For the Medieval and Reformation class, I chose to read Showings, or Revelations of Divine Love, by Julian of Norwich. I learned that Julian had been an anchoress, living enclosed within the walls of St. Julian’s in the English seaport of Norwich. (This was not abnormal for the fourteenth century; men who took the same vows were called anchorites. They even had a rule, a way of life.)
Julian had two windows from the rooms that were added on to the church for her. One window faced into the church, so that she could participate in the Eucharist. The other window faced the road, so that she could offer counsel and encouragement to those who came seeking either. By tradition, she had a cat. We know from bequests wills of the era that she had women servants; many believe, given her theology and writing style, that she had access to manuscripts from as far away as France. Julian—and we don’t even know her name or much about her life outside her anchorage—was right in keeping with the sensibilities of her time, though her ideas may seem odd to us. She prayed for three gifts, or graces: a recollection of the Passion of Christ; an illness so severe that she expected to die; and the three wounds--true contrition, loving compassion, and longing with my will for God. Julian explains that these gifts were granted on May 13, 1373, when she was thirty. I loved the specificity of that, something I could grasp more easily than the idea of a virgin birth. She received sixteen “showings” or visions during her illness, which she recorded when she recovered her health. She thought about these visions and their meaning for twenty years, and wrote them again, giving us what is known as the Short Text and the Long Text. Julian had a penchant for threes. To give one example: she has a vision of something small, the size of a hazelnut. God explains that this small round thing is everything that exists. In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it, the second is that God loves it, the third is that God preserves it. My friend Linda brought hazelnuts to class for us; I was one of those who then kept a hazelnut in my pocket for luck during presentations or exams. Julian saved my faith, I tell people (because the first trimester of seminary nearly killed it). I clung to her faith. Julian believed it all, I told myself, despite living through three waves of Black Plague, despite living just down the road from a place where heretics were burned at the stake. Julian had a vision of God as not only Father but also Mother. (Nor was she alone in her own time in believing this; modern feminism isn’t new.) She believed love, not anger, was what motivated God. God is that goodness which cannot be angry, for God is nothing but goodness. Twentieth century poet T. S. Eliot used lines from Julian in Four Quartets: I may make all things well, and I can make all things well, and I shall make all things well, and I will make all things well: and you will see yourself that every kind of thing will be well. In a rare confluence, today the church celebrates four nineteenth-century women and the Noonday Prayer service is ready to post! Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Sojourner Truth, Amelia Bloomer, and Harriet Tubman are all recognized for their work and witness.
In less than 15 minutes, it's impossible to do justice to even one of them. Something clicked for me today: Washington Post has a column called "The Lily," devoted to women's issues. Amelia Bloomer published a newspaper for women with the same title and topic. Coincidence? Here's the link to the service: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=an2VE-CELJw Evelyn Underhill, b. 1875 d. 1941 Mystic and writer “It seems so much easier in these days to live morally than to live beautifully. Lots of us manage to exist for years without ever sinning against society, but we sin against loveliness every hour of the day.” Evelyn Underhill [aka Mrs. Hubert Stuart Moore] was a British mystic, an Anglican writer on mysticism and prayer. This begs the question: what is a mystic? Some people make a distinction between Eastern mysticism, with its emphasis on emptying and nothingness, and Christian mysticism, rooted in the God of the Bible. So, let’s for a moment try to define mysticism. It’s not simply ecstatic visions, which some of the mystics have experienced. I’m relying here on Justo Gonzalez, author of The Story of Christianity. In vol. 2, he writes of the mystics as an alternative to all the rule-keeping that the Church so loves, the lists of do’s and don’t’s. The mystic believes that all one must do is to love God; everything will follow from that. That’s the most simple way to say it. Mystics sometimes do get so caught up in God and the love of/for God that they enter visions. This is not easy to answer, so I turned to one of the wise women in my church for help. She reminded me that on the day of Pentecost, Peter was preaching and quoted the prophet Joel: Acts 2:17. “Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your young men will see visions, your old men will dream dreams.” This sounds as if anyone can be a mystic, which I think is true. A mystic is someone perceiving God’s will, sometimes through the dreams and visions that Joel promised. A mystic is aware of being truly directed by God and has experienced God’s touch. Mysticism could be defined as a breaking through, an awakening, experiencing the divine, being touched by God. Mystics see visions. If they talked about what they saw, they would probably be thought of as psychotic. Some of the famous mystics of the medieval period did go into trances and see visions. Those of you who know me are aware that Julian of Norwich is my favorite mystic. When she was 30, she had a series of 16 visions that lasted during her illness (for which she had prayed!). She called them revelations of divine love, but I have to say, some of them are about the crucifixion, and really gory. Getting back to Underhill: she was an only child, with no children of her own. Her father and husband were lawyers. She attended King’s College for Women in London, studying botany and history. She was interested in Catholicism, but her 1907 marriage ended that. Her husband—apparently like many men of the time—objected, thinking that the intimacy of the confessional could affect their marriage. Also, there had been a papal encyclical condemning modernism, and Underhill couldn’t accept that position. While busy with the life of a barrister's daughter and wife, including entertaining and charitable work, she also pursued a daily regimen that included writing, research, worship, prayer and meditation. She believed that all of life was sacred; we call that a sacramental view of the incarnation. Because Jesus took on flesh, our flesh is likewise sacred. She began publishing books and articles in her thirties, including three linked novels. Her masterpiece is Mysticism, published in 1911. From 1929 until 1932 she was religion editor at The Spectator. She also wrote and published poetry, was a retreat leader and lecturer. And she was a bookbinder! She was the first woman invited to lecture on theology at Oxford University, and the first woman to conduct a retreat in Canterbury Cathedral. She was also the first woman to lecture to the clergy in the Church of England. Big idea: contemplative prayer is for all, not just nuns and monks. Where Underhill struck new ground was in her insistence that this state of union produced a glorious and fruitful creativeness, so that the mystic who attains this final perfectness is the most active doer – not the reclusive dreaming lover of God. My wise friend says, “I think life is a mystical experience. So often we don’t ‘see’ it. I think many of our explorers, scientists, teachers, authors might be called mystics if we use the term loosely. They-we, need to have a vision.” I think a mystic is simply one who pays great attention to life, is aware of the movement of God. Poets often are mystics—read William Black, read Mary Oliver. Read Ross Gay’s Book of Delights! Closing Prayer: O God, Origin, Sustainer, and End of all creatures: Grant that your church, taught by your servant Evelyn Underhill, may continually offer to you all glory and thanksgiving, and attain with your saints to the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have promised us by our Savior Jesus Christ; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, now and forever. Amen. This link will get you to the service of Noonday Prayer on Evelyn Underhill. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sTqv5FrdZkg Rather than stick to the calendar of saints, I’m going to begin this blog with one of my favorite saints, John Donne. Click here for the service. The entire service is less than 9 minutes, but if you want to skip ahead, the info on John Donne begins at minute 1.50. Noonday Prayer March 30 2022 John Donne March 31st is the feast of John Donne, priest and poet, who died on that date in 1631. Those of us who paid attention in English classes know him as a poet, but he was also a priest. And he wrote sermons that were famous in his own time and in ours. You’ve probably heard “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.” (Now you know where Hemingway got his title.) Donne was born in 1573 into a Roman Catholic family. His father died when he was just four years old. His mother remarried, so he was not without a father growing up. Donne studied at Oxford—he started there when he was 12—and Cambridge, but could not receive degrees from either, because as a Catholic, he couldn’t swear the oath of allegiance to the Protestant Queen Elizabeth I. He went on to Lincoln Inn, a prestigious law school. He planned a diplomatic career, even went with Walter Raleigh and Earl of Essex on some missions, but he made a tactical error. He fell in love with and in 1601 married his boss’s niece, 16-year-old Anne More, about whom, btw, he wrote some very fine love poetry. Also, clever lines: John Donne, Anne Donne, Undone. But he was fired as secretary and her father had him imprisoned for a time, which was the end of a career. There were poverty-stricken years in which he relied on friends’ generosity and on patrons. Anne died in childbirth in 1617, though 7 of the 12 children she bore lived. Donne had converted to Anglicanism about 1594. This wasn’t a career move, but the result of much thinking and prayer. He was ordained in 1615, and by 1622 he was dean of St. Paul’s Cathedral, a post he held until his death in 1631. I thought I’d share one of his religious poems that feels particularly apt right now in a time of covid and war. SONNET X For a YouTube of a young, British voice reading Sonnet X, click here.
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Saints Alive!
I have been privileged to offer Noonday Prayer at my church, usually on Thursdays, which doesn’t matter because it’s on Youtube forever. [It’s amazing what can be done with a smartphone and a smart, helpful parish administrator!] The service is brief, with a place for a meditation. We usually look at the Episcopal calendar of saints, who are nearly always honored on their death dates, not their birth dates. Here is a hymn by medieval saint Hildegard of Bingen to set the mood.
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