Margery Kempe
The Margery Kempe that emerges over the course of the
Book is perhaps not quite the figure the author intended to
portray. The Book is clearly meant to be a sort of brief for
Margery's holiness and divine inspiration—her sainthood, in fact—but the reader
is left with the impression that, mystic or not, Margery could be an
exasperating person to deal with: unpredictable, hyper-emotional, and rather
self-obsessed. When we consider many of the routine occurrences of Margery's
life (such as her loud weeping during church services and her walking up to a
total stranger's child and bursting into tears because the child reminds her of
Jesus), it is hard not to sympathize with her angry neighbors and frustrated
fellow-pilgrims. One of the few comic moments of the Book
occurs when Margery's husband, exhausted by her insistence that the pair be
celibate, asks if she would rather see him decapitated by a murderer than have
sex with him. Margery says yes, and John, thoroughly and understandably
discouraged, replies, “You are no good wife.”
Margery is honest about her own failings, and her attention to her
shortcomings is just as important as her self-praise. Margery does brag about
the ways God has singled her out, but she just as often emphasizes her weakness
and dependence on God. For example, Margery includes the
embarrassing moment when she tries to take a man up on his proposal that they
begin an adulterous affair—only to find that the man had been joking. She
remains conscious of others' opinions and guards her reputation, but she shows
herself repeatedly humiliated and scorned, begging for food in Rome and often
treated like an outcast at home. A kind of irony marks many of Margery's
experiences. For example, she gives up sex with her husband but has sexually
charged visions of Jesus. She says that before her mystical life began, she had
been overly concerned with having fancy clothes, yet she then devotes chapters
of her memoir to her all-white wardrobe. Margery is devout and respectful of the
forms of the church, yet she is often disruptive in her congregation, pursuing
an individualistic spiritual path and challenging the clergy when she sees fit.
What unifies all of the disparate elements of Margery's personality and
experiences is her overwhelming urge to refer everything to the spiritual
plane—to see God's will and love as immanent in every aspect of her life. Seen
in this particular light, certain elements of a story such as hers which might
seem important—a person's name, for example, or the
description of a landscape—can be left out if they do not help us toward this
primary understanding. What matters in any situation is the way in which it
reveals to us God's will as active in the world. God's will is active in the
weather and in the Mass; Jesus is present in our minds and in a child in the
street. This is the main thing Margery learns from her visions. Again and again,
Jesus tells her that he has chosen her personally, that he died on the cross for
her personally, and that he remains concerned with the smallest events of her
life.
Margery's Book can be seen as one woman's effort to sift
through her personal history, searching for moments where God's presence can be
felt and described. For all of her exotic religious experiences, Margery does
not claim to be special; she does not claim to know why God has chosen to visit
her, and not someone else, with tears and visions (though she dutifully records
all of the praise she does receive from Jesus). Part of her point is that if
these things can happen to plain, undeserving Margery Kempe of Lynn, they can
happen to anyone, anywhere, who has faith and turns to God. As an example, she
presents her own story of transformation, showing us how God can turn a
trembling invalid into a courageous pilgrim—someone willing to stand up to
hostile authority and even face down an angry mob. In the end, even if Margery
fails to make the case for her own sainthood, she leaves behind a remarkable
testimony of personal faith and conviction.
