Lessons From A Medieval Mystic Mother Of The Faith
Photo from World History Encyclopedia
“And in this he showed me a little thing, the quantity of a hazelnut, lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed. And it was as round as any ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and thought, ‘What may this be?’ And it was answered generally thus, ‘It is all that is made.’ I marveled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nothing for littleness. And I was answered in my understanding: It lasts and ever shall, for God loves it. And so have all things their beginning by the love of God. In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it. The second that God loves it. And the third, that God keeps it.”
-Julian of Norwich (Revelations of Divine Love)
This brief description of one of Mother Julian’s “shewings” arrested me from the first moments of reading it. My imagination gripped, I pictured a tiny nut in the palm of my own hand. I then saw it morph into a tiny blue and green sphere, hazed over with wisps of white—but no longer in my hand. It rested secure, lovingly cupped in a hand stronger than my own. A hand I have never touched, but one I know upholds me, and everything that is.
Julian of Norwich lived in England in the fourteenth century and received a series of mystical revelations from God, which are recorded in a book of various titles, most commonly Revelations of Divine Love. Although she claims to be uneducated, the depth of understanding in her work cause scholars to wonder if she may have been a sort of theologian in her day, the fact of her being a woman giving reason for such understatement. Regardless, her revelations have been and continue to be a source of comfort and inspiration for Christian pilgrims along their faith journeys.
This image that Julian gives of the hazelnut is at once both wonderfully simple and strikingly profound. This is no less than a rich doctrine of creation in parable form.
Notice first the emotions she feels upon beholding the hazelnut-sized earth in her hand: “I marveled how it might last, for I thought it might suddenly have fallen to nothing for littleness.” There is a sense of bewilderment nearing sadness or despair implied in her initial response; this can inspire in us a sense of humility in our position as creatures. We may think of ourselves as quite strong at times, capable of much, so often desiring—and taking—control. Or perhaps others of us can relate to her feeling of smallness, wondering how to carry on without dissipating into nothingness. In whichever place we find ourselves, Julian’s message is one of great comfort.
In the face of the world’s utter smallness and fragility, God consoles Julian with three affirmations, which she passes along to us: God made the universe, he loves it, and he keeps it. Theologically, these help us to dwell on three parallels about creation: its unnecessariness, its goodness, and its contingency.
First, God made it.
As perfect, loving communion within himself, the triune God needs nothing, therefore all of creation is unnecessary. One of my favorite ways of dwelling on this truth is to soak in the words of Robert Farrar Capon in his beloved book The Supper of the Lamb. He highlights that God didn’t make the world because he needed it, but because he wanted it.
Just as we might take delight in a spiraled orange rind, carefully and lovingly peeled, so God takes delight in his creation. In Capon’s words, it is “the orange peel hung on God’s chandelier.” (Or, we might add, the hazelnut in his hand.)
The world is not some “solemn necessity that nobody can get rid of.” Indeed, it is not necessary at all. The fact that God created at all is a comfort—we can know that creation has immense value in his eyes because he chose that it would be. His act of creation is also an outflow of his love, which brings us to the next point.
Second, God loves it.
Creation is good first because God made it—as the Fount of goodness, even Goodness itself, his works must be and always are good. But creation is also good because he loves it. His love declares its goodness. He does not love it because it is good, but it is good. And he loves it.
Even though sin, evil, and death begin to infiltrate creation at the Fall, God still loves his creation. It remains good, even though it is marred. As much as we may distort the goodness around us, anything that exists has its being because of God’s love, and insofar as it is held in being, is good in some way.
Third, God keeps it.
Just as creation could not bring itself about, but needed a Creator to speak it into being, so we cannot hold ourselves in being. We are contingent upon the loving, generous hand of God. Returning to Capon’s example, the world does not remain because, once created, it was doomed to remain for all time, whether desired or not. Rather, “[God] likes it; therefore, it stays.” He holds it in being.
Remember that concept from high school chemistry called entropy? All matter, on its own, is continuously heading toward greater chaos and disorder. Without God’s loving hands to hold the universe, it would spiral out into oblivion. As chaotic as life may feel at times, all things remain held in his hand. And so, we can rest. Secure. We need not—indeed we cannot—accomplish this in our own strength.
In short…
All three of these affirmations are richly intertwined—while we might logically look at each one on its own, we cannot truly separate God’s will, his love, and his acts. He creates out of love; he holds out of love. God is love, he is the Fount of all goodness. These spring from his very nature.
Although it is all too easy to feel like the world is out of control, and whether we simply feel helpless or like it is our job to figure out how to keep everything together, we can hold on tightly to the truths that Julian also grasped.
Take heart; the loving Maker holds the hazelnut in his hand. It remains—indeed, we remain—and shall remain, because God made it. He also keeps it. And he both made it and keeps it because he loves it.
