Medievalish 1.8
My old friend Julian of Norwich & encouragement for your ongoing projects
My book manuscript is due in two weeks, I have a nasty little cold, the children start school next week, and I do not have the bandwidth for anything other than to write an encouraging, cheerleading letter for myself (ha!) and whatever challenging life thing you’re working on. Are you in the middle of a good but hard endeavor? Are you or your family members headed back to school or starting a new job? Are you trying something new or challenging? Preparing for a difficult conversation? This month’s newsletter is for you.
Sometimes I think about just doing a series based on what I have hung up around my desk. There are all kinds of treasures up there, and each has a story behind it: pictures of friends and family, a watercolor of a rainbow-colored owl by my then four-year-old, a postcard from a church in the Cotswolds, a painting of a barren tree with cardinals perched on the branches. There’s a shelf with several icons: Mary, Rublev’s Trinity, a funky little St. John Chrysostom that I like to call “Old Goldentongue,” two Nativities, and of course, Jesus. There’s another shelf with an odder assortment: a wine cork from a memorable occasion, a green-clad, red-winged angel from the mission of San Xavier del Bac, a tiny plastic Playmobil wine cup. There are quotes from T.S. Eliot, Pope Gregory the Great, and one reading my own words to myself, “What am I afraid of? How am I holding back?”
On a little green, sunwashed notecard that has been taped above my desk in the various places I’ve lived since my dissertation days, there’s another quote. It’s from my favorite medieval writer, Julian of Norwich (1343-c.1416). The first woman writer in English, she was an anchorite in the medieval town of Norwich, meaning that she had committed herself to living in the church forever as a resident pray-er for her community. Before she became an anchorite, she lived through a severe illness. One night in May 1373, she experienced what she called “showings,” as Jesus on the crucifix came to life before her eyes and spoke to her. She would spend the rest of her days interpreting these sights and sounds.
The quote above my desk reads, “For his precious love, he suffereth us never to lose time” (ch. 62).
Every time someone sees this quote, they ask me with a quizzical expression what it might mean. “Suffereth” is an old word for allow or let (think “suffer the little children to come unto me”). Translated lightly, this reads, “Because he loves us so dearly, he never lets us lose time.” Another obstacle arises. Does this mean we are in a constant rat race, striving to make the best of every moment in a sort of deluded inspirational-quote universe (“Beyonce has the same 24 hours to her day as you do!” Yes… but she has probably four nannies and three assistants and two housekeepers and a stylist).
No, it’s really the opposite, and far more powerful than that. Julian means that no time is actually lost, in the end. It’s in the middle of the section where Julian famously compares Jesus to a mother, drawing on a long, beautiful tradition in the Middle Ages. This note comes at the end of a long list of things through which Christ our Mother keeps us and forms us as his beloved, little children:
For in that time he showed our frailty and our falling, our breakdowns and our humiliations, our moments of being despised or cast out, and all our woe, as far as it can fall in this life. And in that he showed his blessed might, his blessed wisdom, his blessed love: that he keeps us in those times as tenderly and as sweetly to his worship, and as securely to our salvation, as he does when we are most solaced, most comforted; and in those times raises us spiritually and highly in heaven, and turns all things to worship and to our own unending joy. For his precious love, he suffers us never to lose time. (ch. 62, lightly translated by myself).
In our weakness, worst moments, triumphs and most peaceful times, we are similarly kept in his love. She insists that no time is ever lost.
As a writer and a mother, there are few lessons more comforting to me. They speak to the early mornings I spend almost in tears, unproductive, frustrated with words, in mortal combat with my printer instead of actually revising. The rejections. Afternoons when I nap instead of either cleaning my dirty house or returning to my basement hole to write. Parenting moments that really, really could have gone much better; the fits, the meltdowns, the tears (mine or the toddler’s). Even the guilt-ridden time spent on social media.
This comfort takes different forms. Sometimes this note gives me solace in a bad hour of my own making through my ignorance or selfishness. Such an acknowledgment does not deny the reality of sin. That no time ultimately is lost, even through dreadful mistakes and hurtful decisions, is simply a concrete way of saying that God wishes to redeem, and will redeem. I repent; I constantly explore what it means to turn and be changed.
Perhaps the most mysterious are the things that have not come from my own actions yet remain excruciatingly painful. Suffering is real. And God is in each moment, each person, to a degree I do not understand. I do not know how that works. Neither does Julian, for what it’s worth. She, time after time, says “God, how can this be, that all will be well, and all manner of things shall be well?” I’m thankful that the questions, anger, sorrow, and doubts too are part of the time never lost.
Sometimes this acknowledgment encourages me to simply give space to myself or my loved ones, to give room and let things breathe and grow. I step away from the hounding lie that my life and my actions must always be obviously productive. Do not panic; do not lose hope, these words say to me. Breathe, grow, be still. The frustrating writing mornings are as central to the process of co-creation as the good, in a mysterious, fraught sort of way. Children fall down when they are learning how to walk. The falling is essential to the learning.
So I keep Julian’s words above my desk, and lean into them at moments like this one, sick in bed, knowing there’s a chapter that’s not working, soaking in the end of summer with all the sibling conflict and bittersweet coming new school year.
Speaking of Julian of Norwich…
I’m trying to gauge whether this idea is ripe or still a little green, like the majority of the tomatoes in my Colorado garden. I am considering adding a paid subscription tier to this Substack, which will not affect anyone who does not want to subscribe, this monthly newsletter will continue to be free. It’s the Medievalish Book Club! Anyone who subscribes (at a cost TBD, probably $8-10/mo) would have access to a book club, led by myself, Dr. Grace Hamman, mostly on medieval or early modern texts. Possible books include Julian of Norwich’s Showings, William Langland’s Piers Plowman, the anonymous Pearl, many more.
I’m tentatively envisioning that every other Friday, I would upload a little video (with accompanying text) of myself briefly lecturing on a section of a book that we read together, and there will be a discussion thread and conversations. It would basically be a more informal, communal, far cheaper version of a university course on medieval and early modern literature! It won’t be fast-paced but invitational. You can read or watch the lectures at your own pace, or you can read with me and chat. Would you be interested in subscribing to this? Would you vote below and help me to figure out if this is something people are potentially interested in (no promises made, don’t worry!)? And even if folks are not interested right now, this may appear at some point in the future…
(If you’d like to read Showings with a guide but do not want to pay, the first season of Old Books With Grace features my thoughts as well—but this book club will be more dynamic and communal!)
What I’ve been up to this month:
Obsessively writing and thinking about the book!
Planning out the new season of Old Books With Grace, which will emerge into the world in September, and this new, fun book club idea.
What I’ve been reading this month:
Fiction: I returned to C.S. Lewis’s Space Trilogy for some book-related thoughts. I think Perelandra might be one of the most interesting, creative expressions of Christianity in fiction that I’ve encountered. It’s not without flaws (I get a little hung up on some of Lewis’s musings on women and gender, which have not aged well), but it’s brilliant, insightful, and worth revisiting.
Nonfiction: After having the privilege of attending a talk of hers, I’ve been reading K.J. Ramsey’s This Too Shall Last: Finding Grace When Suffering Lingers. The talk I attended was on her new book, but in the midst of writing my book chapter on the crucifixion, I wanted to hear her thoughts on suffering. Her writing is lyrical and lucid as she describes her experience as a therapist and struggle with painful chronic illness. It’s been a gift.
Medieval/medieval-adjacent: Lots of Julian of Norwich!
Article: A meditation on George Eliot’s Middlemarch and sainthood by Sarah Clarkson from Plough Quarterly: “Middlemarch Marriages.”
A Prayer from the Past
This prayer seems appropriate for the rich, end of summer bounty in my garden. I also love “Lord, do as you have said.” What a good prayer.
Oh, precious Jesus—may I be no longer unfruitful in your garden!
Lord, do as you have said. Dig around me, and pour on me all the sweet influences of your Holy Spirit—which, like the rain, the sun, and the sweet dew of heaven, may cause me to bring forth fruit to God…
Amen.
-Robert Hawker (1753-1827), from Piercing Heaven: Prayers of the Puritans ed. Robert Elmer
Peace for your August,
Grace
This is a month late, but I would be interested in a book club!
Thank you for this beautiful reflection!