Bridget (not the same as the venerated and accreted Irish goddess-cum-saint Brigid) lived in the 14th century, and was a Swedish princess. After not speaking for the first three years of her life, Butler tells us, Bridget’s first words were in praise of God.

At age 10, Bridget had a vision that set in motion a trajectory that remained with her throughout her life of service, marriage, motherhood, widowhood, and divesting herself of all royal wealth and trappings in favor of the poor and in creating a very specific sort of combination monastery / nunnery / teaching center. One amazing thing about this complex that Bridget endowed is that the buildings (including the chapel) were created so that none of the males would ever see any of the females, and the only males that the females would ever see would be the priests celebrating mass–and even that at a distance, as the nuns were in what might best be described as the chapel balcony (though all men in worship other than the priests sat beneath the nuns–so the overhang of the balcony was always above the monks and laymen-in-training). The architecture of the facility must have been quite something to plan and execute.

Anyhow, Butler details the young Bridget’s vision:

At ten years of age she was most tenderly affected by a sermon which she heard on the passion of Christ; and the night following seemed to see him hanging upon his cross covered with wounds, and pouring forth his blood in streams in every part of his body; at the same time, she thought she heard him say to her: “Look up on me, my daughter.” “Alas,” said she, “who has treated you thus?” She seemed to herself to hear him answer: “They who despise me, and are insensible to my love for them.”

[As a side note, when Butler details the visions of male saints, he doesn’t qualifiers such as “seemed to” or “seemed to herself to.” Maybe that’s just coincidental.]

Bridget’s vision speaks, simultaneously, to several important matters. First, what people preach when children are present makes a deeper impression and enters their imagination in ways that we often do not realize. This holds whether the children are in church or at political realities or at any event where adults are impassioned and declaring things as “being so” while holding up images of suffering… or ridicule… or sinfulness (in their opinion)… or hope.

Second, Christ directed Bridget not to look away from suffering, even when it hurts the heart. This is a theme that has spanned millennia: from the parable of the Good Samaritan to Audre Lorde’s essay, “Uses of the Erotic: The Erotic as Power” and beyond. It takes courage not to avert one’s gaze from the realities of suffering, and this specific courage is key to effecting change, healing, and liberation.

Third, Bridget is free to ask questions of Jesus Christ! She is not simply expected to be a passive participant in her own walk of faith, not even (and maybe especially not even) as a child! And, beyond this, she receives an answer that reframes the entirety of evangelism–the suffering of God takes place whenever and wherever people are insensible to God’s love for them. The passion of God is to be known as one who loves.

And indeed, to follow this through, how painful-to-the-bone to Divinity it must be, whenever and wherever people–especially those purporting to speak on behalf of or in the name of God–offer anything other than a message of utter, thorough, boundless love to those listening.

I’m stronger today because of Bridget.