Yesterday Zenit published an interesting interview with Carmelite father Luigi Borriello, a theology professor and Vatican official. Fr. Borriello is the co-director of the Vatican Publishing House’s Dictionary of Mysticism. In this interview, he says “we are all called to sanctity and to mysticism. And the mystical experience is a call to witness.”
Read the full interview here: All Are Called to Mysticism
As we approach the ninth anniversary of 9/11, the following videos make an important statement. Since first publishing this post, I have been informed by one of my loyal readers that the organization that produced these videos, CAIR, is quite controversial, having been accused of having ties with Hamas and of its leaders making supremacist statements about Islam. I’m not familiar enough with CAIR or its activities to comment beyond that. I do think the videos themselves have a message that is worth passing on.
Portrait of Raimon Panikkar by Ilvio Gallo
I left Europe [for India] as a Christian, I discovered I was a Hindu and returned as a Buddhist without ever having ceased to be a Christian.
— Raimon Panikkar
I am saddened to hear of the death of theologian and visionary Raimon Panikkar, who died in Spain on August 26. He was 91 years old. Born of a Indian Hindu father and Spanish Catholic mother, Panikkar became one of the most admired and renowned theologians of the great interfaith conversation between east and west in our time. Raised in Spain and educated by the Jesuits, he was a friend of some of the most renowned Christians of our time, including Jean Danielou, Yves Congar, Hans Urs von Balthazar, Bede Griffiths, and Swami Abhishiktananda.
I first learned about Panikkar when I began working at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. Several of the monks, independently of one another, suggested to me that I should read Panikkar, particularly his Christophany: the Fullness of Man. I picked up that book and found it to be electrifying: an exploration of Christ, suggesting that “Christology” is too rationalistic and, therefore, limited; Panikkar offered the far more mystical concept of “Christophany” to suggest that the point is not to talk about Christ, but rather to seek to encounter him. True to his dual heritage and his towering intellect, Panikkar drew from both Biblical and Vedic sources, as well as John of the Cross and the church fathers to articulate a vision of Christ that is rooted in Christian tradition but fully transcends it, to encompass the wisdom of science and the great mystical traditions of the east. The result is a celebration of Christ that is deeply Trinitarian, profoundly post-tribal, and thoroughly mystical. I cannot recommend it highly enough.
Of course, it’s not a beach read. But it’s well worth approaching in a lectio divina sort of way. Incidentally, if you’d like a more accessible introduction to Panikkar’s thought, check out his The Experience of God: Icons of the Mystery; and if you really want to sink your teeth in his thought, look for The Rhythm of Being, a 400-page opus in which Panikkar considers “the unity of cosmic Mystery in this distillation of the wisdom of East and West, North and South” (from the back cover of the book; I haven’t read it yet).
If you don’t have time to read an entire book by Panikkar, check out this article online: Nine Ways Not to Talk About God.
In The Big Book of Christian Mysticism, I finish my list of “the communion of mystics” with five living persons who I believe history will recognize as great Christian mystics. Of the five, the one I felt most confident about including was Raimon Panikkar. And now he has gone to join the communion of mystics on the other side of eternity.
Rest in peace, Father Raimon. May light perpetual shine upon you.
For a more detailed account of his life work, please visit Raimon Panikkar’s Obituary at National Catholic Reporter.
The contemplative discipline of meditation, what I will call in this book contemplative practice, doesn’t acquire anything. In that sense, and an important sense, it is not a technique but a surrendering of deeply imbedded resistances that allows the sacred within gradually to reveal itself as a simple, fundamental fact. Out of this letting go there emerges what St. Paul called our “hidden self”: “may he give you the power through his Spirit for your hidden self to grow strong” (Eph 3:16). Again, contemplative practice does not produce this “hidden self” but facilitates the falling away of all that obscures it.
— Martin Laird, Into the Silent Land:
A Guide to the Christian Practice of
Contemplation
Just a reminder to those in the Atlanta area: registration is now open for the class I’ll be teaching through Emory University’s Center for Lifelong Mysticism:
Introduction to Christian Mysticism
through Emory University’s “Evening at Emory” Program.
The renowned twentieth century German theologian Karl Rahner said, “The Christian of the future will be a mystic or will not exist at all.” What could he have meant by this? In the popular mind, mysticism is associated with eastern spirituality, like Yoga or Zen. But there is a little-known tradition of meditation and spiritual awakening even within Christianity. This non-sectarian class will survey the history of Christian mysticism from Biblical times to the present, explore the meaning of mysticism and why Christians often view it with suspicion, and consider the role that mysticism might play in Christianity of the present and future.
Textbook: The Big Book of Christian Mysticism.
Instructor: Carl McColman
September 23-October 21, 2010
7:00-9:00 pm
Click here to register
Here is a partial list of some of the many books we talked about, recommended to one another, read from, or otherwise consulted, during the Spirituality and Peacemaking week in Northern Ireland earlier this month. Some of these books were mentioned in our sessions; others were used to help plan the sessions; others came up in informal conversations between the retreat participants. If you weren’t on the retreat, dipping into these books might give you a sense of the breadth of the conversation we had during our week in Ulster. If you were on the retreat, perhaps this list will help you to find a book or two to read, to deepen the experience.
Mary Margaret Funk, Thoughts Matter
John Paul Lederach, Building Peace
John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between UsI’m sure there are others that I missed (if anyone who was on the retreat reads this and thinks of a book that was part of the retreat experience for them, please let me know and I’ll add it to this list).
Recently I was interviewed by Peter Wallace, who is the host of the Day1 radio show and website. The interview was filmed and has now been published on Youtube. Here are the videos (it has been separated into three parts):
Holy Cross Benedictine Monastery, Rostrevor, Co. Down, Northern Ireland
When I was in Northern Ireland, I stayed at a retreat center in Rostrevor, in County Down. Just four miles down the road is Holy Cross Monastery, which according to its website is the first new Benedictine monastery in Ireland since the twelfth century! It was established in 1998, and currently is home to six monks. I attended lauds there one morning, and mass on Sunday; nearly all the locals who spoke of the monastery mentioned that the monks sang beautifully, and indeed they were right.
Happily, the monks have posted three MP3s on their website, so you can hear their lovely singing for yourself. Just follow these links to enjoy.
Credo • Jubilate • Suscepimus
The monks indicate on their website that these tracks are samples for downloading, so feel free to save these to your computer or iPod.
Heading to Downpatrick: the beautiful Irish countryside
The only camera I had with me on my recent trip to Northern Ireland was my iPhone camera. So I didn’t take a lot of pictures, and the ones I did take will hardly win any awards. Eventually the various retreatants are going to be swapping photos amongst ourselves, so hopefully I’ll have a few more shots to share with you in the future. But for now, here are a few images from a most remarkable week. Continue reading
Ian Cron, author of Chasing Francis, has posted an interesting article on Christian mysticism. Like me, Ian follows Karl Rahner in emphasizing the ordinariness of the mystical life.
I’m pleased to announce that I have a new prayer card available! This one features quotations from The Cloud of Unknowing and The Book of Private Counsel which is generally regarded as written by the author of The Cloud. Here’s what the front and back of the prayer card look like:
Of course, I still have plenty of my original Julian of Norwich Prayer Card:
I don’t sell these cards, but I do ask that anyone wanting them send me a self-addressed, stamped business sized envelope. I’ll use your SASE to send you two of each prayer card, along with a bookmark promoting The Big Book of Christian Mysticism.
Send your self-addressed stamped envelope to:
Carl McColman
P.O. Box 11446
Clarkston, GA 30021
Please allow a few weeks for delivery. Sorry, but currently I’m only able to send these cards to addresses in the USA. If you want more cards than what will fit in a single envelope with one stamp on it, please let me know — based on how many cards you want, I’ll figure out how much postage you need to send me.
Well, dear friends, today I pack my bags and tie up a few loose ends around the house. I’ll go visit my dad this afternoon and go to mass tonight. Tomorrow I board a plane to Newark where I’ll catch a direct flight to Belfast. I arrive in Northern Ireland on Monday to join Gareth and Erin in our last minute preparations for the Celtic Spirituality and Radical Peacemaking retreat, which begins on Tuesday the 17th.
So, my posting here on the blog may be a bit spotty over the next few days. I have something pre-scheduled to post tomorrow, but after that I’m not sure how often I’ll get online once I’m in Ireland. I’ll have my laptop and apparently the retreat center does have wi-fi, so I might be on every day. Then again, I might not.
So keep us all in your prayers. I’ll take pictures and I’ll write, even if it’s after the fact, once I get home. So stay tuned.
This morning I posted a brief little meditation on peacemaking and the meaning of this trip to my blog at Day1. You can read it by following this link: I’m Off to Northern Ireland.
Here’s a picture of the Giant’s Causeway I took in 2002. It will be so nice to get back there, after eight years.
Isaac Bonewits (1949-2010), in full Druid regalia
I am sad to learn of the death of Isaac Bonewits yesterday, of cancer, at the age of 60. Isaac was probably the single most influential American in the revival of pagan druidism over the last forty years. He was the founder of Ár nDraíocht Féin: A Druid Fellowship, the druid organization of which I was a member for several years. ADF had a sweeping vision not only for the revival of Celtic paganism, but indeed all of Indo-European paganism, and stressed sound scholarship, accountability, public worship, and democratically chosen leadership — all qualities that are hardly ubiquitous in the neopagan world. Isaac also wrote a number of books, the most famous being Real Magic, and was prominently featured in Margot Adler’s ground-breaking 1979 study of neopaganism, Drawing Down the Moon. He also appeared, briefly, in Robert Anton Wilson’s counterculture classic, The Cosmic Trigger. Continue reading
I’ve been praying — and thinking — a lot about consistency lately.
I struggle with self-sabotage issues. I make a commitment, and then back away from it. I commit to spending an hour a day in silent contemplation, and then I over commit my life so that I just never seem to find the time for that half hour in the evening. I want to deepen my immersion in silence — both external and internal — except that, well, my behavior doesn’t seem to match my intention.
The traditional virtue that applies to my situation is perseverance. The consistency that I am begging for is, in essence, the grace of perseverance — to maintain a commitment long after the initial flush of enthusiasm has waned.
Part of perseverance is learning to be gentle with our own failures. I’m generally pretty disciplined about my morning silence. It’s the evening silence where I so rarely live up to my own self-expectation. But once upon a time, my morning practice was just as spotty. And I’ve had seasons of my life where my morning discipline waxed and waned. So part of perseverance is learning to persevere even through one’s own self-sabotage. “Okay, so I keep falling down. Just keep getting back up.” But since over the long haul I managed to persevere into a regular practice of morning prayer, I can trust that, over time and with perseverance, the evening silence will take root in my heart as well. And then, every day, I have another opportunity to manifest the consistency I seek. And when I fall down — then I get back up. And try again.
I suppose there’s some wisdom in acknowledging how poorly we live up to our own vision of ourselves: it’s a silent reminder of the necessity of remaining humble. But there’s also wisdom in honoring our successes, too. Humility isn’t just about our failures, but also about honestly acknowledging our achievements as well. Community is another key element here: frankly, if my wife wasn’t even more committed to her spiritual practice than I am to mine, I fear that even my morning practice would be a shamble. So even a community of two is helpful. For that matter, my best day each week for silence in the evening is Wednesday when I participate in an evening contemplative prayer & lectio divina group.
When I was young, I was all about being a hippie, living spontaneously, doing my own thing. I had lots of fun and I suppose cultivated enough of a sense of inner creativity so that I could eventually become a serious writer (yes, once upon a time my writing discipline was non-existent, too!). But as I mature, I am yearning to balance my spontaneity with discipline — not an uptight discipline, but a gentle sense of knowing what I want, each and every day, and following through on it. Consistently.
Some wonderful commentary to my post yesterday on Mysticism and Esotericism. Consider these words from Fr. Aidan, who is speculating on why esoteric movements (like the Rosicrucians) have flourished over the years:
As you suggested … there is a “hermeneutic of suspicion” that has had both official distrust and fear from the Church against various mystics and mysticism in general … and the fear and distrust of the common masses or even one’s fellow parishioners against people, like myself, who have felt a life directed toward inner work of any kind, except maybe the modern science of Psychology and therapy.
Although, as you say, a “developmental map of Christian mystical consciousness — that takes us all the way to the nondual — has yet to be written,” there has been work by such notables as Ken Wilber which describe the changing states of Consciousness from the Mythological level of religious consciousness where the average practitioner remains to various advances in levels and stages of consciousness of the practicing mystic. Unfortunately, for the average Christian following the mystic path there has been little assistance until more recently to aide those of us living outside of monastic communities.
So, there has been distrust from both the institutional side of church, fellow parishioner, and fear from the “Elite” monastic mystics to make their secret knowledge more available in guiding the average person in contemplative prayer, which can drive people underground in their practice and sharing of such information for fear of being seen as weird, occultic or heretical. It can make them feel isolated from the common mass of believer who are not at that level of awareness or direction. If that is true today, it may have been even more true in ancient times. This is just a personal speculation or empathy for such people, as I have often felt during my journey.
Alas, his words are too true. One only has to make the briefest of visits to polished, and presumably well-funded, websites like Lighthouse Trails Research and Apprising Ministries to recognize that Christian hostility toward mysticism is alive and well. When I was a teenager someone told me my interest in mysticism was dangerous, because mysticism “begins in mist, ends in schism, and has not God, but I, at the center.”
I’m afraid that this tension between mysticism and institutional religion is pretty much built in to the nature of things. Continue reading
A reader writes:
How would you define the balance between Christian Mysticism & Christian Esotericism?
Richard Smoley in Inner Christianity: A Guide to the Esoteric Tradition, differentiates them by saying, “Esotericism is characterized by… an interest in different levels of consciousness and being. Mysticism is not quite so concerned with these intermediate states; it focuses on reaching God in the most direct and immediate way. The mystic wants to reach his destination as quickly as possible; the esotericist wants to learn something about the landscape on the way. Moreover mysticism tends to be more toward passivity: a quiet waiting upon God rather than active investigation.”
How would you define the balance between these two traditions of Christian spirituality? Benefits and Dangers of both? and does Christian Esotericism get dealt with in any of your books?
Some great questions. First, a confession: I haven’t read Smoley. That said, I find his definition a bit contrived. I don’t think he understands mysticism. Passivity, or quietism, is actually considered a heresy within mysticism. Christian mysticism does regard God as the leader of the dance, but the individual or community seeking intimacy with God still has to be Ginger Rogers to God’s Fred Astaire, and as the old saying goes, “Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, only backwards and in heels.” In other words, the contemplative life requires commitment, discipline, perseverance, surrender of self, humility, obedience, and willingness to respond to call, even call into “active” dimensions of ministry and life — hardly a “passive” exploration at all!
Furthermore, even a cursory reading of Teresa of Avila, Pseudo-Dionysius, or Evelyn Underhill will reveal that mysticism does have an essentially developmental character. It is not just an “immediate” process of attaining enlightenment or union. Anyone who thinks that “The mystic wants to reach his destination as quickly as possible; the esotericist wants to learn something about the landscape on the way,” certainly has never read The Interior Castle.
So this concept of “Christian esotericism” as a category distinct from mysticism or other aspects of Christian spirituality does not seem very persuasive to me, at least not on the basis of the one quote you provided. Once again, I haven’t read Smoley, so perhaps if I read the book I’d be in a better position to evaluate what he’s trying to get at.
I don’t use language of esotericism in my book. I believe that mysticism is not for the elite, but is rather simply the full flowering of contemplative spirituality, available to all Christians, although obviously not received to the same extent by all. I would be a bit leery of language that tries to differentiate between “normal” Christianity and “special” Christianity, reserved for the deserving few. Mysticism certainly has the unfortunate tendency to be seen that way, probably because of its longstanding relationship to the monasteries, which historically were the “Christian elite.” But I believe that represents a distortion of mysticism, and not its truest or best role within Christianity.
I’m reading an interesting essay, called “Psychedelic Contemplation.” It’s in a book called Resistance and Contemplation: The Way of Liberation by James W. Douglass. Douglass is a peace activist who first came to prominence protesting the Vietnam War (he’s still at it, nowadays living in a Catholic Worker House in Birmingham and still writing about nonviolence and Catholic theology). Resistance and Contemplation first was published in 1972, so it has an immediacy to the events and zeitgeist of the 1960s that is interesting to revisit, now almost half a century later. And nowhere is that zeitgeist more fully explored than in the chapter on “Psychedelic Contemplation.”
Douglass considers the prevalence of psychedelic drugs — and the prominent “evangelists” of psychedelics, like Timothy Leary and Richard Alpert (aka Ram Dass), who proclaimed that LSD and other mind-expanding drugs represented a technological shortcut to contemplation, and indeed to mystical ecstasy. Since Terence McKenna died, I’m not sure if any major figure on the cultural landscape is still beating that particular drum, but certainly back in the late ’60s and early ’70s, folks believed it. Mysticism could be reduced to brain chemistry and, therefore, could literally be prescribed by your doctor and supplied by your pharmacist.
Douglass ponders whether mystical experience and the LSD experience are phenomenologically identical. I personally don’t think so, but even if, for the sake of argument, we assume that they are, it makes no difference with the punchline of Douglass’s argument. He argues that any kind of pharmacological mysticism essentially consists of a technical approach to contemplation — contemplation as a tool, a means to an end (whether that end by enlightenment, happiness, personal empowerment, or whatever). But this is not the same thing as the Christian understanding of contemplation (and mysticism), which is at its core relational — Christian mysticism is not about achieving, but about relating. We contemplate and we enter the mysteries not to master something or attain a goal, but simply for the sheer joy, in the moment, of relating intimately with God, the Divine Mystery. For Douglass as a peace activist, he felt that the authentic contemplation of relating-with-God fostered the peace process, no such social or political consequence necessarily followed psychedelic exploration.
This, for me, sums up neatly the problem with any kind of drug-induced ecstasy. It can be a blast, but do we have any reason to believe that it will in any way transform the person, or make him holy? As Julian of Norwich so clearly states, mysticism exists to foster greater love for God, and the person who more fully loves God without ever having a mystical experience is far ahead of the contemplative who knows ecstacy, but doesn’t know God.
As I said, the “drugs will save the world” message doesn’t seem to be getting much airplay nowadays, and that is, I am confident, a good thing. But perhaps we need to consider if there are other ways we indulge in “technical” forms of contemplation: contemplation aimed at a goal other than intimacy with God. I know that I am guilty of lusting after higher consciousness. Hopefully, if I am ever granted such a transformation, I will prove to be worthy of what I have been given and will order my life and my ethical choices accordingly. But in the meantime, perhaps it will serve my soul (and the cosmos) better if I worry less about higher consciousness and more about receiving the love of God and finding ways to give that love back (or to pass it on to my neighbors). After all, what’s the point of becoming a technical master (of anything), if I have no one to share it with?
I’m reading a wonderful book by an Anglican deacon named Una Kroll; it’s called Vocation to Resistance: Contemplation and Change. It’s about how the contemplative life is, in essence, a life of resistance — choosing an alternative to the noisy, acquisitive, competitive, and violent nature of the world we live in. It’s a charming and insightful read.
I was thinking about quoting Kroll’s insightful discussion of distractions during prayer, but to do her justice it would have to be a rather long quote, too long for fair use. So I’ll just give you a quick summary of my understanding of her thoughts.
Basically, she suggests that the key to dealing with distractions is to step back from them, and envision what God is doing in and with the very distractions themselves.
What I have found most helpful is to look for what God is doing in the immediate moment. This involves seeing two images at once. One sees the distracting image or thought clearly: simultaneously, one sees what God is being and doing in that situation.
She goes on to encourage her reader that this requires the “knack” of doing two things at once, and she offers several examples of why this is not so difficult a thing to do (driving while listening to the radio; reading a book while knitting; etc.). So in prayer, when distractions arise, Kroll invites us not to resist them, or even to ignore them, but, as it were, to give them to God, allowing the mind’s eye to see what God is doing with and in the very stuff of our distractions.
So, if you’re worried about a confrontation with a co-worker — imagine the loving presence of the Holy Spirit in the midst of the difficult discussion. If you’re entranced by a new romance, reflect on how the love you feel for your sweetheart finds its ultimate origin in the Divine Mystery. Even if you’re just mentally singing your favorite song or revisiting your favorite passage in a Harry Potter book, allow those mental diversions to become arenas for deepening intimacy with God.
Granted, this qualifies as more of a kataphatic, than apophatic, form of prayer. If you are committed to silent contemplation, then at some point even the mental consideration of God’s action may have to be gently laid under the cloud of forgetting. But in the meantime, this strategy might well be a deeply prayerful way to tame the monkey mind — or, at least, to give its incessant chatter to the source of all love.
