Ever since Christendom was divided, the longing for unity has filled many earnest souls. Constant efforts have been made by the Catholic Church to re-unite her separated brethren; but it is only during the last three-quarters of a century that, apart from a few ecclesiastics and university professors, there has been any noteworthy and extensive reunion-movement among the various Christian bodies separated from the See of Rome. To-day, under the name of “ecumenical movement” this movement is widespread, and may be regarded as one of the most important features of Twentieth Century Christendom. Already well developed in 1914, interrupted—or rather slowed down—by the war, it soon became a powerful force in the years that followed. The intense longing for solidarity and fraternity issued in two “ecumenical conferences” in 1925 and 1927 respectively.

This “ecumenicist” tendency in non-Catholic Christendom pursues two distinct but parallel lines, corresponding to two distinct viewpoints of the way in which unity is to be achieved. The older of the two movements, that called Faith and Order, which held its first world congress at Lausanne in 1927, had its origins towards the end of the last century among American Episcopalians. The younger movement, Life and Work, whose first world-congress was at Stockholm in 1925, is also of American origin.

Recent years have seen the birth and astonishing growth of a movement whose title, marking the place of its first organization, is the somewhat valuable one of the “Oxford Groups.” Although the movement has almost ceased to be a factor in undergraduate life, the name remains: an annual meeting at Oxford—a distinction enjoyed by many other bodies—fosters the connection.

Catholics are not likely to be encouraged to take part in a religious movement outside the visible Church, “undenominational,” and exhibiting many of the features of revivalism; that much may be said at the start. Often in the past treated by Catholics as a joke, the Groups at least merit attention; moreover, at certain points, they touch upon Catholic life. Part of their main programme of “winning the world for Christ” is, avowedly, the “awakening of the historic churches,” with consequent overtures to Catholics: individuals, perhaps unwittingly, have found their way into its ranks. All the more reason then for Catholics to examine the nature of the movement, and form an estimate of its true worth: further, we ought all, priests and laity alike, to be on the look-out for any lesson that may prove of value when translated into Catholic Action.

“The way to liturgical life does not go through mere teaching but before all it goes through doing.” These words of Doctor Guardini go straight to the heart of the difficulty of liturgical revival. The numerous liturgical societies and periodicals of to-day are so varied in their matter and their treatment of it, that one is sometimes at a loss to discover in them any common purpose. They all profess to have at heart the cultivation of a conscious liturgical life in the Catholic community; but the various aspects and studies of liturgy in which they indulge cannot all claim to have an equally important share in promoting this end. And indeed it is difficult to see where many of them have led or are going to lead at all. Their journals appear and their summer schools are held with unflinching regularity, yet one fails to discern any results beyond a keener appreciation of the beauty of Plainchant or Gothic vestments. This is very good in its way, but it is not all; and we are so often given the impression that it is all. Liturgy is more than this: it is a life, and therefore not something merely to be learnt; above all it is something that must be done—lived; and living is not brought about just by introducing Plainchant or studying the history or art of the liturgy;—these material adjuncts are all necessary in their own place as long as they do not degenerate into dilettante aestheticism or moribund archeology—but before all else it must be realized that liturgical life is essentially based on theological principles. If then this life is to be lived, the people must be instructed in these principles. In the words of a writer in Orate Fratres: “The first requisite for the liturgical outlook is one of spirit.

A very pronounced factor in the success of Mother Margaret’s work was the high repute and admiration in which she was held by all ranks of the clergy. She came into contact with all the eminent churchmen of her day in England, and though her work was practically confined to the dioceses of Birmingham and Clifton—only in the last six years of her life did she extend her foundations to other dioceses—no fewer than ten of the thirteen diocesan bishops held themselves honoured to be her friends. The other ranks of the clergy showed her equal respect and affection, and many of them were accustomed to call her their “Mother,” as was done by the priest-disciples of Saint Catherine of Siena. Mother Margaret on her side accepted the relationship even to the extent of chiding them when she felt it would do them good. To one she wrote: “Let me tell you, my dear Reverend Father, that patience is the great thing you want. You know my real affection for you, and as you call me Mother, sometimes mothers may take liberties with great doctors, if they are their sons.”

Storms have a sacred mission from God: the twofold mission of sifting and of rooting. Firstly, they have the mission to sift: they separate the weak from the strong, and thus preserve the strong from the pernicious influence of the weak. After the storm has passed, only the strong remain. Secondly, storms have the mission to root: while shaking the powerful trunks these are forced to take deep root in the undermost layers of the fertile soil. After the storm, the strong continue, deep-rooted, unconquerable, in the depths of Life.

This double Mission is being fulfilled by the tempests which in our time have broken upon the World-Church in German as in other lands. They have wrought separation: weakly members who never fully lived of the trunk of the Church have broken off in the onslaught. The stronger members have remained, and in them we witness the glorious fact that, in the face of the most formidable attack, they tend only and desire to root deeper and deeper into the soil of the Church.

The recent attempt to settle the relations between the Catholic Church and the Kingdom of Jugoslavia has been attended by tumult in the streets of Belgrade and in the minds of some religious publicists in this country who have seen in it an example of Roman Catholic aggression. Yet consider how subtle must be the diplomacy of the Vatican, when its schemes are initiated and promoted by the State, while the Catholic populations of Croatia and Slovenia look passively on, contenting themselves in their newspapers with chronicling the facts, almost without comment.

The following piece of documentation, representing the somewhat detached point of view of a Catholic Croat towards the whole business, may help to set things in proportion.

The first steps towards the Concordat were taken by the Government more than ten years ago, when a delegation, headed by M. Yanitch, was sent to Rome. The negotiations, however, hung fire owing to some bother over undiplomatic interference with the affairs of the Slavonic College of St. Jerome. Eventually, on July 25th, 1935, an agreement was initialled in Rome by Cardinal Pacelli, for Pope Pius XI, and Dr. Auer, the Minister for Jugoslavia.