Tonight I’m bursting at the seams with all that I have been shown. My hand still shakes as I write this down. It’s been more than twenty years since the Showing, but the sight of that little thing, that tiny hazelnut that holds everything that God ever made, is clearer than the stone of my wall.
How is it that I, just a simple woman stuck in this cell, am the one to be shown this deep truth? The priests out there are still preaching of the fire and brimstone, telling everyone to be terrified of God’s anger. It’s like they seek to scare the people half to death! But my truth, the one God has shown me, has no anger in it, only love, steady, joyous love. He is like our best, most loving Mother, wrapping us tight in her arms and making sure we are safe.
This is the big, beautiful secret that Jesus entrusted me with; that Jesus is not just our Lord but also our Mother, feeding us and working tirelessly for us. This isn’t something I read about in one of those dusty old books; it is a living breathing idea God breathed right into my soul. But if I speak of it too loudly, I will be in trouble. There are good men in this Church, but they are so jumpy right now - they see Lollardy and heresy in every single thing that doesn’t sound exactly like what they learned in school.
The dearest part of this whole vision is seeing Jesus in the role of our Mother. He is the true Mother, who never suffers from fatigue, only endless patience. Just as a mother gives birth and then tenderly nourishes her child, Christ gave birth to us in His suffering on the cross and now feeds us with the blessed Sacrament - His own self. He watches over us in our quiet hours, ready to pick us up when we stumble. I feel His tenderness like a cloak, and this profound, gentle connection to our Lord is something the stern scholars of the day simply cannot or will not comprehend. It is too soft, too domestic, for those suspicious churchmen.
I spent all day yesterday talking with Father Stephen, and it was absolutely exhausting. It’s like I put on a performance. I have to be so careful with these things. While I talk often about God’s love, I have to constantly tie it back to Christ’s suffering and what the Holy Church already teaches. I have to keep saying, over and over, that I am just a foolish little thing, unworthy of these great comforts, and that my vision was just for me to feel better. I tell them that I am only repeating their doctrines, just with better lighting, I suppose. It’s a ridiculous tightrope that I balance on - I have this perfect, priceless truth, but I have to pretend that it’s just a common belief or idea, or they will accuse me of stealing and burning the stone and maybe me along with it.
The thing that really wore me out was having to go over that ridiculous “story” of my sickness, again. I had to make sure my voice was steady and serious and “claim” that I had prayed for three specific gifts: a clear view of Christ’s passion, a terrible illness to bring me closer to God, and to have 3 wounds.
This little lie - that I actually asked for the sickness and the vision - it’s what keeps those crazy suspicious churchmen from dragging me out of here. They don’t believe God would give me these gift for free. They only trust visions that are earned through formal prayer and suffering, like Margery’s terrible child birth. That makes it safe and true, in their eyes. It it completely absurd!
My kindest Savior, who is nothing but absolute goodness, just poured His comfort into my soul when I was just a terrified girl on my deathbed. There is no merit, no asking, just Jesus’ pure love. But if I told them that He gave me this knowledge freely, an unmerited gift, a spontaneous visit, they would surely panic. They would think that I am a dangerous fanatic, spewing terrible unapproved theology. It is this forced humility, this theatrical request for suffering to keep the authorities happy and my cell door locked, that steals the joy right out of my heart. I have to pretend the vision was a reward for my suffering instead of the boundless, sheer overflow of God’s joyful heart.
But I’ll keep doing it. I will keep my head lowered. I will keep swearing that I am nothing. I will put every certain truth that I have been told inside this Church’s locked box. Because if I don’t, how is my simple, honest message that all shall be well ever going to survive? My little life doesn’t matter, but this truth does tremendously. I will be as quiet and humble as they demand, as submissive as this scary age requires, if it means that this truthful message gets out safely. I pray God understands why I have to play their little game. It is only because I love His truth so much.
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