Today we celebrate the feast of Hildegard von Bingen, a twelfth-century mystic, saint, and Doctor of the Church. While Hildegard is honored for her leadership, conviction, and musical genius, here we explore her connection to chronic pain and some theologies that help us make sense of it.

Hildegard’s family dedicated her to the church as an eight-year-old in part because she was frequently sick. Her sickness continued throughout her life, and Hildegard wrote frequently about her pain and sickness. Based on her consistent sickness and her visions, Hildegard has been retroactively diagnosed with chronic migraines by historians and medical professionals. In her first theological text, Scivias, she writes:

“But I, though I saw and heard [visions], refused to write for a long time…not with stubbornness but in the exercise of humility, until, laid low by the scourge of God, I fell upon a bed of sickness; then, compelled at last by many illnesses…I set my hand to the writing. While I was doing it, I sensed, as I mentioned before, the deep profundity of scriptural exposition; and, raising myself from illness by the strength I received, I brought this work to a close…And again I heard a voice from Heaven saying to me, ‘Cry out, therefore, and write thus!’”

In this excerpt, Hildegard is doing her best to make theological sense of her internal physical experience. Like Hildegard, contemporary disability theologian Deborah Creamer (she/her) lives with chronic pain. In her 2013 article “Theology and Chronic Pain: Some Initial Reflections,” Creamer proposes that pain is an important topic for theological reflection because all of us experience pain. However, Creamer is quick to caution against theological frameworks of pain which insist upon redemptive suffering, Divinely inflicted suffering, or suffering which requires gratitude. Through Creamer’s “limits” model of disability, pain can be understood as a normal and predictable human experience, and as a necessary companion in our otherwise dangerous world: living without pain means not knowing when something is wrong, like feeling heat in your hand when touching a hot stove. Pain also communicates when something matters, like the pain of heartache, and reminds us of the “good pain” of childbirth, a deep massage, or growing bones. Creamer also notes that pain can cause us to notice and embody our resistance to injustice, and wonders “if we would have a more just world if those of us with privilege would feel the pain we cause to others.”

Creamer wants – and believes in – a God who feels pain. She reflects, “I suppose that God would feel pain in a way that is chronic, with no end in sight and with a scale that goes beyond easy articulation…If I cannot articulate my pain to you, no wonder God – who must feel even greater pain than I do – is One who cannot be fully articulated or known to me.” Creamer adds that pain is sacred, clarifying that pain does not lead us to the sacred but rather that it enables sacredness by “unmaking” us and changing how we engage the world, those around us, and even ourselves.

Creamer concludes by saying that she wants to be a person who feels pain. She writes:

“I do not know the world except through pain. And I value the world I see this way, and value myself, fully as I am, in the midst of this experience. It makes me pay closer attention to the world around me, even as it also gives me moments where all I can experience is myself. Pain is meaningful, full of meaning, and we lose something significant if we deny ourselves the ability to meet or engage the meaning that we find and make here.”

Today, I imagine Hildegard von Bingen, who also knew the world only through pain and illness, whose own embodied experience allowed her a sacred and mystical lens on the world, resonating with these reflections from Creamer on how chronic pain and spirituality can nurture one another.

Deborah Beth Creamer is Director of Accreditation and Institutional Evaluation at The Association of Theological Schools in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She is the author of Disability and Christian Theology: Embodied Limits and Constructive Possibilities (2009).

Adapted from “For Those Living with Chronic Illness” by Cole Arthur Riley (@blackliturgies)

Begin by becoming mindful of your body. Assume a posture that allows you to be as present as possible to this prayer, through laying down in bed or on a couch, sitting in a wheelchair or desk chair, standing up in your room or in a hot shower, holding your child or parent’s hand gently, or something else that brings you to prayerfulness. Bring your attention to your breath or, if that is uncomfortable, to a part of your body that feels grounded and at ease. 

When you feel grounded, pray this blessing. I invite you to pray it several times, for yourself or for someone you love, aloud or in your mind, until it begins to feel true. 

“You, who are burning, twitching,
Alive with unseen ache —
You are not a burden.
Your body, sacred and trying.”

Next, take a few moments to meditate. Meditate as you inhale: “I am not a burden.” Meditate as you exhale: “I can rest without apology.” Try to practice this meditation for at least two minutes.

Finally, pray with these or similar words: 

“God of every ache,
Help us to befriend our bodies. Guide us toward those who know when we are not okay, that we wouldn’t feel pressure to pretend, apologize, or explain but can honor what we need. Remind us that we are not a burden but a beacon to those who have forgotten what self-compassion looks like. Hold us in love, as we resist the demands of this world.”

Cole Arthur Riley (she/her) is a Black writer who lives with chronic illness. She is the author of This Here Flesh and creator of the project Black Liturgies on Instagram. Jeneé Osterheldt of the Boston Globe writes, “Cole Arthur Riley created a literary communion in Black Liturgies…[making] a space to lift her innermost thoughts as well as the holy wisdom of our [Black] writing legends and the Bible.” 

Riley says she created Black Liturgies “out of anger” in the wake of the murders of George Floyd and Breona Taylor. “I was hungry for a spiritual space where Black grief, Black anger, my Black body was honored in a meaningful way,” Riley says. “I had belonged to white-dominated, Christian spaces for long enough that I was desperate for a community of spiritual liberation.” As a Black woman living with chronic pain, Riley is acutely aware of how ableism and racism are intimately connected. Riley writes about her body, “I refuse to live a disembodied life. Even as I survive the violence of white supremacy, the judgment of white intellectualism, the pain of a body that is chronically ill, the memory of a body that has endured abuse, I refuse to abandon my body. It contains more beauty, more mystery than I am able to articulate. And in befriending and honoring it, I communicate belief in my inherent dignity.”

The Institute on Theology and Disability (formerly the Summer Institute on Theology and Disability) works to foster diverse and authentic interfaith conversations at the intersection of theology and disability. This work is done primarily through an accessible and inclusive four-day institute each summer which gathers leading scholars, writers, faith leaders, advocates, and others committed to advancing inclusive ministries and faith supports. 

In addition to the institute each summer, the Institute on Theology and Disability has created a robust online community through a Facebook group with the same name. This group is described as “a shared space to share questions, resources, and meditations on theology and disability,” and is moderated by individuals who hold leadership roles with the Institute. Both the annual conference and the online community are opportunities for disabled and abled folks working on issues related to disability theology to connect, form relationships, and share opportunities and information in the service of mutual support and collaboration. At the summer institute, many of the presenters and attendees are disabled and share from their personal and professional expertise. Through the virtual community, disabled and abled members share their own work, such as podcasts, webinars, or articles, along with opportunities such as conferences, job postings, or calls for proposals.

From the website: “Ancient icons of saints portray everyone as old, white, expressionless, and hard to tell apart. I believe these pieces of Church imagery can turn modern-thinking people away from the influences of the saints, and even the Church itself.  

​My goal was to re-imagine these extraordinary people as modern, everyday humans… because that is exactly what they were, and they remind us of ourselves. They show us that we can all be saints just like them.”

https://www.themodernsaints.com/all-saints/hildegard-of-bingen

Image description: Against a reddish brown background is an image of St. Hildegard, with pale skin, green eyes, and reddish hair swept back. She wears a forest green sweater with a few sprigs of greenery in the breast pocket, with one hand to her mouth in contemplation, while she holds a pen. An earbud dangles from one ear.