Margery's experience was not unlike that of many contemporary women from the middle, and sometimes upper, classes. Like Mechthild of Magdeburg, Christina Mirabilis, Hadewijch of Antwerp, and Catherine of Siena -- all of whose lives she had heard read aloud to her -- Margery wanted to do more with her life than simply to be called "Madame" and be first in line at the offertory. She'd had her children, tried her hand at business, and was ready for something entirely new. In her Book, which survives only in one copy, she described how, when her confessor would not hear her about a matter of great anxiety, she suffered a sort of breakdown, trying to injure herself until restrained, and eventually falling into a weeks-long stupor (note that in her Book, she never uses her name, but only calls herself "this creature"):
And, whan sche had long ben labowrd in thes and many other temptacyons that men wend sche schuld nevyr a skapyd ne levyd, than on a tym, as sche lay aloone and hir kepars wer fro hir, owyr mercyful Lord Crist Jhesu, evyr to be trostyd, worshypd be hys name, nevyr forsakyng hys servawnt in tyme of nede, aperyd to hys creatur, whych had forsakyn hym, in lyknesse of a man, most semly, most bewtyuows, and most amyable that evyr mygth be seen wyth mannys eye, clad in a mantyl of purpyl sylke, syttyng upon hir beddys syde, lokyng upon hir wyth so blyssyd a chere that sche was strengthyd in alle hir spyritys, seyd to hir thes wordys: "Dowtyr, why hast thow forsakyn me, and I forsoke nevyr the?" And anoon, as he had seyd thes wordys, sche saw veryly how the eyr openyd as brygth as ony levyn, and he stey up into the eyr, not rygth hastyli and qwykly, but fayr and esly that sche mygth wel beholdyn hym in the eyr tyl it was closyd ageyn. And anoon the creature was stabelyd in hir wyttys and in hir reson as wel as evyr sche was beforn, and preyd hir husbond as so soon as he cam to hir that sche mygth have the keys of the botery to takyn hir mete and drynke as sche had don beforn.Having recovered her "wyttys," and recalling her great vision of Christ, she soon informed her husband that she would no longer lie "in comown"with him, and asking his permission to take up a lay religious life. After much cajoling, he relented, and Margery soon took to wearing a habit of her own designing, all of white. In church, she would suddenly burst out weeping, to the great annoyance of her fellow parishioners -- but as she explained, it was only out of sympathy for Christ's great mercy.
We'll read of her many travels this week, including a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, as well as a perilous time when she went to see Archibiship Arundel -- the very man who had promulgated the banning of the Bible in English! -- to seek his permission to carry on her religious life. He might very easily have had her arrested, as were many other religious women who identified as "Lollards" -- some of whom were burnt at the stake. Instead, for reasons divine or otherwise, he granted her request.
Perhaps it was natural for Margery to seek spiritual sisters -- but, though in the Netherlands the Beguine movement welcomed lay women, there was no such lay order in England. So she went to see Julian, and the two spoke "privily" (privately); no record is known of what they discussed.
Julian, who had at a young age been beset by visions, which she called "showings," never spoke or allowed any writings about them to circulate during her lifetime. Two versions of her Shewings are extant, one a good deal longer than the other, which suggests some possible revision later in her life. She espoused a number of novel ideas, including that of Jesus as Mother, and was perhaps best known for her lines, echoed by the great poet T.S. Eliot in "Little Gidding" (I give the original first, and then Eliot's paraphrase):
After this the Lord browte to my mynd the longyng that I had to Hym aforn. And I saw that nothyng letted me but synne, and so I beheld generally in us al. And methowte, if synne had not a ben, we should al a ben clene and like to our Lord as He made us. And thus, in my foly, aforn this tyme, often I wondrid whiby the gret forseyng wysdam of God the begynyng of synne was not lettid. For than, thowte me, al shuld a be wele. This steryng was mikel to forsakyn, and nevertheless mornyng and sorow I made therefor without reason and discretion. But Jesus, that in this vision enformid me of all that me nedyth, answerid by this word, and seyd: Synne is behovabil, but al shal be wel, and al shal be wel, and al manner of thyng shal be wele.
Whatever we inherit from the fortunate
We have taken from the defeated
What they had to leave us—a symbol:
A symbol perfected in death.
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
By the purification of the motive
In the ground of our beseeching.
And yet, lovely as those lines -- and Julian's Showings -- are, it's hard to imagine what kind of life would be available to women today who, based on visions of a personal relationship with Christ, wished to lead a life as public religious figures. The film Household Saints -- extra points to anyone who watches it and writes a response -- suggests one possibility; but are there others? The folk trio of Bock, Muir, and Trickett set the anchoress's words to music in their "Julian of Norwich," and Nick Cave wrote a song about "Christina the Astonishing" -- so perhaps these figures still speak to us today. Do they to you?