Bells of Julian

    Loud are the bells of Norwich
        and the people come and go.
    Here by the tower of Julian,
         I tell them what I know.

     Ring out, bells of Norwich,
        and let the winter come and go
             All shall be well again, I know.

     Love, like the yellow daffodil,
         is coming through the snow.
     Love, like the yellow daffodil,
        is Lord of all I know.
                                ` 
    All shall be well, I'm telling you,
         let the winter come and go
    All shall be well again, I know.
                                      Sydney Carter, Bells of Julian

We haven't gotten to the yellow daffodils yet, but we have yellow crocuses. Monday these crocuses were under a mound of snow. Today the sun shone, the temperature inched over 40 degrees, the crocuses flung themselves open, and the bees rushed out from wherever bees hide for the winter, loading themselves with pollen.

And the snowdrops that were flattened and, I thought, finished a week ago, sprang back up and spread their petals wide. All March there has been a repeated refrain of snow at the beginning of the week, then warming and melting and the crocuses and snowdrops timidly opening, only to be covered in another snowstorm. And yet they are still here -- the epitome of perseverance, letting the winter come and go.

The Julian in the song is Julian of Norwich, a medieval English woman mystic and anchoress. Last year during Lent I read her Showings, and around Easter I posted several stories related to her insights, and the well-known quote, "All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well."  (Click on Julian in the list on the right, scroll to the earliest entry at the bottom and work your way upwards, if you want to read these.)

"All shall be well" can sound like a too-easily-rattled-off line, but Julian wrote out of awareness of great suffering, and this message was given to her as she wrestled with her questions and wonderings -- and her deeply felt knowledge that God is Love.

Daffodils -- or crocus -- in the snow, winter coming and going, the messiness of spring and of life generally -- Julian's words come from wrestling with the paradoxes.

I hadn't heard the song I'm quoting, Bells of Norwich, before last week, when my son sent me this clip in response to one of my blog postings. A friend of his is using it with a children's choir for Easter. It fits well with this time of year, at least here in northern Indiana, in the earliest stages of spring. (The song starts at 2:00 minutes, if you want to skip the pre-song chatter.)