
Anchorite?
What kind of word is that, much less what was it?
Long ago, I heard stories of women who voluntarily had themselves sealed up into the walls of a church.
Their holiness was so profound, they wanted to be hidden away into a life of prayer.
Similarly, I heard stories of the “church fathers” who lived in the desert. (Some were called “desert fathers.”)
These included impossible-seeming tales of men who isolated themselves on the tops of tall platforms, removed from the world.
Both types of people were “anchorites.”
Anchorite and anchor?
Anchorite comes from the word anchor.
As in, staying anchored to one place.
Unlike hermits who wandered, and usually did, anchorites took a vow of “stability of place.”

(Immanuel_Giel at
Wikimedia Commons)
In doing so, they “attached” themselves to a church, and the local bishop performed a service akin to a funeral.
Thus, they became “dead to the world,” a type of living saint.
They may or may not have been nuns or priests, but they were obviously devoted to God. Becoming an anchorite was considered a form of “Christian monasticism.“
The first anchorites were recorded in the third century. After the Dissolution of the Monasteries in England under Henry VIII in the 1540s, the tradition ended.
How did it work?
As a child, I couldn’t imagine how a woman could live as such a holy person.
Wouldn’t she die from lack of food? How big was her hole? What about waste products? What happened when she died?
It wasn’t as confusing as I thought.
A devout person who wanted to be isolated from the world for prayer and meditation needed a sponsor.
A sponsor, usually a wealthy landowner, agreed to pay the anchorite’s expenses in return for prayers.
(During that period requested prayers were not only for the living but also for family members locked in purgatory.)
They sought a church community willing to have them attached to the church building.
Once the local bishop agreed, the sponsor paid to have a small room or “cell.” It was generally about 10 feet by 12 feet, attached to the church.

(Wikimedia Commons)
The cell had three windows. A small “squint hole” (or hagioscope) looked into the church. It focused on the altar and was large enough for the anchorite to receive the sacraments.
(The anchorite couldn’t see anyone except the priest. No one in the congregation saw her.)
A window large enough to afford personal needs–a bucket for waste, food, laundry, the occasional book–opened into an attached room or cottage where attendants lived.
The last window, probably not large, had shutters or thick curtains for local residents to speak with the (unseen) anchorite.
She heard their prayer requests and answered spiritual questions. It was not a social opportunity. The anchorite hid from the world for a purpose: devotion to God.
What were these holy people good for?

(Wikimedia Commons)
Attached to a village, listening to prayer requests, and praying meant the anchorite understood the local community.
Visiting priests might stop by to ask about the village’s needs. (Some said John Wesley’s evangelism success was due to visiting the local anchorite for information.)
They meditated on the Bible, catechism, or prayer books. Some, like Julian of Norwich, had visions and wrote them down.
According to Veronica Rolf in An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich:
Julian called her mystical experiences shewings, an older English word that meant “manifestations.”
These came to her as bodily sights of Christ on the cross. In locutions or words she heard spoken directly by Christ; and in intellectual and spiritual understandings that developed throughout her long life.
Julian considered all her mystical experiences to be direct shewings from God.
An Explorer’s Guide to Julian of Norwich, p. 7
People still read Julian of Norwich’s writings in the 21st century.
Julian, who lived in the 14th century, was the first woman to write in English. Attached to the parish church in Norwich, England, she was a contemporary of Geoffrey Chaucer.
She lived during a plague, and her prayers brought solace to many.
‘all shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well,’
Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love
Why locked away?

Obviously, they felt they had a prayer vocation.
In her novel The Anchoress, scholar Robyn Cadwallader agreed that prayer was the first reason.
But the novel also highlighted the few choices women had in the Middle Ages.
Cadwallader’s heroine prayed, read, and meditated, but she also sought escape from an arranged marriage.
Many nuns ended up in nunneries because their fathers or brothers didn’t want to pay dowries.
Probably a widow, Julian of Norwich’s vocation came from a devout love of God. Money, at least to her, was immaterial.
Many of us love God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit.
But, how many of us want to live in a small cell to pray, meditate, and listen to prayer requests?
Tweetables

What was an anchorite? Click to Tweet
Would you be willing to be walled into a church? Click to Tweet
UPDATE 2023: An even better, beautifully written novel about Julian of Norwich and her meeting with Margery Kempe.
I loved For Thy Great Pain have Mercy on my Little Pain, by Victoria MacKenzie.




An anchorite, an anchorite,
now what the heck is that?
Could it maybe possibly might
be a monk at Angkor Wat?
Or maybe it’s a sailing man
who took vows nonetheless,
following God’s holy plan
’round the anchor windlass?
But in all these it seems I’m wrong,
for an anchorite’s true grace
is to stay both true and strong
to stability of place
in a chosen lifetime perch
walled up inside the local church.
Amen.
And you, Andrew? Aren’t you living as a form of an anchorite these days? 😉
My best to your Barbara!
Michelle, yeah, that pretty much sums me up!
And, honestly, it’s kind of a blessing. Wouldn’t go back to the world for…wait for it…the world.
Michelle, this post is so interesting. I hadn’t heard of anchorites, although when I was in some of the cathedrals in Russia we heard of (and walked past) the cells of individuals who chose to live in the catacombs under the church, provided for by the priests, never seeing the light of day. Although I too have felt somewhat like that during this past year, I am glad it is not my calling!
Thank you for sharing this history!