Mothering Christ

The writings of Julian of Norwich (c.1342– c.1416) have nourished my spiritual imagination since I first encountered them. Perhaps the best known of her words are from Showings, a series of visions that she received in the midst of a near-death experience.

“…but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.’

Like many mystics, Julian’s experiences led her to name God in new and surprising ways. Months ago, I came across these striking passages from her Revelations of Divine Love and found them both challenging and insightful.

“The Second Person of the Trinity is our mother in nature, in our substantial making. In him we are grounded and rooted, and he is our mother by mercy in our sensuality, by taking flesh.”

“Thus our mother, Christ, in whom our parts are kept unseparated, works in us in various ways. For in our mother, Christ, we profit and increase, and in mercy he reforms and restores us, and by virtue of his passion, death, and resurrection joins us to our substance.

“To motherhood as properties belong natural love, wisdom and knowledge – and this is God. For though it is true that our bodily bringing forth is very little, low, and simple compared to our spiritual bringing forth, yet it is he who does the mothering in the creatures by whom it is done.”

…. A mother can give her child milk to suck, but our precious mother, Jesus, can feed us with himself. He does so most courteously and most tenderly, with the Blessed Sacrament, which is the precious food of true life. With all the sweet sacraments he sustains us most mercifully and graciously.”

– Revelations of Divine Love of Juliana of Norwich, trans. M.L. Del Mastro

Farid De La Ossa Arrieta: God, the Mother (2002)

Julian invites us to an understanding of God’s essence and nature (revealed in sacred text and in creation) that is broader than the masculine archetypes and language that theologians have defaulted to. I hear it as prophetic language, a kind of poetic truth-telling that challenges the hetero-patriarchy and misogyny that infected the 14th century church and still infects faith communities today.

She also opens a new window through which to view the person of Christ, avoiding well-worn language of control, retribution and power over and against others. But Julian’s Savior sustains, reforms and restores us; Mother Christ invites us to take in goodness from below, to be rooted and grounded in nurturing love. These words invite integration of body, mind and spirit; they affirm our bodies and the way God meets us through our senses; and in naming God as mother she honors womens’ bodies and experiences. What a gift to the church, especially as we imagine new ways to speak of and speak to Divine.

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It often takes time for me to write new music. A text or experience provides a creative spark but the germination process may take months. On Sunday, while listening to a sermon preached by Julia Stroud at St. Lydia’s (which reflected on the wound on Christ’s body as a space of radical welcome and inclusion), a short song started to flower. By the time we began prayer, the piece was ready to be shared.

We sang it a cappella but the score has a simple piano/guitar accompaniment. You’re welcome to use it as an invitation to prayer (as we did at St. Lydia’s), as a response to prayer petitions, or in another moment where we acknowledge that Christ knows us, loves us, and hears us.

The phrase ‘Mothering Christ’ comes from Jean Janzen’s hymn, “Mothering God, You Gave Me Birth,” which distills Julian’s writings into a beautiful Trinitarian hymn. My setting is much simpler.

Mothering Christ, you know us.
Mothering Christ, you love us.
Mothering Christ, you hear us.

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If you’re interested in other settings of Julian of Norwich’s words, here are some favorites.

Mothering God, You Gave Me Birth – arr. Tom Trenney (A setting of Jean Janzen’s text for SATB choir and piano, published by Augsburg Fortress)

As Surely As God Is Our Father – William Mathias (for SATB choir and organ, published by Oxford University Press)

Love Unfolding – Gwyneth Walker (for SATB choir and organ, published by E.C. Schirmer)

All Shall Be Well – Emily Scott (a paperless setting that can be taught to congregations)

All Shall Be Well – William Bradley Roberts (a paperless setting from Music By Heart)

the pilgrimage continues

I have been on pilgrimage for 23 days. (New readers are welcome to click here for context.) I have traveled almost 3,000 miles by car, 3,000 miles by air, and walked dozens of miles since I left New York City. I have driven almost the entire West Coast of the United States and gratefully have only one parking ticket to show for it.

I thought I might be tired by now, or at least ready to slow down, but I feel a strong call to move forward. I have encountered so much on this trip: natural beauty, works of art and architecture, pastors and congregations, strangers and fellow pilgrims. I have been blessed with space to be present to it all, to let it wash over me and soak into my soul. I have received love, goodness and guidance as I have walked the path. I have been cared for and supported in tangible ways.

I have found myself telling my story to others. Not just the story of this particular trip, but a deeper recounting of my faith journey, a testimony to God’s faithfulness and unconditional love. I have reconnected with individuals whom I had forgotten were part of my story: high school friends, college acquaintances, musicians from several places I have lived before. The memories have been rich, the nostalgia tangible. The past has come very close to the present and the strands are interwoven. To go forward on the path invites me to bring the richness, ambiguity and complexity of my life along.

I continue to find myself drawn to the natural world, to rugged and expansive places. Whether
walking a dry desert path, hiking a Pacific coastal trail or laying on a remote beach, I am leaning into the song of creation. I wonder if the Church’s song can find renewal in the beauty, diversity, interdependence and awe-inspiring complexity of the natural world.

Later this morning I drive to San Diego, where I’ll spend the weekend with Pioneer Ocean View United Church of Christ. Then I return to San Francisco for a final weekend of writing, worship and time with colleagues. I invite you to lean in during this last leg of the journey, even as this pilgrimage continues to pull me forward. I cherish the prayers and support that have come from so many of you.

God bless every step that I am taking, and bless the earth beneath my feet.

-Paul

bigger picture

I drove from San Francisco to Big Sur on Tuesday and have spent the last few days snaking down coastal roads, soaking in the deep blue of ocean and sky, inspired by rough-hewn coastline. I find myself stopping the car every few miles to take in the spectacular views. I snap a photo or two, take a deep breath and whisper prayers of gratitude for all this beauty.

I’m in a place of awe and delight, and it’s heightened while on a hiking trail or walking a beach alone. Having been away from New York City for almost two full weeks, my sense of speed and proportion have shifted. I think I understand the laid back West Coast pace better. I also realize that being outdoors nourishes and energizes my body and mind. I don’t think it’s ever been this clear to me before.

In the day to day, moment to moment flow of life, I have a habit of getting hung up on small things, micromanaging details. It’s easy to stop and perseverate, to obsess over a moment of challenge, a frustration, a criticism. But on pilgrimage, on this beautiful coastal journey, I have found myself stopping simply to enjoy what I see. I keep encountering things that are bigger than me, things that have existed on this planet far before me, things that reveal my limited perspective.

Hiking steep mountain paths, unsure of what’s around the next turn, renews my childlike excitement and sense of play. Driving among trees as wide as my car, trees I can barely see the tops of, puts my daily challenges in perspective. Feeling the endless flow of sea, in and out, shaping and reshaping everything in its path over time, reveals how impatient and impudent I am when I demand that people or institutions change when I want them to. Aware that tectonic plates deep below my feet could shift and buckle at any time, I am reminded that there are forces in the world that I simply cannot control.

I feel humble and ordinary, not unimportant or neglected. I feel more present to the moment, one of the blessings of pilgrimage. I continue to let go of what I think I know, what is familiar, what is controllable or measurable, and let myself be carried along by a plan, a path, a current, a wisdom that is older and wiser and deeper than I can imagine.

-Paul Vasile