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Inwardness and interiority are concepts that have a multifaceted currency within many areas of medieval studies. These fields include, but are not limited to, historical studies, theology and religious studies, literary studies, and art history. Studies on inwardness, interiority, and selfhood intersect with an interest in what has often been called “popular religion” and in devotional behavior, both clerical and lay, to produce an engagement, across many fields, with inward or private aspects of religious belief and practice. “Popular religion” has sometimes been presented as generally distinct or separate from (sometimes almost opposed to) official, ecclesiastical, or institutional ritual, and, as such, it is associated with other concepts like “private devotion” and even “interior piety.” Unhelpful binary oppositions are implied by qualifying terms like “private” and “popular,” because those qualifiers invoke the unsaid “public” or “official” or “outward.” More recently, terms like “vernacular theology” and Frömmigkeitstheologie (theology of piety) have been preferred for their attempt to break down the “high-low” implications of terms like “popular religion” and “private devotion.” Though these terms themselves are not without potential problems or implications, the consonance or dissonance between individual religiosity and official or corporate expressions of religious belief can, and should, be examined in a more subtle manner than has often been the case. Medieval religious devotion was not a universally or solely private activity that was in some way opposite to the public, structured religiosity of the church's liturgy. It has been increasingly acknowledged in recent years that liturgy and devotion should not be opposed in this way, as private versus public, free and expressionist versus structured and defined. That having been said, it is nevertheless the case that the kind of piety that we are accustomed to call “devotional,” or contemplative, or meditative, presupposes and requires a certain inwardness and self-awareness, even if such activity is carried out in the company of others, or even during liturgical services.

In 1309, the parish church of Harewood in Yorkshire, England, was invaded by a group of armed parishioners opposing the decisions of the church courts. The story of this invasion and the ways in which Church and State attempted and failed to remove it demonstrate how an apparently local quarrel could be part of national political events and of the intertwining of the laws of Church and State. It also demonstrates, importantly, a largely overlooked aspect of the relationship between the laity at a local level and the Church as an institution.

How did people learn their Bibles in the Middle Ages? Did church murals, biblical manuscripts, sermons or liturgical processions transmit the Bible in the same way? This book unveils the dynamics of biblical knowledge and dissemination in thirteenth- and fourteenth-century England. An extensive and interdisciplinary survey of biblical manuscripts and visual images, sermons and chants, reveals how the unique qualities of each medium became part of the way the Bible was known and recalled; how oral, textual, performative and visual means of transmission joined to present a surprisingly complex biblical worldview. This study of liturgy and preaching, manuscript culture and talismanic use introduces the concept of biblical mediation, a new way to explore Scriptures and society. It challenges the lay-clerical divide by demonstrating that biblical exegesis was presented to the laity in non-textual means, while the ‘naked text’ of the Bible remained elusive even for the educated clergy.

Religious practice in Serbia has taken place using both indoors and outdoors sacred sites ever since the adoption of Christianity in medieval times. However, previous archaeoacoustic research was focused on historic church acoustics, excluding the open-air soundscapes of sacred sites. The goal of this review paper is to shed light on the varieties of sacred soundscapes that have supported the various needs of Orthodox Christian practice in medieval Serbia. First, in relation to the acoustic requirements of the religious service, we compare the acoustic properties of masonry and wooden churches based on the published archaeoacoustic studies of medieval churches and musicological studies of the medieval art of chanting. Second, we provide an overview of the ethnological and historical studies that address the outdoor sacred soundscapes and investigate the religious sound markers of large percussion instruments, such as bells and semantra, the open-air litany procession that has been practiced during the annual celebration of a patron saint’s day in rural areas, and the medieval assemblies that took place on the sacred sites. This paper finally points out that the archaeoacoustic studies of sacred soundscapes should not be limited to church acoustics but also include open-air sacred sites to provide a complete analysis of the aural environment of religious practice and thus contribute to understanding the acoustic intention of medieval builders, as well as the aural experience of both clergy and laity.

Abstract Convocation was the assembly of the clergy of medieval England and Wales and met from the late 1280s until the seventeenth century (before a rebirth in the nineteenth century). Economic historians have largely examined Convocation as a rubber stamp for stand-alone tax requests by the English kings or focused on small groupings of these demands—an examination of these requests and the evolution of how they were handled by the members of Convocation has not been covered. In this article, tax subsidy requests by the kings to Convocation are examined across three centuries in conjunction with clerical petitions to the monarchy allowing us to determine trends, including how the clergy went from ignoring requests to granting them with conditions. By placing these requests in their situational context, we can trace the efforts for self-rule and autonomy by the English clergy in the later Middle Ages.

It is widely agreed that the work now known as the pseudo-Bonaventuran Meditationes vitae Christi (MVC) was the single most influential devotional text written in the later Middle Ages. Composed in Tuscany in the middle of the fourteenth century (between about 1336 and 1364), it was rapidly disseminated in Latin and translated into all of the major European vernaculars, including English, French, German, Irish, Spanish, Catalan, and Swedish; well over two hundred manuscripts survive.

In 1293, only two years after the fall of Acre, but many years before the end of crusading aspirations to reclaim Jerusalem, William Durandus, Bishop of Mende, composed a new rite for those taking up the cross “to go in aid of the Holy Land,” which he included in his magisterial and enduring edition of the Roman pontifical. In this rite the bishop would bless and then bestow to the departing crusader the devotional insignia of his canonical status: the cross, along with the traditional pilgrim's scrip and staff. Durandus' rite drew on a number of long-standing texts for travel benedictions and pilgrimage benedictions, but reworked them into an elegant whole, the sum of which was far greater than its inherited parts. It enjoined the crusader to “take up the cross” (cf. Matt. 16.24) and hasten towards “your [that is, Christ's] tomb,” beseeched God to protect him from danger and absolve him from the chains of sin, and emphasized taking the cross as a passion emblematic of Christ's own salvific sacrifice. The rite thus echoed the ideals, shaped the language, and embodied the spiritual and devotional values of crusading around 1300, which had increasingly emphasized Christomimetic suffering as central to the spiritual value of crusade. As such, the rite is testament to the idea of the crusade and crusading as it had developed over the course of two centuries.

Any historical period called “late” is headed for interpretive trouble, and one called “late medieval” is probably doomed. Periodization is an artifice, as we know, yet also an art. Historians have entirely reconceived “late antiquity” over the past generation, transforming Roman decadence into an imperial and Christian culture three centuries long embracing the whole Mediterranean world, creative in its culture and foundational for societies that followed. But what of “late medieval”? In most textbooks the term comes paired still with “decline.” Humanists and Reformers first created the artifice of a “middle time,” a dismissive gesture toward the thousand years that separated them from the golden ages of antiquity and/or the early church. Nineteenth-century scientific historians introduced art into this artifice by dividing that amorphous millennium into semi-coherent sub-periods: “early” (400–1000), “high” (1000–1300), and a rump called “late” (1300–1500). Church history entered importantly into the characterizations, with the “late” period traditionally told as a series of catastrophes beginning with destructive confrontations between Pope Boniface VIII (d. 1303) and King Philip the Fair. The storyline for the two centuries that followed, whether treated as deepening darkness (traditional) or as an overripe autumn (Huizinga), depended on what came before and after. Early in the twentieth century, church historians introduced ecumenical and even ironic reversals: Catholic scholars, looking to their own reforms, conceded late medieval deviance and the need sometimes for reform; Protestant scholars, looking to a reform born of strength rather than decline, found a late Middle Ages full of flourishing religiosity and even modernizing initiatives. Others, skeptical of the Reformation as marking any decisive turn toward modernity (vs. Hegel), delighted in finding all manner of cults, relics, prophecies, and zealots still among these new Protestants. Oberman and McGinn by contrast have reconceived the fields of theology and mysticism, Huizinga's autumnal evanescence becoming a golden harvest. All the same—and this only a bit overstated—many Reformation histories still essentially start the world anew in the 1520s, now speaking German, and too many medieval histories still close their story with fourteenth-century “decline,” an apocalyptic onslaught of plague, revolt, schism, and war.

The pyroclastic rocks belonging to the Late Eocene-Miocene volcanic activity that occurred in Sardinia between 38 and 15 Ma ago were widely used as construction materials in several Romanesque churches of the easternmost Logudoro area, as well as in large parts of the Sardinia territory. In this work, the ancient Cathedral of Nostra Signora di Castro (twelfth century) was taken as a representative case study. There is no historical or archaeological evidence of ancient quarries. Based on the geochemical, petrographic, and volcanological data on several samples from an extensive field area (approximately 150 km 2 ), a geographical zoning of the volcanics has been recognised. In the Oschiri sector, there are three different sub-zones, which can be identified with different volcanic rocks: less fractionated rocks (Differentation Index ∼70-78); intermediately fractionated rocks (D.I. ∼76-79); and more fractionated rocks (D.I. ∼77-82). To identify the origin of the ignimbrite rocks of the Church of Nostra Signora di Castro, two statistical methods were used: stepwise linear discriminant and canonical analysis. Moreover, to define the geochemical transformation processes induced by the alteration, a comparative study of concentrations of major and trace elements measured by XRF and SEM-EDX analyses on the surface portion and the innermost areas of the stone was made.

History remembers Charlemagne not only as a great conqueror but also as a mighty hunter. It is largely thanks to Einhard that we have this image of Charlemagne as a second Nimrod, the “robustus venator” of Genesis 10.8–9. In the Life of Charlemagne (Vita Karoli), Einhard mentioned hunting on no fewer than five occasions, making it a notable leitmotif that distinguishes the work from Einhard's literary model, Suetonius's Lives of the Caesars. In Einhard's eyes, Charlemagne's frequent hunting embodied the essence of Frankish manhood; he wrote, “He often exercised himself with riding and hunting, which came naturally to him, since there can hardly be found another people in the world that can equal the Franks in this art.” Einhard's emphasis on Charlemagne as a royal hunter was something new in early-medieval historiography, since earlier chroniclers, like Gregory of Tours and Bede, had mentioned hunting kings infrequently and only in passing. But the Vita Karoli was to cast a long shadow, and a number of subsequent early-medieval writers were to adopt Einhard's motif of the king as huntsman.