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In the Fifth Revelation, Julian of Norwich hears Christ speak directly to her in distinct, interior words: “Then he, without voice and opening of lips, formed in my soul these words: ‘Herewith is the fiend overcome.’” The precise words Julian hears within her soul (“Herewith is the fiend overcome”) give voice to the vision of the outpouring of blood she sees before her, by which the power of Satan is forever vanquished. These particular words do not appear in the synoptic gospel accounts of the seven last words of Christ from the cross. They are directed specifically to Julian and form part of her particular gospel account. However, the locution does evoke Christ’s parting words to his disciples as recorded in the gospel of John “I have said this to you, so that in me you may have peace. In the world you face persecution. But take courage; I have conquered the world!” (Jn 16:33)
Christ had been showing Julian the bleeding wounds of his passion, revealing the enormity of suffering that was needed to repair the evil that Satan unleashed upon the world. The power of the devil was greatly feared in the Middle Ages, as it had been from ancient times. Sin had long been considered a state of bondage to devils, a spiritual captivity from which humankind had no power to free itself. In addition to the debt that must be paid to God, souls had to be ransomed from the grip of evil by the payment of a debt to Satan: “For you were bought with a price” (1 Cor 6:20). By showing Julian the abundance of his “dearworthy blood,” Christ also demonstrated to her “a part of the fiend’s malice, and fully his unmight [lack of power] for he shewed that his passion is the overcoming of the fiend” (italics added). Satan is understood to be utterly impotent against Christ’s total sacrifice of love and his example of perfect obedience to the Father’s will. Thus, in his perfect obedience to death on the cross, Christ robbed Satan of any illusory power he might have had over humankind. Notice that Julian does not quote Christ as saying the fiend “will be overcome” but “is overcome.” Christ’s victory is already complete. Humanity is already ransomed by his blood. And in the unbloody sacrifice of the Mass, Christ, the great High Priest, unceasingly offers his suffering and death to the Father so that every person of every generation may be incorporated into the salvific act. Julian is fully aware, however, that human beings have yet to experience Christ’s victory completed on earth. The Lord reveals to her that the fiend still has the same malice and evil intentions that he had before the incarnation. And he works as hard as ever to ensnare souls, especially when he sees that those souls that are saved “escape him honorably by virtue of Christ’s precious passion.” But Julian reassures us that Satan “may never do as ill as he would, for his might is all locked in God’s hand.” Julian does not mean to imply that Satan is literally locked in God’s hand, or that God is in any way complicit in the devil’s evil, only that ultimately the “hand” of God destroys the might of evil. Christ spoke of himself as the Good Shepherd whose sheep hear his voice and follow him: “I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand” (Jn 10:28). As we continue to mourn the daily tragedies of suffering and death in Ukraine and Israel/Gaza, let us not be cast down by the apparent power of evil to triumph. Let us never forget that we are all – all – God’s children: loved, cherished, and held in the palm of his hand. God will never abandon us. The mystery of suffering that we must endure because of sin – personal, communal, global, environmental -- is beyond our ability to comprehend. But suffering can humble us and bring us to our knees, begging for divine help. And then we are purified, transformed in the very depths of our being, and inspired to unite our sufferings with those of Christ on the cross. Thus our physical pain, our weeping and mourning, all our tragic losses can become truly salvific. And this is because, as Christians, we believe that Christ has taken on all our sufferings and deaths in his own passion and death on the cross and has already brought us into his own resurrection. Whenever fear, doubt, or even despair threaten to overwhelm us, may we hear Christ reassuring us, even as he did Julian, that by his sacrifice, “herewith is the fiend [evil] overcome.” Every day, may we reaffirm our conviction that “whoever is born of God overcomes the world, and the victory that overcomes the world is our faith” (1 Jn 5:4). May we take refuge in the reality of Christ’s resurrection – and ours to come – by which all suffering is eviscerated in eternal glory. May we become true images of divine life, love, and light in the world. And may we never forget the promise made to those who persevere: “God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes. There shall be no more death. Neither shall there be any more sorrow nor crying nor pain, for the former things have passed away” (Rev 21:4). As Christ revealed to Julian: “Sin is behovely [necessary, inevitable] but alle shalle be wele, and alle shalle be wele, and alle manner of thing shalle be wele.” Please Note: Excerpts above and my translations from the Middle English are from my book: Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books), copyright © by Veronica Mary Rolf.
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How can we know if the experience of a vision is genuine . . . or the product of an unbalanced mind? Though “tests” may not categorically prove anything to a particular individual, it may be helpful to consider the various aspects of extraordinary experience frequently used to establish the authenticity of a vision or locution. First, the authentic vision arrives suddenly and unbidden, without human effort or contrivance. It is immediately experienced as proceeding from a superior source. It carries the weight of divine authority. Sometimes by means of sight and/or sound the mystic is given a directive for action, a precise warning, an instantaneous clarity about a decision to be made, or is shown a prophetic vision of an event that is bound to occur in the future. Often the visionary is graced by an infusion of wisdom and spiritual insight that he or she could not have attained by ordinary methods of study or human effort.
At other times, the visionary may be absorbed in a trance in which he or she becomes privy to things not able to be described in human language, as was St. Paul, who “was caught up to the third heaven” (2 Cor 12:2–4). The sublime experience may be seen either through a lifelike apparition exterior to the visionary, or as a compelling interior picture occurring in the recipient’s imagination, or as a purely intellectual understanding that arises all-at-once, without recourse to specific images or words. In whatever form the visionary receives the divinely inspired revelations, they have a veracity about them that is incontestable. For the recipient to deny that such an event ever took place would be akin to denying the truth of his or her own existence. Likewise, the voice and words of locutions [audible revelations] may be heard as coming from the outside, or as emanating from within, or as purely intellectual inspiration received from the divine source. In any case, it is generally agreed that all visionary and verbal transmissions, if they are genuine, must be distinctly formed, whether by a convincing physical, imaginative, or intellectual illumination, or by means of understandable words. The authentic vision is not confusing, distracting, or obfuscating in its effect on the recipient’s mind. It is reassuring, affirming, sometimes cautionary, even demanding, but always precise. The truth-filled words are clearly spoken in the visionary’s language, and their effect is profoundly empowering, much more so than if the same words had been spoken under normal circumstances. Both image and words are thereafter indelibly imprinted in the person’s memory and can be recalled at will. . . Yet even though the original experience cannot be forgotten, there may be a significant delay in the mystic’s full understanding of the meaning of the revelation. Another and most important indication of authenticity is that the visions and locutions of Christian mystics conform to holy scripture and to the most sacred teachings of the church. They do not contradict revealed truth. They also produce a lasting change in the recipient’s state of mind, enabling the will to act on the directives given, thus dramatically altering the visionary’s course of life greatly to the good. And while the revelations may seem at the time full of mystery to be contemplated for years to come, both visions and words continue to produce a sense of ineffable joy and profound peace. The visionary is forever transformed by the vision and the listener by the words. Julian of Norwich's visions and locutions meet all the above qualifications. Her vision of Christ on the cross appeared suddenly as she lay dying, shortly after all her pain had inexplicably ceased. She specifically records that she saw Christ on the cross, “without any meane,” that is, not mediated through the intervention of an angel or saint, and appearing completely lifelike. She was absolutely convinced that he who revealed himself to her was truly Jesus Christ, the Son of God, bearing all the weight of divine authority. He answered questions that had tortured her soul for many years and deepened her understanding of the nature of the Trinity, the incarnation, the passion, and the resurrection, as well as the divine attitude toward sin, judgment, and personal suffering. In her sixteen Revelations, Julian was given extraordinary wisdom and divine teachings she never could have figured out on her own, but for the grace of the shewings. . . Throughout, Julian’s visions were distinctly formed, either when manifesting in a “bodily sight in the face of the crucifix,” or when being conceived in “ghostly sight” in her imagination, or when arising “more ghostly” and all-at-once “in a point” of profound understanding while she was poised in contemplation. Likewise, Julian understood the words spoken in her own Middle English language, with no sense of obfuscation. Whether heard as words formed in her soul, “without voice and opening of lips,” or “as if” Christ were speaking directly to her mind in “words formed in my understanding,” these locutions were incontrovertible in their truthfulness and power. They brought clarity and peace to Julian’s troubled mind. Most certainly, the visions and locutions that unfolded during the course of the Revelations were indelible. Julian never lost sight of what the suffering or the glorious Christ looked like, nor did she forget the words he spoke to her. She was compelled to write about them all her life. These divine illuminations expanded Julian’s spirit, opening up a level of faith, hope, and love in her heart previously unimaginable. They re-interpreted familiar and firmly held doctrines of the church and pushed the boundaries of what could be thought or written about the mercy and love of God. Please Note: Excerpts above and my translations from the Middle English are from my book: Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books), copyright © by Veronica Mary Rolf. Julian of Norwich and Noughting
Of this each man and woman needs to have knowing who desires to live contemplatively, that he desires to nought all things that are made in order to have the love of God that is unmade. For this is the cause why they who are occupied willfully in earthly business, and evermore seek worldly wellbeing, are not completely at ease in heart and in soul: for they love and seek here rest in this thing [the hazelnut] that is so little, where no rest is within, and know not God, who is all mighty, all wise, and all good. For he is true rest. In the First Revelation, Julian discerns that all creation, even in its most awesome beauty, is only the size of a hazelnut in the sight of God. She realizes that the very “littleness” of the hazelnut (i.e., the world) shows us it is necessary to nought everything that is made “in order to have the love of God that is unmade.” Only God is great enough to satisfy our soul’s deepest desire. What does Julian mean by this word, nought? The word was not known before the twelfth century, when it meant, literally, “nothing.” In medieval mystical literature, noughting implied the deliberate letting go of attachment to self, as well as the renunciation of worldly goods and concerns, in order to attain a deeper spiritual union with the divine. Noughting was the essential way of purgation, before illumination and spiritual union with God could be achieved. The sense in which Julian uses the word implies a self-denial, a turning away from human selfishness and its obsession with finite, ever-changing, always-decaying goods that can distract the soul from seeking the infinite, unchangeable, and everlasting good. In modern terms, we could say noughting involves a negation of self-centeredness in order to become more focused on the “other,” an absolutely necessary component of learning to love. For Julian, it means letting go of the unnecessary in order to focus on the one thing needful (Lk 10:42). Norwich and Noughting Julian knew her bustling, materialistic, and competitive city of Norwich only too well. It is possible that much of that same restless activity had driven her own life, out of necessity. Her responsibilities for maintaining a household, being a good wife, raising a child, running a commercial business, caring for servants, family members, friends, and apprentices plus the never-ending cycle of shopping for and overseeing the preparation of meals, spinning, weaving, sewing, and bookkeeping must have kept her mind and body mired in the duties of being a working woman, yet ever aching in her heart to “live contemplatively,” as she calls it . . . a life that finds its rest in God alone. We must also consider that, at this point [the beginning of her visionary experiences], Julian still believes she is about to die. She is lamenting that she has not done enough to know God in this life. Her mind is straining to try to figure out why her imagination perceived something like a hazelnut in the palm of her hand at this critical moment. What is its portent? Could it be to inspire her to hand over to God “all that is made,” all that she has ever loved in this life, as well as her own body and soul, before she dies? One thing she knows for sure: at this point of death, she cannot allow herself to be bound to earth by ties of attachment, or responsibility, even human love. She must dare to become noughted, utterly stripped of all she holds dear, like Christ on the cross . . . Julian’s tone, in writing about the essential noughting of the spiritual life, is never disparaging, but always gentle and encouraging. She tells the reader that God “wills” to be known, and “liketh that we rest ourselves in him.” Julian will use this intimate term, “liketh” (meaning “enjoys”), often in her text. It is her way of conveying the certainty she feels that God was speaking to her mind directly, telling her what to impart to her evencristens. She adds that the Lord derives very great pleasure from an innocent soul that comes to him “nakedly, plainly, and homely.” This is the kind of noughting Julian means: dropping every distraction and becoming a little child again, rushing into the arms of its loving parent and resting there: “for this is the natural yearning of the soul by the touching of the holy ghost, as by the understanding that I have in this shewing.” Inspired by this meditation, Julian pours out all her heart’s longing in prayer: God, of thy goodness give me thyself. For thou art enough to me, and I may ask nothing that is less that may be full worship to thee. And if I ask anything that is less, ever will I be wanting. But only in thee do I have all. Julian is sure that this petition is most comforting to the soul and completely in union with the will of Our Lord. She also tells us that the ultimate gift of God’s goodness, for which she prays, extends to all his creatures and all his holy works, and will continually surpass itself for eternity. Then in words reminiscent of St. Augustine’s, she writes: “For he is eternity, and he has made us only for himself and restored us by his precious passion, and ever keeps [protects] us in his blessed love. And all this is of his goodness.” Thus, in noughting herself, Julian anticipates receiving, in exchange, the boundlessness of God. May we be inspired to “live contemplatively” like Julian and take time each day to let go of all the unnecessary mental and emotional "stuff" that we carry about in our lives that has become such a burden . . . and just sit still for a while in silent awe of the divine presence within and without. May we dare to “nought” ourselves -- that is, empty out the closet of our mind of our habitual ways of thinking, judging, choosing . . . and clean out the cupboard of our heart, stuffed with old emotional conflicts and hurts we don’t need to revisit anymore. May we make Julian's prayer our own and gradually learn to “rest” contemplatively in the Lord who “liketh” it so much when we come to him “nakedly, plainly, and homely [simply].” He will fill us with all that we seek. And so much more. Please Note: Excerpts above and my translations from the Middle English are from my book: Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books), copyright © by Veronica Mary Rolf. In the Fourteenth Revelation, Julian of Norwich writes about the continuous work of divine mercy:
But our good lord the holy ghost, who is endless life dwelling in our soul, full securely keeps us, and works therein a peace, and brings it to ease through grace, and makes it obedient, and reconciles it with God. And this is the mercy and the way in which our good lord continually leads us, as long as we are in this life which is changeable. At this point in her Revelations, Julian has just clarified that God’s mercy is not a divine “change of heart” from fury, nor even a gracious act of forgiveness after we have recognized our sin, asked pardon, and done penance. Now she defines God’s work of mercy as the unceasing, gratuitous outpouring of the Holy Ghost, who is “endless life dwelling in our souls.” This outpouring is like the water that flowed from Christ’s Sacred Heart on the cross. It is the cleansing waters of baptism, of sanctifying grace. This abundant mercy protects us even when we are trapped in our mistakenness. It is a mercy that constantly works to draw us out of the war between our mental afflictions, our inner drives, and our sensual needs. Who knows the willful and contrary “stuff” of our fallen human nature better than Christ does? Who wants our salvation more than the Savior who died to set us free from our own perversity? The Spirit of Christ, the Holy Ghost, will never stop trying to lead us out of our self-defeating ways. This is God’s sublime work of mercy. 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 shewed very often in his loving countenance of compassion and pity. Again, Julian bears witness to what she experienced: the Savior does not look on us with anger and a desire to punish, but with divine mercy and a thirst to save. This is the loving face of Christ that Julian saw. . . and she could not see any wrath therein. She clearly articulates that the experience of wrath is all on our side, coming from ourselves, not from God. For the ground of mercy is in love, and the working of mercy is our protection in love. And this was shown in such a manner that I could not perceive the property of mercy otherwise but, as it were, all one in love. Just as Julian had been taught by Christ that he inspires every grace he wishes us to ask for in prayer -- precisely so that he can give it to us -- likewise the “mercy” we pray for is also offered by God even before we ask. God’s mercy, as grounded in his love, is inseparable from the reality of his existence. It is never conditional on us. Our pleading does not earn God’s mercy any more than our prayer bends God’s will. Still, Julian tells us, we must open ourselves to the experience of God’s mercy by requesting it repeatedly in prayer. Otherwise, we may not be able to accept the great blessing of being healed, protected, and inspired. Prayer, in effect, enables our minds and hearts to receive what God longs to give. That is to say, as to my sight: mercy is a sweet, gracious working in love, mixed with plentiful pity. For mercy works, protecting us, and mercy works, turning all things to good for us. May we heed Julian's example and pray for the divine mercy that cleanses, heals, and transforms the brokenness within our lives and in our world. Please Note: Excerpts above and my translations from the Middle English are from my book: Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books), copyright © by Veronica Mary Rolf. In the Twelfth Revelation, Julian of Norwich writes:
Oftentimes our lord Jesus said: I it am, I it am. I it am that is highest. I it am that thou lovest. I it am that thou likest. I it am that thou servest. I it am that thou longest for. I it am that thou desirest. I it am that thou meanest. I it am that is all. I it am that holy church preacheth to thee and teacheth thee. I it am that shewed myself before to thee.” This litany of holy names that Christ pours out of his glory in this revelation to Julian, not once, but “oftentimes,” evokes an endless stream of ways in which he is present to the human mind and heart. Various scholars have translated Julian’s seemingly awkward syntax, “I it am,” as “I am He,” or “It is I.” However, Julian must have deemed her exact words important, since she repeats them again and again. Thus it seems imperative to honor and retain her transcription of the precise phrases she understood Christ to say. What is the it to which the I of Christ refers? To consider this, we must recall Julian’s First Revelation in which she understood that: The trinity is our maker, the trinity is our keeper [protector], the trinity is our everlasting lover, the trinity is our endless joy and our bliss, by our lord Jesus Christ and in our lord Jesus Christ. And this was shown in this sight and in all. For where Jesus appears theblessed trinity is understood, as to my sight. The it, therefore, is the Blessed Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. The it is also Yahweh, the eternal “I AM” revealed to Moses. And wherever Jesus appears, God, three-in-one, is understood. Thus the it also refers to Christ himself, he who is highest, he whom Julianloves, he whom she personally and intimately likes (and in whose image and likeness she is made). Christ is he whom Julian serves and for whom she longs, he whom she desires, the one her heart “means” when she thinks or speaks of God. Christ tells Julian that he is “all” she could possibly long for, love, or ever need. He is the one whom “holy church” preaches to her in the gospels and teaches her to know, love, and serve. He is the one who has been showing himself to Julian all this time. Earlier in her Revelations, Julian had understood that Christ is our clothing . . . the sea ground of our very existence . . . the Creator of the simple hazelnut in her hand that symbolizes all that is made . . . the still “point” out of which all that is comes forth and to which it returns. Christ has revealed to her: “See, I am God!” Now, he reiterates the numerous ways in which he is power and presence to her. Because Christ is both God and man, the it applies to every divine and human activity of Christ as creator, protector, and lover that Julian could possibly imagine. He might have added: I it am who enables you to live, and move, and have your being (Acts 17:28). I it am who walks and runs and sings and dances and grows up within you, laughs with you, cries with you, teaches you, listens to your heart, speaks to you in the innermost recesses of your mind, guides and encourages your every choice. I it am, your creativity, your knowledge, your courage, your gentleness, your loving heart, your truthfulness. I it am, your capacity to envision and enjoy a sunrise, to cherish the tenderness in your beloved’s eyes, to delight in your child’s smile or funny word, to work and serve others unselfishly. I it am, the thrill of achievement and the hard-but-necessary lesson learnt only through failure. I it am present in your deepest worry, fear, agony, betrayal, or shame, and who sustains you through the darkest nights of body and soul. I it am comforting you in tragic loss, tending you in sickness, protecting you in times of danger, and sending you help from the most unlikely source just when you need it most. I it am who sustains you even when you fall into sin. I it am close by who picks you up, forgives you, embraces you, and sets you on the path again. I it am, your awareness of being alive. I it Am Who Am. . . Christ Incarnate, long ago, now, and forevermore: your creation, birth, life, death, and salvation. By becoming human, Christ took on all these variations of human thought and feeling, joy and suffering, longing and love. Indeed, Julian writes: The number of the words [Christ spoke] passes my wits and my understanding and all my powers, for they were in the highest number, as to my sight. For therein is comprehended I cannot tell what. But the joy that I saw in the shewing of them surpasses all that heart can think or soul may desire. And therefore these words are not declared here. But every man, after the grace that God gives him in understanding and loving, receives them in our lord’s meaning. The Divine Names that Christ reveals to Julian are numberless, as are his manifold works in us. Julian is at a loss to count them. . . or to recount them. She cannot declare in writing all that she heard and understood that Christ showed her. It is beyond what “heart can think or soul may desire.” It is beyond what any “poor creature” such as Julian could possibly record. She simply attests to her inexpressible joy in realizing Christ’s manifestations. Like John the Evangelist, she understood that “All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being” (Jn 1:3). The Divine Nature becomes incarnate in and through all creation and all creation is the eternal extension of Christ. I it am is, in truth, all that exists. In her great desire for her readers to understand this Revelation, Julian encourages “every man” (and by extension, every woman) to receive these words and make them their own, as the Lord will personally give them grace to do so. In each individual’s life, I it am will mean something entirely unique, a personal revelation. It is up to each one of us to set aside time every day to be still and silent and consider the different ways in which Christ's words, "I it am" manifest themselves in our own lives. Then we will discover we are never alone, but always embraced by the love of Christ. Please Note: Excerpts above and my translations from the Middle English are from my book: Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books), copyright © by Veronica Mary Rolf. Dear Friends,
I want to share with you the magnificent letter (below) written personally by Pope Francis to the Catholic and Anglican congregations in Norwich -- and to all Julian lovers throughout the world -- on the occasion of the 650th Anniversary of her Revelations of Divine Love. As you will see from the attached below, Pope Francis offers a papal blessing to all who are involved in the celebrations that began on May 8th (her feast day for Anglicans and Lutherans) and continued through May 13th (her feast day for Catholics). Indeed, the festivities are continuing in Norwich and around the world . . . I will be offering a two hour Zoom lecture entitled: "Alle Shalle Be Wele: Living Resurrected Lives" for The Friends of Julian in Norwich on Saturday, June 3rd, from 11am-1pm Pacific Daylight Time. The event is FREE and all are welcome to attend. Please let your friends know about it as well! Here's the Eventbrite link for registration: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/the-julian650-lecture-in-june-tickets-545296054177 In this lecture, I will delve into the deeper meaning of these sacred words, "Alle Shalle Be Wele," and examine the challenge they present in the midst of global conflicts as well as the transformative power they may have within our own personal crises. I will explore Julian’s anguished questions about the nature of sin and the value of suffering; the very questions that provoked these immortal words from the mouth of Christ. We will consider: Were these words revealed as prophecy or a sign of fulfillment? In answer, I will connect these words directly to faith in Christ’s glorious resurrection and the certain hope of our own – offering a theological foundation for "living resurrected lives" even now because “alle shalle be wele” in the ultimate sense. I look forward to seeing you on June 3rd! May Julian bless you abundantly, Veronica jon_papal_blessing_image_copy.jpg May Julian bless you abundantly, Veronica Julian of Norwich knew from her own experience that while we are sojourners on this earth, “we have in us a marvelous mixture both of wele [well-being] and of woe.” We hold the resurrected Christ in our hearts, but we are also marked by the “wretchedness and the harm of Adam’s falling.” We are, in a very real way, “double” in our own existence. In our living and dying with Christ, we know we will be everlastingly protected, and by his most gracious inspirations we are encouraged to trust in our salvation. Yet because of Adam’s [human nature's] falling, we are so deeply “broken in our feelings” that our minds and hearts have become darkened and “so blind that we can scarcely take any comfort.” However, in our purest intention, at the core of our being, we still dwell in God, trusting in his mercy and his grace.
And this is his own working in us, and in his goodness he opens the eye of our understanding—by which we have sight, sometimes more and sometimes less, according to which God gives us the ability to receive. And now we are raised into that one [more sight], and now we are allowed to fall into the other [less sight]. Julian is keenly aware of the constant oscillation of our minds, our moods, our views, from the highest joy to the most wretched despair. And because of this medolour, or mixture, she admits we can scarcely know, at any given moment, what state of soul we are in, much less the state of any of our evencristens [fellow Christians]. All we can do is simply assent to God when we feel him, “truly willing to be with him with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our strength.” Acts of love such as these lead us to hate our evil thoughts, our conflicted desires, and anything that could be an occasion of sin, either spiritual or physical. Yet even when we receive spiritual sweetness, it passes, and then “we fall again into blindness and so into woe and tribulation in diverse manners.” But then is this our comfort: that we know in our faith that by the virtue of Christ, who is our keeper [protector], we never assent thereto [to sin]. But we complain against it and endure it in pain and in woe, praying until the time that shows himself again to us. And thus we stand in this medolour all the days of our life. Julian had no illusions that because of her extraordinary visionary experiences, her life was, or could be, any different from the lives of the rest of us. This mixture of “wele and woe” is our common lot as long as we are in this human condition. But Christ wants us to trust that “he is continually with us.” Julian sees this is so in three ways: He is with us in heaven, true man in his own person, drawing us up; and that was shown in the ghostly [spiritual] thirst. And he is with us on earth, leading us; and that was shown in the third revelation, where I saw God in a point. And he is with us in our soul, endlessly wonning [dwelling at home], ruling and governing us; and that was shown in the sixteenth revelation, as I shall say. What Julian tells us she saw “in an instant,” or felt “in a touch,” is that by becoming man, the Son of God took on our human nature unconditionally. When Christ was dying on the cross, he was fighting against evil not just for us but for his own dear life. God looks upon us and sees Christ, his Son, suffering like this. He “saves” Christ from death through resurrection, and in so doing he saves us. Julian attests repeatedly that no matter how marred and mutilated by sin our souls may have become, no matter how blind and afflicted our minds, no matter how weak and disordered our wills, the truest essence of who we are as human beings is, now and forever, Christ’s own human life. In spite of our sin, we are lights of Christ that can never go out. We are flames of love that do not have their source in ourselves, but in God’s eternal fire. No matter how much we fail or how deeply we fall into the ditches of life, we are still and always infinitely precious to God. As our Creator/Father, he stands over us with pity and compassion for our sufferings as well as great joy in their ultimate value. As our Savior/Mother/Christ, he falls into the ditch of life with us and gives rebirth to our fallen human nature as himself. As our Sanctifier/Lover, he raises himself, and us, out of the grave of death, into everlasting life. During this Easter Season, let us rejoice in Christ's triumph over sin, suffering, and death, even if we ourselves still feel mired in a daily reality that is full of these. Let us take heart from Julian's Revelations that Christ is "at work" in us and in others to make "all things well." "He is risen" and is always and everywhere transforming darkness into light and death into eternal bliss. In that lies our hope and the source of our true joy. Please Note: Excerpts above and my translations from the Middle English are from my book: Julian’s Gospel: Illuminating the Life & Revelations of Julian of Norwich (Orbis Books), copyright © by Veronica Mary Rolf. In the Ninth Revelation, after Julian of Norwich has seen the face of Christ on the cross transformed from excruciating suffering to exquisite joy, she writes:
Then said our good lord, asking: “Art thou well apaid [satisfied] that I suffered for thee?” I said: “Ya good lord, gramercy. Ya, good lord, blessed may thou be.” Then said Jesus, our good lord: “If thou art satisfied, I am satisfied. It is a joy, a bliss, an endless liking to me that ever I suffered my passion for thee. And if I might suffer more, I would suffer more.” From Augustine of Hippo in the fourth century to Anselm of Canterbury in the eleventh (as well as during the scholastic debates of the medieval period), theologians taught that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross was the settlement of a “debt” owed to God the Father for the grave disobedience of original sin. Because no mere human being could pay such a debt, it was necessary for the Son of God to become man, suffer, and die in order to atone for the sin of Adam. At the same time, the Savior had to “buy back” humanity from the clutches of Satan with the price of his own blood. By dying on the cross, Christ “paid the debt” of original sin, made complete satisfaction to divine justice, restored humanity to the image and likeness of God, and overcame the power of evil. Given this deeply-embedded theological context, it is all the more astounding that here, Julian hears Christ ask her, pointedly: “Art thou well apaid?” He is implying that by dying on the cross, in fact he intended to make restitution to sinners for the terrible suffering caused by their own sins! It is obvious from the way Julian stammers repeatedly to say, “Ya, good Lord, gramercy,” that she herself was astounded by Christ’s question. She simply cannot fathom the Lord’s eager concern to know if he has done enough to show her his love. (And he asks this not only of Julian, but of every one of us.) Even more, Julian hears Christ tell her that if she is satisfied, then he is satisfied—as if he was waiting for her full approval. He even adds that if he could have suffered more, he would have suffered more. From this startling locution, Julian is given profound insight into “the mind of Christ” that she had long desired. In an interior voice, Jesus tells her why he endured his passion and death: to prove his love and compassion for the suffering of human beings. Yes, sin is a grave offense against the law and the love of God. Yes, it must be atoned for by suffering. But God does not cause that suffering; we bring it on ourselves. According to the natural consequences of actions that are contrary to the divine law of love, every sin against the goodness and justice of God produces a comparable form of suffering. If we lie, we will be lied to. If we cheat, we will be cheated. If we hurt another, we will be hurt ourselves. If we betray, we will be betrayed. If we erupt in anger and violence, we will experience anger and violence. If we “take the sword [we] will perish by the sword” (Mt 26:52). That’s the way the moral universe works. Far from demanding our suffering, the Father sent his only Son to suffer and die out of compassion for what we have to suffer. The implications of this revelation are mind-boggling: by taking on our flesh and blood, Christ took on our sin and our suffering. He learned what human beings have to endure because of sin. Because “he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross” (Phil 2:8), now every physical pain, every emotional upheaval, every spiritual conflict acquires redemptive meaning. Everything may be suffered in union with Christ for our own salvation and that of the whole world. Now we may be confident that everything will be transformed by Christ’s own suffering into his eternal glory. And for this little pain that we suffer here, we shall have a high, endless knowing in God, which we might never have without that pain. And the harder our pains have been with him on his cross, the more shall our honor be with him in his kingdom. Are we able to hear Jesus ask us if we are “well apaid”—that is, completely satisfied—by his joyful sacrifice for us? Do we believe that Christ is so deeply compassionate toward our own personal sufferings? Can we accept, as Julian learned to do, that “it is God’s will that we have true delight with him in our salvation, and that we be mightily comforted and strengthened therein?” As we approach Holy Week, may we walk with Christ to his cross and thank him “mightily” for all he has suffered out of love for us. And may we offer to bear our own crosses out of love for him. Then we shall surely taste his exultant joy on Easter morning. For we are his bliss, for in us he delights without end, and so shall we in him with his grace. All that he has done for us, and does, and ever shall, was never cost nor charge to him nor might be, but only that he did it in our humanity, beginning at the sweet incarnation, and lasting to the blessed resurrection on Easter morrow. Please Note: Translations from the Middle English and excerpts above are from my book, An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich (IVP Academic Press) © Copyright by Veronica Mary Rolf. Dear Friends,
As we begin our Lenten journey tomorrow, I want to share with you a profound insight that was given to Julian of Norwich during her vision of Christ on the cross. After experiencing the agony of Christ’s sufferings and then seeing the sudden transformation of his face into a blissful expression, Julian heard the Lord ask her: Art thou well apaid that I suffered for thee?” I said: “Ya good lord, gramercy. Ya, good lord, blessed may thou be.” Then said Jesus, our good lord: “If thou art satisfied, I am satisfied. It is a joy, a bliss, an endless liking to me that ever I suffered my passion for thee. And if I might suffer more, I would suffer more.” What an astounding Ninth Revelation this is -- that in spite of the excruciating pain, Christ enjoyed his passion in the depths of his heart, knowing it would be to our greatest advantage. From Augustine of Hippo in the fourth century to Anselm of Canterbury in the eleventh (as well as during the scholastic debates of the medieval period), theologians had taught that Christ’s sacrifice on the cross was the settlement of a “debt” owed to God the Father for the grave disobedience of original sin. Because no mere human being could pay such a debt, it was necessary for the Son of God to become man, suffer, and die in order to atone for the sin of Adam. At the same time, the Savior had to “buy back” humanity from the clutches of Satan with the price of his own blood. By dying on the cross, Christ “paid the debt” of original sin, made complete satisfaction to divine justice, restored humanity to the image and likeness of God, and overcame the power of evil. Given this deeply-embedded theological context, it is all the more astounding that here, Julian hears Christ ask her, pointedly: “Art thou well apaid?” He is implying that by dying on the cross, in fact he intended to make restitution to sinners for the terrible suffering caused by their own sins! It is obvious from the way Julian stammers repeatedly to say, “Ya, good Lord, gramercy,” that she herself was astounded by Christ’s question. She simply cannot fathom the Lord’s eager concern to know if he has done enough to show her his love. (And he asks this not only of Julian, but of every one of us.) Even more, Julian hears Christ tell her that if she is satisfied, then he is satisfied—as if he was waiting for her full approval. He even adds that if he could have suffered more, he would have suffered more. From this startling locution, Julian is given profound insight into “the mind of Christ” that she had desired. In an interior voice, Jesus tells her why he endured his passion and death: to prove his love and compassion for the suffering of human beings. Yes, sin is a grave offense against the law and the love of God. Yes, it must be atoned for by suffering. But God does not cause that suffering; we bring it on ourselves. According to the natural consequences of actions that are contrary to the divine law of love, every sin against the goodness and justice of God produces a comparable form of suffering. If we lie, we will be lied to. If we cheat, we will be cheated. If we hurt another, we will be hurt ourselves. If we betray, we will be betrayed. If we erupt in anger and violence, we will experience anger and violence. If we “take the sword [we] will perish by the sword” (Mt 26:52). That’s the way the moral universe works. Far from demanding our suffering, the Father sent his only Son to suffer and die out of compassion for what we have to suffer. The implications of this revelation are mind-boggling: by taking on our flesh and blood, Christ took on our sin and our suffering. He learned what human beings have to endure because of sin. Because “he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross” (Phil 2:8), now every physical pain, every emotional upheaval, every spiritual conflict acquires redemptive meaning. Everything may be suffered in union with Christ for our own salvation and that of the whole world. Now we may be confident that everything will be transformed by Christ’s own suffering into his eternal glory. And for this little pain that we suffer here, we shall have a high, endless knowing in God, which we might never have without that pain. And the harder our pains have been with him on his cross, the more shall our honor be with him in his kingdom. Are we able to hear Jesus ask us if we are “well apaid”—that is, completely satisfied—by his joyful sacrifice for us? Do we believe that Christ is so deeply compassionate toward our own personal sufferings? Can we accept, as Julian learned to do, that “it is God’s will that we have true delight with him in our salvation, and that we be mightily comforted and strengthened therein”? Let us consider this Ninth Revelation on Ash Wednesday and throughout the season of Lent. And may we take time every day to thank the Lord that yes, we are “well apaid” that he suffered his passion for each one of us. For we are his bliss, for in us he delights without end, and so shall we in him with his grace. All that he has done for us, and does, and ever shall, was never cost nor charge to him nor might be, but only that he did it in our humanity, beginning at the sweet incarnation, and lasting to the blessed resurrection on Easter morrow. Blessings and Peace, Veronica PLEASE NOTE: Translations from the Middle English and excerpts above are from my book, An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich (IVPAcademic Press) © Copyright by Veronica Mary Rolf. Academic Press) © Copyright by Veronica Mary Rolf. In the Seventh Revelation, Christ grants Julian of Norwich “a supreme, ghostly delight” in her soul. She feels full of eternal “sekernesse [security], mightily fastened without any painful dread.” This euphoria is “so glad and so spiritual” that she is in complete peace, ease, and rest, so much so that there was “nothing on earth that could have grieved me.” She is experiencing a contemplative state of stillness and joy, the prayer of exquisite quiet in the presence of God. This sense of presence, while utterly spiritual, is more convincing than any physical sight. But it is ephemeral.
This lasted but a while, and I was turned and left to myself in such heaviness and weariness of my life and irkenes [irritation] with myself, that I could barely have patience to live. There was no comfort nor any ease to my feeling, but faith, hope and charity, and these I had in truth, but very little in feeling. A sharp and sudden shift occurs. Julian feels as if she has been dropped out of heaven. Left alone on earth, she is full of sadness, weariness, and irkenes, that is, acute annoyance with herself. She scarcely has the patience to go on living. What a drastic change! Yet this shock and dismay at feeling suddenly abandoned by God is a familiar one in the mystical life. It is a classic example of the return of the visionary from the heights of contemplation down to the harsh fact of her still-separateness from divinity and a very human dissatisfaction with herself. . . . All that Julian could hold onto was her faith, hope, and love, and this she did “in truth,” but without any sense of consolation. And soon after this, our blessed lord gave me again the comfort and the rest in soul: delight and sekernesse so blissful and so mighty that no dread, nor sorrow, nor any bodily nor ghostly pain that might be suffered could have unsettled me. And then the pain shewed again to my feeling, and then the joy and the delight, and now that one, and now the other, diverse times, I suppose about twenty times. And in the time of joy, I might have said with Saint Paul: “Nothing shall separate me from the love of Christ.” And in the pain, I might have said with Saint Peter: “Lord, save me, I perish.” This excruciating oscillation between the utmost bliss and extreme turmoil recurs some “twenty times.” One minute she feels totally at peace in the presence of God, the next she is like a little boat being tossed about on the high seas. She is reminded of sacred scripture, but her references are inaccurate. She conflates two gospel passages: Matthew 8:25 (“Lord, save us! We are perishing!”), spoken not by Peter alone, but by all the disciples to the sleeping Jesus in the boat during a storm; and Matthew 14:30 (“Lord, save me!”), cried by Peter on another occasion when he began to sink after walking toward Christ on the water. This confusion strongly suggests that Julian did not own or have access to a copy of the new Wyclif English translation of the gospels. But she did know the essential meaning of these passages, having heard them quoted in English sermons, and also from a lifetime of meditation. Thus it was natural for her to identify the dramatic swings of feeling with the extremes of ecstasy described by St. Paul in his letter to the Romans (Rom 8:38–39) and the agony voiced by St. Peter and the other disciples. Julian is convinced that she had to undergo these spiritual extremes in order to learn that it is profitable for souls to be unmoored in this way: . . . sometimes to be in comfort, and sometimes to fail and to be left to themselves. God wills that we know that he keeps [protects] us ever in the same seker [security], in woe and in wele [well-being]. And for the profit of man’s soul a man is sometimes left to himself, although sinne is not always the cause. For in this time, I sinned not for which I should be left to myself, for it was so sudden. Also, I deserved not to have this blissful feeling, but freely our lord gives it when he wills, and suffers us to be in woe sometimes, and both are one love. The analytic understanding of this Revelation must have come a long time after the experience itself. Reflecting on “What does this mean?” . . . Julian is led to appreciate that both well-being and woe, common aspects of human existence, must be borne with patience. But the Revelation is clear that woe is not always the result of sinful behavior (Julian was convinced she had not sinned “in this time”), nor is the wele, that is, the graced sense of God’s presence, ever deserved. It is gift, pure and simple. The one reality we can be sure of is that both states of mind are “one love.” By seeming to come close and then removing himself, God teaches us not to crave blissful feelings over blind faith. God wants us to believe in his presence, whether we feel it or not: “For it is God’s will that we hold ourselves in comfort with all our might.” Julian is fully aware that bliss will be everlasting and that earthly pain is merely passing and “shall be brought to nought for them that shalle be saved.” But while we are trapped in this earthly mode of swinging between the two extremes, she is adamant that it is not God’s will that we pay undue attention to the feelings of pain and allow ourselves to sorrow and mourn over them, “but quickly pass over them and hold ourselves in the endless delight that is God.” Unlike the common medieval spiritual directive that the faithful should see their pains and sense of abandonment as direct punishments from God, or as signs of God’s disfavor which they should bear with a heavy heart, Julian’s conviction is that God wants his people to cling in faith to the fact of his love, even and especially in the midst of great suffering. We can learn so much from Julian’s experience in prayer. In these troubling times, how often we ourselves feel pulled apart in prayer, from peace to anxiety, from hope to an overwhelming sense of fear or sadness. Julian assures us that this is the common lot of all who pray. We must not neglect our times of verbal prayer and silent meditation because we are afraid of these mood swings! On the contrary, it is only by resting in silence and stillness and focusing on the life-giving reality of our breath and by not grasping to the display of thoughts, emotions, and images that appear before our inner eye, that we truly learn to rest in God, in simple awareness. We become more deeply aware that we are, by the grace of God, aware! And that this blessed awareness is grounded in Divine Awareness. How could it be otherwise? By our faith, we silently affirm over and over again that the Holy Spirit is truly present within, no matter how we may feel -- whether in wele or in woe -- “for both are one love.” And that is all we need to know. 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). |
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