Foundations of the Anglican Church XX

Rouen Cathedral

For those who are following this series on the history of the Church of England it might be important to step aside for a moment and take note of how the Church was supported financially in medieval England as it differs from our contemporary American experience.  We—at least Catholics in North America—are used to the parish church being supported through the offerings of the faithful at Sunday Mass and the occasional special collection or far more rare capital campaign.  The bottom line is the same—the parish is supported by the contributions of the parishioners.  The Diocese is supported by a tax on the parishes called the “cathedraticum.”  I understand that the exact amount differs from diocese to diocese but 12% of normal parish revenue would not be unusual.  “Normal parish revenue” generally means that special or designated gifts to a parish are exempt from this tax.  If Mrs. Smith gives fifteen thousand dollars to the parish for a new piano in the sanctuary, that money would not usually be subject to the diocesan tax.    Dioceses usually have an annual campaign—the Bishop’s Lenten Campaign, the Cardinal’s Campaign, The Archbishop’s Annual Appeal, it differs from diocese to diocese—which also goes to special projects in the diocese such as designated charities, priest’s retirement, Catholic Social Services, whatever.  Individual donors also might give to the diocese, and perhaps money is obtained by grants from foundations and other sources for special projects.  In addition to this the bishop is often given a rather handsome check when he visits a parish for confirmation or other special events and this check generally provides a portion of his income. 
This is not how it worked in the Middle Ages however.  To begin with, when a church was built it was generally the responsibility of the feudal lord on whose lands the church stood and whose serfs the church would serve.  Lord Jones was not only responsible to build the church for his serfs but even more important he was expected to give the church lands to support it.  Land had to be given for the support of the priest.  In the earlier part of the Middle Ages it would be normal for the priest and his family to work the land themselves but as time went by the land was generally rented out and the priest collected the rents.  Land had also to be given to provide for the upkeep of the church and its needs—vestments, candles, sacred vessels, furnishings, etc.  Lord Jones might give several fields, an orchard, a mill, some fishing traps on the river, and a toll booth on a road through his lands for the support of the Church.  The priest would then rent these lands and traps and tolls out to farmers who wanted to farm the land or orchards, to a miller to work the mill, perhaps to a widow who collected the fish or the tolls.  The rents were then used to support the parish.  The income from the Church lands was divided between the priest, the upkeep of the church facilities, the bishop, and Lord Jones.  Moreover, as explained in earlier entries, Lord Jones held the “advowson.”  He had the right to “present” his candidate for rector (pastor) of the church to the bishop.    The bishop could not turn down Lord Jones’ nomination unless there was a very grave reason and Lord Jones could appeal the bishop’s refusal to the Crown should he think he was treated wrongly.  Later he could send the appeal to Rome if he thought he would get a better hearing from the Roman Curia than the Crown but as said in the previous post, the Statute of Praemunire was meant to prevent such appeals over the head of the King. 
Now the original donation was not the only property attached to the Church.  When Lord Jones died, perhaps his widow or his son would want to make a further donation for his soul.  Perhaps they would give another mill or a toll over a bridge and that income would come with the condition that the priest would each month say a Mass for the eternal rest of Lord Jones.  And perhaps Aunt Sally would die and leave a house in the village to the church on the condition that the rent be used to build a small chapel in the Church in honor of Our Lady.  And Mr. Browne died and left a farm to the Church for annual masses for his soul.  And over a period of time quite an endowment would be raised for the parish, providing a handsome salary for the priest and a good return on Lord Jones’ original investment for whomever then held the advowson.
There was another source of income for the parish church as well.  The tithe was enforced by law.  The parish had a reeve and the reeve’s task was to visit each of the parishioners at harvest time and collect the “first fruits” of the harvest.  Ten percent of the apples in the orchard, the wheat in the field, the grapes in the vineyard, the olives on their trees—all to the parish.  Well, actually olives don’t grow well in England but you get the idea.  And this system was not unique to England in any case but throughout Catholic Europe.  Moreover, every tenth lamb, every tenth piglet, every tenth calf went to the tithe.  The reeve would put aside what he or the priest could use, turn the rest into cash and it got split, like the rents, between the advowson, the priest, the maintenance of the church fabric, and the diocese.  Of course not all reeves were honest, nor were all priests, but that is how it was supposed to work. 
Now what about the diocese?  Well townsfolk also donated property to the Cathedral and to the town churches.  They might donate a field or a farm or an orchard but they more likely donated city property—shops, houses, market stalls, or other city property.  The rents went to the church to which the donation had been made.  Mary Jones was convicted of running a bordello—the building was confiscated and given to the cathedral for its support.  John the shoemaker died and left a house to the cathedral which then collected the rent for that house.  Perhaps the city council would designate that twenty percent of a tax on salt be given to the Cathedral for its support.  In Rouen in Normandy the Cathedral boasts the famous “Butter Tower.”  This tower to the cathedral was built with money that the citizens of Rouen contributed to the cathedral in return for a dispensation allowing them to eat butter during lent.  No Frenchman could go forty days without his good Normandy butter.   Perhaps the cathedral—or any church for that matter—had relics.  Canterbury in England had the shrine of Saint Thomas Becket.  Westminster Abbey the shrine of Saint Edward the Confessor.  Durham Cathedral had the remains of Saint Cuthbert.  Most churches had relics.  Pilgrims came and made offerings.  Perhaps, the relics were kept in a special chapel and one had to pay to enter that chapel.  It might cost the pilgrim only  a penny or two but those pennies added up.  Rents were particularly valuable because they keep coming in, year after year after year.  And relics were particularly important not only for the small gifts they generated but for the sometimes very large gifts from kings or nobles whose prayers in time of need had been heeded by the saint.
The bishop had his funds separate from the Cathedral.  Bishops were Peers of the Realm.  They sat in Parliament.  They served the King as ambassadors and chief officials of the realm.  Their bishoprics had been from the beginning invested with royal lands to provide them income in return for their public duties.  Over the centuries some of these bishoprics became quite wealthy yielding immense salaries from the rents and incomes the lands provided.  Bishops often had to maintain any number of knights who would fight for the King in return for the lands the Crown had given the bishopric.  Because they sat in Parliament, they also had to maintain a house in London as well as in their diocese.  Both their London houses and their various local palaces were grand establishments requiring scores of servants.  They also had their own curiae—their courts—with their vicars general, chancellors, and other officials.  All this was expensive but then their wide holdings in lands as well as the gifts given them in return for various dispensations and favors—both in the Church and in Parliament—provided for them handsomely.
Abbeys and monasteries also had vast holdings of land.  The king or nobles who had founded them had provided for them initially with enough land to support the monks.  But even more than the parish churches, the monasteries drew generous donations in return for the prayers of the monks.  Moreover, when a young man or woman came to the monastery he or she was expected to bring a dowry—almost always land—which was added to the monastery’s lands and which continued to provide income for the monastery long after the monk or nun whose dowry it comprised had died. 
If all this makes the Church sound very land-rich—it was.  The Church grew richer and richer and exercised every greater power.  There were those who were impressed, even awed, by the greatness of the Church.  There were those who were jealous of the Church’s wealth and coveted it.  There were those who became cynical and bitter over the Church’s place in society and determined to undermine it.  And there were those who saw how wealth and power were corrupting the Church and were determined to reform it.  Unfortunately, they were unsuccessful.  But we will talk about that later. 

 

Foundations of The Anglican Church XIX

Cardinal Burke's robes don't come cheap and

somebody has to pay for them.

In 1306 Parliament, under King Edward I, enacted the Statute of Provisors which prohibited monies belonging to the Church being sent out of realm as any form of tribute or fee due to a foreign prelate.  This was primarily intended to stop monies being paid to the papacy in return for papal appointment to office in England or for appeals made to Rome for judgments in ecclesiastical cases.  A second Stature of Provisors was enacted in 1350. 
The problem was this.  Traditionally offices were filled either by election—normally bishops and abbots were elected by their cathedral or monastic chapters—or by appointment by the individual with the right of patronage.  Rectors (pastors) were appointed to parish churches, not by the bishop, but by the individual having the right of appointment which was called the advowson.  If, by way of fictitious example, the Earl of Grantham built a church for the peoples on his land, he had the right of advowson and “presented” the candidate for Rector to the bishop for approval.  The bishop had very limited rights of refusal and almost always had to accept the presentation.  Lord Grantham could give that advowson to another—perhaps it could be part of Lady Mary’s dowry.  Or he could give to the nuns or monks of a nearby abbey.  Most parish churches were filled by such rights of presentation and, as the candidate presented then began collecting the rector’s income—which could be quite handsome—it was a valuable gift to be named rector of a Church.  The advowson itself was valuable too as the person with the right of presentation also collected a share of the Church income. 
There were other ecclesiastical offices that were also “in the gift” of various prelates, nobles, or the Crown.  The head of a hospital or a college, a canonry, a chaplaincy, a chantry in a cathedral, and other positions—all with an endowed income—might be filled by the person, secular or religious, having the right of presentation.  (A chantry was a chapel to which a priest was appointed to offer masses and other prayers at various times in return for a salary.)    
One of the reasons that the Statutes of Provisors were enacted is that popes had begun appointing people to these positions while the incumbents were still alive.  In other words, the pope might appoint a Rector to Lord Grantham’s parish church to succeed the current rector upon his death or advancement to another post.  This papal appointment would thus deprive Lord Grantham of his right to appoint whomever he would choose.  So the Pope appoints the Reverend Dominus John Smith to be the Rector of Downton village Church upon the death of the Reverend Dominus Michael Jones.  (In the Middle Ages secular priests were not called “Father” but usually “Dominus” which is the Latin for “Lord.” This survives in the Italian and Spanish “Don.”)  In return for the appointment, R.D. John Smith sends the Pope ₤50 sterling.  Lord Grantham is completely shut out of his right to appoint the rector (and receive whatever gratuity the new rector might see fit to make.)   The papacy was raking in money from the usurped appointments. 
A variation on this was the matter of Rome naming bishops to English Sees in violation of the right of the respective chapters to elect.  Of course, elections were rarely free for if the Pope was not telling the chapter whom to elect, the King most likely was.  And then, whoever was elected, had to appeal to Rome for the bulls authorizing his consecration and installation to the see.  All this meant considerable money going to Rome.  By the time of the Reformation the amount being paid to Rome for the confirmation of a bishop in his see was called an Annate—from the Latin, Annus, a year.  This is because the fee was generally the bishops’ first year’s income from his diocese—something measured in thousands of pounds, or in today’s money, millions of dollars.     
Another problem the statute addressed was that Lady Mary Crawley wished to marry her cousin, Matthew Crawley, Esq., but being cousins, such marriage was prohibited under canon law.  No problem.  Papal letters of dispensation can be obtained.   ₤20 sterling will nicely cover the costs of notaries and scribes.  (The ₤ sterling was worth far more in purchasing power in the Middle Ages than today. ₤ 20 would be worth several thousand today.)  
The Statutes of Provisors were meant to stop cash from leaving England for Rome but they were also attempts to limit ever increasing papal power and keep the authority of the English Church in English hands.  
Finally in 1353 Parliament enacted the Statute of Praemunire declaring that “ the right of recovering the presentments to churches, prebends, and other benefices . . . belongs only to the king’s court of the old right of his crown, used and approved in the time of all his progenitors kings of England."  It then went on to declare that “if any purchase or pursue, or cause to be purchased or pursued in the court of Rome, or elsewhere, any such translations, processes, and sentences of excommunications, bulls, instruments or any other things whatsoever ... he and his notaries, abettors and counsellors shall be put out of the king's protection, and their lands escheat.”   “Translations” here refers to moving a person from one ecclesiastical office to another—as in Justin Welby was “translated” from the Bishopric of Durham to the Archbishopric of Canterbury.   This provision prohibited an English prelate from purchasing a position from the papacy.  Escheat means forfeit so that if Justin Welby had paid Pope Francis to advance him from Bishop of Durham to Archbishop of Canterbury, Archbishop Welby’s lands would be forfeit to the Crown.  Of course these days Pope Francis doesn’t get any say in who is Archbishop of Canterbury, but we will get to that part of the story down the line. 
I hope this isn’t too confusing.  We don’t have advowsons in America, though they still exist occasionally in the Church of England.   We do have something similar to it, however, as a Religious Order that has charge of a parish still presents a candidate to the bishop who then names the candidate the pastor.  Like the advowson, the bishop must have grave reasons to decline the nomination.  However today newly named prelates—Cardinals, Archbishops, Bishops, and monsignors typically make appropriate (or inappropriate) gratuities to the Holy See upon their appointments.    Bishops are still translated from one see to another.  Timothy Dolan was translated from Milwaukee to New York.  And such “translations” are generally steps “up the ladder.”  Handsome gifts are still presented to the Holy See or to individual prelates who work there by individuals seeking various favors. (Cardinal Burke’s scarlet silk and fur trimmed cappa magna probably cost in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars.) 
The Statutes of Provisors and of Praemunire will come back with great importance when Henry VIII will use them to force the Bishops of England to break with the Holy See. 

Reason for Celibacy: Protect the Property

this bas relief on an eleventh century Tuscan
parish church is actually a fertility symbol

Ok, here is the connection between Church finances and celibacy. 

The King of France dies, his oldest son becomes king.  The Duke of Aquitaine dies, his oldest son comes to the King of France and says: “Dad just died, the duchy is empty.  Make me Duke.”  The King has no choice, unless he can prove treason or some other good reason, not to invest the Duke’s heir with the duchy.  The Earl of Hereford dies, his oldest son comes to the King of England and says: “Dad just died, the earldom is empty. Make me Earl.”  The King, unless he can prove disloyalty on the part of the claimant, has no choice but to make him Earl.  The knight who is the warden of Rochester Castle dies; his son comes to the Duke of Kent in whose duchy the castle stands, and says: “Dad died, make me Warden of the Castle.”  The Duke—unless he can prove that the young man is not reliable—has little or no choice of making the young knight Warden.  Michel is the steward of the Duke of Berry; he dies and his son is appointed in his place unless the Duke can make for a very good case on why someone else should have the job.   Robert is the steward of the Abbot of Cluny—as his father was before him and his son expects to be afterwards. 

     Dad is the toll collector on the Canterbury road bridge over the river Medway and he dies.  The eldest son comes to the Abbot of Malmesbury who own the bridge and says: “Dad died, make me toll collector.”   It is his right to take his father’s place and the Abbot has no choice unless he can prove that the boy is incompetent.  The Reeve of Hampton dies; the Rector of the Church has to appoint his son to the job unless he can find good reason to the contrary. 

     Dad is a goldsmith and has a shop in Bourges.  He dies and his son who did his apprenticeship under his father’s best friend goes to the owner and gets the lease of the shop for his lifetime.   Dad is a silk merchant in Lucca and his son takes the business when he dies.  Dad is a butcher in Regensburg and his son is a butcher and takes the family business when Dad passes on.

     This is simply how things worked in the Middle Ages.

     So now we come to the Church.  We are talking mid-tenth century and Dad is the Rector of Fleury.  He dies.  Son number one goes to the Abbot of Duell who holds the Advowson and says—“Dad died last week, the church is empty, make me Rector.”  Of course—what is the problem. This is how the world works. The son had become a priest because Dad was a priest and Grandpa had been a priest and the Rector of Fleury in his day.  In a world of hereditary posts, everyone expects the church to pass—as does the duchy, the toll-bridge, the castle, the stewardship, the butcher-shop—from Father to Son.  My name is Smith because we are the smiths in the village.  My name is Taylor because we are the tailors.  My name is Chandler because we have made the candles and soap since God-alone-knows-when.  My name is Stuart because we have always been the stewards of the local Lord.  My name is Sexton because our family are the church sextons.  Got it?

      So what is the problem with junior taking over as village priest or city rector when his father dies?  Well don’t forget the parish church has land—sometimes lots of land.  Mrs. Jones left us this field.  Mr Brown left us that vineyard.   Mrs Green gave us that mill by the river.  All these rents come in to support the church and its rector.  And don’t forget the Glebe land that the priest farms—or rents to tenants to farm for him.   The Rector administers a lot of land.  And his daughter is getting married to the son of the sheriff and we need a dowry.  Well let’s give her that field.  And his younger son is becoming a monk at Rochester Cathedral priory—let’s give him that mill by the river as his monastic dowry.  And that vineyard—is that ours or the church’s, I can’t remember, but let’s give it to the nuns of Wapage Abbey to pray for Grandma’s soul.   Rectors are treating church property as their own personal and familial possessions.  Land belonging to the church (and thus the Church) is passing from the church (Church) into families.  The Church is losing its wealth.  How can we stop this?  How can we make sure that church property doesn’t go to the heirs of the priest?  Well, for one thing, we can make sure he doesn’t have any heirs.  But he has four children!  We can’t change that.  No, but we can take away their right to inherit by making them illegitimate.  And that solves a second problem as well.   Not only have bastards no rights of inheritance, but number one son (or number two, three, four or one-hundred-and-seventeen son) cannot claim the rectorship because bastards are ineligible for ordination.  He can neither be hereditary priest nor can he inherit the land.  All we need to do is declare that the marriage of the clergy is null and void and we have two problems solved at once.  Ain’t celibacy great?  

      Now this doesn’t mean that the priest can’t have a wife and children—it only means that the Church does not recognize the marriage and the legitimacy of the children and it is Church courts that settle inheritance issues.  Many priests, in the early and central Middle Ages most priests, were in a stable monogamous relationship.  They thought of  their partner as their wives; the women saw themselves as wives; and even the parishioners thought of the woman as the priest’s wife.   Celibacy may have been the law, but it was honored more in the breach than the observance.  The bishops didn’t mind; the pope’s didn’t mind.  Bishops and sometimes even popes often were—or had been—in such relationships and had children whom they raised as their own without apology.  As long as the property was safe from alienation, the Church was happy.  That would eventually change but celibacy would only be enforced with some degree of strictness throughout the Western Church after the Council of Trent.

      Well, why do we have celibacy today?  Isn’t that a good question.  Perhaps we can look at it in our next posting and from there on to our look at the next Reform—the Gregorian Reform.      

Celibacy: Follow the Money

I mentioned in the last posting that churches were usually constructed by a wealthy benefactor who usually either financed the construction of the church or endowed it with lands sufficient to provide the income from rents to build and maintain it.  And sometimes churches were financed by a combination of both building the church and providing the initial endowment to which other benefactors would add as time passed. The idea of supporting the church through the Sunday offerings as we do in modern America was unknown in the Middle Ages.  Even today in the United States some Protestant churches—most Episcopalian and Presbyterian—would have large endowments that finance much of the congregation’s programming, though Protestants are usually quite generous, certainly more than most Catholics, in the matter of supporting the church to which they belong. 

 


Selby Abbey in England

    Building a church in the Middle Ages wasn’t simply a pious act.  The founder of a church, in addition to whatever spiritual benefits might accrue, had some more temporal benefits.  The founder of a church was the “advowson,” and that carried certain rights.  He actually “owned” the church.  That gave him the right to “present” (i.e. nominate) a candidate to the bishop to be rector (we would say “pastor”) of the Church. The church was “in his gift.”  The bishop could refuse the nomination but he needed good—very good—reason and it was rare so to do.  If he refused the nomination, the bishop could not then name his own candidate, but had to wait for the patron to submit another nomination which would be even more difficult to refuse.       The Advowson not only had the right of presenting, but he also had a share in the church’s income.  I mentioned that the church, if it was a parish church, was also supported by the tithes of the parishioners.  Normally one quarter of revenues went to the Advowson, one quarter to the support of the rector, and the remainder to the maintenance of the fabric and expenses of the divine service—vestments, vessels, candles, furnishings, organ, singers and minor clerics, etc.  Thus building a church was a financial investment.  

      The Rector, for his part, was often a priest who held the title and received the income but who had other work.  Perhaps he was a tutor to the children of the Advowson.  Perhaps he was an important official of the bishop or even the King.  Perhaps he was a scholar at the university.  Being rector provided an income for him while he did other more important but unsalaried work.  From his salary—sometimes quite handsome—he paid another priest—a “vicar” to do the actual work of pastoring the church and its flock.  

      The Advowson might give the church—and its rights and incomes—away.  Perhaps it formed part of a dowry for one of his daughters at her marriage.  Perhaps it was given to a monastery as part of the dowry for a son or daughter who was entering the religious life.  Perhaps he gave it to the bishop—or another bishop—in payment for a debt. Perhaps he gave it to the cathedral to add to their endowment.  When he gave it away the “advowson” transferred to a new owner. 

        A church might be in the diocese of Winchester, for example, but be given to the Bishop of London as a gift.  Then the church became a “peculiar”—it belonged to the Bishop of London and was under his jurisdiction even though it was geographically in the diocese of Winchester.  The bishop of Winchester had the right to confirm (or deny) the nomination of the new rector, but otherwise the church seemed to be in the diocese of London.  Or perhaps a church in the diocese of Orleans was given to the Abbey of Cluny.  The Abbot of Cluny still had to submit the nominee for the rectorship of the church to the Bishop of Orleans, but this would be just a formality and in effect the Abbot of Cluny was the Ordinary of the church and its congregation.  Sometimes too the Abbot would go to Rome and have the jurisdiction transferred in its entirety to himself—and then the bishop had no rights whatsoever over the church.  All this made church organization very confusing and complex.  And the question of jurisdiction was mostly beside the point—what I wanted to point out was mostly that the Advowson had fiscal rights and benefits that made churches valuable property and sources of incomes to their owners.  Next posting we will look at the problem of inheriting the rectorship of churches and how it influences the imposition of celibacy.