Beware of those Eastern Mystical Labyrinths!
Sigh. The folks at Lighthouse Trails Research (one of the Internet’s more visible anti-mysticism websites) are getting goofier and goofier (or, perhaps, more and more paranoid). Yesterday they posted a blog entry in which they listed over thirty terms that they describe as “the ‘inside language’ of contemplative spirituality.” They go on to issue this dire warning: that all these “point to one thing … eastern mysticism.”
The list includes such terms as:
- Labyrinths
- The Jesus Prayer
- Lectio Divina
- Taize
- A Thin Place
- Spiritual Direction
- Ignatius Exercises (sic)
- Centering prayer
- Prayer of the Heart
- Dark night of the soul
- Practicing the Presence
- Spiritual Formation
Actually, only two of the terms on the list — “Yoga” and “Mantra” — are from eastern religions. All of the rest are thoroughly Christian terms, even if some of the practices included, such as Centering Prayer, are ecumenical in scope (Centering Prayer, as a method of teaching contemplative prayer, was created as a response to the many Christian young people who were exploring eastern mysticism in the 1970s). So, not only is this post silly and paranoid, but it’s just plain inaccurate.
Indeed, most of the terminology on this post points not to eastern mysticism, but to Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Christianity. I think the people at Lighthouse Trails should just call a spade a spade and admit that their real agenda is to tear down the body of Christ, by pitting evangelicals against Catholics.
My favorite term on this list is “A thin place,” which comes from not from the lands of eastern mysticism, but from Ireland. It simply refers to a place where one can more easily discern the presence of God (whether it be a cathedral, a monastery, or a site of natural beauty and wonder). I’m sure the generations of devout Christian Celts who celebrated God’s presence in their lives would be most amused to discover that they were secret agents of eastern mysticism, without even realizing it!
If you’ve read this far, please join me in praying for everyone associated with Lighthouse Trails Research — that they might be healed of their erroneous belief in an angry God who hates contemplative spirituality. As annoying as I find their website, what really saddens me is when I ponder what it must be like for those who actually live under the bondage of such a legalistic theology.
Mysticism and Gnosis
The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that there is an essential difference between mysticism and gnosis.
On the surface, both deal with the phenomenology of spiritual experience — direct encounter with the Divine Other, and/or the experience of Union with the Divine. But then there seems to be an essential ingredient that differentiates mysticism from gnosis, or vice versa.
Gnostic spirituality seems to imply that direct personal experience always trumps the received wisdom tradition (if the church tells me to serve the poor, but my own gnosis directs me not to interfere with the poor because they have their own spiritual karma to unravel, then as a gnostic I will ignore what the church says and follow my inner teachings). By contrast, conventional religion suggests that tradition always trumps experience — which is why the Catholic Church will only accept mystical teachings that are fully and completely consistent with official church teaching. Perhaps mysticism is the golden mean between these two positions. Mysticism dares to suggest that personal experience and received tradition must always inform, enlighten, critique, and shape each other. Gnosis and tradition are equally valuable, equally marvelous and miraculous arenas where the Holy Spirit can and does act. Likewise, both are subject to scrutiny — from each other. It is in this arena of mutual humility and shared vulnerability that God can do God’s mighty work of shaping us — and the community — in ever new ways.
I’m not sure if this is all that there is to understanding the difference between mysticism and gnosis. But it’s a start.
Redeeming Gnosis
Can gnosis be redeemed?
Today I began reading Richard Smoley’s Forbidden Faith: The Secret History of Gnosticism. Right away he sets up a tension that I don’t buy into: a conflict between the gnostics — those who have direct mystical experience — and the religionists, those who are the custodians of doctrine and dogma and therefore tend to be suspicious of gnosis. Oh, I suppose it’s a fair assessment of a real tension between those at the center of religious power, and those whose “power” (i.e., personal experience) lurks in the margins. Certainly, the history of world spirituality is littered with mystics, visionaries, buddhas, avatars, and anointed ones who have been attacked, silenced, or otherwise rejected by the religious establishment of their day. Some, like Origen, Meister Eckhart, Jeanne Guyon, and Eriugena, never manage to overcome that smear of heresy that is attached to their name. Others, like Francis of Assisi, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, and Faustina Kowalska, were for a time condemned by religious authorities, but eventually came to be regarded as saints, exemplars of the spiritual life. And of course, there are the greatest figures of all, those whose radical experience of gnosis or enlightenment not only led to breaking free from old religious forms, but to establishing entirely new ways of faith: Gautama and Jesus are perhaps the most spectacular examples.
But does religion only exist to be a force from which each generation must liberate itself anew? I can’t accept that view, it demonizes religion, thereby creating yet another false duality. Religion stifles gnosis, yes; but perhaps religion also fosters it. And maybe that’s not all the religion stifles, or fosters. Maybe there really is more to all this than the quest for enlightenment. (more…)
Catholic Anarchy
A reader of this blog named James D B sent me this link — catholicanarchy.org — which he describes as a “good quality synthesis of the punk-anarcho-Catholic subculture.” I just glanced at it, and it looks well worth checking out…
The Year of Living Biblically
The Year of Living Biblically: One Man’s Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible
By A. J. Jacobs
New York: Simon & Schuster, 2007
Review by Carl McColman
Basically a one-joke book, this amusing but by turns insightful and surprisingly heartfelt memoir traces the efforts of A. J. Jacobs, a thoroughly secular and agnostic New York writer, to devote an entire year to adhering to Biblical teachings, mandates, and laws, as fully as possible. Anyone with even a casual knowledge of the Bible can quickly visualize the absurd scenarios that Jacobs finds himself in: not only does he embrace kosher dietary rules, but her turns his wardrobe inside out in an effort to adhere to Biblical norms; at one point he wanders around Central Park looking for adulterers to stone (cognizant that hurling rocks at people, even those who cheat on their spouse, is simply not the done thing anymore, the author compromises and tosses a pebble at the bemused person who admits to being unfaithful); while his efforts to adhere to the purity codes of Leviticus result in a variety of absurd situations, many involving his long-suffering wife. This book could go terribly wrong in a variety of ways, from collapsing in on its own seriousness to coming across as mean-spirited in its lampooning of religious devotion. Thankfully, Jacobs dodges those bullets, both because of his own dry and rather self-deprecating sense of humor, and thanks to how surprised he is to discover that, despite the obvious absurdity of his quest, he finds the Bible to become surprisingly meaningful in his life. (more…)
The Charter of Christian Mysticism
Mysticism’s detractors often accuse it of being “un-biblical” or “extra-biblical.” Mysticism cannot be an authentic element of Christian spirituality, so their reasoning goes, since it is not found in the Bible.
True, the word mysticism does not occur in the Bible. But it is related to the Greek word mysterion, translated in most English versions as “mystery.” If we think of mysticism as the spirituality of the Christian mystery, we are much closer to finding its scriptural foundation.
Thinking about this, I turned to the third chapter of Ephesians, in which Paul mentions the mystery of Christ four times. In this chapter he is discussing why Christ came not just for Israel, but for the entire world: gentiles as well as Jews. As I read over the chapter, it occurred to me that this is the headwaters of mystical theology. Indeed, here is the scriptural justification for mysticism: the “charter,” if you will, of the Christian tradition of entering via contemplation into the loving and transforming presence of God.
Let’s take a look at Ephesians 3. (more…)
On the Margins
The other night my friend Cliff and I were talking about a series of Sunday School Classes we’re doing for his church. We’re looking at how the mystics within Christianity are the both the heirs of the prophetic tradition and the custodians of theophany.
Part of our conversation involved figuring out the best way to present the mystical tradition to adults who may have been devout churchgoers for a lifetime, but who may know little or nothing about Christian mysticism. Wouldn’t such an adult reasonably wonder why, if mysticism were so important, he or she hadn’t heard about it before?
My answer is simple: ever since the first folks went out into the desert in post-Constantine antiquity, mysticism has been a marginal element within Christianity. Sure, some mystics (Francis of Assisi, Teresa of Avila, Thérèse of Lisieux) get the blessing of church hierarchy, but many others (Origen, Evagrius, Eriugena, Eckhart) are dismissed as heretics. Still others, like the 14th century English mystics, live and die in obscurity, with their wisdom and experience reaching a wider audience only centuries after their death.
So overall, mysticism lives on the margins. Even those saints whose mystical wisdom is accepted by mainstream Christianity still have far less influence than more heroic figures like saints and martyrs. More people know about Mother Teresa or John Paul II — or for that matter, Dietrich Bonhoeffer — than are familiar with Thomas Merton. And the further back in time you go, the more obscure (read: marginal) the mystics become.
So as I was driving home from our meeting, this thought occurred to me: marginality is what links the mystical tradition and the Celtic tradition together. I’ve been trying to figure out their natural meeting points. Sure, some Celts were mystics (Eriugena, George MacLeod), but overall, Celtic spirituality tends to be more about the wonder of nature than about the nature of wonder. So I’ve been more or less seeing my dual interests in Celtic wisdom and Christian mysticism as parallel, but hardly integral.
But marginality is the missing link. As Christians who lived “at the end of the world” and within a culture that had reached its apex some 500 years before the coming of Christ, Celtic Christians clearly have inhabited the margins. Just like the mystics.
So now the question becomes: how do the marginalities of mysticism and Celtic Christianity compare to each other? What are their points of similarity, and what are their differences?
The Spirituality of Not
This past Sunday I went to church with my father — to Gloria Dei, the Lutheran Church I was a member of during my adolescent years. It was the site of my Lutheran first communion and Lutheran confirmation; the community where I first learned how to “do” church, and the church I returned to after that world-shattering weekend in 1977 when I, attending a statewide youth group weekend in the Shenandoah Valley, experienced an unexpected, un-anticipated encounter with the mystery of all-pervading loving consciousness that to this day I can only explain as the loving presence of God. When I did return to my home church, I discovered that it was not a place where it felt safe to talk about such an experience. (more…)
Nascargot
Since a few days ago I wrote about how mysticism is like a snail, I thought readers of this blog might find this video amusing.
“This user has disabled anonymous and non-friend posting.”
Does anyone who reads this mostly dormant journal know ?
This person has written a lovely comment about a recent post in my blog. I had wanted to post a thank you comment, but am barred from doing so by the fact that I am not listed as one of ‘s friends.
The ironies of the internet, where we can access one another’s thoughts so easily and yet have built gated cybercommunities to keep each other at a safe distance.
At any rate, if anyone could facilitate an introduction between us, I’d be grateful.
Julian (1987-2007)
The oldest of our four cats has died.
Julian (yes, named after the English mystic) came to live with me as an adorable calico kitten in the fall of 1987. I had just moved to Atlanta, and I chose an apartment with the ability to have a cat as a consideration. She was rather shy — a classic “scaredy-cat” — but could be very warm and affectionate with you once she decided she liked you.
When I married Fran (in 1993), she and Julian really bonded. For most of her mature years, Julian slept in the bed next to Fran. We have often joked that of our four cats, Julian “owned” Fran, China “owned” me, Clarissa “owned” Rhiannon, and Ferbie, the youngest (like China, a stray who adopted us) was the free agent in the house.
In recent years Julian suffered from arthritis and her self-grooming declined considerably. Which was a shame, as she was always a lovely cat (and for most of her life, fastidious with her grooming, as most cats are). As her grooming declined, her hair would be matted — we nicknamed her “Mattie” and commented that she was our first “Rasta kitten” since she had such wonderful dreadlocks. In an effort to help her with her grooming, Fran bought several cat-combs and we would take turns combing her. Feisty old lady that she was, she would complain loudly and bitterly as we combed out her matted fur. But she never bit and always would come back for more grooming, so we figured that she really was glad to be cared for that way, even if she had to complain about it. She was by far the most vocal of our four cats, the house will be eerily silent without her persistent meowing. I believe she was part-Siamese, and certainly talked like a Siamese cat.
Julian hated closed doors and adored being petted on her head. If we would lie on the bed to read, she knew that if she were persistent in rubbing the book (making reading nigh impossible), she would be rewarded with ample head-petting. She knew how to work us.
This weekend I was in Virginia, visiting my father. Early Sunday morning Fran heard a loud noise and woke up to find Julian lying on the floor, having fallen off the bed. She obviously was having seizures. Eventually the seizures stopped and she spent several hours wandering aimlessly around the house. As Fran described it, it was clear she had suffered a stroke with considerable loss of cognitive function: she would walk into a wall and just stop and stand there, unsure what to do next. At one point she got stuck between the refrigerator and the cabinets, and just stood there until Fran rescued her. Finally she settled down in a corner of our living room and slept; Fran made a little nest for her with towels in a box. We figured that we would probably have to get her to the vet today, since often strokes in cats can be treated with steroids.
But that was not to be. Early this morning — roughly a day after she suffered her stroke — she passed away, peacefully with Fran beside her, gently stroking her.
When I got home, Fran and I groomed her body one final time.
I’m sad and I know I’ll miss her terribly, but she had a good life, over twenty years of it. Fran has a clear sense of her playing in the fields of heaven. I suppose she’s gone to Tir na n’Og, where the mice are plentiful and the hunting is good.
God speed, Julian. Thank you for sharing your life with us.
On the Road Again…
Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I fly to Virginia to visit with my father in my hometown of Hampton. I’ll be there through the weekend and will return to Georgia on Monday. I may or may not have Internet access while I’m up there (I imagine I’ll get my laptop into a wi-fi hotspot at some point, just don’t know when). I’ll be back in Atlanta by noon Monday, and after lunching with an old friend I hope I’ll make it downtown to hear the Dalai Lama speak at Atlanta’s Centennial Park, although my aversion to crowds may win out over my desire to see one of my spiritual heroes.
I should be back in the saddle by Tuesday or Wednesday. Hopefully by then I’ll come up with something nice and spiritual/controversial/thought provoking for you to read.
Praying the Mystics
Maybe the point I’m about to make is an obvious one. Since I am a “bear of little brain,” sometimes obvious ideas aren’t so evident to me. So if this seems like a no-brainer, consider the source…
The idea in question came to me last night. Wouldn’t it make sense when reading the mystics — Julian of Norwich, John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila, Walter Hilton, Hildegard of Bingen, Meister Eckhart, Evelyn Underhill, Gregory Palamas, The Cloud of Unknowing, and so forth — to read them as an act of prayer? Really this is just lectio divina, but perhaps a more compressed approach to lectio: rather than worry about the method of lectio (reading with an openness to receiving the word, and then engaging in meditative reflection, verbal orison, and finally wordless contemplation) just do it — just open the book, and read. Slowly. Begin with “Dear God,” and end with “Amen.” As for the other steps in the lectio process, we simply can be open to the spirit’s leading: sometimes praying the writings of the great mystics will lead naturally to meditation, verbal prayer and contemplation, while other times the reading/praying experience will be full and complete in itself. It’s all about just being open to the Spirit’s leading.
In other words, the idea of “studying the mystics” basically is a non-starter. We do not study the mystics. We pray through them. Well, I guess if you’re taking a college course you’re studying the mystics. But even that can be handled in a prayerful way.
A Message from Bonnie Raitt
Here is a message from Bonnie Raitt (and MoveOn.org) that landed in my email inbox last night:
When Jackson Browne, Graham Nash, many other bands and I played our “No Nukes” concerts in 1979 to 100,000 people, we never dreamed we’d have to come back almost 30 years later to fight the same fight all over again.
But it’s 2007, and here we are again. The nuclear industry just slipped a clause into the energy bill that will provide up to $50 billion in tax subsidies for to build new reactors—enough to launch a whole new generation of nukes! We’ve already got the safe, viable alternatives to replace the dirty energy we’re using now. Building new atomic reactors in an age of terror threats is not only scary, but the toxic waste from nuclear power threatens our health and our planet. The nuclear option is not the way to go.
So I called my friends, and we recorded a music video to spread the word. We’ve also launched a petition, and I’m asking MoveOn members to sign on. Here’s what it says: “America’s new energy policy needs to focus on safe and economic fuel sources. Congress must strip the nuclear tax subsidies from the energy bill before they pass it.”
Clicking below will add your signature (and you can also see the video that we produced on that same page):
http://pol.moveon.org/nukefree/o.pl?id=11429-7608804-FTR_P&t=4
When you’re done, please take a minute to pass it along to your friends. $50 billion in loan guarantees is a lot of money—enough to cover financial risk for the big banks who want to get involved. In other words, if something goes wrong, it will be the American taxpayers who foot the bill, not Wall Street. It makes no sense. We know nuclear facilities are a target for terrorists. We know nuclear energy is toxic to our health and environment. And we know solar and wind power are safer, cheaper, and getting easier to use every day. This should equal a big “no” on nuclear energy, and a big “yes” to investing in clean energy. But the nuclear industry and their friends in Congress don’t want to take no for an answer.
We know MoveOn members worked to pass this energy bill and most of it is great—we’ll get more solar and wind with this bill, and even more fuel efficient cars. We just need to ask Congress to take the nuclear subsidies out.
So that’s why we’re reaching out to you. No one is better than MoveOn when it comes to mobilizing quickly on important issues. Please sign your name to the petition below and pass it along to your friends.
“America’s new energy policy needs to focus on safe and economic fuel sources. Congress must strip the nuclear tax subsidies from the energy bill before they pass it.”
http://pol.moveon.org/nukefree/o.pl?id=11429-7608804-FTRo_P&t=5
Thanks for listening. Together we can find a way to a cleaner future.
–Bonnie Raitt, Musician
Thursday, October 18th, 2007
Idol Chatter
I’m having fun hanging out at Beliefnet (note to self: do this more often).
The latest treasure I’ve discovered: their “pop culture” blog, Idol Chatter.
Follow the link to check it out for yourself.
Your Best Theology Now?
Over the past few months two different friends, both of whom I respect dearly, both theologically informed, liberal-minded folks, suggested I read Joel Osteen’s Your Best Life Now: 7 Steps to Living at Your Full Potential. Osteen is kind of our generation’s answer to Norman Vincent Peale, a wildly successful prosperity gospel preacher based in Texas. He’s the pastor of what I understand is America’s largest congregation, has his own TV show, etc. and this book has sold upwards of four million copies.
So I gave it a whirl. I will admit that I liked it better than I thought I would; Osteen has a sweet and engaging style and, as befits his theological niche, is relentlessly positive and encouraging. He does say some good things not only about positive thinking and remaining hopeful even when life appears to be going down the tubes, but he also has a clear sense that when we pray for (and receive) material blessings, the ultimate purpose is to give them away, to share them with others.
Still, it’s a troubling book, because of the subtle message that God’s purpose is to shower us with blessings, and that we are in charge of whether those blessings flow or not. Here it is in a nutshell: on page 269, Osteen says:
You might as well choose to be happy and enjoy your life! When you do that, not only will you feel better, but your faith will cause God to show up and work wonders in your life.
Friend, I don’t know about you, but the God I worship is a whole lot bigger than that. I believe that God will work wonders in our lives, but we don’t have to do anything to make God “show up.” God is already here. And if the wonders we are currently receiving don’t look like wonders — well, maybe it isn’t God who needs to change.
I’m all for prosperity thinking and believing in blessings. But there’s a way in which Osteen and his ilk can help us see why Augustine wasn’t entirely wrong when he attacked Pelagius.
The Shock of the Old
As readers of this blog know, I continually try to make sense of why some Christians are hostile to centering prayer.
As best I can tell, there are three basic objections:
- It is seen as an innovation within Christian spirituality, a “new age” practice without historical precedent or grounding. A variation of this objection is that centering prayer is unscriptural; i.e. it is not found in the Bible.
- It is seen as representing the influx of alien ideas or practices, particularly eastern forms of spirituality (an idea that no doubt was accelerated by the fact that early writings on centering prayer did borrow language and terminology freely from the east, comparing the practice to transcendental meditation and referring to the prayer word as a mantra).
- It is seen as dangerous because an emptied mind is seen as vulnerable to attack from evil spirits.
If anyone reading this knows of other reasons why some Christians reject centering prayer, please post your thoughts as a comment here. I’m quite interested in the topic, even though it does make my blood boil (yes, evidence of my own spiritual poverty, but that’s a topic for another day).
For now, we’ll just go with these three concerns. I’m hardly a professional theologian or church historian, but based on my layman’s knowledge all three of these objections strike me as being based on misunderstandings. (more…)
Until You Give it Away
I believe that mysticism is a lot like love. Consider these similarities:
- It’s a free gift from God that we can neither earn nor deserve, yet God is eager to give it to us just the same.
- In this gift, all God is giving us is, well, God.
- In receiving the gift, it’s the best feeling in the world — but it’s more than just a feeling; indeed, it is a mistake to try to reduce this gift to a mere feeling.
- Expanding on the above: this gift heightens our consciousness (both in temporary and long-lasting ways), energizes our ability to make positive, good, healing choices in our lives, inspires us to clean up our own mess, and nurtures all of our relationships: not only with God, but with self, others, and indeed all of creation.
- One of the ways we know we’ve received the gift is how it creates real, observable changes in our lives.
- For Christians, the power of the Sacred Scripture and the Sacraments are uniquely effective in conveying the gift to us.
- There is an essentially communal dimension to this gift. In other words, we never fully receive the gift until we give it away.
Four elements of mysticism
When I teach a class on mysticism (like I’m currently doing through the Emory University Center for Lifelong Learning), I point out to my students that mysticism involves more than just a pure experience of God, or union, or transcendence, or whatever. First of all, it also involves the struggle to put that pure experience into words — a struggle I alluded to in my first sentence here. Does mysticism involve God, or some other spirit, or the “higher self” or merely an altered state of consciousness? Many mystics report that their experience is ineffable — beyond words — and yet they struggle to at least partially capture it in verbal ways. After the initial effort to ground mystical experience in language comes the attempt to interpret such experience: to understand it in context of religion, or philosophy, or morality, or community values. What does it mean to have an experience of union with God? What difference does it make? Why should I care? Should I try to have my own mystical experience? Why or why not? How can I tell if a mystical experience is authentic or genuine? How can I discern the difference between a true encounter with God and a hallucination? Does such a distinction even matter? Finally, this entire cluster of experience/language/meaning gets handed on to others. This can involve teaching, training, formation, and can be geared toward individuals with a specific religious commitment (priests, ministers, monks and nuns, trained spiritual directors) or toward the general laity. Either way, passing on the wisdom of mysticism is important for tilling the good earth so that the movement of the Spirit can erupt in new and fresh ways in generations to come. (more…)
Ann Coulter on Jewish-Christian interfaith relations
This speaks for itself. Yet another reason why Christians need to be continually begging non-Christians for forgiveness…
Still Small Voice
Last night I had dinner with my friend Cliff who is coordinating an adult education program at his church. Currently they’re studying theophanies (encounters with God) in the Bible. Cliff wants to follow this up with a series on the mystics; hence his picking my brain over chips and salsa at a noisy Mexican restaurant.
We talked about the mystics who have had their own particular theophanies: Augustine in the garden; Julian of Norwich during her life-threatening illness; Thomas Merton on the corner of Fourth and Walnut in Lousiville, KY; Teresa of Avila and her vision of the cherub with the arrow. Cliff wants to give his students a brief introduction to each mystic, and then an opportunity to read one or two selections from the mystic’s writings in the style of lectio divina, followed by time for prayer and reflection.
“So why do you want to do this?” I asked him. “What’s the point of this class?”
“I want to challenge the modernist assumption that God has fallen silent,” he replied. “I believe the mystics witness to the fact that God is still speaking.” (more…)
