Julian of Norwich: The Socially-Distanced Saint

Abstract

Julian of Norwich:The Socially-Distanced Saint Lisa Fullam (bio) Sometimes you have to shelter in place. And God will meet you there. One of my companions during the COVID-19 pandemic has been Julian of Norwich, the fourteenth-century mystic who "sheltered-in-place" as an anchorite. I see in her story echoes of some of the lessons from our own time of plague. But I'm getting ahead of myself—first, I will look at Julian herself and her work, then see what she brings to us today. JULIAN: SHELTER IN THE PLAGUE Julian was born in 1342 in the bustling port city of Norwich. We know little of her life: was her name Julian (or Gillian, a common woman's name at the time) or was she just called that because she was an anchorite in the Church of St. Julian? She was a laywoman, and certain details of her life point to her being a widow and a mother who may have lost a child to the plague.1 "The Great Pestilence" first reached Norwich when Julian was just six years old; between spring and autumn of 1349 at least half of the people of Norwich died. Subsequent waves struck throughout Julian's life. Plague struck like lightning, sometimes killing its victims the same day they first showed symptoms. A mysterious God seemed to be haphazardly killing the just and the unjust alike, and while the pious sought to placate this God, others took the opposite tack: personal debauchery was one route, but murder, robbery, and all manner of crimes against persons and property were on the upswing as well. Some responded to the plague with increased religious fervor. Pilgrimages abounded, fasting and penance increased, Mass attendance ticked up, and scapegoats were sought—some blamed the Jews for the plague, and as pogroms sparked around Europe, Pope Clement issued two decrees condemning the violence. By the time she was thirty, Julian had seen enough. A third wave of the "Great Mortality" (particularly targeting children) swept Norwich, along with an epizootic that decimated cattle herds. All this and the worst harvest in fifty years left few in doubt that the wrath of God was upon them. Exhausted, traumatized, and depressed, Julian prayed for three graces: a clear vision of Jesus' [End Page 59] Passion, a "bodily sight"2 by which she might feel his suffering with the same agony experienced by "Magdalen and with the others who were Christ's lovers;"3 a bodily illness to bring her to the brink of death; and three "wounds," one of true contrition, one of loving compassion, and the third of longing for God. The second grace was given first; in May, 1373, Julian became desperately ill. She received extreme unction; in the seventh day of Julian's illness, her breathing became shallow, and she was unable to move. Julian gazed at a crucifix so that her last living vision would be of her Lord. Julian's head lolled, and she felt her body dying. At the point of death, Julian asked again for her first wound, and a series of sixteen "Showings" began with an image of blood flowing freely from beneath Jesus' crown of thorns. After her recovery, Julian wrote her first account of these visions. This is an important spiritual text on its own—it is also the first extant book in English written by a woman. If we received nothing but this Short Text, Julian would still be regarded as a profoundly graced and gifted person. But Julian had more to say. Indeed, a text telling of religious experience is always a collaboration of the Divine with a human partner—in Julian's telling, the work of lovers. The diversity of the gospels reveals this: each evangelist introduces the reader to, in some ways, different Jesuses and different Christs. The work of mystics is not merely to delight in God, but to take on the unenviable task of relating that experience to others. This task is, by definition, theological, words about God, bringing language to describe what it is to encounter God as directly as mortals can. To do this work, Julian sheltered in place; it...