Margaret of Cortona died and thus is commemorated on February 22.
You can learn more about her in this segment of Noonday Prayer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JeziF_HffNw&t=130s
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[public domain miniature of Catherine from Wikimedia Commons] Born in 1347, just a few years before Julian of Norwich, Catherine of Siena was an extroverted woman who also wrote (well, dictated) one book, The Dialogues, when she was thirty-one. And that’s the end of similarities, aside of course from the big one of a deep relationship with God. In contrast to Julian, confined to her anchorage, Catherine was a woman on the move. She didn’t begin that way. As a child, she wanted to be wholly dedicated to God, going so far as to cut off her hair when she was of a marriageable age, so that no man would want her. (Catherine was the 24th of 25 children; one can appreciate how marriage did not seem desirable.) She begged her father for a room of her own and finally wore him down. She spent her days alone in that room, except that Jesus came to visit daily for three years. They spoke together and he taught her to read and write. After three years, he stood outside her doorway, telling her she must come out now. At the age of sixteen she joined the Third Order of St. Dominic (First Order = friars, Second Order = nuns, Third Order = laypersons). That position would still bind her to vows of poverty, obedience, and celibacy. Although living outside the convent, Third Order members could also wear the Dominican habit. She became a nurse, caring for patients with leprosy and advanced cancer whom other nurses disliked to treat. Catherine was all about peace and reconciliation, marching across Italy getting feuding families to make peace. A group of followers gathered around her. She and her group set off for Avignon, France, where the Pope was living in exile. She convinced him to move back to Rome where he belonged. (That didn’t last, however; it was a messy time for the papacy.) She began to acquire a reputation as a person of insight and sound judgment, and many persons from all walks of life sought her spiritual advice, both in person and by letter. We have about four hundred letters from her to bishops, kings, scholars, merchants, and obscure peasants. She persuaded many priests who were living in luxury to give away their goods and to live simply. Eating, which had never been very important to her, nearly stopped altogether; according to legend, she lived on the communion wafer and a bit of water for the last nine years of her life. Pope Paul VI made her a Doctor of the Church in 1970, along with Teresa of Avila, the first two women doctors, signifying that their teaching is approved. Next post to come: my meeting with Catherine [Portrait by noted artist Raphael Peale, one of the sons of Charles Wilson Peale, from Wikipedia] Absalom Jones, who died on Feb. 13, 1818, was born into slavery but became a deacon and then a priest in the Episcopal Church. Learn more about him and his work in the service of Noonday Prayer here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlBAlVFzRwA [Benedict and Scholastica, talking over texts, as they did annually.] The Church honors Saint Scholastica, the (possibly twin) sister of Satin Benedict, on February 10. The service below contains more information about her, including the argument with her brother that she won. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gqbGLSBBevo [art from Fine Art America. By tradition, Julian had a cat.] In beginning a blog project on medieval women, I find that Julian must be first––not only because I met her first, but because she saved my faith life. I survived my first trimester of seminary; however, great chunks of my soul had been pulled out. I’d been unprepared emotionally and spiritually to face the questions and greater life experience of theological education. After decades among conservative Baptists, I was going to classes with future Methodist pastors and taught by professors with a variety of religious perspectives. When I visited my church in Springfield one Sunday, I told Bob, half of our clergy couple, “They’re trying to destroy my faith!” “No,” he told me, “they’re just trying to give you an answer besides ‘The Bible says so.’” I’d much enjoyed Early Christian History, and went right on with the next course, Medieval and Reformation History. During the break between sessions, I began reading ahead, having discovered that history classes meant a heavy reading load. And that’s when I met Julian in her book Revelations of Divine Love. She wrote only one book, but she wrote it twice, with a gap of twenty years between the two. They are known as the Short Text (50 pp. in my textbook) and the Long Text (170 pp). The Long Text is the fruit of thinking about the visions she had when she was thirty. In keeping with the sensibilities of her time (not ours) Julian had prayed for a vision of Christ’s Passion and for a bodily illness so severe that she was near death. God granted this prayer. Her first visions are medieval in their gory-ness; they did not appeal to me. Several elements of her writing did, though: her writing structure, with its use of three; her vision of Christ as our Mother; her emphasis on God’s purpose being love. Julian, who lived through three outbreaks of the plague and dwelled just down the road from where they burned heretics, believed. Even though everything seemed upside-down, I felt I could trust her. [St. Julian's Church, Norwich, England, wikipedia] Many varieties of mystics, male and female, existed in the medieval period, and many of their lifestyles seem bizarre to us. Today there is nothing quite comparable to the vocation of anchoress (or anchorite, for men). Even nuns and priests who remain enclosed or who take vows of silence do not come close. If we lived between the late fourteenth century and the sixteenth, when the Protestant Reformation changed things, no one would blink at our joining as many as fifty anchoresses over the years who lived in Norwich, England. The process for becoming an anchoress included the bishop’s permission (and convincing him that she had financial support), a special mass, and a service that concluded with conducting the anchoress to her room. The church would have probably added a room or two to the outer wall, and there she remained. The room at St. Julian’s was ten feet square. An anchoress was alone, but not completely solitary. Julian had two serving women and two windows––one to the road so that passersby could consult her and one open to the church so she could observe Mass and receive communion. There would have been a door for the servants to enter with food or clothing. Scholars believe she had access to other religious people and places because her writing echoes some of the theologians writing in Europe. Right now, all I can think about is how cold winters would have been—a stone room attached to a stone church. Next week, I'll write about Julian, who lived in/at the church for decades. (The bombing during World War II destroyed the church, but it was later rebuilt. I do not know where the anchorage is or if it appears in the photo.) How did a woman born in New England become known as a Great Floridian? In the Noonday Prayer Service below, you can learn more about this twentieth century saint of the Episcopal Church. (Apologies for the glitches at the beginning; they smooth out, I promise!) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4g0YkPM4O5s |
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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