Mark Pendleton (click here for text)

May 4, 2022 Easter 4, Year C The Rev. Mark Pendleton Christ Church, Exeter The Wisdom of Julian of Norwich Today is Mother's Day and Good Shepherd Sunday as we can see by the lessons filled with sheep and lambs and the appearance of the most beloved of all psalms, the 23rd. Where might those two occasions meet? It is also the feast day of Julian of Norwich, one of two of the best things (for me) to come out of that region in England. The other was one Philip Pendleton, my seventh great grandfather, who in the depths of the Covid lockdown and with nothing better to do than genealogy and Netflix, I learned departed from Norwich with his brother in 1674 for Virginia. His brother Nathanial was an ordained deacon in the Church of England, who died in his early days in America. Julian of Norwich who is much more universally known and beloved for many reasons. She was mystic, theologian, and a woman of visions. Her book from the year 1373 is the earliest surviving book by a woman in English. I find her an inspiration today for anyone who wants to find words to express a working theology for a belief in God. For example, if somewhere where to ask you: do you believe in God? You would say, if you're here in church this morning, yes, I believe in God. If asked next: describe the God in whom you believe? -- we can gain from Julian's wisdom. The words ascribed to her have become prayers for so many: they are old verses made new again each day for those who return to them. On this day when mothers are thanked and remembered, it was Julian who understood that God was both Father and Mother to us. Christ was the maternal face of God. She wrote: "Thus Jesus Christ, who does good against evil, is our very Mother. We have our being in him, where the ground of motherhood begins." She reminds us to be open to many expressions of the mystery we call God. As people of faith living today, I believe we should pay attention to movements afoot by some who might want to return to former days, by banning books in libraries and schools and by policing language that they might disagree with. Open hearts not closed minds can Julian counsel a testy and unnerved people. Our Anglican and Episcopal tradition has long created space in the broad middle for different sides to pray and worship together. It is a tradition where reason takes its place alongside tradition. It is a tradition that the supports a space where important moral decisions can be made by those most impacted without government interference. We look to the spirit of Julian to guide us through choppy waters and growing division in our land. Hear her wisdom: "The fullness of joy is to behold God in everything." "Our life is all grounded and rooted in love, and without love we may not live." "For we are so preciously loved by God that we cannot even comprehend it." Her most famous writing may be her most consoling. These are the words the Lord gave to her: "I can make all things well; I will make all things well: I shall make all things well; you can see for yourself that all manner of things shall be well." It is good to know, to believe and to trust that all will be well. The words can be a vaccine against a raging world of heartache and war, loneliness, and hunger. And we know that the road to wellness can stop and start and be full of hazards and off ramps. And to what extend saying, praying, and believing that all will be well can bring about that outcome - what we desire and what Christ has promised? How do we stand up against forces mighty enough to blow us over and crush our spirits? This what Julian offered us: "Pray, even if you feel nothing, see nothing. For when you are dry, empty, sick, or weak, at such a time is your prayer most pleasing to God, even though you may find little joy in it. This is true of all believing prayer." How many of us have been there? Going through the motions wondering if it was OK to be going through the motions. Feeling a bit down and discouraged and depleted. And there is still value and meaning in showing up and offering up what we have. So yes, our uncynical thoughts and prayers are with all those in need of them. God is open and expansive enough to count the hairs on our head, the birds in the air and the lilies in the field. Each year on Good Shepherd Sunday, I ask myself how and if the symbol of sheep and lambs speak to my journey. Do they translate to our digital and post-modern age? I understand their meaning in Jesus' day and even before. The connection with sacrifice for lambs and the connection of a royal shepherd going back to King David of Bethlehem. In art the image of Jesus with a lamb over his shoulders is the most comforting of holy images. Again, Julian offers direction: "Jesus did not say, 'You will never have a rough passage, you will never be over-strained, you will never feel uncomfortable,' but he did say, 'You will never be overcome." That is what I hear in the 23rd psalm. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. God leads me beside still waters, revives my soul, and guides me along right pathways. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want. What the early believers were challenged with in Jesus' day was how to accept and respond when some chose not to believe that Jesus was the Messiah, the one God sent to redeem and save the world. It's not that different from today, and we know that we have 2,000 of church history, doctrine, baggage, pain, and glory to shift through. I often find that my work as a priest is that of maintenance and repair. To maintain what has been brought forward for the common good, and to try to repair the harm some in the church have inflicted upon the vulnerable. Because once harmed, judged, or scorned, it is hard to return to the fold. Yet for those who walk with the Shepherd, Jesus is promising some protective cover from the harsh winds of the storms that we know come along. Jesus said: "I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand." Again: "no one can snatch it out of the Father's hand." On this Mother's Day, I am fond to recall the best of the moments with my mother who died twelve years ago. The distant yet still strong memory of her firm grip of my hand when I walked with her through crowded stores as a child. The kind of grip that children sometimes struggle to shake - as if your arm might be torn off at the shoulder kind of drama. But in that firm grip, I know that the one holding onto to me did not want anything bad to happen to me. I knew I was safe and that no one was going to snatch me away. That is the picture of faith we are trying to paint today. Of a God who will not let go of us. Of a risen Christ who appears to us in those moments when old things need to be made new again. When just when we feel like giving up, a small opening appears. The heritage of Julian, this holy woman from centuries ago, is one that invites us to imagine a God who is less a rule maker and keeper, judge, and jury, and more the firm ground we walk on. She wrote: "God is the ground, the substance, the teaching, the teacher, the purpose, and the reward for which every soul labors." The collect of her feast day is this: Triune God, Father, and Mother to us all, who showed your servant Julian revelations of your nurturing and sustaining love: Move our hearts, like hers, to see you above all things, for in giving yourself you give us all. Amen. 2