Are you enclosed?

Hello Dear People,

Today, I’d like to talk about a medieval concept which might help us handle some of our own, very modern, challenges.

Many of us are living within restrictions that narrow our lives. Sometimes, these restrictions are difficult to handle. But some medieval people, for various reasons, chose to deliberately limit the boundaries of their lives. For them, it was a limitation to a physical location. For us, it may not be that (though it may), but the same considerations can apply.

They called it “enclosure.” To live in a very limited and circumscribed location, to take a vow of “stability” that tied one down to a certain place.

The freedom we take for granted today, to be able to move at will, was not something medieval people necessarily expected. Under the feudal system, workers were tied to the land of the lord. In many cases, they were not allowed to marry outside their own village or outside the holdings of their lord. Their children were born as villeins or serfs of that lord and were equally unfree to leave.

Various factors changed all this, such as the Black Death of 1348, which killed a lot of the lords and created a shortage of labor so that the working people could negotiate conditions more to their benefit. After that, people took vows of stability voluntarily, usually to devote themselves to a particular church or religious house. The most extreme example is, of course, the anchorites and anchoresses like Giulia, the character in my short stories, who confined herself to a room attached to a church.

Which is just weird.

And, what does that have to do with us today? 

The truth is, many of us are “enclosed” or, to use modern terms, confined or tied down. Maybe we are not limited to a single room or location, but our lives are restricted in important ways.

Perhaps, our activities are limited due to ill health. I have a good friend, a brilliant creative woman, who has to spend most of her time in bed. Of course, this grieves and frustrates her, though her ability to cope and live a vibrant, creative life is an inspiration to all who know her.

Perhaps, we are the constant caregiver to an elderly person or a special needs child. Everything we do centers around this other person, their needs, their safety, their desires. Or, maybe we have various fears that keep us in. Or we lack financial means to afford transportation and so live our lives in a tiny apartment in a big city. Perhaps we are hiding, in danger from another person (such as an abusive spouse) due to our previous bad choices or through no fault of our own.

And, even though we may be able to move around to some extent, we know that we are not free, that circumstances have bound us in some way, and that duty, fear, or some other heaviness weighs us down and keeps us from the freedoms that others seem to enjoy. We feel we are armchair travelers, forced to watch other people live full, adventurous lives. When we pass the on ramp to the interstate, we long to just drive up it and away . . .

But we don’t, because we physically, emotionally, or financially can not, or because we keep faith with love, commitment, and duty.

So, what can we learn from those medieval people who, like my Giulia, deliberately chose enclosure? What did they know that allowed them to live in such restricted circumstances for years without losing their minds? Not only did they not go crazy, but they lived creative, vibrant lives; wrote great, inspirational works; and inspired countless others of us for centuries. What did those women (and men) know that can help us when our own situation feels stifling?

ONE. They understood how to hold a “bright sadness,” a term I have taken from Franciscan writer Richard Rohr. These medieval mystics recognized that life on this earth is always a changing, organic integration of joy and grief. The most content people are the ones who can recognize this and hold onto joy in spite of the pain of unfortunate circumstances. “The soul is big enough,” my Giulia said, “to hold loss and joy at the same time.” We westerners tend to have a dualistic mind and to see everything as “either/or.” No, there is also “both.” We can hold our sense of loss as a natural part of life while at the same time experiencing fulfillment and happiness. Sadness may come and go, like inner weather, but we know it is not the sum total of our existence but only one element, and, rather than fight it or succumb to it, we accept it as part of an integrated life

TWO. They understood that simple service is the greatest satisfaction. We tend to think that these medieval visionaries withdrew to get away from other people, but that is not true. Most of their little rooms had a window that faced the street. Through that window, they offered comfort, inspiration, encouragement to any who came to them. In the days before psychotherapy, they were often the only counselor available and some of their writings show a deep insight into the human psyche far ahead of their times.

Personally, I wish I had a purpose. I wish I could do something of service to other people. I wish I could devote myself to benevolence or social justice—go to Ukraine or to our own border and work with the refugees.

But I have my mom.

So often, we don’t consider that what we are already doing is a service to the world. All the sacrifices we make for our elderly or our children—we think that’s just what we are supposed to do. We hesitate to call all that we give up “sacrifices.” We feel, because this responsibility was thrust upon us, because it is family, that it somehow doesn’t “count” as an important act of service in this world.  But it is. Helping my mom with grace and humor, day in and day out, is just as important to the sum total of kindness and good in the world as helping a stranger. When we don’t recognize that fact, we deprive ourselves of the satisfaction that we should derive from our sacrifices.

THREE. They lived with a sense of awe. In the first known book to be written in English by a woman, Julian of Norwich (born around 1342) imagined a tiny thing in the palm of her hand, no larger than a hazelnut. When she asked what it was, she believed God told her that it was the complete created universe. And she marveled at how small and fragile it seemed and wondered that it did not simply disintegrate. This deep, intentional awareness of the beauty, interconnectedness, and preciousness of all things permeated the lives of these mystics. Julian could even rhapsodize about digestion and evacuation:

“A man goes upright, and the food of his body is sealed as in a very fair purse.” When the time of his “necessity” comes, the purse is “opened and sealed again very cleanly.” Julian sees this as the divine design of God who “comes down to us, to the lowest part of our need.”

To open our eyes to the marvels around and within us, to live with awe as the fuel for our engines gives us a larger, brighter perspective than micro-focusing on our own situation.

Are you enclosed in some way? Do you feel like a butterfly doomed to remain stuck in its cocoon? My heart is with you. May the wisdom of visionary women like Giulia help us find peace and satisfaction, no matter our situations.