James Finley names how the suffering of Julian’s time resonates with that of our own:
Julian was keenly aware of the suffering of the world during her lifetime. It was the bubonic plague, a truly painful death that swept through and killed many, many people. She saw that. During this time, the Archbishop of Canterbury was murdered. During this time, the church had three popes and each pope excommunicated the other two popes. During this time, there was a hundred-year war with France. She was keenly aware of the suffering and the crisis of the world. Also, I’m sure the people who came to the window of her anchorhold or hermitage to talk with her for spiritual direction unburdened on her their struggles, their fears, and so on.
I think this is where Julian can be especially helpful to us—because we’re so aware of the traumatizing age that we live in, a time of political strife and contention, the brutalities of war, the violence of prejudice, and threats to the environment. We’re sensitized to these things, so how do we then learn to be a healing presence in the midst of an all too often traumatized and traumatizing world? How can Julian’s insight into the mystery of the cross as God’s loving oneness with us help us to stay grounded and present in the midst of the suffering, and not be so easily thrown or overwhelmed by it in our ongoing sensitivity and response to it?…
In the midst of our time, situation, and circumstances, in the deep down depths, there’s a place deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper in this oneness with God’s sustaining oneness with us. [1]
English poet and author Ann Lewin points to the tenacity of Julian’s confidence and hope:
“All shall be well” is one of Julian’s best-known sayings, but we could be forgiven, perhaps, for responding, “You must be joking.” How can anyone who is aware of the reality of life say that all will be well? Christians are sometimes guilty of offering the kind of facile comfort that says, “Don’t worry, things will be better tomorrow.” Experience tells us that they may very well be worse. Julian lived at a time when there were many challenges to well-being, and she must have said “All shall be well” through gritted teeth sometimes: she knew, as we do, that it is a struggle to hold on to that belief when there is so much around us to challenge it. [2]
Lewin points to Julian’s trust in God for encouragement:
[God] did not say: You will not be assailed, you will not be belabored, you will not be disquieted, but he said: You will not be overcome. God wants us to pay attention to his words and always to be strong in our certainty, in well-being and in woe, for he loves us and delights in us, and so he wishes us to love him and delight in him and trust greatly in him, and all will be well. [3]
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| Where the Wounded Are Welcomed |
 Click Here for AudioWhile reclining at the table in Matthew’s house, enjoying his dinner with the scum of the earth, Jesus noticed the Pharisees had arrived. These religious leaders, masters of image management, and experts in social demographics peered through Matthew’s gate at the festivities in the courtyard. Imagine what they saw. A lavish house, a large table filled with food and drink, the courtyard stirring with obnoxious people dancing, smoking, and laughing—behaving the way people do when good wine is abundant. And right in the middle of the revelry was Jesus, the notorious rabbi, reclining at the table and enjoying the party.The Pharisees were appalled. Calling one of Jesus’ disciples to the gate, they inquired with a disgusted tone. “Why does your master eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But it was not a disciple who replied. Jesus found the question important enough to answer it himself. “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick,” he said (Matthew 9:11-12). The Pharisees saw a rabbi defiling himself among sinners—the enemies of God, but with his response, Jesus was trying to open their eyes to see something more. Not a rabbi among sinners, but a doctor healing the sick. Somehow, by simply sharing a table with Matthew and his ungodly friends, Jesus was bringing healing.The English word hospitality originates from the same Latin root as the word “hospital.” A hospital is literally a “home for strangers.” Of course, it has come to mean a place of healing. There is a link between being welcomed and being healed, and the link is more than just etymological.When we are loved and accepted for who we really are, and welcomed into the life of another person without conditions, it brings healing to our souls. That is what Jesus did by sharing his table with sinners. And it is what his table still does when the church welcomes imperfect, even scandalous people to it.The love of the world is always conditional. Every stratum of our culture and every advertisement we encounter reminds us that our significance and acceptability are rooted in what we achieve, what we have, what we do, how we look, and how we perform. Our acceptability is always conditional, and every human soul carries the wounds of rejection from not meeting someone’s standard. How terrible when that wound is inflicted by a parent, a spouse, a community, or a church. Rejection always leaves a wound—not a visible one, but a cut in our souls whose scar we may carry for the remainder of our lives. It’s at Christ’s table, as we gather to remember his wounds, that we discover ours are welcomed as well. MATTHEW 9:9-13 LUKE 22:14-20 WEEKLY PRAYERFrom 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 my wholly in your love. Amen. |
