The medieval world at its high point was far from a time of dry metaphysics, religious rigidity and conformity, or darkness and superstition. In actuality, it was a time of creative intellectual ferment, and of tender and warm faith. The age that produced the great cathedrals and inspired scholastic theology was also a time of spontaneous worship that produced many charismatic movements. Ordinary Christians expressed their wonder in much the same way that modern charismatics express theirs: by praying aloud without words and by singing inspired songs. This tradition continued for several hundred years after the end of the Middle Ages.
The years 1050–1350 were a springtime for the Christian church. It emerged from the long night of bloody barbarian invasions to a remarkable period of life. From the fifth century until the eleventh, Europe had been overwhelmed by successive waves of barbarian invaders. However, the church’s willingness to convert barbarian tribes and princes, its faithfulness in preserving small embryos of learning and culture in Christian communities, and the openness of a great many young children to seeking union with God in contemplative prayer brought about an era of blessing.
This three-hundred-year period produced universities and great works of scholastic theology and, to some extent, succeeded in humanizing and Christianizing an entire society. Church historian H. Daniel Rops writes: For three long centuries … society enjoyed what may be considered the richest, most fruitful, most harmonious epoch in all the history of Europe, an epoch which may be likened to spring after the barbarian winter. (Cathedral and Crusade [1957], 2)
People possessed a childlike but deeply rooted faith that allowed them to discover new dimensions of human love and charity. This faith and wonder found expression in the lofty spires of cathedrals and in remarkable works of music and art. Faith in miracles, sometimes to the point of excessive credulity, abounded. Men of the stature of St. Bernard of Clairvaux and St. Francis were produced in this fertile ground. Saints were many, and nearly every city or village could claim its share of holy persons and mystics who had lived there.
Wonder and praise also found an outlet in expressive prayer and worship. The glossolalia/jubilation tradition received from the early church continued and flourished, as did other forms of expressive prayer and worship. Although improvised jubilation was no longer a regular part of the liturgy, it remained part of the prayer experience of common people. Jubilation began to include spontaneous body movements and dance-like gestures.
In the medieval period an even closer resemblance to the tongues of the New Testament and of the Pentecostal movement becomes apparent. Evelyn Underhill, who has done what is probably the most significant work on understanding the jubilation of the medieval period, suggests a close kinship between jubilation and the tongues of the New Testament. She writes: Richard Rolle, Ruysbroeck, and others have left us vivid descriptions of the jubilus, which seems to have been in their day, like the closely related “speaking with tongues” in the early church, a fairly common expression of intense religious excitement. (Underhill, Jacopone da Todi [1919], 77-78)
Personal Devotion to Jesus
A warm devotion to a personal Jesus flourished. The movements of Francis, Bernard, and Dominic encouraged love for a very human Jesus. Bernard of Clairvaux, who lived in the twelfth century and perhaps influenced the popular devotion of the “age of faith” more than any other man, could say: Hail, Jesus, whom I love. Thou knowest how I long to be nailed with thee to the cross. Give thyself to me.… Draw me wholly to thee, and say to me: “I heal thee, I forgive thee.… ” I embrace thee in a surge of love. (quoted in Rops, Cathedral and Crusade, 48)
St. Bernard’s words tremble with tenderness as he repeats the name of Jesus. To his monks he says: “Your affection for your Lord Jesus should be both tender and intimate” (On the Song of Songs, trans. by Kilian Walsh [1971], vol. 1, p. 150). Bernard’s sermons are known to have taught healing for both body and soul in the name of Jesus. After describing the healing of the cripple by Peter and John, he continues: Write what you will, I shall not relish it unless it tells of Jesus. Talk or argue about what you will, I shall not relish it if you exclude the name of Jesus. Jesus to me is honey in the mouth, music in the ear, a song in the heart. Again, it is a medicine. Does one of us feel sad? Let the name of Jesus come into his heart, from there let it spring to his mouth, so that shining like the dawn it may dispel all darkness and make a cloudless sky. (On the Song of Songs, vol. 1, p. 110)
Many hymns were written to the name of Jesus. Such hymns as Bernard’s Jesu, Dulcis Memoria (known in English hymnals as “Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee”) were the songs sung by the average peasant and townsperson.
St. Francis of Assisi, a “friend of Jesus,” along with the brothers who followed him, sent this same kind of devotion to Jesus ringing through the cities and villages of Europe. The God-man was not simply Christ, or the Incarnation, or the “Word made flesh.” “Jesus”—his personal name—was the “one most loved.” People commonly prayed and sang little poems known as “jubilations” which included a repetition of the name of Jesus with a short descriptive phrase. A word frequently used in these descriptions was dulcis, or “sweet.”
A fourteenth-century English preacher and mystic, Richard Rolle, writes: I cannot pray, I cannot meditate, but in sounding the name of Jesus, I savor no joy that is not mingled with Jesus. Wheresoever I be, wheresoever I sit, whatsoever I do, the thought of the savor of the name of Jesus never leaves my mind.… Verily the name of Jesus is in my mind a joyous song and heavenly music in mine ear, and in my mouth a honeyed sweetness. (Selected Works of Richard Rolle, ed. by C. C. Heseltine [1930], 81)
This devotion to the name of Jesus bears remarkable similarity to the constant use of this name in charismatic renewal. Perhaps it marks a shift in emphasis from Jesus the concept to Jesus the person.
Theologians and Scholars
Jubilation was not simply the experience of peasant folk and a few saints and mystics. It was also described and probably experienced by most of the major theologians and intellectual figures of the Middle Ages. The theologians and scholars had a great sense that jubilation was a heritage received from the early church. They often quote and paraphrase the church fathers on jubilation, and at the same time they add new insight to the work of the fathers on the subject.
In 1490, at the close of the Middle Ages, an excellent description of jubilation was given in a Spanish-Latin dictionary, the Universal Vocabulario. It paraphrases Gregory on jubilation when it says that jubilation is a joy that one cannot express in words, yet a joy which cannot be contained; and it places much greater emphasis on gestures than do the patristic definitions: Jubilation is when such a great joy is conceived in the heart that it cannot be expressed in words, yet neither can it be concealed or hidden.… It manifests itself with very happy gestures.… The voice is excited to song. (Universal Vocabulario en Latin y en Romance, Reproduccion Facsimilar de la Edicion de Sevilla, 1490 [1967], vol. 1, col. ccxxvii)
One senses in both the writings of the church fathers and in those of the Middle Ages that jubilation was rarely controversial. Parts of the church’s doctrine that are controversial or disputed—such as the Trinity, the person of Christ, the Eucharist, and the Assumption—receive very precise definitions, and much has been written about them. Other practices and doctrines, not as controversial but perhaps almost as important, do not receive the same sort of definition and prominence in the theological literature of the church. One finds references to jubilation primarily in folk literature; there is a wealth of material on jubilation in the mystical writings and the medieval chronicles which describe the daily life of faith. We find no long theological definitions of this practice in the Middle Ages like those which exist on doctrines such as the Trinity. Yet we do have significant references to jubilation by the major scholars of this period in their devotional writings, sermons, and biblical commentaries. These were people of fervent faith, and in writings which discuss devotion and inspire to faith they include references to jubilation.
Thomas Aquinas. The best-known theologian of the Middle Ages was St. Thomas Aquinas, whose work has profoundly influenced the Catholic church in subsequent centuries. His devotional writings and hymns, such as Pange Lingua and Lauda, Sion present a Thomas who was deeply in love with Jesus. It is said that his sermons brought congregations to tears.
In his commentary of Psalm 32 (33 in English versions) he suggests that jubilation is the new song which Christians sing because of their renewal in grace: That man truly sings in jubilation who sings about the good things of glory.… the jubilus is an inexpressible joy which is not able to be expressed in words but even still the voice declares this vast expanse of joy.… Moreover the things which are not able to be expressed, they are the good things of glory. (In Psalterium David, Ps. 32:3 [33:3])
In his commentary on Psalm 46 (47 in English versions) Thomas writes: Jubilation is an unspeakable joy, which one cannot keep silent; yet neither can it be expressed. The reason that [this joy] cannot be expressed in words is that it is beyond comprehension.… Such is the goodness of God that it cannot be expressed, and even if it could be expressed, it could only imperfectly be expressed. (In Psalterium David, Ps. 46:1 [47:1])
Thus we are aware that St. Thomas believed that part of human knowledge of God goes beyond conceptual language and cannot be expressed in words. Yet the good things of God are so marvelous that the Christian cannot keep silent. It is for this reason that people enter into jubilation.
Bonaventure. Next to St. Thomas Aquinas, the theological works of St. Bonaventure were the most influential of the medieval period. Bonaventure’s writings reflect both the rigor of a competent theologian and the simple love of a mystic. They are filled with a sense of wonder at the mystery of God and of God’s creation. On jubilation he quotes Gregory, describing it as an “inexpressible joy of mind which is not able to be hidden nor to be expressed; nevertheless it is betrayed by certain movements.” He goes on to compare jubilation to the joyful expression of a bridegroom, “not being able to express the cheerfulness of his mind, however perceiving it about himself” (St. Bonaventure, In Psalterium 46:3 (47:3 in English versions).
Perhaps above all else Bonaventure was spiritual and a theologian of spirituality. In The Triple Way, one of his major works on the subject, he formulates a sequence for relationship with God. First the soul is cleansed through sorrow and tears, then a perfecting of the soul comes through praise, thanksgiving and jubilation. Bonaventure says: Perfecting through gratitude implies an awareness that rises to a hymn of thanksgiving for the quality of graces that are offered, a joy that rises to jubilation for the value of the gifts we have received, and a delight that culminates in an embrace because of the Giver’s bounty. (The Works of Bonaventure, trans. by Jose de Vinck [1960], 90)
Jean Gerson. Jean Gerson was rector of the University of Paris and a renowned scholar of the Middle Ages. He was also a popular preacher whose sermons were enjoyed by the masses. Gerson describes a particularly exuberant form of jubilation, contrasting it with the unruly noise of the streets and theaters: The hilarity of the devout … in a certain wonderful and unexplainable sweetness seizes the mind … so that now it does not contain itself. There happens some sort of a spasm, ecstasy, or departure.… The mind springs forth; it leaps, or dances by means of the gestures of the body, which are comely, and then it jubilates in an inexpressible way.… The praise is pleasant, the praise is comely, since the purity of the heart sings along with the voice. (Oevres Complètes, vol. 5, p. 284)
The Early Franciscans. In the early part of the thirteenth century, in the thriving town of Assisi, Italy, a young man began acting in an unaccustomed manner. Normally a likable, fun-loving playboy, he began to spend time away from friends and family. The townspeople noticed a fresh, bright glint in his eye and suspected that he was in love. “Are you going to take a wife?” they asked him. “Yes,” he answered. “I am marrying a bride more beautiful and more noble than any you have ever seen.” The young man was Francis Bernadone, and the bride he was taking, as the people would later discover, was “the kingdom of heaven,” “the life of the gospel” (Early Franciscan Classics [1962], 15).
This was St. Francis of Assisi. Many of us think only of his love for animals; to some he is just the saint who is found in birdbaths. But Francis was much more than a lover of animals. Most of all he was a “friend of Jesus.” An early biographer, Thomas of Celano, says of him: “He was always taken up with Jesus: he ever carried Jesus in his heart, Jesus on his lips, Jesus in his ears, Jesus in his eyes, Jesus in his hands, Jesus in all his members” (quoted in Early Franciscan Classics, 43–44). The simple love and joy of Francis was to change the church. Through him the Lord built a community that was to touch countless thousands before his death and millions more in the centuries to come.
Within a few years of his conversion, thousands of people had joined Francis’s order. They spread throughout the known world preaching the simple message of the gospel. These early Franciscans had a strong sense of community. God became intimately close in the presence of a brother or sister. Thomas of Celano describes their sense of love for one another: What affection for the holy companionship of their fellows flourished among them! Whenever they came together at a place, or met along the road, and exchanged the customary greeting, there rebounded between them a dart of spiritual affection, scattering over all their devotion the seed of true love. And how they showed it! Gentle tenderness … delightful converse, modest laughter, a joyous countenance, a sound eye, a humble heart, “a soothing tongue,” “a mild answer,” unity of purpose, a ready devotedness, and an unwearied hand to help. (Early Franciscan Classics, 43–44)
The source of the wonder and tenderness which they felt toward their Lord, one another and all of creation was prayer. Franciscans were constantly praying, both alone and together. They prayed on hilltops, in abandoned churches, along the streets and roads. They often struggled in prayer with sighs and tears.
For them, jubilation was apparently a very important way of praying. It is referred to in a number of writings, and in some passages is equated with contemplation. The followers of Francis practiced it both publicly and privately. Generally it was described as the speaking of wordless phrases as prayer, or the spontaneous singing of wordless phrases or inspired songs.
In a quaint legend from the Little Flowers (Fioretti), the words of a jubilus are actually written out. The description is amazingly like descriptions of present-day glossolalia within the charismatic renewal: Brother Masseo remained so filled with the grace of the desired virtue of humility and with the light of God that from then on he was in jubilation all the time. And often when he was praying … he would make a jubilus that sounded like the cooing of a gentle dove, “Ooo-Ooo-Ooo.” And with a joyful expression, he would remain in contemplation in that way.… Brother James of Fallerone asked him why he did not change the intonation in his jubilation. And [Masseo] answered very joyfully: “Because when we have found all that is good in one thing, it is not necessary to change the intonation.” (Fioretti, chapter 32)
Another Franciscan writing compared Francis’s jubilations to utterances in French: Intoxicated by love and compassion for Christ, Blessed Francis sometimes used to act like this. For the sweetest of spiritual melodies would often well up within him and found expression in French melodies, and the murmurs of God’s voice, heard by him alone, would joyfully pour forth in French-like jubilations. (Speculum, chapter 93)
Large groups of people are said to have entered into jubilation together. Thomas of Celano tells of a Christmas Eve celebration in Greccio, attended by men and women from all over the region, coming to join the friars in celebration of the birth of the Savior. Here is his amazing description of this tender and exuberantly joyful occasion: A manger has been prepared, hay has been brought, and an ox and an ass have been led up to the place.… The people arrive, and they are gladdened with wondrous delight at the great mystery. The woods resound with their voices and the rocks re-echo their jubilations. The friars sing and give due praise to the Lord, and all the night rings with jubilation. The saint of God [Francis] stands before the manger, sighing, overwhelmed with devotion and flooded with ecstatic joy. The sacrifice of the Mass is celebrated over the manger, and the priest experiences a new consolation. (Thomas of Celano, Vita Prima, Acta Sanctorum Octobris, Tomus Secundus, 706)
Perhaps the most beautiful description of expressive worship ever written is the account of the canonization of Francis, a man whose life had been like a lyric poem, touching tens of thousands with his love, strength, and tenderness before his death. When the announcement came that Pope Gregory IX was to declare him a saint, people danced in the streets.
When the Pope arrived in Assisi, the city was “filled with gladness.” The crowd of people marked the occasion “with great jubilation, and the brightness of the day was made brighter by the torches they brought. The Pope lifted up his hands to heaven and proclaimed Francis enrolled among the saints” (Early Franciscan Classics, 127). Thomas of Celano describes the scene thus: At these words the reverend cardinals, together with the Lord Pope, began to sing the Te Deum in a loud voice. Then there was raised a clamor among the many people praising God: the earth resounded with their mighty voices, the air was filled with their jubilations, and the ground was moistened with their tears. New songs were sung, and the servants of God jubilated in melody of the Spirit. Sweet-sounding organs were heard there and spiritual hymns were sung with well-modulated voices. There a very sweet odor was breathed, and a most joyous melody that stirred the emotions resounded there. (Vita Prima, 718)
This story contains amazing similarities to group singing in the Spirit, as practiced in the present-day charismatic renewal. Those familiar with medieval literature know that this was not an isolated incident; during times of religious exultation whole cities and towns could enter into this type of praise.
Renewals and Revivals
The “age of faith” was a time of many renewals and revivals. Jubilation and exuberant praise were frequently a vital part of those revivals. Wandering preachers went through the countryside admonishing people to turn to God. This sometimes resulted in entire towns laying aside their implements of war and joining orders such as the Franciscans and the Dominicans. One of these revivals, which took place in northern Italy in 1233, was known as the “Alleluia.” This is how the Franciscan chronicler Sambilene describes what happened: This Alleluia, which lasted for a certain length of time, was a period of peace and quiet, in part because the weapons of war had been laid aside. It was a time of merriment and gladness, of joy and exultation, of praise and jubilation. During this time men of all sorts sang songs of praise to God—gentle and simple people, townspeople and farmers, young men and young women. Old people and young people were of one mind. This turning to God was experienced in all the cities of Italy, and they came from the villages to the town with banners, a great multitude of people, men and women, boys and girls together, to hear the preaching and to [gather together] to praise God. The songs that they sang were of God, not of man, and all walked in the way of salvation. And they carried branches of trees and lighted torches. Sermons were preached in the evening, in the morning and at noon.… Also, men took their places in churches and outdoors and lifted up their hands to God, to praise and bless him for ever and ever. They [wished] that they would never have to stop from praising God, they were so drunk with his love. How happy was the man who could do the most to praise God. (Monumenta Germaniae, vol. 23, Scriptores, 70)
The style of many of the wandering preachers was amazingly similar to preaching styles among modern Pentecostals. Some of the preachers, such as Benedict of Parma, did not belong to orders. Others were Dominicans and Franciscans. John of Parma often carried a trumpet as he went about “preaching and praising God in the church and the open places.” Sambilene describes John’s preaching thus: I myself have often seen him preaching and praising God. He often did this standing upon the wall of the bishop’s palace which was at that time in the process of being built. He began his praises by saying in the vulgar tongue, “Praised and blessed and glorified be the Father.” Then the children would repeat the same words. A second time he would repeat the phrase, adding “be the Son,” and the children would repeat the same and sing the same words. For the third time he would repeat the phrase, adding “be the Holy Ghost,” and then “Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!” Afterward he would blow his trumpet. Then he would preach, adding a few words in praise of God. (Monumenta Germaniae, vol. 23, Scriptores, 70)
The spontaneous song of these thirteenth-century Christians, their great love of praising God, and their use of banners and torches is remarkably similar to the large processions at charismatic conferences which often include the use of banners, candles, and inspired songs.
Charismatic Prayer and Cathedrals
One of the best examples of religious renewal in the Middle Ages was the building of cathedrals. These magnificent edifices were often constructed as the result of a wave of religious zeal that would grip whole towns, cities, and regions. Much of the work was done by volunteers in an atmosphere of group charismatic prayer. It has been suggested that if all we knew of the Middle Ages were the churches and the cathedrals that have been passed down to us, we would know practically all that we need to know about the faith of the people. Richly carved altars, statues, and windows illuminated with light filtering through stained glass moved worshipers to a deep experience of God.
The queen of cathedrals was Chartres. Its many windows beautifully depicted the place of Jesus in redemption. Scenes of his infancy, his life, and his crucifixion give a pictorial testimony to the deep devotion to their Lord that filled the people of that time. The first part of the cathedral at Chartres, begun in 1145, was built as a result of a revival that swept Normandy. Contemporary accounts indicate that the awakening began in Chartres and spread to Dives and then throughout the whole country. Abbot Haimon of St. Pierre-sur-Dives in Normandy vividly describes this revival in a letter, and the accuracy of his story is attested by other sources from that period (see G. G. Coulton, Life in the Middle Ages [1930] vol. 3, p. 18). Charismatic worship, healing services, and a greater call to conversion were all a part of this revival.
The renewal which led to the building of the cathedral was viewed as an act of God’s grace. Because people had become “estranged from God” and “sick with sin,” “the loving Lord looked from heaven … and then he drew to himself those who had moved away from him, and recalled the wandering.” In so doing, God showed the populace at Chartres “a new manner of seeking him.” A great amount of the work on the cathedral was done by volunteers who numbered in the thousands, an astounding figure when one remembers that the entire population of Chartres was only ten thousand at the time.
Conversion was a major element of the revival; Haimon says that in order to join the voluntary association of those who were building the cathedral, both men and women were required to go to confession, put away grudges and be reconciled with their enemies. During the actual building, priests exhorted the crowds to greater conversion of heart. Members of the nobility worked side by side with common serfs as equals, doing the manual labor so important to the sacred building project. Haimon’s words leap across the centuries as he describes the spirit of love and conversion that permeated the work on the cathedral:
For who ever beheld, who ever heard, in all the ages past that kings, princes, the powerful men of this world, proud of their birth and their wealth, used to a life of ease, harness themselves to a wagon and haul a load of stone, lime, wood or some other building material. The load was so heavy that sometimes more than a thousand people were required to pull the wagon.… When they stopped to rest nothing was heard but confession of sins and pure prayer to God.… The priests encouraged the group to be of one mind; hatreds ceased, grudges disappeared … and men’s hearts were united.
Charismatic prayer and prayer for healing were important during this renewal. Trumpets and banners accompanied the work of moving stone to the cathedral. Haimon speaks of “blasts of trumpets and waving of banners … too marvelous to tell of.” When the priests encouraged the people to repent and seek mercy, they would “lift up their sobs and sighs from the inmost recesses of their hearts with the voice of confession and praise.” Many would be so overcome with God’s presence that they would “fall to the ground, then lie there with outstretched arms and kiss the earth again and again.”
According to Haimon, innumerable healings accompanied the prayer and the work: “If I would tell all that I have been allowed to see, even in a single night, my memory and my tongue would utterly fail me,” he writes. In the process of moving the stone the wagons would be stopped and the sick prayed for. “You may see the dumb open their mouths to praise God. Those troubled by demons come to sounder mind.… The sick and those troubled by various diseases get up healed from the wagons on which they have been laid.”
Night was a time for rest and for spontaneous prayer and healing services. The wagons pulled up around the building site. Torches and lights of all sorts were ignited on the wagons. The sick were set apart in groups while the people sang “psalms and hymns” and implored the Lord to heal them. If some were not healed immediately the crowd became even more exuberant in its praying. Cries and tears rose to heaven. People were seen to throw themselves on the ground and crawl toward the high altar. Many were moved to a deep penance. Haimon describes the results of these prayer meetings thus:
Soon all the sick leap forth healed from wagon after wagon. The crippled throw away the crutches on which they had leaned their crippled limbs, hurrying to give thanks at the altar. Blind men see and move about with ease.
After each healing there was a procession to the high altar and bells were rung. Throughout the night “nothing is heard but hymns, praises and thanks!” (Coulton, Life in the Middle Ages, vol. 3, p. 18–22).
Abbot Haimon’s remarkable letter reveals that charismatic prayer and worship were a part of the renewal that produced what is perhaps the best Christian art and architecture in the history of the church. The letter also attests to the connection between fervent expressive prayer and healing. The resolution of the crowd to continue praying until all were healed is similar to “saturation prayer” in the current charismatic renewal, during which people are prayed over for healing at length. The atmosphere created by this kind of expectancy generates faith in those who participate.