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A Visit with Margery Kempe:
A Medieval Journey

By The Rev. Grant S. Carey
Trinity Cathedral, Sacramento, California

Margery Kempe was born somewhere around the year 1373 and died somewhere around the year 1438--the period of the first flowering of literature in English. In fact, she is regarded by some as the first woman to write an autobiography, although it must be said that she was completely illiterate. Her story was dictated to several persons over a period of many years, and the fact that it has survived at all is a miracle in itself. It was discovered only in 1934.

Margery was a contemporary of Geoffrey Chaucer and the Lady Julian of Norwich, who according the Margery's account, met with her and offered spiritual advice.

Apart from the fact that she was concerned with spiritual matters, her writings provide insight into the everyday life of the turbulent period in which she lived.

The Fourteenth and early Fifteenth Centuries were marked by war, plague, and great religious controversy. It was a time of great poverty among the poor, and great wealth among the upper classes--and the tension of an emerging middle class of merchants who bought and sold abroad. This was important because commerce played a significant part in Margery's remarkable experiences as a "world traveler."

Margery's father was a prosperous merchant who held several political offices in the township of Bishops-Lynn (now Kings Lynn) in Norfolk on England's North Sea, and who in later life became a member of parliament. She married John Kempe at twenty and had fourteen children.

She lived most of her life in Lynn, but unlike most women of her period, she visited many other parts to such places as Norwich, York, and Canterbury--recalling visits to churches, cathedrals and monasteries with insight and detail. Apart from their spiritual significance, her writings offer insight into Medieval Britain and the customs and controversies of the time.

Her travels give particular structure to her writings. As she recalls places, she also remembers the events that took place. Unlike Chaucer's Canterbury Tales (and who knows but that she might have traveled with such a group of pilgrims as he wrote of), her main interest was to record her spiritual journey--though her physical journey plays a significant part.

Her writings are known today as The Book of Margery Kempe. It may be read as a travelogue, a spiritual journey, the dramatic life of a medieval woman, a commentary on the times (political and religious), and an insight into the psyche of a complex and rather troubled person who rebelled against the constraints of her time and place. In that sense, Margery appears as a very modern woman.

Margery Kempe was illiterate. She depended on others to write her story as she dictated it. Her first account was written in Germany where her son had gone to live and where Margery soon followed. The writing was so bad that no one could translate it since it was a mixture of almost illegible German and English. She then turned to priests--one of whom was reluctant to serve as her amanuensis, probably because it was difficult to stand up such a strong-willed woman! Finally, she found a priest who was more sympathetic, and from him comes the book we have today; it was copied by monks at a later time, lost, and discovered in 1934.

The Book of Margery Kempe recalls her adventures as well as insights into her family and community life all of which were interwoven with her personal, mystical relationship with Christ.

There were those even in her lifetime who considered her to be either opportunist or delusional. I see her as an emotionally troubled woman who was nonetheless open to the gift of the Spirit which became manifest in many positive ways during her active and turbulent life.

At one point she suffered what today might be called a "nervous breakdown," which was attributed to an "unconfessed sin" (we are never told what this sin was) and feelings of guilt which led to periods of severe depression. Margery perceived herself punished by God and she "saw devils opening their mouths, their insides full of fire, grabbing at her and uttering threats." She was truly in torment, verbally attacking her husband and parents, and contemplating suicide. Her condition became so out of control that her family had to restrain her day and night.

And then one day, according to her story, she was visited by "our merciful Lord Jesus Christ. He was in human form, yet most pleasingly beautiful. Truly he was the loveliest sight that human eyes could ever gaze upon. Wearing a mantle of purple silk, he sat upon my bed; he looked at me with such a joyful face that I felt a sudden inner response as if strengthened in my soul. Then he spoke the following words to me: 'My daughter, why have you left me, when I never for one moment went away from you?'

"As soon as he had spoken these words, I swear that I watched as the whole room opened up so brightly it might have been by lightening, and he arose into the air, not very fast at all but easily and gracefully, so that I watched him all the while until the air closed in once more.

"Almost at once, I grew calm again and came to my senses. So that when my husband returned home, I asked him to give me back the keys to the larder so that I might get myself food and drink as had been my practice before I fell ill. But my servants and my nurses were against the idea, saying that if he handed over the keys I would be sure to give everything away. They still thought I was out of my mind."

She did regain the keys, as well as her composure and health. The lesson she learned from this experience was: "how our Lord Jesus Christ had worked his grace in me--blessed may he be who is always close at hand when we are in most trouble. For when people think he is far away from them, in truth he is very near indeed with his merciful grace."

Although she resumed her former duties in "a sensible, level-headed way," she remained unclear as to "what it was that was being asked of her."

One of the emotional problems she continued to be affected with was her severe "crying spells." While, for her, they were outward manifestations of feelings of ecstasy--they were largely misunderstood by her contemporaries, including her confessors and other clergy. She would become so ecstatic when she went to Mass, she would cry out so uncontrollably that she had to be removed from church so as not to disturb the priest whose sermons were being drowned out in her tears.

One priest told her: "Thou blubberest more than Balaams' Asse."

Margery, however, appears to have been totally sincere in her attempt to live her "life in Christ." One of her goals was to be recognized as a "spiritual woman," though, unlike her contemporary Julian of Norwich, Margery neither followed a formal religious discipline nor entered a religious order.

Although many today consider Margery a visionary and mystic, she was not so regarded by her contemporaries. As a married woman who attempted to live a life totally devoted to Christ, she finally came to accept the fact that it was her vocation to be misunderstood, even persecuted and rejected by her contemporaries, both clergy and lay.

She writes: "Soon I became used to being slandered and put down in public, shouted at and reviled by everyone in sight, all on account of the grace and virtue bought by the comfort of the Holy Spirit. Then it became a kind of comfort and inner strength when I suffered any pain for the love of God and on account of the new grace he was working in me."

And again: "Sometimes the Holy Spirit would inspire me and I would know about many things still hidden but about to happen. But more frequently, absorbed in these sacred speeches and conversations, I would weep and sob so much that people grew very alarmed. . . . It was hard for me to tell to tell of the grace that I was feeling; it seemed to come from heaven, to be well beyond the reach of my own power of reason."

Margery believed wholeheartedly that God had called her and revealed himself to her which accounts for her determination to have her story written down for others to read.

The first part of her book tells of her attempts to record her story--and the many frustrations she experienced in doing so. The priest who interacts in the book refers to Margery as "the creature"--which may not be entirely complimentary. He explains how Margery had engaged first one priest and then another to write her story, and was concerned that his willingness to write her story may affect dire consequences because Margery was such a controversial person.

One interesting aspect of the story is that this priest who was so reluctant to write her story and who complained that his eyesight was failing, suddenly regained his vision, making him able to complete the task. Was this a true miracle? Apparently the priest thought so!

Unlike the writings of Julian of Norwich who was concerned only with recording her visions or "shewings," Margery included accounts of her travels, marriage, and meetings with notable people, such as the Archbishop of Canterbury, which makes for interesting reading.

Later in her life, Margery visited Norwich and met with Lady Julian in her cell, seeking her advice. According to Margery, Julian was most kind. Margery writes: "I was able to tell her of the grace that God had put into my soul; of my compunction for past sins, of my contrition, the consolations I received from my devotions."

She also described her conversations with the Lord and the words he had put into her soul, for "I knew she was an expert in this very field, so I knew she would offer me good advice."

Julian did advise her--to remain obedient to God's will, carrying out with all her strength whatever prompting he put into her soul--but to take care that these were not contrary to God's glory or to the benefit of her fellow Christians. Because if this were not the case, then such promptings were not those of a good spirit, but rather of an evil one.

"The Holy Spirit can never urge us to do anything against charity, for if he did so he would be acting against himself, for he is the sum of all charity."

Julian and Margery were not kindred souls. They came from different backgrounds and religious experience. But Julian heard Margery out, and offered sound advice, not all of which Margery, always excessive in her actions, carried out.

What I would like for us now to reflect on a few significant details of Margery's life, as she records them, and then focus on her visions and insights to discover how these may pertain to our experiences and understanding of God in the twenty-first century.

Some highlights from the Life of Margery Kempe:

As noted earlier, Margery was born in c1373, the daughter of the Mayor of the city of Lynn (then Bishops Lynn) and twenty years later, she married William Kempe. She came from a prosperous family, probably wool merchants.

Seeking an understanding of Margery Kemp and her times, one must realize that religious faith was at the very core of Medieval life--and that faith was unquestioned. In fact, to question the teachings of the church was a crime and punishment was severe, often burning at the stake.

Margery did not question the faith as she received it; in fact, she was overly scrupulous in observing such customs as fasting and penance. Christianity of her time did not place as much emphasis on the Love of God as on God's wrath and judgment. It is with this understanding that Margery's insights become so meaningful to us.

Unlike most women of her time, Margery was not content to be a housewife and mother. She went into business and operated a brewery and later a mill--both of which failed. As a result of her daring to become other than what was normally expected of women, she was looked down upon by her contemporaries. (Could it have been jealously?)

Margery had a vision of heaven

She writes: "One night, as I lay in bed with my husband, I heard a sound of music so sweet and delightful that I thought I must be in Paradise. As soon as I heard it, I got out of bed saying: 'Alas that I did ever sin, for it is so merry in heaven.' For truly the melody was so sweet to my ear that it surpassed any kind of music in the whole wide world without compare. And certainly, ever after, as soon as I heard laughter and music, I would be overcome with tears of devotion, and sighs in abundance for the great bliss of heaven; and I never gave any thought for the shame and contempt of this wretched world."

Margery was so enthralled with her vision of heaven, that she talked about it incessantly to others who, frankly, got tired of hearing about it.

"Why are you always going on about heaven?" they said. "You have no idea what it is like, you haven't gone there any more than we have." Margery observed that they were upset because she no longer joined them in talking endlessly about worldly trivia.

After giving birth to fourteen children, and experiencing her vision of joy, Margery decided she had had enough of marital relationships and so she sought to convince her reluctant husband that they should now live together as brother and sister.

She writes of this in detail, expressing her detest of physical relations ("I would sooner have sucked up or eaten ooze from the gutter"), but she knew that by her wedding vows she was obliged to defer to her husband's wishes. So with much "weeping and wailing" she sought to persuade him to be chaste, telling him how she knew only too well that their excessive lovemaking was displeasing to God.

Finally after "three or four years" of arguing, John agreed to take the vow of chastity. This was indeed a victory for Margery as she takes the matter up again in chapter 11 revealing their final argument over the subject. "You are not a good wife to me," said John. Then, finally, sitting beneath a market cross, having just had a vision of Christ, she promised to pay all of her husband's debts and that she would "eat and drink with him every Friday at his pleasure." And John agrees, at which Margery suggests they say three "Our Fathers" together kneeling before the Market Cross. Afterwards they ate and drank together "in the spirit of great joy." "All this," she said, "happened on Midsummer Eve, 1413."

This episode is significant, I believe, because Margery was now free to go her own way, traveling to the Holy Land later that year.

She made her way to Venice and from there, she sailed to the Holy Land, riding a donkey to Jerusalem. So moved was she at the sight of the Holy City that, she writes, "And so it was when I first set eyes on Jerusalem, I was astride an ass; I was so moved that I thanked God from the bottom of my heart, and I prayed of his mercy that just as he had brought me safely to see the earthly city of Jerusalem, he would grant me the grace to see the city of bliss above."

While visiting the Church of the holy Sepulcher and feeling compassion for the Lord, she "fell down, no longer able to stand or even kneel, and there I lay, writhing and struggling in my body. I reached outside with my arms and cried aloud as though my heart world burst. For in the city of my soul, I saw truly and freshly as if it were for the first time how our Lord was crucified. I could hear as well as see face to face, that is, with spiritual insight--our Lady's grieving, Saint John's and Mary Magdalene's mourning. Together with all those countless lovers of our Lord."

"So great was my compassion that it became for me a bitter pain of loss not to share to the full our Lord's own true pain. I was quite unable to prevent myself from crying out loud, a kind of road it was, even though it might have been the death of me. This was the very first time I had ever experienced this sort of crying aloud in contemplation.--My cries were so earsplitting, so sudden, that people were taken unawares, save for those who had heard me cry out before and knew what it was about."

Of particular interest was her description of the places she visited while in the Holy Land. When she came to Bethlehem, to the church of the Nativity, and saw the crib where the Lord was born, "I experienced great consolation and conversation in my soul, as well as my usual sobbings and tears that were accompanied by great spiritual uplift. As a consequence of this, my companions would not let me eat with them, so I took my meals all by myself."

Later that year, Margery met with the Bishop of Lincoln and the Archbishop of Canterbury in order for them to authenticate her as a religious woman, confirm her religious experiences, and license her to travel abroad as a pilgrim, which she did, amazingly, alone, albeit with the help of strangers.

In 1414 she arrived in Rome. She writes of that adventure: "Later during my time in Rome, our Lord told me to give away all the money I had and make myself poor for the love of him." And this she did, also giving away money she had borrowed from a fellow pilgrim who "grew more and more excited and became very angry." But she promised to repay when they got back to England, and apparently this is just what she did. Yet in spite of her poverty, she was not forsaken. People took her in and looked after her, and after many adventures, she returned once again to England.

After remaining in Lynn a year or so, she set out for Spain, but not before suffering severe criticism for her uncontrolled crying and sobbing during which times she world turn blue and gray, the color of lead. People would spit at her in fear and pour scorn on her, declaring that she howled like a dog.

Margery was ostracized by her own community and avoided. It was then she determined to go to Santiago, Spain--but not all those aboard the ship wanted her to be with them. To one man who tried unsuccessfully to have her put off, she replied: "Sir, if you put me off this ship, my Lord Jesus will throw you out of heaven. I can tell you now, sir, that our Lord Jesus has no time for a rich man unless at the same time he is good and humble."

Margery won the day, and sailed for Spain. And reaching her destination, she reported "that those who had been so unpleasant in Bristol were very nice to me."

Shortly after her return home, Margery got into serious trouble and was tried as a heretic. Her eccentric behavior and her outspokenness confused her with the Lollard movement that was a very early protest against the established church, its clergy, and its beliefs. Many hundreds of Lollards were condemned and put to death, and Margery, because of her eccentric behavior, was highly suspect. She was examined by the Archbishop of York, questioned about her strange practices as well as her insisting on wearing white rather than black (which was normal for a woman of her age and station). She writes:

At length, I cried out loudly; and the archbishop, his clerics, and all the people present were startled--they and never heard the like of it, such a shrill cry.

Archbishop: Why did you cry like that, woman?

Margery: Sir, you will wish someday that you had cried as bitterly as I have.

Finally, after an examination on the Articles of Faith, the Archbishop could find no wrong in her, but his clerics told him in no uncertain terms that they didn't want her living there because she would only lead others astray through her talking. At which Margery spoke up to the Archbishop also in no uncertain terms, whereupon he told her to leave the diocese as soon as possible and cease speaking to the people and stirring them up.

When she was reminded that Saint Paul said that women should not preach, Margery refused to keep silence until "the Pope and holy church decree that no one shall be so bold as to speak of God. . . ."

Before taking her leave, she informed the Archbishop and the other clergy that they were inept when it comes to understanding the Gospel and carrying out the work of Christ. Whereupon the Archbishop said, "Here are five shillings. Get this woman out of my diocese, double quick."

And thus Margery escaped.

The last chapters of the Book of Margery Kempe relate to her later life, the death of her husband after an accident--and her tender care of him until he died.

Following his death, Margery traveled to Germany, and it is believed that she regained her place in Lynn's society, eventually being admitted into to the Guild of the Holy Trinity at Saint Margaret's Church.

At the end of the book there is a selection of her prayers. This one seems appropriate to close our adventure with Margery Kempe:

I thank you, Lord, for all those sins that you have saved me from falling into, all those sins I have not done. I thank you, Lord, for all the contrition that you have given me for those that I have committed, for these graces, and for all other graces that I need and that all people on earth need.

And for all who trust in my prayers, all those who will come to believe and trust until the world's end, I ask you, Lord, to grant them, of your great mercy, every blessing in soul and body that they shall ask for and that may be to the good of their souls. Amen.