Thanks for pointing out the cheerful summertime blooms and seeds in the margins of the somber crucifixion scene. It reminded me of how, when tragedy strikes, you think, "How can life go on as it was?" And then the birds sing and the fruits ripen on the tree. Such a paradox! Yet also very deep theologically, I think.
Yes, that moment when you realize that life will go on, is going on, has been going on, despite the weight of suffering and tragedy—it's a Resurrection moment. The Resurrection is encoded in that medieval painting of the beflowered Crucifixion, and it's encoded in our own lives.
Beautifully written. This and the previous piece have been very helpful for me processing a recent medical event that, for any woman in premodern times was a death sentence but nowadays is practically more of an extremely painful inconvenience. I think a part of me recognizes that at that primeval human level, I should have felt the veil grow thin; this should have been a moment where I faced my sins, looked ahead to the four last things, and marveled upon how the soul teeters between life and death; but instead I was filling out paperwork from the hospital bed (and frankly, feeling guilty for being incapable of mystical introspection on the subject).
I sympathize with you here, and I'm truly glad that these articles have found a helpful place in your life. My experience with health crises has been that they are easier to spiritualize after the fact, compared to when we're actually in the midst of the pain and fear. I'm not saying that's how it *should* be, but it seems to be the way it often is.
So true! When I went through cancer surgery and treatment many years ago, it took all my powers to just get through it (and also face possible death). It was all so very much the present and nothing else - just going through it - pain, uncomfortable procedures, bad side effects of drugs, and sickening chemo and the terrible weakness afterwards, which took years of recovery. I had no time then to see that that suffering had changed me deeply. It took a year of pondering and reassessing my life, to deal with emotions I had not acknowledged at the time. I started writing poems to express what was coming out of this experience because I had no other way at the time to pull it out of me. But great good came from it. I realized that my life at that time had to change. It eventually propelled me back to the Church, which I had left after Vatican II destroyed the Mass I had loved and cherished. I guess I no longer look at suffering in the same way. I don't say I like it, but now I know that if I suffer, it is a good from His hands and contains lessons and an invitation to deeper closeness. Thank you for this post and for the beautiful quotes. You are hitting us with some profound thoughts to ponder.
Thank you for this. I struggle every day with the pain we had to watch our very dearly loved foster daughter go through. It hardest to watch someone you love suffer, be unable to protect them, and make sense of that. Especially someone small.
I’m not sure how germane the following thoughts are but I wanted to share them in case they might be helpful to whomever reads them. I despise the experience pain and suffering, but strangely, I have learned to see it as a gift and to thank God for it. I do not seek it out except in little mortifications that are really just a bit uncomfortable and inconvenient at worst. But when my body hurts or my soul is in agony Jesus is giving me the opportunity to suffer with Him. Joined with His pain and suffering, mine becomes redemptive. Sometimes I offer it for a specific intention, but more often than not I give it back to Him to use as He wills and thank Him for the opportunity. The nuns used to call it “offering it up.”
I was delighted to see Julian of Norwich quoted at the end of your essay. I read through her “Showings” this past year and marveled at how she saw pain as an addition to her earthly life rather than just a bitter inconvenience.
Thank you for this comment. Julian of Norwich is a great inspiration for me. I haven't written about her for Via Mediaevalis yet, but this article that I wrote for New Liturgical Movement might be of interest to you:
Thanks so much for linking to your article! I particularly like how you described her language as having grown up alongside the heather and ash groves of her homeland.
I only own the edition edited by Nicholas Watson and Jacqueline Jenkins (which took me a while to get through), so having a guide to other quality translations/editions to add to my library is very helpful!
Thanks for pointing out the cheerful summertime blooms and seeds in the margins of the somber crucifixion scene. It reminded me of how, when tragedy strikes, you think, "How can life go on as it was?" And then the birds sing and the fruits ripen on the tree. Such a paradox! Yet also very deep theologically, I think.
Yes, that moment when you realize that life will go on, is going on, has been going on, despite the weight of suffering and tragedy—it's a Resurrection moment. The Resurrection is encoded in that medieval painting of the beflowered Crucifixion, and it's encoded in our own lives.
That’s a wonderful way to describe this! I will remember that. You really have a way with putting deep thought into words that move. Thank you.
Beautifully written. This and the previous piece have been very helpful for me processing a recent medical event that, for any woman in premodern times was a death sentence but nowadays is practically more of an extremely painful inconvenience. I think a part of me recognizes that at that primeval human level, I should have felt the veil grow thin; this should have been a moment where I faced my sins, looked ahead to the four last things, and marveled upon how the soul teeters between life and death; but instead I was filling out paperwork from the hospital bed (and frankly, feeling guilty for being incapable of mystical introspection on the subject).
I sympathize with you here, and I'm truly glad that these articles have found a helpful place in your life. My experience with health crises has been that they are easier to spiritualize after the fact, compared to when we're actually in the midst of the pain and fear. I'm not saying that's how it *should* be, but it seems to be the way it often is.
So true! When I went through cancer surgery and treatment many years ago, it took all my powers to just get through it (and also face possible death). It was all so very much the present and nothing else - just going through it - pain, uncomfortable procedures, bad side effects of drugs, and sickening chemo and the terrible weakness afterwards, which took years of recovery. I had no time then to see that that suffering had changed me deeply. It took a year of pondering and reassessing my life, to deal with emotions I had not acknowledged at the time. I started writing poems to express what was coming out of this experience because I had no other way at the time to pull it out of me. But great good came from it. I realized that my life at that time had to change. It eventually propelled me back to the Church, which I had left after Vatican II destroyed the Mass I had loved and cherished. I guess I no longer look at suffering in the same way. I don't say I like it, but now I know that if I suffer, it is a good from His hands and contains lessons and an invitation to deeper closeness. Thank you for this post and for the beautiful quotes. You are hitting us with some profound thoughts to ponder.
Thank you for this. I struggle every day with the pain we had to watch our very dearly loved foster daughter go through. It hardest to watch someone you love suffer, be unable to protect them, and make sense of that. Especially someone small.
Truly, to watch our beloved young ones suffer can leave a deep wound.
I’m not sure how germane the following thoughts are but I wanted to share them in case they might be helpful to whomever reads them. I despise the experience pain and suffering, but strangely, I have learned to see it as a gift and to thank God for it. I do not seek it out except in little mortifications that are really just a bit uncomfortable and inconvenient at worst. But when my body hurts or my soul is in agony Jesus is giving me the opportunity to suffer with Him. Joined with His pain and suffering, mine becomes redemptive. Sometimes I offer it for a specific intention, but more often than not I give it back to Him to use as He wills and thank Him for the opportunity. The nuns used to call it “offering it up.”
I was delighted to see Julian of Norwich quoted at the end of your essay. I read through her “Showings” this past year and marveled at how she saw pain as an addition to her earthly life rather than just a bitter inconvenience.
Thank you for this comment. Julian of Norwich is a great inspiration for me. I haven't written about her for Via Mediaevalis yet, but this article that I wrote for New Liturgical Movement might be of interest to you:
https://www.newliturgicalmovement.org/2024/05/a-readers-guide-to-mystical-writings-of.html
Thanks so much for linking to your article! I particularly like how you described her language as having grown up alongside the heather and ash groves of her homeland.
I only own the edition edited by Nicholas Watson and Jacqueline Jenkins (which took me a while to get through), so having a guide to other quality translations/editions to add to my library is very helpful!
So glad the article was helpful for you! I really think that Julian speaks to our age and needs to be more widely known and read.