"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)
 

Last night I got to watch one of my favorite movies. "Lars and the Real Girl," written by Nancy Oliver, directed by Craig Gillespie and starring Ryan Gosling, is the story of a painfully shy and emotionally wounded young man who finds healing through a relationship with a life-size "anatomically correct" doll named Bianca. It's also the story of how a town loves outside their comfort zone. Touching and humorous, "Lars and the Real Girl" show us a reality we wish could be ours.

In "Emma," Mr. Knightley's love of Emma requires he speak the truth, as uncomfortable as that might be for both of them (see post here). In "Lars and the Real Girl," Lars' family is advised by the family doctor to support his delusion that Bianca is a real girl. In other words, they're told to steer clear of the truth, or at least to buy into a different version of the truth: to have faith that this delusion has come as a means of bringing about Lars' emotional and social health.

I'd forgotten several things since I last watched the movie and was pleasantly surprised to see the clergy portrayed so compellingly. In one of the opening scenes of the movie,  Lars is sitting in the pew of his church, listening to the sermon. "There are many laws in the world," says the pastor, "but there's only one law in God's eyes. That law is to love one another. Love is God in action."

Putting love into action is the heart of this movie. At one point, Lars' brother Gus and sister-in-law Karin come to the members of the church board to request they support them in acting as if Bianca is real. At first, the members are taken aback. Woudn't this be sinful, or unhealthy? they protest, until they are reminded by one of the parishioners of their own checkered stories. The pastor then says, "The big question we want to ask ourselves is, of course, 'what would Jesus do?'"

Guided by the expertise and compassion of Dagmar, the attending physician, and the support of Lars' pastor, Gus and Karin, as well as the rest of the townspeople take on the challenge to love outrageously. Moving past feeling awkward, moving past the stares and the jokes, one by one they join in making Bianca one of the community. Karin dresses Bianca in her own clothes, and talks with her at mealtimes. When Lars shows up at a colleague's birthday party, Bianca is taken out on the dance floor (in her wheelchair) by the hostess's husband. She is invited to volunteer at the library, model clothing, be on the schoolboard and treated with dignity and cheerful goodwill. When she becomes "ill" several ladies bring casseroles and their knitting to sit with Lars.
 
This is what it means to be community. It's love in action. It's God in flesh and blood.
To paraphrase a favorite Jane Austen character: "If I loved [it] less, I might be able to talk about it more." If you haven't seen the movie, set aside a night to do so. You may feel uncomfortable for a while. It's OK. As the story unfolds, perhaps you'll discover yourself in one of the characters, maybe relating with Lars' brother and sister-in-law as they wrestle with the questions of "how long?" and "really?". You might even wonder, along with some of the "righteous," how good can come from a love toy. And when you're done, I wouldn't be surprised if you join me in asking yourself, what will it take for me to choose creativity over fear, to lean into compassion over embarrassment? How far is my love ready to go?

"This vision was a lesson to my understanding that the continual seeking of the soul pleases God very greatly...The seeking with faith, hope and charity pleases our lord, and the finding pleases the soul and fulfills it with joy." (Julian of Norwich, Chapter 10)

This morning found me in a quandry. I was pondering the quote above and my mind was going in circles: Am I really seeking God? Am I seeking Him wholeheartedly? What does it really mean to seek God? How will I know when I've found Him? Should I do more? No answers came readily to mind. All I knew was that I was feeling, once again, less than spiritual, less than confident, and certainly not ready to write a post that would be of help to anyone, including myself. "God," I prayed, "I know You want me to seek You. Help me know what that looks like."

I picked up Llewelyn's book, "All Shall be Well," my companion reader to Julian's own writings, and started reading a chapter that begins by discussing the "wrath" of God. The church of Julian's day taught that God was a God of Judgment and Retribution. But in all of her visions,  Julian is only shown a God of love and compassion. After much pondering and prayer, she concludes that what we see as God's "wrath" is nothing but our projection of our own distress onto God, for the face of God is always towards us in love. It is true that we fall, but never outside of God's love. She is given this revelation as an example:

"I saw two persons in bodily form: a lord and a servant...The lord is seated in solemn state, at rest and in peace. The servant is standing by his lord respectfully, ready to do his master's will. With love, gracious and tender, the lord looks upon his servant and sends him to a certain place. Not only does the servant go, but he darts off at once, running at great speed, for love's sake, to do his master's bidding. Almost at once he falls into a ditch and hurts himself badly. He moans and groans, cries and struggles, but he cannot get up or help himself in any way. Yet, as I saw it, his greatest trial was that there was no comfort at hand; for he was unable so much as to turn his face to look upon his loving lord, in whom is full comfort; and this, although he was very close to him. Instead, behaving weakly and foolishly for the time being, he thought only of his grief and distress..."

It was then, as Julian says, that I had an "inward showing." I saw that I was like that servant,  eager to follow God's desires, wanting to learn and grow, and digging into Julian of Norwich in an attempt to broaden and deepen. But in my desire to "make progress," I can often fall, especially when I imagine that seeking God depends more upon me than upon the working of the Holy Spirit in me. And when I'm stuck it's easy to get down on myself, and the focus subtly shifts from God to me. But as I was reading this story, I suddenly stopped and looked up and back. And there was God smiling - at me and the predicament I often place myself in. I saw that what I seek is always there: God's love, consistently and graciously pouring out on me. 

Like a father looks at his young child, face contorted in concentration with a new task, and smiles with great delight on the earnest efforts, so God loves that I'm seeking Him in new ways. And today, I saw that smile.

"Some of us believe that God is all powerful and may do everything; and that he is all wise and can do everything; but as for believing that he is all love and will do everything, there we hold back. In my view nothing hinders God's lovers more than the failure to understand this."  Julian of Norwich

If truth in kindness is the key that sets us free from our besetting sins, then living in falsehood constructs many a cell. As I'm still in the midst of Emma, I'll let two of her characters illustrate this point. Jane Fairfax, a beautiful and accomplished young woman, is the orphaned niece and darling of her aunt and grandmother. She joins the community at Highbury halfway through the novel, much to the dismay of Emma, who has never liked her overmuch. It isn't too long before we realize that Jane is withholding some information about her past, and it is impinging upon her health. As the story progresses it is revealed that Jane is not only hiding a secret, but actually living a falsehood. Given the circumstances she finds herself in, she is forced to act in ways contrary to her heart. It is no surprise that her mental and physical condition worsen.

For her part, Emma acts much more transparently. She does not willfully live out a lie, nor go against what she knows to be right. But as the plot develops, she is often caught in traps made by her blindness to the truth. She frequently constructs false realities: thinking a young man to be in love with her friend while he is actually in love with her, imagining her friend's social strata lifted to an unnatural level, presuming to know the basis of Jane's illness. She is even oblivious to her own feelings.  Each eye-opening revelation brings her in line with what is real; her painful insights free her to know and follow her own heart.

In the passage quoted at the top of this post, Julian bemoans the fact that many lovers of Christ live in falsehood. Whether they consciously refuse to live out of the truth that they are loved by God, or whether they are blind to the fact doesn't matter. The result is the same. Instead of becoming the vibrant and lively children God desires, they keep themselves in various states of ill health and disrepair. It's as if we're flowers with the ability to move in and out of the sunshine, or refuse the life-giving rain, even say no to the fertilizer that is meant to make us lush and fruitful.

But the gardener (who is also the sun and the rain and the fertilizer) never stops desiring us to flourish. Not disheartened by the state we are in, or by the lies that entangle us, He continues to be active in our lives. Because the truth is, He loves us. And those of us who are in the midst of Lent know that He will go to any length to make that known.

"This above all causes the soul to seem small in its own sight: to see and love its maker. And this is what fills it with reverence and humility, and with generous love to our fellow-Christians." (chapter 7)

This morning, I wandered to another book in my stack: "All Shall be Well" by Robert Llewelyn, a priest, retreat conductor and chaplain at the Julian Shrine in Norwich until his death in 2006. In his exploration of the spirituality of Julian of Norwich, Llewelyn writes about the process of becoming purified in soul. It involves, he says, an embracing of humility.

Llewelyn encourages us to live our lives in the presence of the God of love, to focus on His compassion and kindness. As we seek to do so, we become aware of things like envy or jealousy, anger or lust. The temptation is to hide these feelings or motivations, to suppress them in a desire to seem more holy (or healthy) than we are. It's as if one goes to the doctor and then refuses to name the symptoms.

But God will have nothing if not ourselves filled with Him. He welcomes us to come into His presence, to sit and notice what is not of love (what causes us dis-ease). But then He takes our face in His hands, and turns our eyes toward Him. He invites us to sit under the fountain of His boundless compassion and desire for our good. It is humbling to admit that we are filled with thoughts and beliefs that are less than generous, like crusty residue on a forgotten bowl, set aside from last night's dinner. But God's love desires to flow and flow, dissolving, rinsing, gushing through our lives.

On this morning's stroll, I passed a simple stone labyrinth marked out on the desert sand. Intrigued, I decided to stop for a minute and walk the path laid out for me. As I reached the center I looked up at the mountain range guarding the horizon. Slowly I turned, embracing the amazing landscape of this valley floor, the horizon planted with mountain ranges in almost every direction. In the past I've thought of the middle of the labyrinth demarcating the center of one's journey inward, but it came to me that from the center we are also able to see the panorama. All points on the compass stream from this core place.

This morning's reading from Julian of Norwich centers her work, as it centered her life, in the knowledge of God's love. Here is is, with some comments below:

"Also in this he showed a little thing, the size of a hazelnut in the palm of my hand; and it was as round as a ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding and thought: 'What may this be?' And the general answer came: 'It is all that is made.' I marvelled as to how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nothingness, because it was so small. And I was answered in my understanding: 'It lasts and always shall because God loves it; and so everything has being by the love of God.'

In this little thing I saw three properties: the first is that God made it., the second is that God loves it, the third that God keeps it."

"At the same time our lord showed to me a ghostly sight of his homely loving. I saw that he is to us everything that is good and comfortable for us. He is our clothing, that for love wraps round us, enfolding us and embracing us all around for tender love, so that he may never leave us, being to us everything that is good, as I understand it." (Fifth Chapter)

Last night found me in the thick of a conversation about philosophy and theology with new friends. They were interested in some thoughts I'd been having about "energy management," the idea that we could live our lives better if we were aware not only of how our own energies were stoked and depleted, but also developed a sensitivity to the movement of energy around us. Like a good game of tennis (which they had come to the Palm Springs area to watch) the ball flew back and forth from person to person, as I tried to come up with good ways to describe what I was thinking, and they added personal insights and clarifying questions. As our conversation drew to a close, someone said, "I wonder if we're talking about becoming more in touch with God's Spirit."

This morning, as I mused on the above passage from the Revelation of Love, I was caught by the phrase "that for love wraps round us." Remembering the conversation of the previous night, I thought, "I don't want my relationship with God just to be about theory, interesting as it is. I want to experience God's love, not just talk about it." So I closed my eyes, and tried to focus on God and His love.

I sat in silence. I sat and waited. And was met with silence. And reminded myself that although God may speak to an inner sense, for many of us, including myself, this is not how the love of God is communicated. I rose from my chair, standing in the middle of my friend's living room, looking out at the desert. Behind this home, a gift of grace in a time of need, stands the love of God. The sun shines, bringing its warmth and energy. Here is the love of God. The eggs are frying in the pan, I open an email from a friend. The love of God to body and heart. The love of God bringing strength and connection. The energies of God coursing through the universe.

"I saw that he is to us everything that is good and comfortable for us." says Julian. She repeats herself for emphasis. "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights," echoes James in his epistle. God's love flows through and in all good things to ever enfold and strengthen us. It streams from his heart to fill us with all we need. Like a radio signal that broadcasts on all frequencies, God's love blankets the earth. It may reach me through a different channel than it reaches you, but it's available for us all.

Some crows swooped into my neighborhood this morning. I couldn't help but wonder...

Have you ever been in the dilemma where what you want to give and what the receiver needs are at odds? I often go shopping with a friend of mine who loves to buy clothes for her family members. The problem is that her taste and the taste of the giftees don't always match. There may be satisfaction as my friend buys something that she imagines will look wonderful on the recipient, but in reality, the gift will only be exchanged or put in a drawer until it finds its way to the Salvation Army drop off bin.

So what to do? For instance, as this Christmas rolls around, I find myself reluctant to be giving the gift of independence to my adult daughters. Are they really sure that they wouldn't prefer me to give them advice, for instance, or a lovely evening at home? The gift of independence may be delightful for them, but it leaves me feeling rather hollow. Yet if I love them, I know that I need to give them this gift; it allows them to become the healthy adults that I desire them to be. And I'm wise enough to know that if I don't choose to give the gift, independence will be wrested away from me anyway, resulting in broken edges and scars that bring their own pain.

In the midst of Advent, I find myself pushing the story forward to the Atonement, the real reason that Jesus came to earth. In some mysterious way, the death of a perfect human, who was also God with us (Emmanuel) was the gift we needed if we were to be able to experience a full and joyful life. But even Jesus, who willingly chose to come to earth for this exact purpose, realized that there was a personal cost to giving this gift. I think that's what we see happening in the Garden of Gethsemane as Jesus struggles through the physical and emotional pain he was going to incur on the cross.

I cannot in any way plumb even the first few feet of what this sacrificial giving cost the the Savior. But when I am open to giving gifts that seem to have no benefit to me, or are painful, or strip me of the comforts that I want, I think I am putting my toes in the ocean of God's willingness to love me at any cost.

This morning, while listening to our local public radio station, I happened to catch this piece of data: one of the things that determines whether or not you will be happy at work, is, surprisingly, not the type of work, but the fact that you have a best friend at work. In one way, this is surprising, given all the talk on the importance of "meaningful work" in our lives. In another way, this is not so surprising, given the deeper need we have for meaningful relationships.

In past blogs, I've talked about 2 types of love: giving-love (which we often connect with God) and receiving-love (which I've tried to show is actually supremely Godlike). But there's a third type of love that  rounds out the multi-directional aspects of love. This is "making" or creating-love." Creating-love is what happens when you aren't only the giver, or only the receiver, but you are involved in a relationship where the giving and receiving flows back and forth and the result is that something new is made. Love as co-creating.

This creating-love shows up in many situations: the love of two friends who go on a camping trip and forge an experience, or sit around drinking coffee and discover a new insight; the love of an artist with their medium who with the give and take of the material they're working with fashion a painting, dance, song or new cuisine. (Interestingly enough, writers discuss how writing is often co-creative. Some characters just show up, and then they take unexpected turns which the author is obliged to follow.) There is also the love of a husband and wife who join their lives together to establish a home and out of their love-making conceive children, creating a family to fill that home.

The first thing we learn about the God of the Bible is that he is a making God. Hebrew scriptures start "in the beginning" and in the beginning God creates. Christians affirm that God creates out of nothing - at least to begin with. But once something is made, God speaks to what is and woos more from what is there. I love the passages that describe the sea and the earth joining in the creative process - "Let the earth bring forth!" God says. "Let the sea bring forth". And they, and God, together do.

It's the joy that comes from working together that brings the happiness that the researcher was describing in the blurb I mentioned above. And it's this joy of creating together that God also desires with his creation. More on future blogs.