Several weeks ago, I posted that because of a number of seemingly random coincidences, I was going to be reading some books about and by Julian of Norwich. After beginning that process, it’s time to touch base here with what I have learned so far–knowing that I still have a long way to go as I familiarize myself with the thought of this fascinating 14th century mystic.
In the past six weeks I have read about two-thirds of Simon Critchley’s Mysticism, which includes a strong focus on Julian, and Claire Gilbert’s I, Julian which I greatly enjoyed both for its creative fictional autobiography of Julian and its fascinating portrayal of 14th century England (think Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth). Now I am working very slowly and carefully through Julian’s own writing, Revelations of Divine Love. I truly feel like a stranger in a strange land at times, but a land that resonates with some deep parts of my soul.
The portion of Julian’s writing that has most deeply impressed me so far is her parable of the lord and the servant. Throughout the remarkable visions or “showings” that Julian experienced, showings that reveal a loving and merciful God, she often asks the question that many persons of faith have asked over the centuries: “What about sin?” Traditional Christian theology, of course, answers that question by directing us to the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Original sin, using the gift of free will badly, and all of that. I explored an alternative interpretation of that story recently on this blog.
Julian engages with the question of sin throughout her writings; for me, her vision that has come to be known as the parable of the lord and the servant is one of the most thought-provoking and challenging reflections on sin and human shortcomings that I have ever encountered.
Our courteous Lord answered by showing me in a mysterious, veiled way a wonderful parable of a lord who has a servant, and gave me insights towards my understanding both . . . I saw two persons in bodily likeness, that is to say, a lord and a servant . . . the lord sits in solemn state, in rest and in peace; the servant stands by respectfully in front of his lord, ready to do his lord’s will. The lord looks at his servant very lovingly and kindly, and he gently sends him off to a certain place to do his will. The servant does not just walk but suddenly springs forward and runs to do his lord’s will out of love. And at once he falls into a hollow and receives very severe injury . . . he could not turn his face to look at his loving lord.
Christians often speak of “the Fall”–in Julian’s showing, it literally is a fall. It is worth paying attention both to the nature of the fall, particularly to what is missing. As Simon Critchley points out in Mysticism, there is no tree of the knowledge of good and evil, temptation, sin, no obvious disobedience, no being thrown out of paradise–there is simply a servant “running too fast, too eager to do the lord’s bidding.” The lord’s reaction to the mishap is neither judgmental nor critical.
I watched carefully to discover if I could perceive any fault in him [the servant], or if the lord would apportion any blame in him; and in truth there was none to be seen, for his good will and the greatness of his longing were the only cause of his fall.
The only “blame” to be given, if any, is that the servant was too anxious to do the lord’s will, reminiscent of Rachel Held Evans’ insight that in the original Adam and Eve story, their mistake is to choose immediate knowledge over the deeper (and slower) wisdom offerend them.
Not surprisingly, Julian takes the lord to be God and the servant to be Adam. For those of us used to a God who judges sin justly and often harshly, the lord’s reaction to the servant’s predicament is surprising. The lord says to himself,
See my beloved servant, what harm and distress he has received in my service for love of me, yes, because of his good will! Is it not reasonable that I should recompense him for his fright and his dread, his hurt and his injury and all of his misery? And not only this, but would it not be proper for me to give a gift that would be better for him and more honourable than if he stayed entirely uninjured?
Earlier in the text, the answer to Julian’s question about sin is that sin is “behovely” (a great medieval English word) meaning “useful, “fittting,” or “advantageous.” The servant’s mishap provides the lord with an opportunity to be even more loving and gracious than if everything had worked out well at the beginning.
Julian is always attuned to the minute details of her visions, as in this description of the lord’s appearance and his regard for the servant.
His expression was merciful, the colour of his face was a beautiful brown, with most handsome features; his eyes were black, most beautiful and becoming, his looks all full of loving pity . . . And the loving regard with which he looked continually at his servant, and especially when he fell–it seemed to me that it could melt our hearts for love and break them in two for joy.
That each of us is regarded by God with such an all-consuming love is one of the beautiful themes in Julian’s writing. Julian sees far more in this parable, matters that I will save for a later essay. For today, my takeaway from the parable is two-fold. First, Julian’s God is fully a God of love and not of judgment, of possibilities and growth rather than rules and barriers.
Second, the servant’s fall is not caused by disobedience but rather by something like too much enthusiasm. The servant rushes toward whatever he believes he has been charged to do without first waiting, attending, thinking, and ruminating. This strikes me as an appropriate parable for our fast-paced and unforgiving world. In I Corinthians 13, Paul writes that “love is patient, love is kind.” In this parable, not only is God’s love patient and kind, but the love that we return to God and express toward ourselves and each other should be of the same character.