[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.)
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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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