" 'It is true that sin is cause of all this pain, but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.' These words were said very tenderly, showing no manner of blame to me nor to any that shall be saved. Then it would be a great unkindness to blame or wonder at God because of my sin, since he does not blame me for sin." (Chapter 27)

If I'm slowing down with my posts on Julian of Norwich, there are two reasons. First, wedding plans are taking over a bit of my life, and that plus some other obligations are keeping my mind from focusing as well as I would like. Second, I'm hitting some stuff that's tougher to chew on.

Take the passage above: "God does not blame me for sin." How does that square with "being accountable" for my actions? And if I'm not blamed, or meant to feel shame, then won't I just do anything that I feel like, whether or not it's good for me?

These questions remind me of some that are circling now with the recent discussions concerning Christian universalism (the doctrine that all will ultimately be saved, and hell will one day be emptied). If God saves everyone, then what's the point of evangelism? And perhaps even more pertinent, what's the point of living a "godly" life?

I recently stumbled upon a blog ((here) by Roger Olson, professor of theology at Baylor University, who, although not a universalist, has this to say:

HOWEVER…What I would like to ask people who get so worked up about universalism is this: What difference would it make in your life if suddenly God revealed to you in a way you couldn’t deny that he is going to save everyone?

I have posed that question to students for almost 30 years and one response has been common and very enlightening.  Many say “I would think it unfair for God to save people who didn’t have to give up all that I have given up to be saved and I would stop witnessing and supporting missions and striving to live a holy life.”  (Of course, this is a paraphrase.  No one student ever said it exactly that way; it’s more of a composite of common comments and class consensuses out of discussion of the question.)

What does this reveal?  It suggests to me that people who respond that way have not yet experienced the joy of knowing Jesus Christ and the abundant life he gives.  I’m not saying they’re not saved; I’m just saying they are missing out on an important aspect of being saved.

Is salvation drudgery?  Would God be any more unfair to save everyone than to save me?  If you know the joy and peace that comes from being saved and having a relationship with Jesus, why wouldn’t you want everyone to know about that now–in this life?

As I continue to work my way through Julian's writings, I ask myself this question: "Can a God who loves me deeply, who sees me standing, who attaches no blame, be strong enough to pull me toward becoming like Him? Or do I need threats or cajoling to enter into His life of love? And if so, why?

"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well." (Chapter 27)

Like a discoverer who's been told of a stunning vista that lies ahead of her, I've finally arrived at the promised destination. "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well" was the first phrase that I connected wtih Julian of Norwich and one which prompted this sojourn into her writings. And so, when I came upon it in Chapter 27, I was eager to understand that context in which it appeared. What I found was a bit surprising, to say the least.

Julian begins this chapter by musing that the only thing standing between us and God is "sin." For God's love is constant, yet we cannot see Him in His beauty and glorious love because of sin. She then wonders, as many have before and since, why God has allowed sin to enter into the world at all, a question that is often referred to as "the problem of evil." "This stirring," she says, "was greatly to be shunned, and nevertheless I mourned and sorrowed for it without reason or discretion. But Jesus, that in this vision informed me of all that I needed, answered by this locution and said; "Sin is necessary, but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

I was struck by the fact that in all the times I have heard this phrase quoted, never once have I encountered the preamble to it - "sin is necessary." This is more than I bargained for, and will take some time to unpack. It seems there are deep theological implications if I take it in certain ways, and today is not the day to dig into those.

But, I have been living out a possible interpretation of these words, to see how it fits, trying it on for size. Here's how it goes: "Stuff happens. Mistakes get made. Even if we try our best, there's still junk. Sometimes it's atrocious, sometimes it's petty, sometimes it's intentional, sometimes it comes despite our best efforts to do well. No matter what or why, God stands behind this promise that all shall be well, no matter how big or small."

It's a reality check to my idealism - no matter what, people (myself included) are going to mess up. So I shouldn't be surprised if bad stuff goes down. But it's also an unbelievably amazing promise to hang onto. God promises to clean everything up. To restore what was lost and to reconcile what was torn apart.

There's more in this chapter to ponder, and big questions to wade into, but as I've been living my "normal life"-taking care of friends, planning a wedding, trying to write a blog, I'm taking comfort in this: stuff happens, but God's got it covered.

"And after this, with bodily sight and in the face of the crucifix that hung before me, which I beheld continuously, I saw a part of his passion: contempt, spitting and soiling and buffeting and many languourous pains, more than I can tell and frequent changing of colour." (Chapter 10)

My oldest daughter has been talking a lot about "messy" recently. She's written about it, spoken about it, and has explored the concept through art. According to her, life is inherently messy but that's OK. In the midst of the mess, God can speak to us. And from the mess comes insight and healing. We shouldn't run from messy, but learn to embrace it. Even if it's icky or we're uncomfortable, messy can be good. Hmmm, I think when we talk. Great concept.

Here's the rub. I just figured it out this morning. I don't like messy. I don't like gunk and hurt feelings, and misunderstandings and quarrels, and making mistakes and getting it wrong. I don't like being confused, or picking up other people's trash, or seeing friends around me in pain. I JUST DON'T.

So when I come to the passages in Julian of Norwich that talk about blood and drying skin, and sweat and skin tearing, I let my eyes keep reading and disconnect my mind and my emotions, letting them go some place untouchable. Except that now, as I'm writing this, it's touching me. And I realize that for us to be alive, Jesus had to embrace all that was messy and ugly and hurtful and broken, that He had to live into it and die by it.

I don't like that I have to be OK with messy, but I know that I have a good role model. I know that when it feels like I'm falling, God still sees that I'm standing. I know that His love, at least I'm trying to believe that His love is so big, it looks at the mistakes I make as I try to figure this all out, and covers it over. I'm choosing to believe that there's no condemnation no matter how I do today. That it's the effort that is perfect, and even when it's not, even then there is grace.


Original artwork by Aletheia Schmidt. Images of doves in corner uncovered in process.

"Then our good lord Jesus Christ asked: "Are you well satisfied that I suffered for you?" I said, "Yes, good lord, all thanks to you. Yes, good lord, blessed may you be!" Then said Jesus, our kind lord: "If you are satisfied, I am satisfied. It is a joy, a bliss, an endless delight to me that I ever suffered passion for you; and if I might suffer more, I would suffer more." (Chapter 22)

There are few things I love better than to hear of people's experiences with God. One of my friends has shared with me that through the last several years of her life, while she has been going through difficult times, Jesus has shown up and sat on her bed just so she knows she's not alone. I believe her story; I slow down to imagine what it must be like to have Jesus come and sit on my bed. It's a comfort to me to know that God cares enough about my friend to manifest Himself to her in this way.

One of the gifts that Julian of Norwich brings to her readers is her direct experience with God. In Chapters 22-24, Jesus aks Julian if she has seen and been satisfied by His suffering for her as shown in the previous visions. When she replies in the affirmative, He is delighted. If she is able to truly understand the depth of His passion, she will be able to grasp the extent of His love! What catches me is that there is no desire to make Julian feel guilty by revealing the magnitude of the pain and travail that have been endured on her behalf. Rather, like a child who has spent the whole day crafting a special card for his mother, Jesus is eager to have something to present which shows the immensity of His deep love.

In our culture, a lover does not have to go through a fiery ordeal to win the hand of his beloved. We've left jousting and duels behind us. Kingly fathers do not ask for great deeds to prove devotion of would-be suitors. In this season of "the Bachelor," all that was required of the groom was that he be open to connecting with one of the ladies on the show, not that he scale a mountain, or collect a rare bottle of perfume, or retrieve a golden apple guarded by mythical creatures.

I wonder if we're left the poorer without these stories of heroic suffering, of the means and the proof of showing powerful love.  If they were more a part of our collective experiences, it might be easier grasp what Jesus is talking about. I want to believe that I'm deeply loved in this way. I want to understand the cross in these terms and to tie into the joyful bliss of Christ who takes on himself the suffering and sorrow that tugs at my life, and presents it, like a trophy, at my feet. But I have to admit, it's hard to get my head (or my heart) around this.

Still, this is Julian's experience and so I'm sitting with it, pondering...and open. Because it seems that Jesus strongly desires this for each of us-as much for His delight as for mine.

"And after this he showed a supreme ghostly delight in my soul. I was fulfilled with the everlasting sureness mightily sustained without any painful dread. This feeling was so glad and so ghostly that I was entirely in peace and at rest, so that there was nothing on earth that should have grieved me. This lasted only for a while before I was changed and left to myself in such heaviness and weariness of my life and irksomeness of myself that I could scarcely have the patience to live. There was no comfort nor any ease to me but faith, hope and charity, and there I had in truth but little in feeling.

And presently, after this, our blessed lord gave me again the comfort and rest in my soul, in delight and sureness so blissful and so mighty that no dread, no sorrow, no bodily pain that might be suffered should have deprived me of ease. And then the pain showed again to my feeling, and then the joy and the delight, and now the one, and now the other, many times - I supposed about twenty times." (Chapter 15)

Reading this chapter, I wonder what it must have been like to have been Julian of Norwich. God wants to show her something, and she has to experience it before it is explained. Feelings of bliss - ahh, this feels somewhat familiar. Feelings of despair - wait? what? Feelings of bliss - OK - feelings of despair - wait, is there some sort of pattern here? And again, and again, and again. I can't help but think of a teacher setting out an experiment for her students. See what happens when I put this chemical next to this solution? Now watch when I take it away. Now when I put it back.

God is graciously teaching Julian a lesson, and it's a good one for us all to hold onto.
Our feelings can be good indicators to us of what is going on in either our body or our psyche. Think, for instance, of anger, which may show us we've been hurt, either physically or emotionally, or that we should take action to combat a harmful situation. Or the sense of being uncomfortable, which may be like a fire alarm telling us, as the David Wilcox song goes: "Don't stop, don't wait, don't hesitate. Rule number one: Run!"

But there are times when our emotions are not so trustworthy. We wake up with a sense of loneliness, or ennui, or despair that is not based in reality. Like a morning that's overcast, our spirits are dampened. And if these feelings last too long (like this winter) we may despair that the sun will ever shine again. But even if this sense of being abandoned is strong, is not true. Like the sun which continuously pours out warmth and light, even when obscured by cloud cover, God's love is constant. He never leaves us alone.
(more after the break)
 

"After this our good lord said: "I thank you for your travail, and especially in your youth."
(Chapter 14)

I love good surprises. This past weekend, our youngest daughter became engaged and even though we all knew something was in the air, her fiance managed to keep the time and place under wraps. So when the happy couple burst through the side door of our house and came up the stairs into our kitchen, we were able to join in the good news with spontaneous joy.

Reading the 14th chapter of Julian of Norwich brought its own surprise. Thus far, the visions have been about what I expected: scenes of Christ's passion, images of God's power and sovereignty and affirmations of God's love. But Chapter 14 caught me off guard. In this brief vision, Julian reveals the extent of God's "honorable thanks" given to us, His servants (His children) during our time here on earth. 

Having grown up in the church, God thanking me isn't a new concept. After all, I'm quite familiar with the parable of the talents found in Matthew 25 and Luke 19, where at the end of the story Jesus commends his servant by saying, "Well done, good and faithful servant, share your master's happiness." I guess I've always imagined a long line of people who, when they reach God are given a handshake and salute, or some sort of appreciation gift. Sort of like what happens at a yearly employee appreciation banquet I attended at my last job. Appropriate, but not life-changing.
(more after the break)

I follow a blog written by a friend of a friend with the delightful name "A Musing Amma." Her musings for today, this 3rd Sunday in Lent, are about the respite this Sunday is in a season that may be full of "rigors and darkness." You can read her post here. May it be a touch of spring in a long winter!

"The dear-worthy blood of our Lord Jesus Christ is as truly most plenteous as it is truly most precious...The precious plenty of his dear-worthy blood overflows all the earth and is ready to wash away the sins of all creatures that are of good will, have been, and shall be." (Chapter 12)

Three weeks from today we celebrate Good Friday, one of the holiest days in the Christian church calendar. Thanks to artist renditions and film directors' efforts over the years, the sight of the bloody face of Jesus is not unfamliar to many of us. Yet, it is is still discomfitting to come in Julian of Norwich's writings to her visions of Christ in his crucifixion, his body and face covered and dripping with "plenteous" blood. The blood of Christ as a theological concept is one that I'm comfortable with, but Julian requested to see Christ in his passion, and several of her visions are physically graphic.

In this vision, Julian is amazed at the quantity of the blood that flows from the body of her lord. There is so much of it that she imagines, were it real, it would soak the bed in which she is lying. It is so plenteous it "descended down into hell and burst its bonds", delivering all there which belong to the courts of heaven. It overflows the earth, and flows in all the heavens as well.

Julian's description of blood sounds floodlike. My oldest daughter responded to the frequent rain we've had this spring with an insightful post on her facebook page. Rain can be annoying, uncomfortable, depressing, but it is equally life-giving, refreshing, and nourishing. These constant rains are a powerful picture God at work in her life. Having just returned from Ireland (the Green Isle) she longs to be as verdant and vibrant as this land of continual rain. Let the rain flow, she says, to cleanse and bring new life and nourishment.

As I contemplate Julian's picture of the blood of Christ, I'm drawn to similar words - those of cleansing and nourishment. But how does that "really" happen? How does a phrase which has inspired multitudinous hymns (Power in the Blood, Nothing but the Blood, etc) move from metaphor to one's own lives? Lately I've been thinking of it like this: Blood is a symbol of life - the Old Testament writer states "the life is in the blood." And the giving of one's life is the greatest symbol of love that we have. Jesus says to his disciples right before He dies, that there is no greater love than that a man lay down his life for his friends. So in this mathematical equation blood=life=love.

In a graphic way, Jesus showed humankind the extent of God's love through giving his life fully and freely. This love is "plenteous," continuing to flow to us today, accessible at any and every moment. God's love offers cleansing (forgiveness) by taking the consequences of the things that we've done and promising to make things right, healing and restoring all who walk in the path of love, and ultimately all of creation. It also brings us nourishment (power) so we can have all we need to live a life of "godliness"-full of beauty, truth and love. Do we need forgiveness? It is readily accessible. Do we need power? It is ours for the asking. The rain is falling; the blood is flowing. Love is plenteous, given by a God who desires us to live. Fully. Freely. Every day. Forever.