The blog and the book: two ways of writing…
My post from yesterday is getting a lot of hits, and I appreciate the comments people have left. I need to go on the record as saying, yes, I love books too! As anyone who has been to my house can attest, it is full of books and I keep getting more all the time. My post from yesterday has as much to do with the joy of writing as with the future of “the book” as a media format.
I found this person’s feedback interesting:
If you feel called the write this book, as it seems to me you clearly do, this is God speaking to you. It’s not up to you whether the book is a success, is published or anything else. That’s up to God. It’s the process in your own life and between you and the Divine that matters. Follow your calling!
What’s ironic about this comment is that the only reason I am writing the book is because I already have an offer to publish it. Without that, I wouldn’t be writing it — I’d be writing for the blog instead. And I think that’s really my point: as a writer, I feel the tension between two kinds of writing. (more…)
Nasty
The other day I took a walk with a friend of mine, about my age, who is going through a spiritual transition. He was at one point a very devout Christian, going to seminary with the hope of becoming a missionary. But a crisis of faith cut that journey short, and launched him on an unexpected trajectory of criticism toward organized religion that has finally resulted in his declaring to me, just the other night, that he has begun to wonder if perhaps he is an atheist. It became clear from our conversation that for him atheism involved two problems, the problem of God and the problem of religion. He dealt with the problem of God by deciding that “God” is a psycholinguistic symbol that people use to signify ultimate concern or power. Meanwhile, religion was the real enemy, for while he acknowledged that much good has been done in the name of religion, he felt that a final balancing of the books suggested that religion, overall, does more harm than good.
I think my friend may be rather typical of persons who choose agnosticism or atheism over religious faith. He’s given me a lot to think about. Indeed, while chatting with Fran this morning, I had this thought: If you look at all the various arguments put forth by agnostics and atheists against God and religion, and you simply boiled them down, down to their essence, it seems to me that the atheist/agnostic critique of religion can be succinctly stated in four words:
“Religious people are nasty.”
From the crusades to the witch burnings to the arrest of Galileo to Pius X’s condemnation of modernism to the church-fueled hostility to gay and lesbian persons, atheists have plenty of fuel for their anti-religious fires. But whether they are taking aim at religion’s hatred of science, hatred of sexuality, hatred of free thought, or hatred of cultural diversity, the common element in all of this is that religious people hate. No wonder atheists find us so disgusting. (more…)
Happy Christmas
It’s almost time for bed, but I wanted to post a couple of photos to the blog and write about our happy Christmas. Fran and Rhiannon and I are in Hampton, Virginia, visiting my father.
We exchanged gifts; as usual, my loot consisted mostly of media, from The Origin of Fire by Anonymous 4, to Quantum Theology by Diarmuid O’Murchu, to — lest anything think I’m all work and no play — Ratatouille. After the presents were all unwrapped, Fran got out her guitar (an “early” gift from my sister-in-law Julie) and we all sang Christmas carols.
Later in the afternoon my niece Beth Ann came down from Richmond and we went out for dinner at a Chinese restaurant (the only place in town we knew would be open).
This is our first Christmas since losing Mom. I was braced for it to be a toughie, but I think everyone was just happy to be together. We knew Mom was with us in spirit.
Distinctive Qualities of Celtic Christianity
I”ve been pondering the question, “What are the disctinctive qualities of Celtic Christianity?” In thinking about this, five particular points emerged. Celtic Christianity, as expressed in the poetry, prayers, folklore and hagiography of the earliest Christians of Ireland, Scotland and Wales, appears to have these five distinctive qualities:
- Hospitality, and particularly hospitality to all wisdom. This is epitomized by the early Celtic Christian tolerance/acceptance of the Celtic pagan past, at a time when most of Christendom was aggressively attacking all outsider religion as demonic. “Christ is my Arch-Druid,” said Columcille, implying not onlly his love for Christ, but that in Christ he could also honor the faith of his pre-Christian ancestors. I would think that today this hospitality manifests as a deep ecumenism and also as an openness to all that is beautiful good and true in non-Christian faiths, such as Vedanta or Zen. In general, the virtue of hospitality suggests that the heart of Celtic Christianity is an ethic of welcoming rather than purity.
- Deep love and respect for the earth. This is so obviously part of the heart of the Celtic tradition that it really needs no commentary. But from the folklore associated with saints like Kevin and Brigid, to the lorica attributed to Patrick, to the overall spirit of joy in nature found in early Celtic Christian poetry, this is a constant theme of Celtic wisdom, and one vitally relevant to our day. I don’t remember the exact quote, but Columcille once said something to the effect that the most fearful sound he could think of was that of an ax cutting down a tree. There is the Celtic heart.
- Honoring of women’s ministry. The archetype here is Brigid, the abbess who according to legend was consecrated a bishop and provided spiritual guidance to both women and me. In general, the role of women in early Irish law was much stronger and egalitarian than its Roman counterpart. I don’t want to overstate the case or suggest that Ireland was some sort of proto-feminist paradise, but I do think the relative standing of Celtic women when compared to women in general in the early centuries of Christianity can be an inspiration to all Christians who seek a more equitable theology of the sexes. The Celts remind us that we do not have to be limited by the heritage of the Roman Empire when it comes to understanding the role of women in the life of the church.
- Emphasis on the local. “To travel to Rome: great expense; little profit; but to pilgrimage to Glendalough: little expense, great profit.” Maybe this was just a marketing campaign launched by the good monks of Glendalough, but I think it speaks to a larger sensibility among the Irish (and other Celtic) Christians and general. Think of Holy Wells — each one is unique and different and distinctive. In the Celtic world, the local is just as important as the universal. Celtic Christianity balances universality with honoring of what is distinctive and unique about the locality. Closely aligned with this is the Celtic preference for monasteries rather than dioceses. The word “Tuath” suggests not only a community, but the land where that community lives. I think this goes a long way to explaining the Celtic spirit.
- Deep creativity. From the splendid illuminated calligraphy of the Book of Kells; to the intricate metalwork of the Ardagh Chalice; to the finely-crafted carving that characterizes the Crosses of Monasterboice: Celtic Christianity literally oozes with art and creativity. It’s a highly expressive tradition, full of poetry and folklore and local legends, and even “medieval bestsellers” like The Voyage of Brendan, rich with imaginative storytelling. This I would think is closely aligned with the love of the earth: to celebrate God’s creation is linked with celebrating our own creativity (and using it to honor and praise the Ultimate Artist).
I’m sure I could come up with more, but this seems to be a good place to stop for now. It’s probably important to note that none of these distinctive qualities were universal in the Celtic church: for example, Kevin of Glendalough was notorious for his fear of women. But given the Celtic emphasis on the local, it’s important to remember that the world of Celtic spirituality is defined by diversity. What’s important is not that all Celtic Christians embodied hospitality, creativity, honoring of earth and women, and so forth; but that enough of them did so as to leave behind an inspirational literary tradition that embodies these values.
Celtic Christians never thought of themselves as somehow different or special. But by simply being themselves, they have bestowed upon us, their spiritual descendants, a priceless and precious gift: a unique way of looking at the world, and therefore, a distinctive cultural expression of discipleship that is deeply relevant to the needs of the postmodern world.
Kakure Kirishitan
Follow this link to read a fascinating article about a sect in Japan that evolved after the earliest Christian missionaries arrived in the sixteenth century. When Christianity was suppressed starting in the early 1600s, Japan’s first Christians had to adapt to survive — and they did, by blending Christianity with elements of Buddhism and Shinto. I think one can easily find parallels to the history of Christianity in Ireland, Africa, and elsewhere.
Japan’s “Hidden Christians” Face Extinction
Also check out the Wikipedia entry for Kakure Kirishitan.
The Eve of Yule
Tonight will be longest night of the year. The exact solstice moment occurs at 1:08 AM Saturday morning, Atlanta time. So happy winter solstice, everyone!
This means that at Newgrange in Ireland, probably starting yesterday and running through Monday, the annual solstice event is occurring, meaning that for just a few minutes each morning — weather permitting — the sun will shine directly into the heart of this megalithic tomb. Even though it is about 5,000 years old, this ancient structure is perfectly aligned so that the winter solstice sunrise briefly shines directly into its heart, casting light into chambers that the rest of the year would lie in serene darkness.
We know so little about what our ancestors believed. Clearly, to build a tomb like Newgrange (which easily took several generations to complete) with such a precise astronomical alignment speaks not only to a profound reverence for the dead, but also a deep knowledge of the environment — and, we may presume, some sort of conviction about immortality. The form those beliefs may have taken, of course, has been lost in the mists of time. All that is left is a massive structure, which after millennia stands as a silent testimony to an ancient wisdom long lost.
It begs the question: what other forms of knowledge or wisdom have been lost to us? And what will take to regain such insight?
Good questions for us as we reflect on the longest night of the year, and the anticipated return of the sun.
N.B. My apologies to readers from the southern hemisphere — hope you have a joyful summer solstice!
‘nough said
An anonymous blogger who calls himself “a peasant” quoted my If… post in full yesterday on his blog Nuf Sed, and then added this gem of his own commentary:
I found working through these questions to be a valuable exercise today. And it’s an exercise very much like this that is leading me these days. Not setting myself up as a mystic, mind you. Too high range for me. And even if God gave me the grace of God’s Presence…I sure wouldn’t call myself a mystic! How awkward! ‘Mystic’ is a word that only other people — and very discerning ones — can affix to you, and preferably long after you’re dead. Calling oneself a ‘mystic’ is like laughing at one’s own jokes — it’s just a mistake.
That’s not only ‘nough said, it’s well said. Just the other day I had written my “don’t make the mistake of calling yourself a mystic” disclaimer for my book, and —at least for its first draft — I’m afraid it is rather bloated and verbose. How lovely to read the words of someone who can make that argument eloquently, elegantly and humorously in just a few well-chosen words.
New Testament Mysticism
Here’s a website that looks tasty:
The Society of Biblical Literature’s New Testament Mysticism Project Seminar.
As the website puts it,
The New Testament Mysticism Project Seminar (NTMPS) was organized under the auspices of the Society of Biblical Literature to facilitate the study of early Jewish and Christian mystical traditions in the New Testament writings.
The NTMPS understands early Jewish and Christian mysticism as a tradition located within formative Judaism and Christianity, a tradition centering on the belief that a person directly, immediately and before death can experience God or his manifestation.
If…
If right here and right now, you were a fully blossomed mystic — I mean of the same caliber as Julian of Norwich or John of the Cross — how would your life be different?
What would your day look like?
How would you be spending (or investing) your money?
How much time would you spend each day in prayer? In lectio divina? In works of mercy? In our postmodern/western equivalent to “chop wood, carry water” — i.e., cleaning the laundry and doing the dishes?
Would you be a member of the same church you are now? If you’re not currently a member of a church, would you seek one out? If you think you would be part of a different faith community than the one you’re in now, what would that look like? Meanwhile, how would your mystical consciousness change the way you think about and relate to faiths and wisdom traditions other than your own?
What about your interpersonal relationships? I don’t believe mysticism in itself changes our relationships, although it might add stress to dysfunctional or toxic connections. How would your immersion in the mystical life impact those you love? Would they be happy about this?
What about your messes: your addictions, your compulsions, your secrets? What would the mystical life impel you to do about them?
How would being a mystic impact your level of physical activity? Your overall health and commitment to keeping yourself healthy? How would it impact your diet? In other words, what would you have for breakfast? Dinner? Supper?
What about work? How would your professional life change? What would need to be different about who you are vocationally?
And how would the mystical path affect your creativity? What kind of creative work do you think mysticism would inspire in you? How would that be different from what you are now?
I’m asking you all these questions (and myself, too), for a very simple reason. I know I am nowhere near the level of consciousness of a Julian or a John. But I certainly admire them, and if it were God’s will to grant me the experience and strength of character to be a mystic like that, I hope that I would be worthy enough to receive such a gift. But I also don’t believe life is meant to be lived in the future: it’s for today, here, now. I know that I have no control over God’s gift of felt presence in my life; but I do have control over how I conduct my life in order to be disposed to receive God’s presence, in whatever form or degree God chooses to come to me.
To summarize: If I love the mystical tradition and admire the mystics, doesn’t, therefore, it make sense for me to live as if I were a mystic: starting today?
How we answer this question, it seems to be, will do much to shape our process of spiritual formation.
15 Marks of a Faith Community
Yesterday while driving to work I began to think about what kinds of qualities would really make a Christian faith community exciting. This should be replicable at all sizes or types of community: from the small Julian Meeting I participate in (which often only has four people show up) all the way up to a megachurch. I don’t know if the community exists that has all 15 of these marks: but if it did, I’d want to be involved.
Granted, the Catholic magisterium is not about to start listening to my ideas about church. But perhaps my readers who are immersed in the emergent or house church movements would find this list useful. (more…)
Quote for the Day
At some point in each of our searchings, I believe it is necessary to become “located” within some valid spiritual tradition. It is of course neither desirable nor necessary to so solidly identify oneself with a tradition that blind allegiance and particularity are courted. Location is decidedly different from identification. In location within a tradition that has been tested and tempered by history, one can cease the furtive skimming of the surface of things and begin to go deep. Here it is possible to measure one’s own perceptions against those of others by solid, valid means. Here it is possible to be open to sensible, understandable criticism as well as palpable support. Without this location of one’s own search within a historic tradition of searching, it is too easy to wander aimlessly. But when the location becomes exclusive and self-identifying, the search is lost altogether.
— Gerald G. May, Will and Spirit: A Contemplative Psychology
“A Brief History of Everything” through Evening at Emory
Here’s my next class through Evening at Emory:
A Brief History of Everything
Five Wednesday Evenings, February 6-March 7, 2008
7 – 9 PM
American philosopher Ken Wilber writes books that combine eastern and western spirituality, psychology, biology, cultural theory, and other strands of contemporary thought to create what the author calls “integral theory.” Wilber seeks to bridge the divide between science and religion, explain the dynamics of human consciousness and moral development, and speculate on the future evolution of our species. Despite the complexity of his thought, many of Wilber’s books are written in an accessible style, including the textbook for this class, A Brief History of Everything. In this class we’ll read the book, discuss its merits and flaws, and consider how Wilber’s ideas can impact both the scientific and spiritual communities. Tuition includes textbook.
This will be the third time I’ve taught this class; it usually fills up so I suggest you register early. It’s a fun class, I really try to encourage differing viewpoints: it’s not about finding the “one correct way” of interpreting Ken Wilber’s thought, but rather using his ideas as an intellectual and spiritual springboard to consider how the evolution of consciousness can make a difference in our everyday lives.
If you live in the Atlanta area, I hope you’ll be there!
Lyra Skywalker
So we went to see The Golden Compass last night. And now I am more convinced than ever that Bill Donohue needs to get a life. The guy is worth millions of dollars but all he does is fuss about movies he doesn’t like. Sheeesh.
Granted, the word on the street is that The Golden Compass suffered the same fate as The Da Vinci Code: all of the most controversial elements in the book were disemboweled from the screenplay. Sure enough, the Magisterium comes across about as blandly sinister as the Empire in Star Wars. In the movie, the Magisterium performs Nazi-like experiments on children (a metaphor for clergy abuse?), is willing to assassinate its intellectual enemies, and is rumored to maintain order by “telling people what to do.” Meanwhile, all sorts of cool characters are running about who ignore or oppose the Magisterium and who may or may not be on its radar screen. Lyra, the heroine of the story, is a plucky little orphan who’s not afraid to get in trouble and consequently gets herself imbroiled in the Rebellion (oops, wrong movie, but the counter-Magisterium movement doesn’t seem to have a name), helps an alcoholic polar bear to sober up and regain his dignity and sets all the about-to-be-experimented-on children free in a manner that would make Caractacus Potts proud — all thanks to her gee whiz device, the golden compass, which is basically a device for accessing one’s intuition (i.e., using the Force). I half expected characters to say to Lyra “May the Golden Compass Be With You” whenever they parted. Oh, and if you want a really over-the-top Star Wars connection, just remember that when we first met Luke Skywalker, he was as much of an orphan as Lyra is… only it took George Lucas almost two full movies before he drops the bombshell about Luke’s parentage, whereas the same plot twist happens much-more-obviously all within one movie here.
The movie is getting mostly lukewarm reviews, and I think that’s a bit unfair. It’s head and shoulders above The Phantom Menace and it’s arguably as good as the first Harry Potter film. Granted it’s no Lord of the Rings, but not every film has to have a five-star rating. It’s a lovely film, gorgeously designed and filled with beautiful people (Eva Green, Nicole Kidman, Daniel Craig, and young Dakota Blue Richards, who could out-Hermione Emma Watson any day of the week). Watching the film as a Christian, I can’t help but think that, as it stands, its message is profoundly consistent with the gospel: the Magisterium comes across as little more than a principality of this world, similar to the powers which the followers of Christ are called to resist. And the fact that the church has such a sorry history of colluding with the very powers it is supposed to resist is, as I see it, not evidence that God doesn’t exist, but rather evidence that sin does. (more…)
Orthodox/Interfaith
One of my desires as a Christian contemplative — and as a writer about the mystical life — is to celebrate the orthodox heart within Christianity. By “orthodox” I mean engaging with key elements of Christian tradition, including the teachings regarding the Holy Trinity, the Incarnation, salvation and the Passion, the Sacraments as means of grace, and the Church as Mystical Body. I try to safeguard against several forces active in our world today that would pull against such an understanding of Christian orthodoxy, including fundamentalism (the attempt to manage the Christian Mystery by reducing it to a literary formula), skepticism (the attempt to deny the Christian Mystery by insisting that it is inconsistent with science, or philosophy, or psychology), or esoteric speculation (the claim that the Christian Mystery is incomplete without introducing ideas from outside the mainstream tradition, often from ancient non-canonical writings: such as the notions that Christ and Magdalene were lovers, or that Christ was an initiate of an occult order, or studied in India).
Indeed, there is really only one significant way in which I part company with many Christians who see themselves as standard-bearers of orthodoxy. I believe the church has been called to prayerfully discern where God is leading us in regard to letting go of sinful gender and sexual prejudices that the church inherited from the world in which it was born — prejudices that continue to alienate many thoughtful people of good will, and that directly or indirectly oppress nearly all Christians, but particularly women and LGBT persons. (Note that I am not suggesting the church uncritically adopt secular or marketplace values in regard to gender and sexuality; rather, that we discern where God may be leading us in such a way that we may be a forceful witness for God’s love and grace even while the church remains a countercultural organization). I am persuaded that, just as the church was called to repent of colluding with slavery and racism over the last two centuries, so for today and in the future true Christian orthodoxy will do nothing but flourish as the church repents of its sexism, heterosexism, and denigration of sexuality.
I’ll leave that hot potato aside for now, because I want to write about another issue: the question of how Christians ought to relate to faiths and wisdom traditions other than their own. (more…)
Forever Young
This photograph of my mom and dad was taken on December 29, 2003. They were both eighty years old at the time, and had been married just over 58 years. They were married on December 14, 1945, so today is their 62nd anniversary.
Here is a snapshot taken on December 14, 1945, the day they got married.
They only knew each other for about six months when they married, and for much of that time, dad was stationed away from mom so they courted through the mail. As for the big day — well, they eloped, so they didn’t have a big wedding with fancy clothes or a professional photographer. Mostly they just had each other.
Mom had a stroke in June 2005 and passed away this past January, shortly after their sixty-first anniversary. They were sweethearts up until the very end, and dad was single-mindedly devoted to her during her long descent into dementia. Today is their first anniversary after having been parted by death. Dad is doing okay; he’s in a nursing home but his health is basically good and his mind is mostly clear. Fran and Rhiannon and I will go up to Virginia to see him for Christmas. When we took the picture in 2003 — I don’t even know if Fran or I took the picture — we thought it was just another nice snapshot of mom and dad. Now I think it is utterly priceless. Funny how our perspectives can change.
Centering Prayer and the Healing of the Unconscious
Centering Prayer and the Healing of the Unconscious
By Murchadh Ó Madagáin
New York: Lantern Books, 2007
Review by Carl McColman
This introductory book on the practice of centering prayer is distinctive in that it has a strong apologetic tone. Although its title suggests it is a book about the healing qualities of centering prayer, I think what the author really is doing is trying to heal some of the ways in which centering prayer’s critics misunderstand the practice. In addition to discussing what centering prayer is, how it fits into the overall history of Christian spirituality, and why it is a healing spiritual practice, Irish priest Murchadh Ó Madagáin patiently provides a calm and reasoned response to the detractors of this contemporary practice with ancient roots. Fr. Ó Madagáin speaks the traditional language of ordinary Catholics and, as far as I can tell, appears to be theologically moderate if not somewhat conservative in his own right; as such, he is a wonderful interpreter of centering prayer’s key spokesperson, Thomas Keating, who has intentionally eschewed traditional religious language in favor of secular or psychological ways of explaining his ideas — a decision which has no doubt strengthened the antipathy of those who oppose him. This book fills a much-needed role in the emerging literature of centering prayer, in that it “re-translates” the central ideas of centering practice into language that traditional Catholics will find more familiar. (more…)
750 Words
Here is one way of describing my spiritual journey — in 750 words:
I was born into a very typical white, suburban, middle class, late twentieth-century American family. We were protestants and attended our local Lutheran Church. When I was sixteen I had an amazing spiritual experience that transformed my relationship with Christianity from conventional to charismatic. I began to participate in the highly experiential and emotionally hyper-charged world of neopentecostalism. Initially I felt blessed by God, but eventually I experienced charismatic religion as controlling, dualistic, and even abusive. Disillusioned, I gave up on organized religion and became a spiritual and intellectual seeker. In the heady climate of progressive politics in the early 1980s, I embraced feminism, environmentalism, and multi-culturalism. I began to think of Christianity as patriarchal and controlling, but meanwhile I couldn’t shake my spiritual way of looking at things, which often put me at odds with my secular leftist friends. As a sort of compromise, I became an Episcopalian, thinking that particular church would be a safe haven for people with my values. It was, and I began to explore contemplative spirituality more deeply.
But I was also drawn to the new spirituality of the Goddess, as an ecofeminist alternative to mainstream religion, and so I began to explore neopaganism — Wicca and Druidism — at first just by reading about it, but eventually feeling a desire to actually practice Pagan ritual. Soon I was trying to juggle being an Episcopalian with a growing attraction to neopaganism and its related new religious movements. As liberal as the Episcopal Church was, I just felt angrier and angrier at what I saw as its many flaws, including its “country club” atmosphere and noblesse oblige ethics. So I became a full-time Pagan, and as this was also when my writing career was beginning to blossom, I wrote several books about Paganism, always from the beginner’s perspective. But I soon realized that whatever it was I couldn’t find in Episcopalianism, I wasn’t going to find in Wicca or Druidism either. As I saw it, the church’s oppressive social structure was mirrored by Paganism’s antinomianism and chaotic social structure. Christian clergy privilege was mirrored by self-aggrandizement and competition among Pagan leaders.
My sense of religious disillusionment and disorientation spiraled — not out of control, but enough to the point that I felt spiritually parched, while emotionally I just kept getting angrier and angrier — at myself, at religion, at God (or the gods). In the midst of all that, an impulse that seemed utterly irrational kept presenting itself: for me to abandon Paganism and enter Catholicism — yes, Catholicism, the most sexist, patriarchal, oppressive, dogmatic and authoritarian religious structure I knew of. The absurdity of it all! I fought it for months, and yet the impulse wouldn’t go away. Becoming a Catholic would mean abandoning my rising star as a Pagan writer, and yet I felt that this was something I had to do, even if it meant trainwrecking my career. Finally, and with the support of several trusted friends and two gifted counselors, I came to see that, despite all my intellectual angst, on an emotional level I just simply wanted to do this: I wanted to explore the devotional mysticism of Catholicism, and that everything I “hated” about Catholicism on a mental level was actually necessary for me to face as part of my continued spiritual growth. Just as Luke Skywalker had to face Darth Vader in order to become a Jedi Knight, so I had to face down my anger and hatred at the institutional church — by immersing myself into the biggest and baddest church of them all.
So I did. Six months after entering the Catholic Church, I was offered a job at a monastery bookstore: a vocational ram in the thicket to replace the writing career I had tied up and was prepared to sacrifice. My job has given me access to monks who are teaching me in both big and little ways about the contemplative life and the mystical tradition. Now, thirty months after becoming Catholic, I’ve made some wonderful friends, fallen in love with Christ all over again, embraced a daily practice of contemplative prayer, and struggle mightily against what I see as the limitations of the church. I knew it would be hot in here, and I must admit that it’s hotter than I thought it would be. But I’m not getting out of this kitchen — at least not until I’m convinced my work here is done. For now, it feels like it’s barely begun.
Like I said, this is “one way” of describing my journey. There are others.
A (thoughtful) Christian review of The Golden Compass
My very wise (and talented) friend Joy Reid has written what is probably the most common-sensible review of The Golden Compass that I have yet come across, especially written by a practicing Christian. You can read it here. Her daughter’s comment regarding people who are “easily influenced” by films is priceless.
“They talk of days for which they sit and wait and all will be revealed…”
Yes, I know their music has the subtlety of an aircraft carrier and their lyrics are often teeth-grindingly sexist — but I grew up listening to Led Zeppelin, and so the part of me that will always be a naive 16-year-old will always love them. And now, I’m one of the twenty million or so fans who are fascinated by their reunion gig this past Monday night at the O2 in London. And the fact that the show has received rave reviews and everyone (except for the band, of course) is talking about a tour just keeps the fire stoked. I’ve been listening to Led Zeppelin all week long, amused at how songs like “Misty Mountain Hop” or “The Immigrant Song” sound to me now, now that I’m about three times as old as I was when I first heard them. For all their flaws, their best work can span the decades as effortlessly as classics by the Beatles or Dylan or the Dead.
Last night I was poking around online checking out what Led Zeppelin fans have to say, when I found this amazing sentence in the Wikipedia entry for Robert Plant:
He is known for his powerful style, often mystical lyrics, and wide vocal range.
Okay, fair enough. After all, he does sing about Valhalla and Thor and Tolkien’s ringwraiths and a lady who’s buying a… well, you know. Meanwhile, Bron-Yr-Aur, broken levees and forests echoing with laughter have a shimmering presence within my imaginal consciousness. And perhaps the signature piece “Kashmir” (quoted in this post’s title) comes closest to being a bona fide song about spiritual searching. But as much as I love Robert Plant (at least, when he’s not being demeaning to women), I just can’t wrap “mystical” around him. Mythical, yes; otherworldly, for sure. But he just ain’t mystical; not by my definition of the word anyway. (more…)
Celtic Compline
Here’s something lovely that I discovered on the web this morning: A Celtic Liturgy for Late Evening, composed by Adrian Worsfold, a British blogger who calls himself Pluralist.
It’s quite lovely. True to his pluralist sensibility, he draws from Christian, Jewish, and Druidic sources, and has created rubrics for the service to allow portions of the liturgy to be omitted as a way of including those with differing theologies or faith traditions. It is a leaderless service and suitable for both individual or group use.
Thank you, dear readers
During this Holy Season of Advent, I want to take a moment and thank everyone who reads this blog, with a special “Thank you” to those who take the time to comment on what is posted here.
If you’ve been reading my online musings and reveries for more than the past nine months, you’ll know that I’ve had a website since the mid-1990s, but I only started blogging on LiveJournal back in 2003 or so. I eventually begin to see LiveJournal as something of a ghetto, so I took my blog to Squarespace in early 2006; but with a monthly subscription cost, it felt too expensive. So late last year I cancelled my Squarespace account, set up this blog on WordPress, but also announced that I was going to take a break from blogging, mainly because I had gotten rather obsessive about it. In the end, I was only gone about two or three months, and by “gone” all I mean is that I was posting about once or twice a month, instead of trying to get something up every day (blogging has given me a profound appreciation for comic strip writers and others who have to come up with new content on a daily basis). Eventually, I hit on the idea that I needed to build my blog around my trinity of loves: for books, Christian mysticism, and Celtic spirituality — and so this latest incarnation of my web presence was born.
I’m offering this quick, 50-cent tour of my internet biography as a prelude of saying “thank you” to everyone who regularly (or irregularly) stops in for a visit. I am amazed, honored and humbled at some of the wonderful friendships I’ve made (or deepened) through this blog. People who I find interesting and whose opinions matter to me regularly visit and comment on this blog not only from across the USA but also Canada, the UK, Switzerland, Australia, and New Zealand (and beyond); I hope that someday my travels will enable me to meet some of you folks face to face. What I find particularly gratifying is how the readership of this blog has grown over the past year. Check out this bar chart:
Between March and November, traffic on this site increased 400%, going from just under 3000 unique hits a month to over 10,000. So far, it looks like December’s traffic is even greater than November’s. Technorati (a blog aggregator site that tracks some nine or ten million different blogs) assigns blogs a ranking and an “authority” level based on traffic and inbound links; back in the spring my blog authority was 8, now it’s 52 (okay, to keep things in perspective, the Huffington Post has an authority of 18,920!).
So The Website of Unknowing probably won’t make the cover of Wired anytime soon, but on the other hand, if the Technorati numbers are accurate, it is in the top 2% of all blogs in terms of its traffic. Having said all this, I also need to reiterate that the point behind this blog is not to crank out the numbers. I’m only writing all of this because, well, I’m grateful, even for this blog’s relatively modest readership. The point is not how small my traffic may be when compared to Matt Drudge’s, but how much larger the traffic is than just a year ago. I’m just thrilled that there are so many of you out there in blogworld who share my love for Christian mysticism and Celtic spirituality. It gives me hope. Forgive me for being an idealist, but I believe that mysticism and Celtic wisdom can help change the world. So the more people who are exposed to it, the better.
If you’re a regular reader here, please post a comment now and then. I love reading the comments that show up here, even when someone disagrees with me (or worse yet, points out my errors and stupidities). I learn a lot from the comments posted here, and as I mentioned above, friendships are being formed. People with a natural mystical or contemplative bent tend to comprise only about 1% of the general population (I’m basing that on Myers-Briggs typology), which means that we often can’t find one another. Even if we’re separated by thousands of miles, the internet is a powerful tool for us to connect.
So again: thanks for reading. Thanks for commenting. And even though “it’s not about the numbers,” do tell your friends about this blog. Because it is about mysticism and community. And where those topics are concerned, the more the better.
Christ, Plato, and France
Every now and then I’m fascinated at how books that cross my desk seem to be connected. Here are two books I’ve recently come across: one is brand new, the other a few years old:
- The Christian Platonism of Simone Weil, edited by E. Jane Doering and Eric O. Springsted; University of Notre Dame Press, 2004
- Christian Metaphysics and Neoplatonism by Albert Camus, translated with an introduction by Ronald D. Srigley; University of Missouri Press, 2007
Haven’t read either one yet, so I can’t really comment on them. But I just find it fascinating that this topic, so central to Christian mysticism (i.e. Platonism/Neoplatonism) would be considered in light of two important French intellectuals of the mid-twentieth century. I don’t know if Camus and Weil had any connection to speak of, but they were roughly contemporary; both died young and absurdly (she starved to death in solidarity with the French resistance, he was killed in a car accident) and both had troubled relationships with the church (he was a non-believer; she a Jew with strong leanings toward Christian mysticism but who refused to be baptized). And now, it seems, both had an interest in Christian Platonism/Neoplatonism. What fun it will be drilling into these books…
