Lady Julian

Very little is known of the outer life of the woman that nearly five hundred years ago left us this book.

Very little is known about the outward life of the woman who left us this book nearly five hundred years ago.

It is in connection with the old Church of St Julian in the parish of Conisford, outlying Norwich, that Julian is mentioned in Blomefield's History of Norfolk (vol. iv. p. 81): "In the east part of the churchyard stood an anchorage in which an ankeress or recluse dwelt till the Dissolution, when the house was demolished, though the foundations may still be seen (1768). In 1393 Lady Julian, the ankeress here was a strict recluse, and had two servants to attend her in her old age. This woman was in these days esteemed one of the greatest holiness. In 1472 Dame Agnes was recluse here; in 1481, Dame Elizabeth Scott; in 1510, Lady Elizabeth; in 1524, Dame Agnes Edrygge."

Julian is mentioned in Blomefield's History of Norfolk (vol. iv. p. 81) in connection with the old Church of St Julian. The church is in the parish of Conisford, on the outskirts of Norwich: "In the eastern part of the churchyard stood an anchorage, a dwelling for a religious recluse. An anchoress, or female recluse, lived there until the Dissolution, when the house was demolished. Its foundations could still be seen in 1768. In 1393 Lady Julian, the anchoress here, lived in strict seclusion. She had two servants to care for her in her old age. In those days, this woman was considered one of the holiest people. In 1472 Dame Agnes was the recluse here. In 1481 it was Dame Elizabeth Scott. In 1510 it was Lady Elizabeth. In 1524 it was Dame Agnes Edrygge."

The little Church of St Julian (in use at this day) still keeps from Norman times its dark round tower of flint rubble, and still there are traces about its foundation of the anchorage built against its south-eastern wall. "This Church was founded," says the History of the County, "before the Conquest, and was given to the nuns of Carhoe (Carrow) by King Stephen, their founder; it hath a round tower and but one bell; the north porch and nave are tiled, and the chancel is thatched. There was an image of St Julian in a niche of the wall of the Church, in the Churchyard." Citing the record of a burial in "the churchyard of St Julian, the King and Confessor," Blomefield observes: "which shews that it was not dedicated to St Julian, the Bishop, nor St Julian, the Virgin."

The small Church of St Julian, still in use today, retains its dark, round tower of flint rubble from Norman times. Traces of the anchorage built against its southeastern wall can still be seen around its foundation. "This church was founded before the Conquest," says the History of the County. "King Stephen, the founder of the nuns of Carhoe (Carrow), gave the church to them. It has a round tower and only one bell. The north porch and nave are tiled, and the chancel is thatched. An image of St Julian stood in a niche in the church wall, in the churchyard." Blomefield cites the record of a burial in "the churchyard of St Julian, the King and Confessor." He observes: "This shows that the church was not dedicated to St Julian, the Bishop, or St Julian, the Virgin."

The only knowledge that we have directly from Julian as to any part of her history is given in her account of the time and manner in which the Revelation came, and of her condition before and during and after this special experience. She tells how on the 13th day of May, 1373,¹ the Revelation of Love was shewed to her, "a simple creature, unlettered," who had before this time made certain special prayers from out of her longing after more love to God and her trouble over the sight of man's sin and sorrow. She had come now, she mentions, to the age of thirty, for which she had in one of these prayers, desired to receive a greater consecration,—thinking, perhaps, of the year when the Carpenter's workshop was left by the Lord for wider ministry,—she was "thirty years old and an half." This would make her birth-date about the end of 1342, and the old Manuscript says that she "was yet in life" in 1442. Julian relates that the Fifteen consecutive "Shewings" lasted from about four o'clock till after nine of that same morning, that they were followed by only one other Shewing (given on the night of the next day), but that through later years the teaching of these Sixteen Shewings had been renewed and explained and enlarged by the more ordinary enlightenment and influences of "the same Spirit that shewed them." In this connection she speaks, in different chapters, of "fifteen years after and more," and of twenty years after, "save three months"; thus her book cannot have been finished before 1393.

The only direct knowledge we have from Julian about her life comes from her account of the Revelation. She tells us when and how it came, and what condition she was in before, during, and after this special experience. She says that on May 13, 1373,¹ the Revelation of Love was shown to her, "a simple creature, unlettered." Before then, she had made certain special prayers. She longed for greater love for God and was troubled by the sight of human sin and sorrow. She mentions that she had now reached thirty, the age at which she had prayed to receive a greater consecration. Perhaps she was thinking of the year when the Lord left the Carpenter's workshop for a wider ministry. She was "thirty years old and an half." This would place her birth around the end of 1342. The old Manuscript says that she "was yet in life" in 1442. Julian relates that the fifteen consecutive "Shewings" lasted from about four o'clock until after nine that morning. Only one other Shewing followed, on the night of the next day. But in later years, the teaching of these sixteen Shewings was renewed, explained, and expanded. This came through the more ordinary enlightenment and influences of "the same Spirit that shewed them." In this connection, she speaks in different chapters of "fifteen years after and more," and of twenty years after, "save three months." So her book cannot have been finished before 1393.

Of the circumstances in which the Revelations came, and of all matters connected with them, Julian gives a careful account, suggestive of great calmness and power of observation and reflection at the time, as well as of discriminating judgment and certitude afterwards. She describes the preliminary seven days' sickness, the cessation of all its pain during the earlier visions, in which she had spiritual sight of the Passion of Christ, and indeed during all the five hours' "special Shewing"; the return of her physical pain and mental distress and "dryness" of feeling when the vision closed; her falling into doubt as to whether she had not simply been delirious, her terrifying dream on the Friday night,—noting carefully that "this horrible Shewing" came in her sleep, "and so did none other"—none of the Sixteen Revelations of Love came thus. Then she tells how she was helped to overcome the dream-temptation to despair, and how on the following night another Revelation, conclusion and confirmation of all, was granted to strengthen her faith. Again her faith was assayed by a similar dream-appearance of fiends that seemed as it were to be mocking at all religion, and again she was delivered, overcoming by setting her eyes on the Cross and fastening her heart on God, and comforting her soul with speech of Christ's Passion (as she would have comforted another in like distress) and rehearsing the Faith of all the Church. It may be noted here that Julian when telling how she was given grace to awaken from the former of these troubled dreams, says, "anon all vanished away and I was brought to great rest and peace, without sickness of body or dread of conscience," and that nothing in the book gives any ground for supposing that she had less than ordinary health during the long and peaceful life wherein God "lengthened her patience." Rather it would seem that one so wholesome in mind, so happy in spirit, so wisely moderate, no doubt, in self-guidance, must have kept that general health that she could not despise who speaks of God having "no disdain" to serve the body, for love of the soul, of how we are "soul and body clad in the Goodness of God," of how "God hath made waters plenteous in earth to our service and to our bodily ease,"² and of how Christ waiteth to minister to us His gifts of grace "unto the time that we be waxen and grown, our soul with our body and our body with our soul, either of them taking help of other, till we be brought unto stature, as nature worketh."³

Julian carefully describes the circumstances in which the Revelations came and everything connected with them. Her account suggests great calm and powers of observation and reflection at the time. It also suggests sound judgment and certainty afterwards. She describes the seven days of illness that came first. All her pain stopped during the earlier visions, when she had a spiritual sight of Christ’s Passion. The pain remained absent throughout the five hours of the “special Shewing.” When the vision ended, her physical pain returned, along with mental distress and “dryness” of feeling. She began to doubt whether she had simply been delirious. She also describes her terrifying dream on Friday night. She carefully notes that “this horrible Shewing” came in her sleep, “and so did none other.” None of the Sixteen Revelations of Love came in sleep. Julian then tells how she was helped to overcome the temptation to despair brought by the dream. On the following night, she was granted another Revelation to strengthen her faith. It was the conclusion and confirmation of all the Revelations. Again, her faith was tested by a similar dream in which fiends appeared. They seemed to be mocking all religion. Again, she was delivered. She overcame the trial by fixing her eyes on the Cross and her heart on God. She comforted her soul by speaking of Christ’s Passion, as she would have comforted another person in similar distress. She also recited the Faith of the whole Church. It is worth noting what Julian says about being given grace to wake from the first of these troubled dreams. “At once, everything vanished, and I was brought to great rest and peace, without bodily illness or fear in my conscience.” Nothing in the book suggests that she had less than ordinary health during her long and peaceful life. During that life, God “lengthened her patience.” Rather, it would seem that someone so healthy in mind and happy in spirit must have maintained her general health. No doubt she was also wisely moderate in how she lived. She could not have despised bodily health. She speaks of God having “no disdain” to serve the body for love of the soul. She speaks of how we are “clothed, soul and body, in the Goodness of God.” She also speaks of how “God has made water plentiful on earth for our use and bodily comfort,”² and how Christ waits to give us his gifts of grace “until we have developed and grown, our soul with our body and our body with our soul, each helping the other, until we reach full stature, as nature works.”³

Julian mentions neither her name not her state in life; she is "the soul," the "poor" or "simple" soul that the Revelation was shewed to—"a simple creature," in herself, a mere "wretch," frail and of no account.

Julian mentions neither her name nor her station in life. She is "the soul," the "poor" or "simple" soul to whom the Revelation was shown. She is "a simple creature," and in herself, a mere "wretch," frail and of no importance.

Of her parentage and early home we know nothing: but perhaps her own exquisite picture of Motherhood—of its natural (its "kind") love and wisdom and knowledge—is taken partly from memory, with that of the kindly nurse, and the child, which by nature loveth the Mother and each of the other children, and of the training by Mother and Teacher until the child is brought up to "the Father's bliss" (lxi.-lxiii.).

We know nothing of her family or early home. But perhaps her exquisite picture of Motherhood and its natural ("kind") love, wisdom, and knowledge comes partly from memory. Perhaps her pictures of the kind nurse and the child also come from memory. The child naturally loves the Mother and each of the other children. Perhaps her picture of the Mother and Teacher raising the child until the child reaches "the Father's bliss" also comes from memory (lxi.-lxiii.).

The title "Lady," "Dame" or "Madame" was commonly accorded to anchoresses, nuns, and others that had had education in a Convent.⁴

The titles "Lady," "Dame" and "Madame" were commonly given to anchoresses, nuns, and others educated in a convent.⁴

Julian, no doubt, was of gentle birth, and she would probably be sent to the Convent of Carrow for her education. There she would receive from the Benedictine nuns the usual instruction in reading, writing, Latin, French, and fine needlework, and especially in that Common Christian Belief to which she was always in her faithful heart and steadfast will so loyal,—"the Common Teaching of Holy Church in which I was afore informed and grounded, and with all my will having in use and understanding" (xlvi.).

Julian was undoubtedly born into a noble family. She was probably sent to the Convent of Carrow for her education. There, the Benedictine nuns would have given her the usual instruction in reading, writing, Latin, French, and fine needlework. Above all, they would have taught her the Common Christian Belief. She always remained loyal to this belief, with a faithful heart and a steadfast will. She called it "the Common Teaching of Holy Church, in which I was previously taught and grounded, and which I practiced and understood with all my will" (xlvi.).

It is most likely that Julian received at Carrow the consecration of a Benedictine nun; for it was usual, though not necessary, for anchoresses to belong to one or other of the Religious Orders.

Julian was most likely consecrated as a Benedictine nun at Carrow. This is likely because anchoresses usually belonged to a religious order, though they were not required to do so.

The more or less solitary life of the anchorite or hermit, the anchoress or recluse, had at this time, as earlier, many followers in the country parts and large towns of England. Few of the "reclusoria" or women's anchorholds were in the open country or forest-lands like those that we come upon in Medieval romances, but many churches of the villages and towns had attached to them a timber or stone "cell"—a little house of two or three rooms inhabited by a recluse who never left it, and one servant, or two, for errands and protection. Occasionally a little group of recluses lived together like those three young sisters of the Thirteenth Century for whom the Ancren Riwle, a Rule or Counsel for "Ancres," was at their own request composed. The recluse's chamber seems to have generally had three windows: one looking into the adjoining Church, so that she could take part in the Services there; another communicating with one of those rooms under the keeping of her "maidens," in which occasionally a guest might be entertained; and a third—the "parlour" window—opening to the outside, to which all might come that desired to speak with her. According to the Ancren Riwle the covering-screen for this audience-window was a curtain of double cloth, black with a cross of white through which the sunshine would penetrate—sign of the Dayspring from on high. This screen could of course be drawn back when the recluse 'held a parliament' with any that came to her.⁵

At this time, as before, many people in rural areas and large towns of England lived as anchorites or hermits, anchoresses or recluses. They lived more or less solitary lives. Few of the "reclusoria", or women's anchorholds, stood in open country or forests like those found in Medieval romances. But many village and town churches had a timber or stone "cell" attached to them. This was a small house of two or three rooms. A recluse lived there, never leaving it, with one or two servants to run errands and provide protection. Occasionally, a small group of recluses lived together. One such group consisted of three young sisters in the Thirteenth Century. At their request, the Ancren Riwle, a Rule or Counsel for "Ancres", was written for them. The recluse's chamber seems generally to have had three windows. One looked into the adjoining church, so that she could take part in the services there. Another opened into one of the rooms under the care of her "maidens", where a guest might occasionally be entertained. A third, the "parlour" window, opened to the outside. Anyone who wished to speak with her could come to it. According to the Ancren Riwle, this window was covered by a curtain of double cloth. It was black with a white cross through which sunlight would shine, a sign of the Dayspring from on high. Of course, the curtain could be drawn back when the recluse 'held a parliament' with anyone who came to her.⁵

Before Julian passed from the sunny lawns and meadows of Carrow, along the road by the river and up the lane to the left by the gardens and orchards of the Coniston of that day, to the little Churchyard house that would hide so much from her eyes of outward beauty, and yet leave so much in its changeful perpetual quietude around her (great skies overhead like the ample heavenly garments of her vision "blue as azure most deep and fair"; little Speedwell's blue by the crannied wall of the Churchyard—Veronika, true Image, like the Saint's "Holy Vernacle at Rome") her vow⁶ might be: "I offering yield myself to the divine Goodness⁷ for service, in the order of anchorites: and I promise to continue in the service of God after the rule of that order, by divine grace and the counsel of the Church: and to shew canonical obedience to my ghostly fathers."

Before Julian left the sunny lawns and meadows of Carrow, her vow⁶ might have been: "I offer myself to the divine Goodness⁷ for service in the order of anchorites. By divine grace and the counsel of the Church, I promise to continue serving God according to that order's rule. I also promise to obey my spiritual fathers according to Church law." Her journey would take her along the road by the river, then up the lane to the left, past the gardens and orchards of the Coniston of her day. She would come to the little house in the Churchyard, which would hide much outward beauty from her eyes. Yet much would remain around her in its ever-changing, lasting quiet. Great skies would stretch overhead like the ample heavenly garments of her vision, "blue as azure most deep and fair". Little blue speedwell flowers would grow by the cracked Churchyard wall. Their name, Veronika, means true Image, like the Saint's "Holy Vernacle at Rome".

The only reference that Julian makes to the life dedicated more especially to Contemplation is where she is speaking, as if from experience, of the temptation to despair because of falling oftentimes into the same sins, "especially into sloth and losing of time. For that is the beginning of sin, as to my sight,—and especially to the creatures that have given themselves to serve our Lord with inward beholding of His blessed Goodness."⁸

Julian refers to a life dedicated especially to contemplation only when she discusses the temptation to despair. She speaks as if from experience about despair caused by falling into the same sins again and again, "especially laziness and wasting time. For in my view, that is the beginning of sin, especially for those who have dedicated themselves to serving our Lord by contemplating his blessed goodness within their hearts."⁸

"One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to enquire in His temple"—His Sanctuary of the Church or of the soul. That was her calling. She had heard the Voice that comes to the soul in Spring-time and calls to the Garden of lilies, and calls to the Garden of Olive-trees (where all the spices offered are in one Cup of Heavenly Wine): "Surge, propera amica mea: jam enim Hyems transiit, imber ambiit et recessit. Surge, propera amica mea, speciosa mea, et veni." "Arise: let us go hence."⁹ "For this is the natural yearnings of the soul by the touching of the Holy Ghost: God of Thy Goodness, give me Thyself, for Thou art enough to me; ... and if I ask anything that is less, ever me wanteth; but only in Thee I have all" (v.).

“One thing I have desired of the Lord, and I will seek it: to dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to seek guidance in his temple.” His temple is the sanctuary of the Church or of the soul. That was her calling. She had heard the Voice that comes to the soul in springtime. It calls the soul to the Garden of lilies and the Garden of Olive-trees. There, all the spices offered are in one Cup of Heavenly Wine. “Arise, hurry, my beloved. Winter has passed, and the rain has gone and departed. Arise, hurry, my beloved, my beautiful one, and come.” “Arise: let us go from here.”⁹ “For this is what the soul naturally longs for when touched by the Holy Ghost: God, in your goodness, give me yourself, for you are enough for me. ... If I ask for anything less, I am always in need. But in you alone I have everything” (v.).

"A soul that only fasteneth itself on to God with very trust, either by seeking or in beholding, it is the most worship that it may do to Him, as to my sight" (x.). "To enquire" and "to behold"—no doubt it was for these that Julian sought time and quiet. For she had urgent questionings and "stirrings" in her mind over "the great hurt that is come by sin to the creature"—"afore this time often I wondered why by the great foreseeing wisdom of God the beginning of sin was not letted" ("mourning and sorrow I made over it without reason and discretion"); and also she was filled with desire for God: "the longing that I had to Him afore" (xxvii.).

“A soul that holds fast to God with true trust, whether by seeking or contemplating him, gives him the greatest honor it can, as I see it” (x.). “To inquire” and “to contemplate”: no doubt it was for these that Julian sought time and quiet. For she had urgent questions and “stirrings” in her mind about “the great harm that sin has brought to creatures.” “Before this time, I often wondered why God, in his great wisdom and foresight, did not prevent sin from beginning” (“I mourned and grieved over it without reason or judgment”). She was also filled with desire for God: “the longing I had for him before” (xxvii.).

Moreover, this life to which Julian gave herself was to be a life of "meek continuant prayers" "for enabling" of herself in her weakness, and for help to others in all their needs. For thought and worship could only be held together by active prayer: the pitiful beholding of evil and pain and the joyful beholding of Goodness and Love would be at war, as it were, with each other, unless they were set at peace for the time by the prayer of intercession. And that is the call of the loving soul, strong in its infant feebleness to wake the answering Revelation of Love to faith that "all shall be well," and that "all is well" and that when all are come up above and the whole is known, all shall be seen to be well, and to have been well through the time of tribulation and travail.

Moreover, the life Julian embraced was to be one of "humble, continuing prayers." She prayed for "strength" in her weakness and for help for others in all their needs. For only active prayer could hold thought and worship together. The sorrowful sight of evil and pain and the joyful sight of Goodness and Love would seem to be at war. Prayer for others was needed to bring them peace for the time being. And that is the calling of the loving soul. Though as weak as an infant, it is strong enough to awaken Love’s answering Revelation to faith. This Revelation is that "all shall be well" and that "all is well." And when all have come up above and the whole is known, all shall be seen to be well. It shall also be seen to have been well throughout the time of suffering and struggle.

"At some time in the day or night," says the Ancren Riwle, which Julian perhaps may have read, though as to such prayers her compassionate heart was its own director—"At some time in the day or night think upon and call to mind all who are sick and sorrowful, who suffer affliction and poverty, the pain which prisoners endure who lie heavily fettered with iron; think especially of the Christians who are amongst the heathen, some in prison, some in so great thralldom as is an ox or an ass; compassionate those who are under strong temptations; take thought of all men's sorrows, and sigh to our Lord that He may take care of them and have compassion and look upon them with a gracious eye; and if you have leisure, repeat this Psalm, I have lifted up mine eyes. Paternoster. Return, O Lord, how long, and be intreated in favour of Thy servants: Let us pray. 'Stretch forth, O Lord, to thy servants and to thy handmaids the right hand of thy heavenly aid, that they may seek thee with all their heart, and obtain what they worthily ask through Jesus Christ our Lord.'" Julian tells how in her thinking of sin and its hurt there passed before her sight all that Christ bore for us, "and His dying; and all the pains and passions of all His creatures, ghostly and bodily; and the beholding of this—with all pains that ever were or ever shall be" (xxvii). From sin, except as a general conception, Julian's natural instinct was to turn her eyes; but with this Christly compassion in her heart in looking on the sorrows of the world she could not but take account of its sin. As she came to be convinced that "though we be highly lifted up into contemplation, it is needful for us to see our own sin,"—albeit we should not accuse ourselves "overdone much" or "be heavy or sorrowful indiscreetly"—so when sins of others were brought before her she would seek with compassion to take the sinner's part of contrition and prayer. "The beholding of other man's sins, it maketh as it were a thick mist afore the eyes of the soul, and we cannot, for the time, see the fairness of God, but if we can behold them with contrition with him, with compassion on him, and with holy desire to God for him" (lxxvi.).

"At some time in the day or night," says the Ancren Riwle, "think of and remember all who are sick and sorrowful, who suffer hardship and poverty, and the pain of prisoners who lie heavily bound in iron chains. Think especially of the Christians among the heathen, some in prison, some in slavery as great as that of an ox or a donkey. Have compassion for those under strong temptations. Think of everyone's sorrows, and sigh to our Lord, asking him to care for them, have compassion on them, and look on them kindly. If you have time, repeat this Psalm, I have lifted up my eyes. Paternoster. Return, O Lord, how long, and be moved to help your servants: Let us pray. 'Stretch out, O Lord, to your servants and handmaids the right hand of your heavenly help. May they seek you with all their hearts and receive what they rightly ask through Jesus Christ our Lord.'" Julian may have read the Ancren Riwle, though her own compassionate heart guided her in such prayers. Julian tells how, as she thought about sin and the harm it causes, she saw all that Christ suffered for us. She saw "his dying, and all the pains and sufferings of all his creatures, spiritual and bodily, and the sight of all this, along with all the pains that ever were or ever shall be" (xxvii). Julian's natural instinct was to turn her eyes away from sin, except as a general idea. But she looked on the world's sorrows with Christlike compassion in her heart. So she could not help but consider its sin. Julian came to believe that "though we may be raised high in contemplation, we need to see our own sin." Yet she also believed that we should not accuse ourselves "too much" or "be sorrowful or grieving without good reason." In the same way, when she saw the sins of others, she would compassionately seek to share in the sinner's repentance and prayer. "Looking at another person's sins puts what is like a thick mist before the eyes of the soul. For the time being, we cannot see the beauty of God, unless we can look at those sins with repentance alongside the sinner, with compassion for the sinner, and with a holy desire to God on their behalf" (lxxvi.).

And notwithstanding all the stir and eager revival of the Fourteenth Century in religion, politics, literature and general life, there was much both of sin and of sorrow then to exercise the pitiful soul—troubles enough in Norwich itself, of oppression and riot and desolating pestilence—troubles enough in Europe, West and East,—wars and enslaving and many cruelties in distant lands, and harried Armenian Christians coming to the Court of Edward to plead for succour in their long-enduring patience. There was trouble wherever one looked; but to prayer, and to that compassion which is in itself a prayer, the answer came. Indeed the compassion was its own first immediate answer: for "then I saw that each kind compassion that man hath on his even-Cristen (his fellow-Christians) with charity, it is Christ in him." This is the comfort that both comforts in waiting and calls to deeds of help. And such "charity" of social service was not beyond the scope of the life "enclosed,"—whether it might be by deed or, as more often, by speech.¹⁰

Despite all the activity and eager renewal of the Fourteenth Century in religion, politics, literature, and everyday life, there was much sin and sorrow to trouble a compassionate soul. Norwich itself had more than enough trouble: oppression, riots, and devastating disease. There was also trouble enough across Europe, in the West and the East. There were wars, enslavement, and many cruelties in distant lands. Persecuted Armenian Christians came to Edward’s court to plead for help after enduring hardship for so long. There was trouble wherever one looked. But prayer received an answer, and so did compassion, which is itself a prayer. Indeed, compassion was its own first, immediate answer: “Then I saw that every act of kindness and compassion a person shows to an even-Cristen (a fellow Christian) with charity, is Christ in that person.” This is the comfort that sustains us while we wait and calls us to acts of help. Such “charity” through service to others was possible even within the “enclosed” life, whether through deeds or, more often, through words.¹⁰

It is in her seeking for truth and her beholding of Love that we best know Julian. Of the opening of the Revelation she says: "In all this I was greatly stirred in charity to mine even-Christians, that they might see and know the same that I saw: for I would it were comfort to them," and again and again throughout the book she declares that the "special Shewing" is given not for her in special, but for all—for all are meant to be one in comfort as all are one in need. "Because of the Shewing I am not good, but if I love God the better: and in as much as ye love God the better it is more to you than to me.... For we are all one in comfort. For truly it was not shewed me that God loved me better than the least soul that is in grace; for I am certain that there be many that never had any Shewing nor sight but of the common teaching of Holy Church that love God better than I. For if I look singularly to myself I am right nought; but in general [manner of regarding] I am, I hope, in oneness of charity with all mine even-Christians. For in this oneness standeth the life of all mankind that shall be saved, and that which I say of me, I say in the person of all mine even-Christians: for I am taught in the Spiritual Shewing of our Lord God that He meaneth it so. And therefore I pray you for God's sake, and counsel you for your own profit that ye leave the beholding of a worthless creature [a "wretch"] it was shewed to and mightily, wisely and meekly behold God that of His special goodness would shew it generally, in comfort of us all" (ix.).

We come to know Julian best through her search for truth and her contemplation of Love. Speaking of the beginning of the Revelation, she says: "Throughout this experience, I felt a strong love for my fellow Christians. I wanted them to see and know what I saw, so that it might comfort them." Again and again throughout the book, she says that the "special Showing" was given not just for her, but for all. For all are meant to share in comfort, just as all share in need. "The Showing does not make me good, unless it makes me love God more. And the more you love God, the more the Showing means to you than to me.... For we all share in the same comfort. Truly, I was not shown that God loved me more than the least soul in a state of grace. I am certain that many people love God more than I do. They have never had any Showing or vision, only the ordinary teaching of Holy Church. If I consider myself alone, I am truly nothing. But when I consider myself as one among all, I hope I share in love with all my fellow Christians. For the life of all humanity who will be saved depends on this oneness. And what I say about myself, I say on behalf of all my fellow Christians. For in the Spiritual Showing of our Lord God, I am taught that this is what he means. And so, for God's sake, I ask you to stop looking at the worthless creature [a "wretch"] who received the Showing. For your own good, I urge you instead to contemplate God with strength, wisdom, and humility. For in his special goodness, he chose to reveal the Showing to everyone, to comfort us all" (ix.).

Thus Julian turns our eyes from looking on her to looking with her on the Revelation of Divine Love.

So Julian turns our eyes away from looking at her and toward looking with her at the Revelation of Divine Love.

Yet surely in her we have also "a shewing"—a shewing of the same. She tells us little of her own story, and little is told us of her by any one else, but all through her recording of the Revelation the simple creature to whom it was made unconsciously shews herself, so that soon we come to know her with a pleasure that surely she would not think too "special" in its regard. (For she herself in speaking of Love makes note that the general does not exclude the special). Perhaps we are helped in this friendly acquaintanceship by those endearingly characteristic little formulas of speech disavowing any claim to dogmatic authority in the statements of her views of truth: those modest parentheses "as to my sight," "as to mine understanding." "Wisdom and truth and love," the dower that she saw in the Gracious soul, were surely in the soul of this meek woman; but enclosing these gifts of nature and grace are qualities special to Julian: depth of passion, with quietness, order, and moderation; loyalty in faith, with clearest candour—"I believe ... but this was not shewed me"—(xxxiii., lxxvii., lxxx.) pitifulness and sympathy, with hope and a blithe serenity; sound good sense with a little sparkle upon it—as of delicate humour (that crowning virtue of saints); and beneath all, above all, an exquisite tenderness that turns her speech to music. "I will lay thy Stones with fair Colours."

Yet surely in her we also have "a showing" of the same thing. She tells us little of her own story, and others tell us little about her. But throughout her account of the Revelation, the simple person who received it reveals herself without knowing it. Soon we come to know her with a pleasure she surely would not think too "special" in its regard. (For she herself notes, when speaking of Love, that the general does not exclude the special.) Perhaps her friendly, endearingly characteristic little phrases help us get to know her. With them, she modestly disclaims any claim to dogmatic authority for her views of truth: "as I see it," "as I understand it." "Wisdom and truth and love" were the gifts she saw in the Gracious soul. Surely they were also in the soul of this humble woman. But Julian had her own qualities that embraced these gifts of nature and grace. She had deep passion, along with quietness, order, and moderation. She was loyal in faith, yet completely candid: "I believe ... but this was not shown to me" (xxxiii., lxxvii., lxxx.). She had compassion and sympathy, along with hope and a cheerful serenity. She had sound common sense, with a little sparkle of delicate humor (that crowning virtue of saints). Beneath all, and above all, she had an exquisite tenderness that turns her speech to music. "I will lay thy Stones with fair Colours."

"Thou hast the dews of thy youth." Hundreds of years have gone since that early morning in May when Julian thought she was dying and was "partly troubled" for she felt she was yet in youth and would gladly have served God more on earth with the gift of her days—hundreds of years since the time that her heart would fain have been told by special Shewing that "a certain creature I loved should continue in good living"—but still we have "mind" of her as "a gentle neighbour and of our knowing." For those that love in simplicity are always young; and those that have had with the larger Vision of Love the gift of love's passionate speech, to God or man, in word or form or deed, as treasure held—live yet on the earth, untouched by time, though their light is shining elsewhere for other sight.

"You have the dew of your youth." Hundreds of years have passed since that early morning in May when Julian thought she was dying. She was "somewhat troubled" because she felt she was still young. She would gladly have spent more of her days serving God on earth. Hundreds of years have passed since she longed for a special Showing to tell her that "a person I loved would continue to live a good life." But we still remember her as "a gentle neighbor we know." For those who love simply are always young. Some have received a larger Vision of Love, along with the gift of expressing love passionately to God or another person. They have expressed that love in words, in art, or in deeds, and have cherished it as a treasure. They still live on earth, untouched by time, though their light shines elsewhere for others to see.

"From that time that the Revelation was shewed I desired oftentimes to learn what was our Lord's meaning. And fifteen years afterwards and more, I was answered in ghostly understanding, saying thus: Wouldst thou learn thy Lord's meaning in this thing? Learn it well: Love was His meaning. Who shewed it thee? Love. What shewed He thee? Love. Wherefore shewed it He? For Love. Hold thee therein and thou shalt learn and know more in the same. But thou shalt never know nor learn other thing without end."

"From the time the revelation was shown to me, I often wanted to learn what our Lord meant by it. More than fifteen years later, I received an answer through spiritual understanding: Do you want to learn what your Lord meant by this? Learn it well: Love was his meaning. Who showed it to you? Love. What did he show you? Love. Why did he show it to you? For love. Hold fast to this, and you will learn and know more about love. But you will never know or learn anything else, for all eternity."

And if we, with no special shewing, might ask and, in trust of "spiritual understanding," might answer more—asking to whom, and for whom was the Revelation shewed, we might answer: To one that loved; for all that would learn in love.

And if, without any special revelation, we could ask more and answer in trust of "spiritual understanding," we might ask: To whom and for whom was the Revelation shown? We might answer: To one who loved, for all who would learn in love.