"I will not forget you"-Sermon for St. Julian's Feast Day, Isaiah 49:13-18
So, as perhaps you know, our Patron Saint, Julian, at about 30 years of age, suffered a life-threatening illness…perhaps the Black Plague that was ravaging Europe at the time. And, as her death felt impending, a priest was called to perform last rites. Then, in the very moment the priest held a crucifix over Julian to begin his prayers, she had 16 visions of Jesus or what she called her showings, and simultaneously she was completely healed. Following that miraculous experience, she spent the rest of her life, 44 years in total, living in a single room, or in monastic language, a cell, anchored to the side of St. Julian’s Church in Norwich, England. The tradition holds that she never again left that cell through the end of her life. She spent her time there praying and working on her great spiritual masterwork, “Revelations of Divine Love”, the first book published by a woman in the English Language. As I have often suggested over the years, I highly recommend giving the book a read. Though we are living some 600 years later, as she died in 1416, it remains as relevant, engaging, illuminating, and encouraging as ever. It is the definition of a timeless classic, and her words are, indeed, life-giving and God-breathed. One might even suggest that is was written for just the sort of uncertain days we are living through right now.
Now, having described the second half of her life as I just did, living and never leaving a cell anchored to the side of a church and focused on prayer and scholarly pursuits, it might be easily assumed that she lived a lonely life…or maybe better said…a solitary life. That she was rarely seen and rarely saw others. But, in fact, that is not the case…not even close. For, even after anchoring herself to St. Julian’s Church, in addition to spending her time writing and in prayer, she spent a considerable amount of her time with people…all sorts of people.
You see, Julian was not walled off from the world but, instead, had three windows in her cell. One opened to the altar, where she connected to God in Christ through the church’s family meal…where she received the bread and wine of Holy Communion. And, a second which opened to the church, where she connected with and worshipped alongside her family of faith. And, a third open to the public road (pic on the screen), and there she met all sorts and conditions of people…from princes to paupers…bishops to laity…all who came to her, from far and wide, for prayer, counsel and connection…without distinction. So, in fact, her life was full of relationships…full of people and meaningful, God-filled human encounters. Thus, without ever leaving her cell, Julian was a profound expression of God’s love to many, many people…caring for all those her eyes gazed upon through her open windows. In her day, she was a living reminder and, through her writings that we still enjoy today, continues to be a reminder…that by God’s grace we are all worthy of friendship, care and connection…all worthy of love and belonging…all worthy of God’s love and our own love…for all belong to God…and we all belong to each other.
So, as I was preparing this sermon for this St. Julian’s Feast Day and for this St. Julian’s Church in Cedar Park, TX, Julian’s windows and the people she saw through them brought to mind a story that I actually told on Holy Tuesday, so my apologies to the small but faithful crew that worshiped with us that day for the repetition. And, I noted to them that I had not told this story before because for a long time I felt some level of embarrassment about it. So, in the spirit of vulnerability and connection, I want to tell it again to a much larger cloud of witnesses…that’s all of you. Well, a number of years ago I was sitting at a stop light in central Austin and noted through my car window an unhoused person on the corner making his way down the line of stopped cars looking for assistance. Though, sadly speaking, this is a very common circumstance, something in my spirit quickened…something about this moment felt different. It was like I knew this gentleman was going to see me among the many drivers backed up at the light. And, what I quickly realized was that, if so, I had nothing to offer. I was out of manna bags. I rarely carry cash anymore. I scrounged in my center console but found no loose change or unopened packages of food. And, I was wearing my clergy collar, which made the fact that I had nothing to offer feel, at least in that moment, even worse to me. If this priest was praying for anything in that moment, it was for the light to turn green…so that I could move along and avoid any direct contact.
But, as the light seemed to remain stubbornly red and he moved ever closer, I pulled this move. I put my left hand around my collar to try to hide it…like I was messaging my neck or some such and stared straight ahead…avoiding eye contact. But, despite my best efforts to avoid this opportunity for connection…the man did see me. He walked right up to my driver side window and stared directly at me. At that point, I realized I could not hide anymore, awkwardly removed my hand from my neck, and rolled down my window. With a brightness in his voice, he said something to me like, “Hello pastor!”. And, as my face reddened, I quickly said, “Sorry, I have nothing to give to you…nothing to help.” And, he responded, “Would you just pray for me.” And, I did. I offered a quick blessing, just as the light turned green. Unlike Julian who likely spent much time with each visitor who turned up at her widow, this was the briefest sort of encounter. But, he responded to my blessing with a smile and a nod, as I quickly drove off. And, I have never forgotten that beloved person. I think of him often and continue to pray for him, including, once again, as I was preparing this sermon. Though I don’t know his name…I will never forget his face smiling at me as I pulled away.
And, though I feel like he had much more to give to me that day than I to him, he reminded me that I did have something to give this blessed stranger in my midst…this, as I have come to think of him, angel in my midst…my attention…my prayers…to really see him…to connect…even for the briefest of moments…but with great impact…for here I am today…many years later…thinking of him. And, I am immeasurably grateful to him for first seeing me…not as a commodity…someone to get something from…but as a fellow human…one of God’s own beloved…who, indeed, had something to share…something we all have to share…love and belonging. In seeing me through that car window and not letting me ignore him, he gave me the great gift of being vulnerable…to take off my armor and just be human…to be who God made me to be…a priest…whose most valuable work is not found in lofty words or competent administration or insightful teaching…but connection…being with and praying with those whose lives have been entrusted to me in some way…sometimes in unexpected ways. In seeing me, this beautiful soul, this stranger affirmed both my personhood and my priesthood.
Brene Brown writes, “Yes, I am imperfect and vulnerable and sometimes afraid, but that doesn’t change the truth that I am also brave and worthy of love and belonging…. Love and belonging are irreducible needs of all men, women, and children. We’re hardwired for connection—it’s what gives purpose and meaning to our lives.” And, I might add to Brene Brown’s wisdom, that love and belonging begin when we see each other…really see each other. That is being vulnerable enough to look into the eyes of a loved one or a stranger and see Christ present…acknowledge that they are…that they are worthy of our attention…our love and belonging…and, in doing so, we often find our own worthiness of love and belonging affirmed in return.
Julian, without ever leaving her cell, saw so many people at her window…connecting with each and all…prince and pauper…without distinction…affirming their love and belonging. This is now our work as well…for we are St. Julian of Norwich…and our work is to affirm the beauty and giftedness of others, friends and strangers alike, by giving them our time and attention…really seeing them. Most especially those living at the margins…those who…even sometimes by good-hearted folk like us…go easily and often unseen…the refugee or immigrant who feels indescribably uncertain and fearful in this time…the unhoused person on the corner…the student sitting alone at the lunch table…the grouchy coworker at the office that most try hard to avoid in the hallway…the visitor who was brave enough to come to this St. Julian’s for the first time knowing no one in the room…I believe it takes tremendous courage to walk into a new church for the first time…these beloved ones and so many more…all of them…deserve our love and, friends, they belong to us…for we all belong to God’s family…each and all…without distinction.
Jesus reminds us to love our neighbors as ourselves…and, maybe it is just me, but sometimes I think the hardest part of that equation is the loving ourselves part. It has always been my contention that if we don’t love ourselves well our capacity to love others is actually diminished. As I just noted, we are a good-hearted lot here at St. Julian’s and are often willing to boldly and generously extend love and belonging to others…friends and strangers alike…while being pretty hard on ourselves…thinking we don’t do enough…that we aren’t enough. So, I want you to hear me say you are worthy of love and belonging…each of you is worthy of love and belonging. And, I hope you will remember that…especially when you feel alone or unlovable…for we all find ourselves in that place from time to time. God loves you and will never let you go. I love you and our St. Julian’s family is immeasurably blessed by your competence, giftedness, kindness, hard work, and beauty. I see you and I am grateful for you. And, I hope you remember that…and talk sweetly to yourself about your beloved-ness often. For, when we see ourselves for who we really are…beloved ones…who belong to God and each other…beloved ones…worthy of all the love we can receive…we are better equipped, more ready and willing, to see others…like that beloved one on the street corner who saw me…like Julian at her window who saw all who came to her. I really don’t’ think I can understate what a difference it can make to be seen. Being seen is life-giving. It can even be life-saving.
This is our call as Julian’s namesake, alive and active in the world today, to see and be seen…with our windows open…ready for those moments and places for connection and relationship building…to give and receive love…to belong and offer belonging. For it is in the intimate moments when humans connect, friends and strangers alike, that God’s love is birthed into our very midst…the impossible becomes possible…and we become fully alive…remembering who we really are, lovers and life-givers, and remembering to whom we really belong. Amen.