For All Manner of Election

When that young woman
sitting in her hermitic cell
in the Church of St. Julian
of Norwich, England
penned her words

She sat in social upheaval
surrounded by people
full of panic and dread
All assigning blame for evil.

Imagine the tension wrought
as two rival dynasties fought
for the coveted throne
Proponents of both sides bled.

Black Plague for seven years brought
survival of families to a halt
perhaps even her own,
half of her country was dead.

Age thirty, in five hours of thought
sixteen visions she was shown
as she lie deathly sick in bed.

With the 13th Showing, finally a knowing
to her 14th century wondering,
all centuries wonder in great suffering,

Why would a God all-knowing
not stop sin from rapidly growing?

The Almighty had something to say
through Jesus the suffering Christ
who came to show the way

With great tenderness flowing
and no ounce of blame
He spoke mighty revelation
into the midst of a living hell.

Words not for her alone
She took up her Medieval pen
for those in whom dread does dwell.

Even now to our generation a banner,
into the longest winter, spring,
the suffering Christ to us does tell

“...all shall be well,
and all shall be well,
and all manner of thing
shall be well.”