The Greening (33 page)

Among all that I had read since encountering Julian, I frequently had come across the concept of taking time out to go within. Somewhere there had been a promise that, through those stolen snatches of time, if only one were persistent enough, something real that gave succour could be established and increased. Was it a place or a state of mind, or a state of being? It seemed as though there was a way to return time and again, to revisit and reinforce that beingness, to build up that body of soul-truth-light – a citadel in a city that I could one day make my home.

It was a place that now was hard to reach, but might one day be easy to find. Seeing through a glass darkly, but then face to face, to know even as I am known… How readily the Christian teaching of my childhood came back to me. It seemed that, despite my rejection of it, something had taken root.

To my left was a curved staircase leading to a vault, built, said the notice, in the early fourteenth century. Would I find there the atmosphere of Julian’s world? I climbed the narrow staircase and found myself in a kind of little chapel, full of glass cases containing medieval ecclesiastical artefacts. In one case, I saw a silver plate, decorated with a hand raised in a gesture of benediction. Beyond it, reflected in the glass, I saw myself. I looked into my own eyes and caught sight of the depth of my own yearning for a glimpse of the truth, for meaning.

I was taken most of all with the wall and ceiling decorations, the processions of angels and saints. I had thought that church decorations from that period were inspired by dread of hellfire and damnation, but these were not. They were full of celebration and beauty. In one corner was a sweet-faced angel, with calm, reflective eyes and the gentlest demeanour and a blue halo edged with golden light. I thought:
Perhaps when someone was painting those graceful, green-leaved garlands on the ceiling, Julian was growing up
.

I had been told there were two windows in the cathedral with depictions of Julian. One was in the chapel dedicated to the Norfolk Regiment. I found her there, with a ginger moggy at her feet. This Julian was beautiful, but serious and rather saintly, I thought, not really my idea of Julian. She wore a rich red cloak, edged with gold and silver. I did like the cat, though. He seemed to be peering inquisitively at the observer, as though thinking:
Well, I see you having a jolly good look at me, but who are you?

I moved on to the little Bouchon chapel. This was a much simpler portrayal. Julian kneels, her hands raised in prayer, looking towards heaven. I preferred it, for its simplicity, though she is in the rather grand company of Henry I, St Bede and St Augustine. As I stood before the window, I suddenly felt a sense of great joy – a brief perception, it seemed, of the glory of heaven. I felt I was standing in a pool of radiant light. I knew it was the product of my imagination, but it was a beautiful sensation. My eyes filled with tears. I asked Julian to help me make what I should of the day.

As I left the cathedral, I picked up a leaflet, perhaps identical to the one Anna had taken on her visit there, which had begun first her journey and then mine. A map on the leaflet showed me the route to St Julian’s Church.

I walked from the cathedral and headed towards King Street. I passed the shabby buildings that Anna had described, and found the little narrow alleyway, St Julian’s Alley, that would lead me through to the church and the little complex that contained the Julian Centre and All Hallows Convent. I passed St Julian’s Church, which I
was saving till later. I walked on, and turned left at the top of the alleyway and into the Julian Centre.

The administrator greeted me cheerily. I told her what I was hoping to find. Within a few minutes I had been supplied with a cup of tea and biscuits, followed shortly afterwards by books and documents. I was there for some three hours – and several cups of tea.

I made copious notes and felt I was filling in the gaps in my knowledge – but I was still dissatisfied. Where were the answers to my questions? It seemed as though I were being driven by some part of me that was empty and desired to be filled. I was no longer sure what I was searching for. I only knew that I needed to find it. I bought copies of several of the Julian lectures. I also bought two more books, including a new translation of both the short and long texts. I had done my work and now I could visit the church and Julian’s chapel.

The church was small and unexceptional. It felt to me in no way special. I walked across to the little chapel and entered. The atmosphere was peaceful and calm. There was the table covered by a white cloth, with two candlesticks containing heavy white candles. There was the little window looking out onto the garden. A plaque was set into the wall, commemorating Julian’s sojourn. Before it were some dozen votive candles in red glass containers, their tiny flames flickering. I had been by no means the only pilgrim in search of Julian that day. I lit a candle and placed it with the others.

There, too, was the crucifix. To me, the sense of vulnerability lay more in its simplicity than in Jesus’ expression or the way his head was inclined.

I thought:
It is such a simple thing
. A young man was put to death by crucifixion two thousand years ago. We still remember it. The symbol of the man on the cross is imbued with such meaning. Did he open wide the gates of heaven? I felt a sense of welcoming quiet, but no ready-made answers to my questions. The chapel was snug and warm, but outside the day was rough and blustery. I imagined, way beyond the church walls, the seascape described by Anna, of wildness, wind and weather.

I was glad to return to the comforting warmth of St Etheldreda’s. Sister Eleanor greeted me and invited me to join her for tea in her studio. I told her about my day and my curiosity about Julian, her fascination for me. My head was buzzing with ideas and impressions. My curiosity had for a while displaced my sadness, and suddenly I wanted answers. Most of all, I wanted an answer about Julian’s loving God who did not condemn me and was never angry.

Sister Eleanor handed me my teacup and said, “Before I met Julian, I used to believe in the wrath of God and the mercy of God. I believed that we repented and then God forgave us. But Julian’s version is that God’s forgiveness is there the whole time and we’ve only got to accept it.”

“Then – why does the Church preach repentance and forgiveness? Why doesn’t it preach Julian’s version?”

“Julian’s message is revolutionary, and most of us don’t much like change, do we? The truth is indeed shocking – God can’t forgive our sins. He can’t forgive us because he has already done so. There’s no doubt about Julian’s meaning. She says no fewer than ten times that God doesn’t blame us for our sins. She says, ‘Between God and our soul there is neither wrath nor forgiveness in his sight.’ It’s we who create an angry God, by projecting onto him the anger that’s in us, which we haven’t allowed God’s compassionate love to quench. But you’re right, this isn’t an acceptable theology to some people and I doubt if it’s often preached in our pulpits.”

“Why is it that the Old Testament focuses so much on God’s anger?”

“Well, I think we have to see it as expressing a relative truth, something that serves us well until we’re ready to move on to something more absolute. Do you remember the hymn about heaven being above the bright blue sky? When I was a child that was enough to be going on with but it wouldn’t satisfy me now. I believe we must hold ourselves open to be taken on in God’s time to the more absolute truth which Julian offers. And by the way, Jesus never said God was angry. When I came to Julian’s truth it was a great liberation for me. It gave me a new vision of God.”

“But theologians have known about Julian. Why has the Church ignored her message?”

“Why indeed? One small voice is easy to ignore. But things are beginning to change. The Church is coming to see that Julian, perhaps more than anyone, has the undistorted image of God. She’s on target. She recognizes that the way we treat one another depends upon our vision of God. If we think of God as angry and judgemental, that’s how we’ll behave towards others.

“Many dictators have been religious men. Their tyranny has been a reflection of what they saw in God. Saul of Tarsus, when he was persecuting the Church, was a deeply religious man acting consistently with his distorted image of God. If we see God as a tyrant, we’ll become tyrants – not, for most of us, on the world scene, but in the family, the church, the school, the hospital, wherever we are.”

I said, “That’s the problem, isn’t it? That’s what’s happening. This awful self-righteous arrogance, this certainty of being right and everyone else being wrong causes so much trouble in the world. It’s what’s put me off religion.”

“And many others. I think it may be much better to be an atheist than to be a religious person with a seriously distorted image of the one we worship. Though, of course, atheists can be tyrants. It’s from seeing ourselves as lovable that all growth begins. And love is a response. If parents love their children, it evokes love from the child. If we can enter into the reality that God loves us, our own love is evoked. Then our relationship with God is not a duty but natural and a joy.”

“This is the part I find very difficult.”

“We all do, Joanna. It’s a hard road that you’ve chosen. The mental concept that God loves us is one thing. The absorption into the heart of the belief that God loves us and is not angry is something else. That’s why we need meditation and prayer – to go within, to reach the state of love, to contact God. In this way, our prayer life develops at the level of the unconscious and we become more loving.

“I’ve found that Julian’s undistorted image of God – all-compassionate and free of anger, whose forgiveness is always coming to meet us – develops characteristics of gentleness, forbearance, patience and understanding. Many people in discovering Julian feel, with me, that they have come home.”

“That’s what I want, so much – to feel I’ve come home. That’s my Holy Grail.”

“And it’s your birthright. Your home is there. Your place awaits you, a place where you will be received as an honoured guest, a place where you are so much loved.”

Tears came into my eyes. “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe I deserve it…”

“Then Julian would say you dishonour God.” Sister Eleanor placed her hand on my arm in a comforting gesture. “Julian says we’re blind as to the nature of love and in consequence make a mistaken response to God. Our horizons are limited by our poverty in love. We have to break through the barrier by faith, so that we may reach God’s perspective. Then we’ll see guilt and self-blame for what they are, indulgences that enable us to live within our sterile limitations, at the expense of honouring God.”

“But what about God’s justice?”

“In the logic of Julian’s thought, God’s justice has to go. God is unjust – if we measure justice by our ordinary, accepted standards. In Julian we find that justice is swallowed up in mercy.

“The prodigal son’s elder brother, how would you picture him? I see him as a diligent, dutiful, hard-working young man, a fair overseer on the farm, a moral and upright person. And yet he was judged by his failure to respond to his father’s mercy. He couldn’t accept the compassionate, forgiving love of God shown to his brother, so he was excluded from the celebration. With the elder brother, God may not come into it, but with the younger brother God is there when he comes back to the father.

“The labourers in the vineyard – they, too, were judged by their incapacity to respond to the compassion of the owner of the vineyard. Of the two dying thieves at Calvary, one was judged
purely on his response to God’s mercy. His companion couldn’t receive the promise of paradise because he was unable to respond to the mercy which was equally available to them both.

“This is how we change the world. Not by opposition, but by mercy and grace. We touch people with our forgiveness, as Jesus did on the cross, so that they open and become able to receive it. It’s only because one is forgiven, because one is loved, that one can begin to change; not the other way round. But we so often fail to take possession of the release God is offering us. We mistake our self-blame for humility and in doing so we deny the generosity of God’s love.”

“So – forgiveness is the key to everything?”

“Forgiveness is an unlocking of the door and a setting free. The primary meaning the Greek word
aphesis
is letting go. Let me give you an example of Julian’s work in mediating God’s love to people who are burdened by their sins. Several years ago, a blind man visited Julian’s cell. His blindness had been caused by the cruel treatment he had suffered as a wartime prisoner of the Japanese.

“As he knelt in the cell, Julian appeared. She brought with her the Japanese soldier who had caused the man’s suffering. The dead soldier had come to seek the forgiveness of his victim, who was still full of bitterness. The blind man’s companion heard him speak to his visitor in Japanese. During the conversation, the two enemies were at last reconciled. The blind man let go of his resentment and lapsed into an ecstasy of joy.

“He and his friend then went to All Hallows Convent guest house, next door, where they were given tea by one of the Sisters. In her presence, the vision was repeated – though no one else saw Julian or the soldier – and the blind man poured out his heart once more in Japanese. Imagine how he must have felt, to release the burden he had been carrying for so many years. That release and freedom is available to each of us.”

We talked for a while longer. As I was about to leave, Sister Eleanor said, “Wait. I wonder if you would like to borrow this little book? It’s by Robert Llewelyn. I think you would enjoy it.”

Later that evening, seated by the window in my little room, I took up the book. Its title was
Love Bade Me Welcome
. I opened it and found an inscription written by the author. It said “For Eleanor. It has been a joy meeting you and sharing Julian and a time of silence with you. I hope this book may bring a blessing. Pray for me. With love, Robert.”

I turned to the preface, and read that the book’s subject was the life of prayer. The methods outlined, it said, included a brief examination of a Zen practice. I read “It is a great advance that we live in a time in which openness to what is good in other traditions has been encouraged at the highest level by both the Roman Catholic and the Anglican Church.”