God: A Story of Revelation by Deepak Chopra

Author:Deepak Chopra [Chopra, Deepak]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General, Self-Help, cookie429, Personal Growth, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9780062020680
Publisher: HarperOne
Published: 2012-09-25T04:00:00+00:00

6

Julian of Norwich

“All Shall Be Well”

Heads turned when Mistress Kempe rode through town. You couldn’t miss her scandalous white dress—she called it her “pompous array”—which properly belonged on a virgin. Mistress Kempe had borne fourteen children, the first of which drove her insane for a time. (She was lucky to recover from her distraction, if recover she did.) Now she wouldn’t let her husband touch her anymore.

“You’ll enjoy pleasure enough when you arrive in heaven, John Kempe,” she told him tartly. He wasn’t so sure it was a fair trade.

There was also talk about her crying in public, with big blobby tears and wailing for Jesus. You never knew when it would happen. Mistress Kempe said it came from the unbearable ecstasy of beholding God’s works all around her. Was a haywagon crossing her path or an old donkey one of God’s marvels? Perhaps, but the crying was so loud and strange (something between a screech owl and a squealing piglet) that it unnerved people.

“God has made me what I am, and I won’t apologize for him,” she replied to all complaints.

A rich retinue followed her everywhere, even when she went to buy a sack of turnips. Any new queerness to be spotted in Margery Kempe was a popular topic.

She put on a show of enjoying the attention. “Jesus is the one who speaks to me, every day. That’s all I need or want. The rest is like dust on my slipper.”

“Is he speaking to you right now?” people would ask, making her laugh.

“How could he? I’m the one talking right now. Are you deaf?”

She was actually worried about her holy outbursts, but in public she was brazen, as befits the daughter of a five-time mayor of Bishop’s Lynn. As a member of Parliament, too, he was regularly called down to London, especially during troubled times.

“What times would those be?” asked the wags in the local taverns. “The plague, the war in France, the new taxes that have starved half the peasantry, or the rebellions that killed off the rest?”

If Margery’s visions came from anywhere, they came from the feeling that the end of days might be near. By God’s mercy, the whole of England saw nothing but woe even before the boy-king, Richard II, proved to be a weakling, grossly deceived by his corrupt ministers.

In a land that prayed three times a day and attended church twice on Sunday, how much more did God want? The worst troubles had come in 1381 when Margery was eight. In one year the poll tax tripled, the lion’s share going to finance endless foreign wars and the rest lining the pockets of corrupt courtiers. A tax collector was attacked by an enraged mob south of London. It was a spark, and the peasants were dry tinder. Mobs assembled without warning. They marched in from the country, moving over the land like a raging monster. Pitched battles arose. A summer of violence cost the archbishop of Canterbury his life, and he wasn’t alone. The peasant army even faced down the king and demanded their freedom from serfdom.

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