I saw that God never started to love humanity, for just as we will ultimately enter into everlasting bliss, fulfilling God’s own joy, his love for us has no beginning and he will love us without end.
—Julian of Norwich, Revelations 53, trans. Mirabai Starr
Father Richard Rohr introduces Julian of Norwich (1343–c. 1416), a medieval mystic from England:
Ever since I discovered Julian of Norwich thirty years ago, I have considered her to be one of my favorite mystics. Each time I return to her writings, I always find something new. Julian experienced her sixteen visions, or “showings” as she called them, all on one night in May 1373 when she was very sick and near death. As a priest held a crucifix in front of her, Julian saw Jesus suffering on the cross and heard him speaking to her for several hours. Like all mystics, she realized that what Jesus was saying about himself, he was simultaneously saying about all of reality. That is what unitive consciousness allows us to see.
Afterwards, Julian felt the need to go apart and reflect on her profound experience. She asked the bishop to enclose her in an anchorhold (hermit’s enclosure) built against the side of St. Julian’s Church in Norwich, England, for which she was later named. We don’t know her real name, since she never signed her writing. (Talk about loss of ego!) The anchorhold had a window into the church that allowed Julian to attend Mass and another window so she could counsel and pray over people who came to visit her.
Julian first wrote a short text about these showings, but then she patiently spent twenty years in contemplation and prayer, trusting God to help her discern the deeper meanings to be found in the visions. Finally, she wrote a longer text titled Revelations of Divine Love. Julian’s interpretation of her God-experience is unlike the religious views common for much of history up to her time. It’s not based in sin, shame, guilt, or fear of God or hell. Instead, it’s full of delight, freedom, intimacy, and cosmic hope.
Mirabai Starr offers this translation of Julian’s encouraging account:
For our beloved God is so good, so gentle and courteous that he can never banish anyone forever….
I saw and understood that there is a divine will within every soul that would never give in to sin. This will is so good that it could never have evil intent. Rather, its impulse to do good has no limits, and so the soul remains ever-good in the eyes of God. [1]
The soul is that part of us that has never doubted and that has always said yes to God. It’s in everyone. Even in those moments when we are filled with negativity, there’s a little yes that holds on. That’s what mystics like Julian of Norwich have become aware of and the place to which they return. They trust that infinite yes that shines within all of us.
Mother Father God
This beautiful word “mother” is so sweet and kind in itself that it cannot be attributed to anyone but God.
—Julian of Norwich, Revelations 60, trans. M. Starr
Richard Rohr praises Julian’s mystical insight that allowed her to name God “Mother.”
With these words, Julian offers us an amazing and foundational statement. She is not saying that the most beloved attributes of motherhood can analogously be applied to God, although I am sure she would agree they could. She is saying much more—that the very word mother is so definitive and “beautiful” in most people’s experience (not everybody’s, I must add) that it evokes, at its best, what we mean by God. This is not what most of the world’s religions have taught or believed up to now—except for the mystics. Among these, Julian of Norwich stands as pivotal.
The concept and human experience of mother is so primal, so big, deep, universal, and wide that to apply it only to our own mothers is far too small a container. It can only be applied to God. This is revolutionary! Mother is, for Julian, the best descriptor for God Herself! I use this to illustrate the courageous, original, and yet fully orthodox character of Julian’s teaching. [1]
Father Richard considers the archetypal human need for maternal care:
Julian helps me finally understand one major aspect of my own Catholic culture: why in heaven’s name, for centuries, did both the Eastern and Western Churches attribute so many beautiful and beloved places, shrines, hills, cathedrals, and works of religious art in the Middle East and Europe, not usually to Jesus, or even to God, but to some iteration of Mother Mary? I’ve always thought it was scripturally weak but psychologically brilliant. Many people in Julian’s time didn’t have access to scripture—in fact, most couldn’t read at all. They interpreted at the level of archetype and symbol. The “word” or logos was quite good, but a feminine image for God was even better.
This seemed to later sola scriptura (by scripture alone) traditions like a huge aberration or even outright heresy. Yet that is how much the soul needed a Mother Savior and a God Nurturer! In a profoundly patriarchal, hierarchical, judgmental, exclusionary, imperial, and warlike period of history and Christianity, I believe it was probably necessary and salutary.
God is, in essence, like a good mother—so compassionate that there was no need to compete with a Father God—as we see in Julian’s always balanced teachings. [2]
Mirabai Starr shares Julian’s wisdom:
I saw three ways to look at the Motherhood of God. The first is that she created our human nature. The second is that she took our human nature upon herself, which is where the motherhood of grace begins. And the third is motherhood in action, in which she spreads herself throughout all that is, penetrating everything with grace, extending to the fullest length and breadth, height and depth. All One Love.
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Living Eucharistically
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Various Christian traditions use different names for the table sacrament of the church. Some call it “Communion,” others speak about the “Lord’s Supper,” but one of the oldest and most fascinating names is the “Eucharist” from the Greek word meaning thanksgiving. When I first learned this etymology I was confused. Up to that time, my church experience with the table had always been serious and reflective. The bread and cup memorialized the horrific death of Christ—a moment of unimaginable pain and grief and, as Jesus himself called it, “the hour when darkness reigned” (Luke 22:53). As a result, in my church tradition coming to the table on the first Sunday of every month was always somber and never what I would call a celebration.
So, why did the early Christians call the meal Eucharist—a word that emphasizes gratitude, joy, and celebration? What did they see in the bread and cup that I had not?Unlike first-century Romans and Jews, the earliest Christians came to see the cross as a symbol of glory rather than one of shame. Through his death, Jesus had disarmed the power of evil, injustice, and death. What the world saw as Jesus’ defeat they came to celebrate as his great victory. As a result, sharing the bread and cup became a way for Christians to express gratitude for their redemption from darkness, as well as a way to celebrate their Lord’s triumph over the world. That’s why early Christians didn’t merely “take Communion.” Instead, they “celebrated the Eucharist.”Seeing the table as a symbol of victory, not just death, and taking the bread and cup as an act of gratitude, not merely an act of remembrance, also carries an unexpected power for believers.
Over time, as we celebrate the Eucharist week after week, it can transform our understanding of our own struggles and defeats. Although we may approach the table at times when it feels as if darkness reigns, the table shows us the power of God to redeem all things and turn our mourning into gladness. As Henri Nouwen wrote:“The word ‘Eucharist’ means literally ‘act of thanksgiving.’ To celebrate the Eucharist and to live a Eucharistic life has everything to do with gratitude.
Living Eucharistically is living life as a gift, a gift for which one is grateful. But gratitude is not the most obvious response to life, certainly not when we experience life as a series of losses! Still, the great mystery we celebrate in the Eucharist and live in a Eucharistic life is precisely that through mourning our losses we come to know life as a gift.”
DAILY SCRIPTURE
JOHN 6:31-40
COLOSSIANS 2:13-15
WEEKLY PRAYER. From Symeon Metaphrastes (900 – 987)
I am communing with fire. Of myself, I am but straw but, O miracle, I feel myself suddenly blazing like Moses’ burning bush of old…. You have given me your flesh as food. You who are a fire which consumes the unworthy, do not burn me, O my Creator, but rather slip into my members, into all my joints, into my loins and into my heart. Consume the thorns of all my sins, purify my soul, sanctify my heart, strengthen the tendons of my knees and my bones, illumine my five senses, and establish me wholly in your love.
Amen.
