with the old authority and the new culture" and adds "Andrewes is the first great preacher of the English Catholic Church."1 The most interesting aspect of the theology rediscovered in that period of the Renaissance with its humanism and learning (the "new culture"), is of course based on the access to the writings of the Church Fathers in the original languages and in critical editions. However, this is only the visible part of the iceberg. The real value of this theology, especially in the theology of Richard Hooker, Lancelot Andrewes and the many outstanding divines that followed throughout the seventeenth century, lies in their recovery, thanks to this access, of patristic theology. For indeed, there is a great deal of difference between knowledge of the Fathers and "patristic theology." Many scholars can read the Fathers and never emerge from what might be termed an "archeological" approach. To recover "patristic theology" means something quite different. It means to make one's own the spirit of the Fathers, or, to use a phrase launched in English by Fr. Georges Florovsky, the "mind" of the Fathers, thereby entering what Fr. Florovsky calls the "mind of the Church" and Vladimir Lossky called the "catholic consciousness" of every member of the Church. To practise patristic theology consists in adopting the attitude of the Fathers to the divine Revelation. They witnessed to it in their time and for their time and in so far as they were witnessing to the fundamentals of the divine revelation, they were unanimous. And precisely, their unanimity represents the conciliar mind or consciousness of the Church. William Chillingworth, one of the divines of the seventeenth century, as we all know, drew attention to the contradictions in the Fathers' works, in conciliar statements (what he does not say is that the "contradictory" councils are not received as councils). Archbishop Basil Krivocheine, a great Orthodox patristic scholar (+1985), would also say that in all the Fathers of the Church we may find limitations and contradictions. …

Abstract: The British Academy, The Robert Gardiner Memorial Scholarship Fund, The British Federation of Women Graduates Charitable Foundation and The Archbishop Cranmer Scholarship Fund.

Abstract: Louis XIV was the product of a monarchic tradition which was instilled into him from childhood. His tutors read to him each evening several pages of Francois Eudes de Mezerai’s Histoire de France (3 vols, 1643–51)1 which was intended to inculcate in him a reverential sense of standing in a line of French kings stretching back many centuries. The young king was instructed in the development of French monarchy from earliest times to the present, and was acquainted with the personalities, achievements and failures of his predecessors; his favourite reading in his youth was the biography of his grandfather, Henri IV, written by Louis’s tutor Hardouin de Perefixe, later Archbishop of Paris.2 Louis’s historical studies avoided sentimental or romanticised interpretations of the past. They stressed the immense challenges which monarchy in France had surmounted — the Hundred Years War, the Wars of Religion — and forewarned Louis that he too would encounter difficulties and hardships as he ruled a notoriously volatile kingdom. They encouraged him nevertheless to be positive in the exercise of kingship. Monarchy, he was taught, was the very focus of the nation; in a sense the king was France.3

Abstract: The outbreak of the civil war initiated one of the most serious crises for Catholics in the British Isles in the whole of their post-Reformation history. The relative favour shown by Charles I to the English Catholics and their grateful response, as shown in the ‘Contributions’ of 1639, revived ‘popery’as a live issue from 1640 onwards; fears of a ‘popish plot’, whipped up by the Irish rebellion of 1641 served as a coda to the mounting tension between the crown and the Long Parliament. The latter’s role as the sounding board of the nation’s Protestantism induced it to demand savage action against priests, with the result that eleven of these were executed in the period 1641–2. The historian Archbishop Mathew noted two points about these victims — their seniority of years (two of them were well past seventy), and the fact that ‘They had lived quietly and laboriously without concealment … [A]ll were well known to the authorities who had suddenly descended upon them.’1 In other words, for Catholics the period around the outbreak of the civil war was one of catastrophe because it brought renewed suffering on a community, and above all on its priests, that had in the preceding decades been building up a comparatively stable presence in England and Wales.