Julian of Norwich's image of Mother Jesus
Like breastfeeding children, we are fed from Christ's own body, the 14th-century mystic wrote.
In the late 14th century a woman on the brink of death had visions she believed to be from God. Later she would devote her life to a small cell next to a church where she would write and reflect on these visions. Recently I went and sat in that cell. It is simple, quiet, and, at the time, empty. In order to get there I walked through St. Julian's Anglican Church and through a door off the main worship space. Because her name is unknown, she has been given the name of Julian, the patron saint of the church where she lived and worshiped.
So there I sat, in the cell of Julian of Norwich. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. As my feet rested and my spirit relaxed I looked for an image in my heart. I wanted to channel some of that same spirit that revealed such beautiful and profound images to her. What I saw was my breastfeeding child. It was a memory of sitting up in the middle of the night with my newborn and marveling at how his tiny jaw moved up and down, his body calmed, and his belly filled with what my body provided him. A memory of how it felt to be so connected and to be so satisfied in mutually fulfilling each others need. A memory of that mix of instinct, love, relationship, and human dependency.
I thought of this and I understood what Julian meant when she wrote of feeding from the breast of Christ. When I first read these words I was in seminary and had not had the experience of babies, but of course I am a human and know what it means to be hungry and fed. The words surprised me, touched me, and stayed with me until 12 years later I sat in her cell with my eyes closed and my breath slowed. One translation reads this way:
