Today, May 13^th is celebrated as the feast day of Julian of Norwich in the Roman Catholic Church – May 8^th in Lutheran and Anglican churches.

Julian was a lay woman who, in the 1300’s, dedicated herself to God — choosing a life of prayer and meditation as an anchoress.  Entering such a life was marked by a community dedication on the day the individual was enclosed (boarded up) in a tiny addition to a church building.  Access to the anchoress (or anchorite, when a man) was gained through a small window (a “squint”) through which they received Holy Communion, gifts of food, and prayer petitions from the public.  Sometimes the cell had a door which had access to a small garden.  It was customary for the resident to be given a cat to help control mice.  Julian was known to be quite fond of her cat and, in religious art, is often depicted with her feline friend.

Julian lived in an anchorhold (like the one pictured, above) for over 25 years.  Her squint opened onto a busy road in Norwich, a seaport town, and her spirit and grace and wisdom were such that her window became a popular destination for those who sought prayers and/or spiritual counsel.

Julian lived during a challenging era in England.  The Black (or Bubonic) Plague swept through Asia and Europe in waves.  Peaking in 1347-1351, outbreaks continued to ravage the continent for several centuries. Overall, the Black Plague caused the death of 30-60% of the population (far exceeding the devastation of the CO-VID 19 pandemic) and decimated economies. It is in this environment that hopeful, faithful, and deeply loving Julian thrived as a spiritual light in eastern England.

Julian was gravely ill, thought to be on her deathbed, when she experienced extensive spiritual visions.  These are recorded in The Revelations of Divine Love which is thought to the be the first surviving manuscript of a woman in the English language.

Her most often quoted writing is “All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”  In what she called her “showings,” these words were said to her by Jesus as she implored him about why sin was even allowed to exist in the world.  Jesus replied (and Julian notes that this was “said most tenderly”) that it was necessary to allow for sin “but all shall be well…”

Reflecting on these words and their larger context, one overhears three great truths for us, today:

First, All shall be well leaves room to acknowledge that things are not always well.  Certainly, during our days of sheltering-at-home and a virus that puts our people and economy at risk, ALL isn’t well.  (Isn’t it uncanny to realize Julian experienced an even more devastating pandemic?)

Second, notice Jesus “tenderly” answered Julian’s challenging question about why sin was allowed.  Julian challenged her creator with how he created!  God does allow us to go “toe-to-toe” with God about what troubles us.

Finally, Julian’s encounter with Jesus calls us to consider and claim the big picture of Life and Faith — that“all shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

Encouraging to hear these same words being used in contemporary settings.  A dear friend’s son co-wrote the following song (and recorded it with his band, “Blue Water Highway”).  Theirs is the hope that Julian’s ancient wisdom can encourage us in our current situation.  (Click here if you’d like to overhear a little bit more about the story behind the song.)

[youtube=youtube.com/watch?v=BT0P5aE2IBg]

 

 

 

Years ago I was fascinated to read Peter Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees: What they Feel, How They Communicate.  The following BBC News piece succinctly depicts the way trees “communicate” and share resources – making for a most fascinating “Wood Wide Web”: “How Trees Secretly Talk to Each Other.”  I hope you’ll find the 90 seconds it takes to view the story before reading on.

The connectedness of the forest floor suggests dynamics that can go unnoticed in our own backyards. There is so much going on to which we can be oblivious — until our ears and/or eyes and/or hearts are opened otherwise.

This time of pandemic has stirred a similar dynamic in my spirit. Connectedness.

Learning the Enneagram helped me to put some language to the sensation that can sweep through me as I experience moments that move me regarding to connectedness and belonging.  These connections are sensed in the moment when I look around our dinner table and bask in the gathering of family or friends; when, at major league baseball games, we sing the national anthem (even “Deep in the Heart of Texas”, for that matter);  a moment in Greece among the ruins of ancient Delphi (in Greece, referred to as the center or “the navel of the world”) when I felt an awe at a mysterious connectedness I was experiencing to a community that no longer existed (the same in Ephesus, Corinth and the city wall of Thessaloniki); when I join in the Lord’s Prayer or the Apostle’s Creed and know I’m in unison with millions of voices.

Identifying as a 9 on the Enneagram, I long for and honor connectedness. (The Enneagram is a self-awareness tool that depicts nine different personality styles– reflecting aspects of our godliness as well as tempting pitfalls.)  While this dynamic of connection is just one aspect of the “9,” it is nonetheless a key part of my so identifying.

So we experience an outbreak which became an epidemic which became a pandemic.  Along with the disorientation and alarm, I am moved by (and grateful for) the “togetherness” we are experiencing.  We’ve moved from hearing about “them, over there” to truly feeling part of a global village.  No longer “them and “me”/“mine”/“ours”, it is “we” and “us.”  We’ve moved from being oblivious to being keenly aware. “We are all in this together” is not cliché but profound.

This dynamic is God-made.
We ARE all in this together –
in nature and among humankind.
God has longed for us to know this from the beginning.
Adam AND Eve.
A garden to tend.
We have a God, a self, and neighbors to love.
We are more connected than we are usually aware.

Yes, the trees
and the forest
and this pandemic
(indeed, all of life!)
offer a lot of lessons.
The lingering question
is whether we are listening
—connecting.

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P.S. If the “talk among trees” continues to intrigue you,
you might appreciate these TED talks by Canadian Suzanne Simard:

• • “How Trees Talk to Each Other,” and

• • “Nature’s Internet: How Trees Talk to Each Other in a Healthy Forest.”

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posted by Kathy Reiter on April 23, 2020

 

Earlier this week, I met a lovely woman through our local food pantry.  This was her first visit to the pantry so we had a thorough interview ahead of us.  Her hearing impairment meant that I, with no signing abilities, would have to be creative in my communication.  Her impairment actually meant I had to pay careful attention to her while I communicated.   What occurred was a mixture of hand gestures, writing, and pointing to blanks on my computer screen.  Sometimes, when things got confusing, she’d look intensely at my face.  I’d try to speak clearly, she’d watch my lips and then nod and dig into her purse for the information required.  A couple times, I needed to get her attention and touched her knee for her to look at me again.  It seemed we both had to put energy into our time together.  Mostly, though, it really wasn’t difficult to accomplish what was required because of all the effort she put into “hearing” me.

As she waited for her bags to be brought out, she signed to someone she was “talking” to on her iPhone.  (The ability to communicate through video calls must be life-changing for these folks.) Watching her smile and sign and “listen” with animation was fascinating and, somehow, even refreshing.

In light of experiencing the effort she employed to listen to me, I’m struck by how sloppy I can be as a listener.  I make assumptions about where someone’s going in a conversation. Beginning to formulate my response, I quit hearing all that’s being said. I interrupt, afraid I won’t get to have input.  I physically multi-task and stay preoccupied.  Because I can hear, I think I am listening.

She knew she couldn’t hear so she listened to me very carefully.

It’s ironic – of all the people I’ve been with this week, she, with the worst hearing, made me feel the most listened to.

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posted by Kathy Reiter on September 19, 2018