O EVER-LIVING GOD,
let this
mind be in us which was in Christ Jesus:
that as
He from His loftiness stooped
to the death
of the Cross,
so we in
our lowliness may humble ourselves,
believing,
obeying, living and dying
to the
glory of the Father
and in
the power of the Holy Spirit,
for the
same Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen
(Christina Rossetti)
INTRODUCTION
At the end of the 14th cent there lived a
Recluse – or Anchoress – in a cell attached to a tiny church on the outskirts
of Norwich. She had grown up during a
time when the Black Death had ravaged the city and, on the 8th of May,
1373, received a number of revelations which, for the next 20 years, she meditated
upon until finally setting down her ‘shewings’ – her revelations – in a book. The name of the hermit was never recorded, but
she’s now known to millions by the name of the church where she lived: Julian
of Norwich. Her book, the Revelations of Divine Love, has become
world-famous and what she reveals is especially relevant at a time when we’ve
been affected by another plague.
There were sixteen
shewings in all and they concerned
the love of God realised through the crucifixion of Jesus. She received them sometime after asking God to
grant her three favours: to understand Christ’s passion; to share in his
sufferings; and to have as God’s gift three wounds. Ultimately all her wishes were granted; and,
because of the depth and profundity of her desires, we are the richer. The second of these, to share in the
sufferings of Christ, was realised when, at the age of 31, she suffered from an
illness that brought her close to death and received the Last Rites of the
Church.
Three days afterwards, whilst lingering between life
and death, her parish priest was again sent for. He held a crucifix before her eyes with the
words, “I have brought you the image of your Maker and Saviour. Look at it and be strengthened.” It’s an image that any of us might benefit
from gazing on when we’re suffering – why not find a crucifix now and spend
some time in contemplation. What
happened when Julian did that, she records in these words…
THE FIRST REVELATION: THE CROWNING OF CHRIST
“And at once I saw the red blood trickling down from
the crown of thorns, hot, fresh and plentiful, … At the same moment the Trinity
filled me full of heartfelt joy, and I knew that all eternity was like this for
those who attain heaven. For the Trinity
is God, and God the Trinity; the Trinity is our Maker and keeper, our eternal
lover, joy and bliss – all through our Lord Jesus Christ”
What do we see when we look on the figure of the
Crucified? What did Mary and the
disciples see when they stood before his Cross?
And the centurion, and the crowd of onlookers? I
imagine all saw something different: a suffering son; a dying friend; a
terrorist rightly punished; yet another victim of foreign invaders. Just another criminal.
A vulnerable human being.
And what did God see?
I pose that question because it was God-in-Jesus who
was dying on the Cross. We can believe
that God ‘saw’ his own suffering and death; indeed, if he did not, then he
could not have fully shared in this world-changing moment. I believe he saw the love of his friends and
the anguish of his Mother; the lack of insight in some, the superficiality of
others. The lack of interest in the
onlookers and the fear of his disciples that they might get too involved.
He saw it all, and more. He saw the weakness and vulnerability of
those around him: those who were scared and frightened of the consequences of
being labelled his followers and friends.
And he saw the depth of his own heart. He saw love. He saw his own fear yet, beneath that and
stronger than that, he saw love. And
that’s why we come to the foot of the Cross on Good Friday; why we open
ourselves to the love of God known through the death of Christ.
THE ETERNAL SUFFERINGS OF CHRIST
These Revelations occurred after three bouts of
plague had ravaged East Anglia, yet nowhere in her writing does one get the
impression that Julian doubted the love and mercy of God, became angry or
disillusioned. Quite the contrary. What is evident is that she, like so
many at that and other times, looked at the Crucified and gained immense
re-assurance and comfort that God shared their sufferings.
At one point in her contemplation she had a
conversation with Jesus in which he told her that if he could have suffered
more for her he would willingly have done so.
As she marvelled at this, she realised that – in her words – “though
the dear humanity of Christ could only suffer once, his goodness would always
make him do so – every day if need be.
If he were to say that for love of me he would make a new heaven and
earth, this would be a comparatively simple matter; something he could do every
day if he wanted, with no great effort.
But for love of me to be willing to die times without number – beyond
human capacity to compute – is, to my mind, the greatest gesture our Lord God
could make to the human soul. This is
his meaning: ‘How could I not, out of love for you, do all I can for you?’.” (‘Revelations
of Divine Love’ Ch. 22: Ninth Revelation)
‘How could I not, out of love for you, do all I can
for you?’ That is the truth of this
moment in time, a truth upon which we’re invited to dwell. Not how terrible is the suffering, yet that
is true. Nor how sad the fact that few
will gather at the Cross, and that is true also; perhaps, if more did, they would
realise why these three holy days, this Sacred Triduum is of such profound importance,
for they teach us all there is to know about being human. Why, then, are so many of our church’s normally
half-empty today? For the truth Julian
discovered, and in which we need to share, is this: how could God not, out of
love for us, do all he can for us. For …
me. Not take away the suffering – for to live
involves suffering – but to share in that suffering with us.
Most didn’t see that; many standing there had come because
they’d heard that this man had done great things – the man they’d welcomed with
such enthusiasm into Jerusalem just five days before – might he do something
spectacular and make something ‘happen’?
But, no: this healer (he may have healed them), teacher and popular leader
was now hanging there on a cross, like a common criminal. Perhaps he wasn’t such a great figure after
all. Just another Johnny-come-lately. So, with a shrug, they’re off. And God must see all that, too.
Could he who made heaven and earth not have ended it differently? Snapped his divine fingers, waved a majestic
hand and sorted it – and himself – out? If
there is a God, why doesn’t he zap the virus?
Surely, that’s what gods are meant to do – to save us from trouble and
not get too involved. But this God got
involved. What nonsense, the reasonable
ones say. It’s all nonsense or, at best,
just a story. And, in a way, they would
be right. As St. Paul would later come
to realise: ‘Jews demand signs,
Greeks look for wisdom, but we proclaim Christ nailed to the cross; and through
this is an offence to Jews and folly to Gentiles, yet to those who are called,
Jews and Greeks alike, he is the power of God and the wisdom of God.’
CONCLUSION
The God who hangs before us on the Cross is not some all-mighty,
ever-powerful Lord but a naked, vulnerable human being. That is the uniqueness of our faith
and the terrible consequence of the Incarnation. For the God in whom we believe, the maker of
heaven and earth, was prepared to know what it is like to be en-fleshed – to be
weak, frightened and lonely. That is why
women and men down the ages have been drawn to and by this moment. That is what has inspired the greatest
artists, musicians and writers. That is
what moulded our culture, this insight into God-made-man hanging, dying, on the
cross who unites himself with all who suffer and die. That is what spoke to Julian. And we?
We recognise the nonsense of it all yet are drawn by the vulnerability
of this man.
So those who have the eyes to see recognise in
sweating, bruised, torn flesh; in fear and loneliness, vulnerability and passion,
a glimpse of themselves. We identify
with our God, not in his majesty but in his broken humanity. That’s why God had to do this. Julian
of Norwich, like every other saint, wanted to know Christ. Not just to be one who, like the bystanders,
came along, gazed around and went home. Nor
one who wanted God to do something. But to know Christ in the depth of her
heart. “And at once I saw the red
blood trickling down from the crown of thorns, hot, fresh and plentiful.” This moment which seemed to be ending in
death was, in fact, the moment of glory.
For it was at this moment that the truth of God was revealed. This is the moment which reveals the paradox –
that out of suffering comes new life. As
we live through an immense pandemic that is what we’re, even now, seeing, as people
reach out with compassion; break down barriers that have restricted them; find
reservoirs of creative living, and – after a period when we seemed to have
become a broken, divided nation, experience a unity forgotten by many.
“At the same moment the Trinity filled me full of
heartfelt joy, and I knew that all eternity was like this for those who attain
heaven. For the Trinity is God, and God
the Trinity; the Trinity is our Maker and keeper, our eternal lover, joy and
bliss – all through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
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