For the first
time since the coronation of the first Elizabeth, the Dean of Westminster
brought the two Armills from the Altar.
These were
bracelets, wide and thick and solid gold, lined in velvet as cushioning for the Queen’s
wrists. The Armills were the gifts of
the people to their Sovereign and symbolic of Sincerity and Wisdom. The Archbishop’s prayer was that they would
“betoken the Lord’s protection, embracing her on every side,” and be to her
“pledges of the bond which unites you with your Peoples,” whose gift they were.
These words were spoken also, that
she would be “strengthened in all her work” and protected against every
enemy, “bodily and ghostly.” In this moment of the Coronation Ceremoney, her
subjects had taken part, and both Elizabeths wore their gift, their contribution in the
presentation of the Regalia.
How we look, sometimes in vain, for
Sincerity and Wisdom in our leaders.
Not politically correct sincerity, but the kind that is what the word
implies sin cere . . . without wax.
As products of old were so labeled, so that the purchaser would go home with water vessels shaped without fillers that would melt and result in leaks, we want to be led by those whose
lives and policies won’t melt in the heat of day.
One thing is certain . . .
Elizabeth hasn’t melted. In her designer
clothes and fetching hats, her pocketbook over her arm and her smile even more warm than it was fifty years ago, she doesn’t melt. The Armills are stored away for another
Coronation Day, but she has fastened Sincerity and Wisdom about her, as
must all of us, here in the Monastery of the Heart.
The Armills, gift of the people
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