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Today, May 8th, is the Feast Day of Julian of Norwich, the day on which her Revelations of Divine Love took place in 1373. Let us consider these words Julian wrote in the Second Revelation: “And thus I saw him and sought him, and I had him and wanted him. And this is and should be our common working in this life, as to my sight.” Julian advises us that we are ever to be seeking (longing for) and seeing (experiencing, finding) God, and then seeking once more. Here Julian seems to be echoing Christ’s words: “Ask, and it will be given you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you. For everyone who asks receives, and everyone who searches finds, and for everyone who knocks, the door will be opened” (Mt 7:7-8; Lk 11:9-10). What Julian realizes is that even the human impulse to ask, to search, and to knock is the gift of God’s own goodness.
For [God] wills that we believe that we see him continually, though we think that it be but little, and in this belief he makes us evermore to gain grace. For he will be seen, and he will be sought, and he will be waited for and he will be trusted. Julian teaches us that God wants to be seen in every circumstance. (The more difficult it is, the more crucial it becomes that we seek his presence within it.) God wants to be sought, so that our hearts remain open and receptive to divine help. God wants to be waited for, in patience and in hope. Most of all, God wants to be trusted! Julian understands that the continual seeking of the soul is very pleasing to God, and the “finding of God” fills the soul with incomparable joy. For [the soul] may do no more than seek, suffer, and trust. . . . The seeking with faith, hope and charity pleases our lord, and the finding pleases the soul, and fulfills it with joy. However, you may object: It is one thing to “seek” God in every love, happiness, creative work, achievement, and birth. But how are we supposed to “seek” God in every disappointment, betrayal, illness, tragedy, or death? At such times, the soul feels completely alone and abandoned. Our faith becomes sorely tested. Where is God in suffering? Yet Julian is insistent that we must continue to seek and walk by faith through the longest days and darkest nights. She assures us that even though we may think our faith is “but little” and fragile, nevertheless through the daily practice of believing in God’s abiding presence, we will gain great grace to endure the tough times. Julian considers this blind “seeking” of God every bit as necessary as enlightened “seeing.” She is certain that, eventually, God will reveal himself and teach the soul how to experience the deep comfort of divine presence in contemplation. This “beholding” is the highest honor and reverence human beings can give to God, and extremely profitable to all souls, producing the greatest humility and virtue, “with the grace and leading of the holy ghost.” For a soul that fastens itself only onto God with great trust, either in seeking or in beholding, it is the most worship that that soul may do, as to my sight.” Julian understands two kinds of divine working from this revelation: seeking and beholding. Both are gifts of God. Seeking is what is given to all of us to do, through the teachings of holy church. Beholding (or mystical contemplation), on the other hand, is given more rarely, directly by God. Julian further defines three ways of seeking. First, we must seek willfully and faithfully, without growing lazy in our efforts. We must seek “gladly and merrily, without unskillful heaviness and vain sorrow,” because these are self-indulgent moods that can undermine the spiritual life. Second, the true seeker abides in God steadfastly, without “grumbling and striving against him.” This is a wonderfully apt description of the complaints and disobedience that obstruct the flow of grace. The third way of seeking is that “we trust in [God] mightily, with full, secure faith.” Julian is certain that these three ways of seeking will bear abundant fruit in beholding. Then God will suddenly reveal his presence when the soul is least expecting it. For it is his will that we know that he shall appear suddenly and blissfully to all his lovers. For his working is private, and he wants to be perceived, and his appearing shall be very sudden. And he wants to be believed, for he is very pleasant, homely, and courteous. Blessed may he be! What difference would it make in our lives if we really sought Jesus within all our experiences? Not just the joyous ones, but the suffering ones, too. Even if people reject us and hurt us; even if events in our lives are painful; what if we chose to trust that the Divine Master is working from deep within the suffering in order to transform it? What if we dared to believe, like Julian, that our fastening onto God with secure trust, “whether in seeking or in beholding,” gives God the greatest possible worship? Would it not make all the difference in how we deal with our problems? Would it not give meaning to our suffering? And might it not change our mental attitude from that of “victim” to a “loving companion” of Christ on the cross? On Julian's Feast Day, let us dedicate ourselves, as she did, to seeking and beholding, trusting and believing, perceiving and rejoicing that God is at work in every circumstance of our daily lives. Then we will come to understand that nothing we experience is ordinary; rather, everything is capable of being transformed by divine grace. Thus everything has the power to become a personal revelation of the Risen Lord. May Julian bless you abundantly. And Happy Mother’s Day! PLEASE NOTE: Translations from the Middle English and excerpts above are from my book, An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich (InterVarsity Academic Press, 2018), © Copyright by Veronica Mary Rolf. Available from the Publisher and Amazon worldwide: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0830850880?
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During this Eastertime during which we celebrate Christ's resurrection, I want to share with you these hope-filled words of Julian of Norwich:
:And I looked for the departing of life with all my might and expected to have seen the body completely dead. But I saw him not so. And just in that same time that it seemed to me, by all appearances, that his life might no longer last, and the showing of the end must needs be near—suddenly, as I beheld the same cross, his face changed into a joyful expression. The changing of his blissful expression changed mine, and I was as glad and merry as it was possible to be. Then our Lord brought this merrily to mind: “Where is now any point of thy pain or of thy grief?” And I was completely merry. Here, in the Eighth Revelation, Julian of Norwich describes her experience of seeing Christ’s sufferings on the cross transformed into perfect joy. It happened instantaneously. She had been plummeted into his cruel pains and now glimpses his resurrected glory. It was such an overwhelming surprise that she became “glad and merry,” implying happy, cheerful, ebullient, almost giddy—as if she might laugh out loud once again, as if she had never had a pain in the world. And the locution that spoke within her mind in that moment was equally startling: “Where is now any point of thy pain or of thy grief?” In that instant, Julian experienced the radical changeability of even the worst suffering. (We recognize the feeling: when we start laughing aloud in gratitude and relief that some near-tragedy has just been averted, even as hot tears still flow down our faces.) Historically, we know Christ did not escape death. He really “bowed his head and gave up his spirit” on the cross (Jn 19:30). His side was really pierced with a soldier’s lance (Jn 19:34). He really was taken down from the cross and wrapped “in a linen cloth”; his body really was laid “in a rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid” (Lk 23:53, Mk 15:46). However, Julian’s unique gospel account of Christ’s passion and sudden transformation is based on a lifelike vision happening before her eyes. Moment by moment, her mind was inspired by grace to experience the sensory images, the words, the vivid impressions, the intellectual understanding, and the emotional reactions. Like the images we project and perceive every moment of our lives, none of these mental images is absolute and unchanging. Therefore, every situation, every emotion, can (and does) change eventually. For Julian, in a mysterious and wonderful way, the image changed in an instant. By her faith, Julian knew Christ had already died and the resurrection had already occurred. Therefore, even in her vision, she could not actually see Christ die, because she believed from Christian teaching that he cannot die again: “We know that Christ, being raised from the dead, will never die again; death no longer has dominion over him. The death he died, he died to sin, once for all; but the life he lives, he lives to God” (Rom 6:9–10, italics added). In this Revelation, Julian’s mind leapt into eternity. In that sublime moment, she saw Christ’s face utterly transformed into a radiant expression, like the instant when Peter, James, and John saw Christ transfigured before their eyes on Mt. Tabor, “and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white” (Mt 17:1–2, Mk 9:3). It was as if Julian herself had died, letting go of all her assumptions about earthly reality and the inevitability of death. Her mind was privileged to glimpse the glory of Christ’s reality in the bliss of heaven, where sorrow and suffering do not exist. I understood that we are now, in our lord’s intention, on his cross with him in our pains and in our passion, dying. And we, willfully abiding on the same cross, with his help and his grace, into the last point, suddenly he shall change his expression toward us, and we shall be with him in heaven. Between that one [the pain on the cross] and that other [being in heaven] shall all be one time, and then shall all be brought into joy. And this is what he meant in this showing: “Where is now any point of thy pain or of thy grief?” And we shall be fully blessed." By the sheer suddenness Julian suggests what a holy death might be like: one moment in pain, the next in bliss. She understands that not only has Christ overcome the curse of sin through suffering, he has eradicated the mighty grip of death altogether: “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Cor 15:55). For some, death might even be ecstatic: “because God did not make death, and he does not delight in the death of the living. For he created all things so that they might exist; the generative forces of the world are wholesome, and there is no destructive poison in them, and the dominion of Hades is not on earth” (Ws 1:13–14). In seeing that death is as evanescent as any given moment of life, Julian not only believes, she experiences that death is not final in any ultimate way, either for Christ or, because of Christ, for all of humankind. It is a passage from one form of life to another, not an end, but a beginning. “So you have pain now; but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you” (Jn 16:22). I wish you all the Easter transformation of suffering into joy that Julian herself experienced. May you be graced to see that, in truth, “He is risen!” and that Christ has overcome all our pains, fears, and woes. And may you, like Julian, be “glad and merry” in the Lord’s triumph over sin, suffering, and death. Happy Easter! NOTE: Excerpts above and translations from the Middle English are from my book, Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books, 2013). Copyright © 2013 by Veronica Mary Rolf. Julian of Norwich wrote that in the Eleventh Revelation our good Lord looked down on the right side, and brought to her mind where our lady stood at the time of his passion, and said: “Wilt thou see her?” And in this sweet word, it was as if he had said: “I know well that thou wouldst see my blessed mother, for after myself she is the highest joy that I might show thee, and the most pleasure and worship to me. And she is most desired to be seen of all my blessed creatures.”
In medieval paintings and sculptures of the crucifixion, Mary was most often depicted standing to the right, beneath Christ on the cross, with St. John the Evangelist on the left. Countless times, while deep in prayer, Julian’s eyes would have moved from the central crucifix in church down to Mary, standing in sorrow, her hands clasped together, and then over to the disciple John, “the one whom Jesus loved” (Jn 13:23). Julian’s great devotion to Mary is apparent here, as her heart longs to see Christ’s mother at the foot of the cross. And Christ is well aware that Julian, like “all my blessed creatures,” longs to see her. Saint Mary was considered to be the most compassionate and powerful mediatrix between sinful human beings and her son. Julian would have sought her intercession in every crisis or moment of need. And for the marvelous, high, and special love that he hath for this sweet maiden, his blessed mother, our lady Saint Mary, he showed her highly rejoicing, which is the meaning of this sweet word, as if he had said: “Wilt thou see how much I love her, that thou might rejoice with me in the love that I have in her and she in me?” Previously, Julian had contemplated Mary standing beneath the cross, suffering with Christ, lamenting her great loss. Now Julian sees Mary rejoicing in eternal bliss with her Son, delighting in his love and he in hers. She understands that the words the Lord spoke to her were intended “in love to all mankind that shall be saved, as it were all to one person.” It was as if he had said to Julian and to everyone: “Wilt thou see in her how thou art loved? For thy love I have made her so exalted, so noble, so worthy. And this pleases me, and I want it to please thee.” In the love Christ has for Mary, Julian recognized how much Christ loves each and every human being. In fact, Christ has made Mary so highly glorified, honored, and worthy in order to be an inspiration for all women and men. He has raised her body into glory to be with his own. He has crowned her queen of heaven and earth. She gives the Lord the greatest worship and pleasure and he wants everyone to take great pleasure in her, too. Yet Julian becomes acutely aware, through an inner teaching, that she is not being encouraged to long to see Mary in a physical presence while here on earth. She is to contemplate her spiritually, in “the virtues of her blessed soul—her truth, her wisdom, her charity,” whereby Julian might learn to know herself better and more reverently fear and serve God. Even so, when Christ asks Julian if she wants to see Mary, Julian answers eagerly: “Ye, good lord, gramercy. Ye good lord, if it be thy will.” She admits, with striking candor, that she had often prayed for just such a vision, and on this occasion, “I expected to have seen her in bodily likeness,” just as she saw Christ on the cross: “But I saw her not so.” Rather, when the Lord asked the question (“Wilt thou see her?”), in that very moment, Julian was shown “a ghostly sight” of Mary, similar to the imaginative vision she had had of her as a girl, little and simple, at the time of the Annunciation. Mary appeared this time “exalted and noble and glorious and pleasing to him [Christ] above all creatures.” Julian is sure that Christ wills it to be known that everyone who “likes” (in medieval English, “like” is an even more intimate form of the word “love”) and delights in him must also truly “like” her, with all the connotations of delighting in everything about her. And Julian realizes that this very “liking,” this most familiar manner of loving, is the purest form of “bodily likeness” that she could possibly have experienced. Julian was not disappointed that she was not allowed to enjoy Mary in a physical manifestation, as she did Christ. And in all her Revelations, she saw no one else “spiritually” or “individually” but Saint Mary. In this showing, Julian was deeply touched that Christ had confided to her his own love for Mary as a young maiden, as a suffering mother, and now, as an exalted and noble lady in heaven. In revealing to Julian his great love for Mary, by extension Christ was showing, in yet another way, his great love for Julian. And for each one of us. In this time of a tragic war in Ukraine, with millions of fleeing refugees, incomprehensible suffering, death, and destruction, we may tend to give up hope that there can be any meaning to such agony. But if we stand with Mary beneath the cross of her Son, as Julian did, we may be reassured that suffering and death are not the end of the tragedy. There is meaning to all our suffering, because Christ is transforming it even now into his own resurrection. We must hold to that with all our hearts as we honor Mary today, on the Feast of the Annunciation. Her “Yes” to the angel allowed her to become the Mother of God. She lived a life of great joy and inconceivable sorrow. Yet eventually, she beheld her Son risen in glory. That is the divine transformation of suffering. Let us stand firm with Mary and with Julian, “highly rejoicing” that in Christ, “all shall be well." NOTE: Excerpts above and translations from the Middle English are from my book, Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books. 2013). Copyright © 2013 by Veronica Mary Rolf Julian of Norwich never knew a world without war. The tortured fourteenth century was the time of the Hundred Years’ War with France, which actually lasted even longer (1337–1453), claiming over three million lives. Like Julian, we, too, are threatened by the impending reality of war: inconceivable suffering, brutality, religious persecution, hordes of refugees driven from their homes and country, wide-spread destruction, and a mounting death toll. How are we to find peace in the midst of war?
Throughout her Revelations, Julian reveals her deep conflict between the realities of life around her and the deep contemplative call that arose within her. Her struggle was not only theological, it was deeply spiritual. She had seen so many evil deeds and atrocities committed in her lifetime; she had heard countless stories about the brutalities of war; she knew about the excommunication and damning of heretics; she remembered those who had died unshriven [without having confessed and received pardon for their sins] during the plagues. She could not shy away from confronting the dichotomy between the unconditional love of Christ towards sinners and the harsh, judgmental condemnations of sinners that she had heard preached from the pulpit. It became essential to her peace of mind to know if sinners are really judged and condemned by the higher judgment of God as they are by the lower judgment of the church. And notwithstanding all this, I saw truthfully that our lord was never wroth nor never shall be. For he is God, he is good, he is truth, he is love, he is peace. And his might, his wisdom, his charity, and his unity do not permit him to be wroth. For I saw truly that it is against the property of his might to be wroth, and against the property of his wisdom, and against the property of his goodness. God is that goodness that may not be wroth, for God is nothing but goodness. In spite of the evil in the world, Julian firmly believed that God was all-loving and all-merciful towards sinners. And she had a wise view of the blindness and corruptibility of human beings. I understood thus: Man is changeable in this life, and by frailty and ignorance falls into sin. He is powerless and foolish in himself, and also his will is corrupted at this time [by sin]. He is in turmoil and in sorrow and woe. And the cause is blindness, for he does not see God. For if he saw God continually, he would have no mischievous feeling, nor no manner of stirring, nor sorrowing that inclines to sin. While Julian admits our common experience of changeability, frailty, and ignorance in this life, she knows that it is not the full picture because it does not take into account “the great desire that the soul hath to see God.” This leads her to reflect on the divine work of mercy that the Holy Spirit is forever accomplishing in us, dwelling in our soul, securely keeping us, bringing us to a greater peace, making us more obedient, more pliant, and reconciling us to God whenever we become angry. Still we may ask: Where does all the hatred and evil in our world come from? Julian responds: For I saw no wrath but on humanity’s part, and that God forgives in us. For wrath is nothing else but a rebelliousness and a contrariousness to peace and to love. And either it comes from failure of strength, or from failure of wisdom, or from failure of goodness, which failing is not in God but is on our own part. For we by sin and wretchedness have in us a wrath and a continuing contrariousness to peace and to love, and that he showed very often in his loving expression of compassion and pity. Julian understands that God intervenes in our own wrathfulness and contrariousness to show us mercy: “For the ground of mercy is in love, and the working of mercy is our protection in love.” Yet sometimes God’s work of mercy also allows us to fall, within limits, which feels like dying. But in that dying, we realize all the more truly that God is our life. “Our falling is dreadful, our falling is shameful, and our dying is sorrowful. But yet in all this the sweet eye of pity and love never departs from us, nor does the working of mercy ever cease.” Julian beheld the property of mercy and the property of grace as working together in the super-abundance of Christ’s compassion and love. Mercy belongs to “motherhood in tender love” and grace belongs to “royal lordship in the same love,” like two devoted parents who function in perfect harmony. “And grace works with mercy,” raising us up from our misdeeds and even rewarding us (eternally surpassing what our love and our service could possibly deserve), showing us the “plenteous largess of God’s royal lordship in his marvelous courtesy.” This divine mercy and grace are poured out on us “to slake and waste our wrath.” In other words, far from being wrathful toward us, or punishing us, God helps us let go of our own self-hatred and anger [towards our enemies], and teaches us to forgive one another. Julian realizes that if God were to be “wroth a touch”—that is, angry even for a little while—“we should neither have life, nor place, nor being.” We would be wiped out of existence! Have we ever taken time to consider this? God’s unconditional love is a much more demanding belief than divine wrathfulness. The realization that we are always loved, no matter what, is such an overwhelming experience that it humbles and purifies the soul more perfectly than any shame or punishment ever could. We begin to understand, like Julian, that Christ hung on the cross not because God’s wrath had to be appeased, but because God’s love had to be revealed. For this was shown: that our life is all grounded and rooted in love, and without love we may not live. And therefore, to the soul that because of his special grace sees so deeply into the high, marvelous goodness of God, and sees that we are endlessly oned to him in love, it is the most unpossible that may be that God should be wrath. In an age of violence and war (not unlike the fourteenth century), Julian shows us the way toward contemplative peace. In a time of rampant prejudice and religious persecution, Julian inspires us to non-judgmental acceptance and universal compassion. In a world of deadly diseases and ecological disasters, Julian teaches us how to endure suffering in patience and trust that Christ is working to transform every cross into resurrected glory. In a generation of doubt, cynicism, and disbelief, Julian offers a radiant vision of faith and hope—not in ourselves, but in the Lord who creates us, loves us, and will never, ever abandon us. PLEASE NOTE: Translations from the Middle English and excerpts above are from my book, An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich (InterVarsity Academic Press, 2018). Available from the Publisher and Amazon worldwide: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0830850880? In her discussion of the Thirteenth Revelation, Julian of Norwich reiterates that the three wounds that she had long ago desired (contrition, compassion, and true longing for God) are the spiritual “medicines” by which the illness of sinful souls will be healed. The scourges and lashings of sin will be seen by God not as shameful wounds, but, like Christ’s own wounds, as honors. Julian makes very clear that when we are “punished” here on earth with sorrow and suffering it is not because of God’s “wrath” but as the inevitable result of our personal and collective sinfulness. And God will not allow us to lose one degree of spiritual value from what we must bear, for God sees sin not as a cause for casting us out but “as sorrow and pains to his lovers, in whom he assigns no blame for love.”
The mede [reward] we shall receive shall not be little, but it shall be high, glorious and honorable. And so shall all shame turn to honor and to more joy. For our courteous lord does not want his servants to despair for often falling nor for grievous falling. For our falling does not hinder him from loving us. Peace and love are ever in us, being and working. But we are not always in peace and in love. The reward for bearing our earthly suffering patiently will not be slight; it will be the vision of God in the company of the saints, all of whom (except Saint Mary, Christ’s mother) have undergone the same scourge of personal sin. Julian urges us to consider this, especially when we fall, even through grievous wrongdoing. For she is convinced that Christ does not want us to sink into self-loathing and excessive remorse and debilitating penances (all of which were prescribed medieval practices for those who would combat sin) lest we torture our souls and remain in a state of continual mental and physical anguish. To her great credit, Julian never suggests self-inflicted suffering as the most effective way to purification. Such harsh methods dispel peace and can seriously warp our love. Rather, Julian urges that we give Christ complete freedom to work in us, by keeping our souls in peacefulness and in love. But he wills we take heed thus: that he is the ground of all our whole life in love, he is our everlasting keeper [protector], and mightily defends us against all our enemies that are extremely dangerous and terribly fierce towards us. And our mede is so much greater if we give him occasion [to love and heal us] by our falling. This theme of Christ as “the ground of our whole life in love” colors and highlights every aspect of Julian’s theology. Christ is not the unapproachable “other,” the distant God-man whose anger must be appeased by every extreme means possible. He is, in a very real sense, what we are, in our flesh and blood and bones, having taken on the fullness of our human nature, save sin, in order to help us combat the suffering of temptation and guilt, and to show his sublime peace and love. He knows exactly how our minds work, what our failings and compulsions are, and longs to teach us how to reorient our attitudes and desires toward the highest good. And he has endured every possible physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual agony we go through. This is the Christ Julian knows to be at the foundation, the very ground, of our being. This is where the “godly will” resides, that never wills sin: in our Christ-redeemed nature. And this is the supreme friendship of our courteous lord, that he keeps us so tenderly while we are in our sin. And furthermore, he touches us most intimately, and shows us our sin by the sweet light of mercy and grace. Julian is convinced that even when we are in the midst of harming ourselves or others, and seem to be abandoning God, he does not abandon us. Instead, he whispers in our heart and mind, moves our conscience to feel remorse, and leads us to ask forgiveness, guiding us by his own “sweet light of mercy and grace.” However, Julian is acutely aware that when we sin, “we see ourself so foul,” we think (indeed, we assume) that “God is wroth with us for our sin.” Here, Julian is describing her own sense of personal guilt, with a keen understanding that Christians persistently harbor a wrong view of God as being wrathful. She explains that though we may remain convinced that God must be angry at us while we are in sin, it is precisely his ever-present mercy and grace which enable us to turn back to him, confess our failure, and ask forgiveness. Christ gathers us up like his prodigal son (or daughter) and encloses us in the royal robe (the restored innocence of our baptism), calls his servants to kill the fatted calf and prepare a banquet (the Eucharist), and invites all the saints to join in the celebration: “because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found” (Lk 15:32). What Julian is describing here is not only the parable of the prodigal son, but also the never-ending story of the exorbitant love of the prodigal Father. And then our courteous lord shows himself to the soul merrily and with the happiest possible expression, with friendly welcoming, as if it had been in pain and in prison, saying thus: “My dear darling, I am glad that thou art come to me. In all thy woe I have ever been with thee, and now see for yourself my love, and let us be oned in bliss.” Thus are sins forgiven by grace and mercy, and our soul honorably received in joy, exactly as it shall be when it comes into heaven, as often as it comes back to God by the gracious working of the holy ghost and the power of Christ’s passion. In contemplating Christ’s mercy and grace in never leaving us alone, even in our sin, Julian understands how “all manner of thing” is already being prepared for us in heaven, “by the great goodness of God.” This is so true that, whenever we feel ourselves “in peace and in charity, we are truly safe.” And we are, by implication, already saved. Julian reports exceptionally intimate terms in this passage, such as “My dear darling” and let us “be oned in bliss,” more often employed between earthly lovers than between the sinful soul and God. She remembers the depth of personal feeling Christ showed her as he conveyed this Revelation about sin. He was not only joyous, friendly, welcoming; he was also deeply loving and all-embracing. His ardent desire for unity is that of a lover for the beloved, not in a sexual sense, but in that of complete spiritual oneing. Just hearing words like these spoken by Christ in one’s heart would be enough to convince the soul of his unconditional love. Let us take Christ’s words into our own hearts and meditate on them often. And may they bring us peace and comfort in the midst of spiritual or emotional turmoil. Blessings to all NOTE: Excerpts above and translations from the Middle English are from my book, Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books. 2013). Copyright © 2013 by Veronica Mary Rolf Dear Friends,
As we draw near to the celebration of the incarnation of Jesus Christ, let us reflect on a Revelation that was given to Julian of Norwich: Our good lord showed himself to his creature in diverse manners, both in heaven and on earth. But I saw him take no place but in the human soul . . . He has taken there his resting place and his worshipful city, out of which . . . he shall never rise nor remove himself without end. Marvelous and solemn is the place where the lord dwells, and therefore he wills that we readily attend to his gracious touching, rejoicing more in his holy love than sorrowing in our frequent fallings. Julian is speaking here of the birth of Christ in the soul. She suggests that if we pay attention to God’s gracious presence in the very ground of our being, where he delights in resting, we will not be able to entertain thoughts of our sins (or of our sufferings). We will desire only more of God’s goodness, God’s infinite compassion, God’s overwhelming tenderness and courtesy. And this is what God wants for us, not eternal self-recrimination, but eternal loving and joy. Julian adds that the greatest honor we can give to God is that “we live gladly and merrily for his love,” even while undergoing our earthly penance. God in his infinite tenderness sees that our lives are full of suffering and pain. In fact, our natural longing for God is itself a form of penance and God knows this is a great trial for our souls, not yet to be united with him. We must believe that God’s love continues to long for us, while his wisdom and truth, along with his rightfulness, permit us to endure here a while longer. This is how God wants us to view our lives. For we will never be free of penance until we are finally made perfect in heaven, “when we shall have him as our reward.” And therefore he wills that we set our hearts on the overpassing [transcending]: that is to say, from the pain that we feel into the bliss that we trust. In the quiet of meditation, we may begin to fathom Christ's words to Julian and to us: "I love thee and thou lovest me, and our love shall never be separated into two, and for thy profit I suffer”: and all this was shown in ghostly understanding, saying this blessed word: “I keep thee full securely.” Julian realizes that this is the incomparable “lesson of love” Christ desires to teach us: that we should live in “longing and enjoying” of God. And all that is contrary to this teaching, Julian declares “is not of him, but it is of the enemy.” Julian frankly remarks that if there is anyone alive “who is continually kept from falling,” such a soul was never shown to her. What was shown was “that in falling and in rising we are ever preciously kept in one love.” Julian revealed that this gift of love is bequeathed to us through the working of grace and enables us to “love God for himself, and our self in God, and all that God loves, for [the sake of] God.” She marveled greatly at this virtue of love because she realized that even though we live foolishly and blindly here on earth, yet God always beholds our efforts to lead lives of love. And he takes great joy in our good deeds. Julian reiterates that the best way we can please God is by wisely and truly believing that we please him, and “to rejoice with him and in him.” For as truly as we shall be in the bliss of God without end, praising and thanking him, as truly have we been in the foresight of God, loved and known in his endless purpose from without beginning, in which unbegun love he created us. In the same love he keeps us, and never suffers us to be hurt by which our bliss might be lessened. And therefore when the final judgment is given, and we are all brought up above, then shall we clearly see in God the privities which now are hidden from us. We will not understand how it is that each soul is given plenteous grace to rise again after every fall, or how even the most hardened sinners are converted into saints, until at last we come up to heaven and see in God’s eyes the hidden mystery of the magnificent process of salvation. But we can be sure of one thing: we will see that all has been done by God to perfection. This will be the Great Deed that Julian understood would only be revealed at the end of time. And then shall none of us be moved to say in any thing: “Lord, if it had been thus, it would have been well.” But we shall all say with one voice: “Lord, blessed may thou be, because it is thus, it is well. And now we see truly that every thing is done as it was thine ordinance to do, before any thing was made.” This Christmas, may your soul take joy in being the humble “resting place” where the Child will be born. May you feel his "gracious touching" as you embrace him. And may you rejoice in his tender love that is with you in every aspect of your life and "keeps you full securely." Many blessings and Happy Christmas to all! NOTE: Excerpts above and translations from the Middle English are from my book, Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books. 2013). Copyright © 2013 by Veronica Mary Rolf In the Fourteenth Revelation, Julian of Norwich considers the prayer of thanksgiving as “a true, inward knowing, with great reverence and lovely awe,” whereby we offer all our efforts and energies to the daily tasks that are God’s will for us, all the while “rejoicing and thanking inwardly.” Notice that Julian stresses the importance of rejoicing in the good works we are enabled to do by the grace of God. Not only that, she declares that our prayer and our trust should never be timid, but “both alike large,” which in Middle English suggests ample and even ambitious: “For if we do not trust as much as we pray, we do not give the fullest worship to our lord in our prayer, and also we hinder and trouble ourselves.”
We must constantly remind ourselves that “our Lord is the ground in whom our prayer springs,” and that prayer is itself “given to us by grace of his love”; then we will be able to trust that we will receive “all that we desire.” Sometimes, in meditation, we may feel overwhelmed by the realization of God’s love. For this we must give continual thanks in and through everything we do: “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you” (1Thess 5:16-18). Of course, it is comparatively easy to give thanks for all the good and pleasant things in our lives; it is much harder to give thanks for what makes us suffer, what thwarts our plans or causes great hurt. But these, too, are worthy of thanks, for they teach and strengthen us in ways we will not understand for a long time, perhaps not until the Great Deed is revealed to us at the end of time. Sometimes the roadblocks, whether people or circumstances, force us to turn in a different direction. Our failures, too, can become sources of self-knowledge. And if we get up after every fall, we only grow more resilient, more determined in our resolve. For all this, we give thanks! There is also another, more unusual, aspect to our practice of thanksgiving. We may remember the astounding moment in Julian’s Sixth Revelation, when she heard the Lord thank her for her service and her “travail”: that is, both her work and her sufferings. Can you even imagine such a thing? This Thanksgiving, in addition to thanking the Lord for all you have received, why not allow God to thank you for all the ways in which you have tried to serve him during your life, every good deed you have ever done, everyone you have ever loved, every suffering or loss you have endured. In the silence of meditation, imagine Christ saying to you: “Well done, good and faithful servant” (Mt 25:21). Let your deepest self be loved, and appreciated, and yes, thanked by God, even as Julian was. This can be a life-transforming experience and one that you will never forget. Blessings! PLEASE NOTE: Translations from the Middle English and excerpts above are from An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich (InterVarsity Academic Press, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Veronica Mary Rolf. All rights reserved. Available from the Publisher and Amazon worldwide: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0830850880? For our soul is so loved by him that is highest, that it overpasses the knowing of all creatures: that is to say there is no creature that is made that may know how much and how sweetly and how tenderly our maker loves us . . . and therefore we may ask of our [divine] lover, with reverence, all that we will.
In her Revelations of Divine Love, Julian of Norwich affirms again that there is absolutely nothing that God will not do for us, nor is there anything that God disdains about our body and soul. He knows what we need before we ourselves do. We cannot escape God’s love. For we are “clad and enclosed in the goodness of God.” Yet why do we find it so hard sometimes to take refuge in that love and goodness? To trust that God is always there for us, whether we are in great joy, great sorrow, or great distress? Why do we ever think God must be far away or not listening to us when, in fact, God is the very source and foundation of our very ability to be aware of anything at all! God is the Reality in whom “we live and move and have our being,” as Luke the Evangelist writes (Acts 17:28). We are truly clothed and enclosed in Christ Jesus. Then why do we find it so hard to feel we are loved by God? Is it because we feel mired in our sins – past or present? Does shame keep us from throwing all our cares upon Divine Mercy? Are we afraid of being judged . . . and cast out? Do we think of ourselves as the worst of sinners – sinners Christ couldn’t possibly forgive? Or do we feel forgiven, but still harbor the memory of our misdeeds and feel ashamed for what we have done or failed to do? And assume that therefore Christ must be ashamed of us, too? This great remorse for sin is a necessary phase on the path of purification in the spiritual life. It moves us to ask pardon, seek forgiveness, cry out for mercy. But then – and this is all-important – we must (like all those Christ forgave so freely in the Gospels) trust that we are truly forgiven, move on, and sin no more. Julian herself, when her excruciating pain returned at the end of her extraordinary revelations, admitted that she had betrayed the truth of Christ’s twelve hours of appearance and words to her by telling a priest that she had “raved” that day. Then she was smitten with remorse. But she admitted her sin and moved on . . . to write her Revelations so that her fellow Christians might experience and be comforted by them. What Julian learned – and what we also must learn – is that “God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8) -- not when we were already made perfect! Christ came to save us poor sinners, not the saints. And if we believe Christ is truly God as well as human, dare we doubt his divine power to forgive sin? Look at Peter – because of fear of being arrested, he denied even knowing Christ three times, yet he was forgiven and went on to lead the church and become a martyr for Christ. And look at Paul – by his own admission, he persecuted the church of Christ and was responsible for the death of the first Christian martyr, Stephen. Yet he went on to become an indefatigable evangelist for Christ and also died a martyr. And look at the woman taken in adultery – although the Pharisees wanted Jesus to condemn her so that they could throw stones at her and kill her, Jesus cried out: “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her” (John 8:7). Remarkably, one by one, the Pharisees walked away, beginning with the oldest, because each one of them knew he was a sinner. “Jesus was left alone with the woman standing before him. Jesus straightened up and said to her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?” She said, “No one, sir.” And Jesus said, “Neither do I condemn you. Go your way, and from now on do not sin again.” (John 8:9-11) We also must go and not sin again. And not look back. Sometimes we can become obsessed by our own sinfulness. It casts us down, makes us doubt God’s love for us, and may even cause us to turn away from Christ because we think we are the worst of the worst -- unforgivable. That is a great danger in the spiritual life. In fact, it can even be a temptation, a sort of “pride in our sins” that leads us to wallow in our sinfulness. We start to think of ourselves as “lost” or at least not liked or loved very much by God. And then we fall into a pit of our own making. Christ did not come to cast us down, but to lift us up out of the muck and mire of our past lives. Once we have acknowledged our sins, confessed, and asked for divine mercy, we must trust we are truly forgiven and let them go. The great mystic Teresa of Avila declared that “God does not revisit the sin.” Neither should we. This is why our daily practice of meditation is so crucial to rising out of the pitfalls on our spiritual path. As we sit in silence and stillness, and as memories of the past rise up in front of our mind’s eye, we practice letting them go – whether pleasant, unpleasant, or neutral – like a puff of mist in the sunlight. We breathe in the pure love of God for us and in us and breathe out that love upon the world. As negative or self-destructive memories arise again, we do not allow them to invade Christ’s loving presence within us. We let them go again and again, without dwelling on them for even a moment. As many of you know, this is not an easy practice. But it must be done faithfully, daily, and as often as necessary to dispel the demon within us that wants to grab our attention and tell us we are such sinners we cannot possibly be loved – or saved – by Christ. This is an essential work! For if we allow ourselves to be cast down by our thoughts, memories, and misdeeds, we will never be able to rise up into the sweet awareness of which Julian writes: That “our soul is so loved by him that is highest, that it overpasses the knowing of all creatures.” In meditation we simply practice beholding God beholding us. And loving us, unconditionally. And not allowing anything to interfere, even our sorrow for sin. Eventually, in that silence and stillness, our tortured spirit will find the deep rest and peace for which it longs. And yes, like Julian, we will begin to allow ourselves to feel forgiven -- and loved --by Divine Love itself. And that changes everything. PLEASE NOTE: Translations from the Middle English above are from An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich (InterVarsity Academic Press, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Veronica Mary Rolf. All rights reserved. Available from the Publisher and Amazon worldwide: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0830850880? Julian of Norwich attributes every aspect of our spiritual growth to Christ’s tender care for our soul. Our best response is to be malleable, teachable, and fully attentive to the promptings of the Spirit. But when we act in ways that harm ourselves or others, or when we fall into grievous sin, then we may think we have utterly failed to be faithful to Jesus Christ. . . .
And then we, who are not at all wise, think that all we have begun is nothing, but it is not so. Because it is necessary for us to fall, and it is necessary for us to see it. For if we did not fall, we should not know how feeble and how wretched we are in ourselves, nor also we should not so completely know the marvelous love of our creator. For we shall truly see in heaven without end that we have grievously sinned in this life. And notwithstanding this, we shall truly see that we were never hurt in his love, nor were we ever of less value in his sight. And by the trial of this falling we shall have a high and marvelous knowing of love in God without end. For strong and marvelous is that love which may not, nor will not, be broken for trespass. Once again, Julian reminds us that “sin is behovely” (that is, necessary) because, by the mercy of God, it can show us our weakness and our sheer unhappiness when we try to rely on ourselves alone. Recognition of this frightening human condition can bring us to sincere repentance and reveal our total dependency on the unconditional love of God. Furthermore, Julian is certain that “even if our earthly mother might suffer her child to perish, our heavenly mother Jesus may never suffer we who are his children to perish.” But when we fall, how are we to seek forgiveness? Like a child in distress and dread, Julian envisions us running quickly to our mother Jesus saying, “My kind mother, my gracious mother, my dearworthy mother, have mercy on me. I have made myself foul and unlike to thee, and I may not nor can not amend it but with thy help and grace.” For the child “naturally trusts in the love of the mother in wele and in woe.” And he wills that we take ourselves mightily to the faith of holy church, and find there our dearworthy mother in solace and true understanding with the whole blessed community. For one single person may oftentimes be broken, as it seems to the self, but the whole body of holy church was never broken, nor never shall be without end. And therefore it is a seker [secure] thing, a good and a gracious thing, to will humbly and vehemently to be fastened and united to our mother holy church, who is Christ Jesus. For the flood of mercy that is his dearworthy blood and precious water is plenteous enough to make us fair and clean. The blessed wounds of our savior are open and rejoice to heal us. The sweet, gracious hands of our mother are ready and diligent about us. In spite of the papal schism, corruption, and scandals occurring in the medieval church, Julian had a strong sense that the true church is not those who bring disgrace upon it, but Christ himself. By taking refuge in the grace of God that comes to us in a multitude of ways, especially in the celebration of Eucharist, we are healed and reunited in community to the mystical body of Christ. In every situation, Christ, our mother and our nurse, “has nothing else to do but to attend to the salvation of her child. It is his office to save us, it is his honor to do it, and it is his will that we know it.” All our Savior asks for in return is that “we love him sweetly and trust in him meekly and mightily.” Indeed, in the Thirteenth Revelation, when Christ showed Julian a glimpse of human brokenness, she understood that even in our terrible failures, Christ never ceases to keep us “full sekerly.” Then, in the Fourteenth Revelation, she realized this is because Christ is our mother. He cares for and protects his children no matter what ditch we fall into, and he lifts us out of our degradation by the sheer force of his love. Indeed, this is how Christ saves—by so completely knitting and oneing us to himself that we become who we were originally created to be: the image and likeness of God. And from this sweet, beautiful working he shall never cease nor stop, until all his dearworthy children are born and brought forth. And that he shewed when he gave the under- standing of the ghostly thirst: that is, the love-longing that shall last till domesday. And I understood no higher stature in this life than childhood, in feebleness and failing of might and of intellect, until the time that our gracious mother has brought us up to our father’s bliss. And there shall it truly be made known to us, his meaning in the sweet words where he says: “Alle shalle be wele, and thou shalt see it thyself that alle manner of thing shalle be wele.” PLEASE NOTE: Excerpts and translations from the Middle English above are from An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich (InterVarsity Academic Press, 2018). Copyright © 2018 by Veronica Mary Rolf. All rights reserved. Available from the Publisher and Amazon worldwide: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0830850880? Julian of Norwich was only too familiar with physical pain. She suffered for a week in bed in excruciating pain from an unnamed illness and became paralyzed from the waist down. She longed for release to go to heaven; yet she also wanted to live in order to love and serve the Lord longer here on earth: It was because I would have lived to have loved God better and for a longer time, that I might, by the grace of that living, have more knowing and loving of God in the bliss of heaven. For it seemed to me that all that time that I had lived here so little and so short a time in comparison with that endless bliss. I thought: “Good lord, may my living no longer be to thy worship?” And I understood in my reason and by the feeling of my pains that I should die, and I assented fully with all the will of my heart to be at God’s will.
Julian lay awake all through the seventh night because she couldn’t sleep with the intense level of pain. After this the other part of my body began to die, as to my feeling. My hands fell down on either side, and also for lack of power my head settled down on one side. The most pain that I felt was shortness of breath and failing of life. Then I thought truly to have been at the point of death. She believed that during the process of dying, fiends lay in wait to tempt the soul to sin mortally and then drag it down into hell. She knew she needed to be on her guard, alert, awake, praying and surrendering to God’s will constantly. And in this moment, suddenly all my pain was taken away from me and I was completely whole, and especially in the upper part of my body, as ever I was before or after. I marveled at this change, for it seemed to me that it was a private working of God, and not of nature. But the physical healing did not bring spiritual peace, what she describes as “full ease,” to her. Julian still did not think she would live. In fact, the sudden easing of all her pain and immobility felt like a bitter disappointment. After having suffered so much, her heart longed to be delivered from the trials of this world forever. She was ready to die. And suddenly it came to my mind that I should desire the second wound of our lord’s gift and of his grace: that he would fill my body with the mind and feeling of his blessed passion, as I had prayed before. For I would that his pains were my pains, with compassion and afterward longing for God. Thus I thought I might, with his grace, have his wounds that I had desired before. . . . With him I desired to suffer, living in my mortal body, as God would give me grace. It was precisely then that all her pains disappeared and Julian saw the body of Christ on the crucifix before her appear alive and bleeding profusely. And so began her Sixteen Revelations of Divine Love, during which time she felt no pains but Christ’s pains. And these she experienced very deeply. Julian also witnessed Christ's transformation of suffering on the cross: And just in that same time that it seemed to me, by all appearances, that his life might no longer last, and the showing of the end must needs be near—suddenly, as I beheld the same cross, his face changed into a joyful expression. The changing of his blissful expression changed mine, and I was as glad and merry as it was possible to be. Then our Lord brought this merrily to mind: “Where is now any point of thy pain or of thy grief?” And I was completely merry. What an instantaneous transformation of pain into glorious joy! Indeed, Julian saw a vision of the Resurrected Christ on the cross. So many of us have suffered from acute or chronic pain at some point in our lives. Physical pain and the resultant sleep-deprivation, surgeries and their long aftermath, as well as a life-threatening illness have the power to pull the mind down into a dark and dangerous place. We enter a dark tunnel and cannot see the light. We cannot sense divine presence in the pain. Sometimes we feel abandoned by God to our pain, even with God’s love being revealed in all those who care for us. We are convinced we must face the pain alone, hour after hour, day and night. We may feel we will suffer like this for the rest of our lives. And perhaps we will. We may question if we’re being purified. And perhaps we are. We may ask why we cannot feel God’s love encircling and holding us in our pain, why we can’t focus our minds to meditate or pray, except to cry out for help in the words of a psalm or to finger a rosary in desperation. Sometimes, we can only question: “Lord, how do I get out of this pain?’ This can be a dangerous time. Extreme pain and exhaustion can lead us to question God’s love and constant protection. We may be plagued with doubts at the very moment we need so desperately to believe. These are the demons that we must be on our guard against, as Julian was. Teilhard de Chardin prayed: O God grant that I may understand that it is You (providing only my faith is strong enough) who are painfully parting the fibres of my being in order to penetrate to the very marrow of my substance and bear me away within Yourself.* But when we are in the thrall of pain we cannot experience that hidden process. All we can do is beg for strength to bear it, for release, and for some sign of divine presence. Because that is the worst pain: to feel that the suffering of pain is separating us from divine love. But must we feel separated? At some point, we may begin to desire, like Julian, that our splinter of pain be united to Christ’s vast suffering on the cross that draws in the pain of the entire world. We may join him there through our pain and begin to experience his pain more deeply within ourselves. We may offer our pain for all those throughout the world who suffer pain of any kind. And then we may begin to feel our pain has a purpose: to unite us more deeply to Christ’s own love and compassion for all who suffer. In the Spirit of Christ, we may gently breathe in the suffering of others as best we can and allow Christ to suffuse that terrible pain with his own divine light; and then we may gently breathe out Christ’s own light, and love, and healing to all who suffer, including ourselves. Hard as it may be, then we may be able to surrender, like Julian – not to the pain, but to whatever work the Lord wants to do in us through our suffering for the sake of others: Be it done unto me according to they will. In the Parable of the Lord and the Servant, Julian described a servant who ran off eagerly to do the will of his master and fell into a ditch, where he suffered great misery: And in all this, the most misfortune that I saw him in was his lack of comfort. For he could not turn his face to look up on his loving lord, who was very near to him, in whom is complete comfort. But like a man that was full feeble and unwise at the time, he concentrated on his feelings and enduring in woe. In which woe he suffered seven great pains. Julian observed that the servant was trapped in the narrow ditch, face down in the muck, in great pain and unable to turn over. He could not even raise his head to look up and see that the Lord was standing over him, ready to give him all the comfort he needed. The servant, thinking he was all alone, became weaker from his pains and emotionally distraught over all he had to suffer. He focused on his negative feelings and on how he was going to last through his agony. Julian identified seven pains that grieved him most severely. The first was the severe physical bruising he suffered from the actual fall, which caused him great injury all over his body. The second was the sheer heaviness and clumsiness of his body lying in the ditch, as if dead, unable to escape from the mud and stench and offal. The third was the terrible weakness, both physical and emotional, that followed on these two. The fourth was that he became so confused and blind in his reasoning powers and so stunned in his thinking, that he had “almost,” writes Julian, “forgotten his own love” for his Lord. The fifth was that he was unable to rise from his pit of agony. The sixth was the most excruciating pain of all: that he was convinced he lay in this pitiful condition all alone, with no one to come to his aid and to comfort him. . . . The seventh pain was that the ditch in which he lay “was a long, hard, and grievous” place in which to be trapped. The ditch was so tight and narrow that he could not budge. It was a terrible confinement. Indeed, these seven pains also describe Julian’s own pain when she felt trapped in physical suffering, paralyzed, unable to breathe, and thought she was dying. They may also describe our own experience of pain. We, too, sometimes feel trapped by physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual pain. We, too, forget how much we love and are loved by our Lord. But if we surrender to the divine working within us – even in the darkest night of bodily and mental pain -- and if we make blind acts of faith that Christ IS with us in our pain, then the same pains that drag us down can lift us up. Eventually, we may experience a sense of Christ's presence in our pain. This is what happened to Julian. It was in her own total surrender to her pain that she became able to envision Christ’s pain as well as his glorious transformation of pain in resurrection. May Julian help us to do so, too! NOTE: Excerpts above and translations from the Middle English are from my book, Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books. 2013). Copyright © 2013 by Veronica Mary Rolf *Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, The Divine Milieu, (Harper & Brothers, NY:1960), 62. |
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