Four Dimensions of Spirituality and Embracing the Mind of Christ
On my writer’s page at Facebook, my bio used to read like this:
Carl McColman is the author of 10 books on the spiritual life. Most of his works published before 2005 concern Pagan and Celtic spirituality. In 2005 he became a Catholic, and is now writing a book on Christian mysticism to be published in late 2010.
As of this morning, I have re-written it thusly:
Carl McColman blogs about Celtic, emergent, mystical, & contemplative spirituality at the Website of Unknowing (www.anamchara.com). He is the author of 10 books. The 11th, “The Big Book of Christian Mysticism,” will be published in August 2010.
I’ve done this for several reasons. First, I felt that, at least at this point in my journey, I am known more for this humble blog than for my even humbler books. Although my book sales are respectable enough, in any given month far more people read this blog than buy my books. So I wanted my Facebook blurb to represent me as a blogger first, booksmith second.
Then there is the minor matter of changing the anticipated pub date of The Big Book of Christian Mysticism from “late 2010″ to the more precise and accurate “August 2010.”
But the most important reason for my self-revisionism involves my growing unease with oppositional thinking, as well as an equally growing recognition that both my own spirituality and my vocation as a writer are shaped by four equal and very important dimensions of Christian experience. (more…)
Quote for the Day
Prayer is not so much about convincing God to do what we want God to do as it is about convincing ourselves to do what God wants us to do.
— Shane Claiborne and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove,
Becoming the Answer to Our Prayers
Separated at Birth?
People at work have been teasing me that John Michael Talbot is my long lost brother.
What do you think?
I personally don’t see much resemblance. Sure, we’re both jaw-droppingly handsome, but his beard is much more epic than mine could ever hope to be…
Quotes for the Day
All the way to heaven is heaven.
— Catherine of Siena, as quoted in New Monasticism by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove
You are as holy as you want to be.
—Jan van Ruusbroec, as quoted in Ruusbroec and His Mysticism by Paul Verdeyen
God never grants mystical wisdom without love.
— John of the Cross, The Dark Night of the Soul
Christian Mysticism and “Ordinary” Christian Spirituality
Last night I got an email from young person who asked me to explain Christian mysticism to her. She noted that she was a Christian but had never heard of mysticism before. Indeed, how many faithful church-goers are there, who know nothing about the splendors of the contemplative tradition?
This past Sunday I was visiting a class on Christian spirituality at a mainline Protestant church here in Atlanta, and, impressed by the articulate and eloquent expression of personal spirituality among the students, I began to ponder this question: what is the difference between Christian mysticism and, for lack of a better term, “ordinary” Christian spirituality? I know it’s counter-intuitive to start worrying about these kinds of distinctions, for this immediately puts the dualistic mind into high gear. Trying to talk about mysticism through dualistic consciousness is like trying to talk about lovemaking using only military metaphors. But, with that caveat fully in mind, here I go where angels fear to tread… (more…)
Quote for the Day
For those who abandon themselves to it, God’s love contains every good thing, and if you long for it with all your heart and soul it will be yours. All God asks for is love, and if you search for this kingdom where God alone rules, you can be quite sure you will find it. For if your heart is completely devoted to God, your heart itself is this treasure, this very kingdom which you desire so ardently.
— Jean-Pierre de Caussade, Abandonment to Divine Providence
What’s Up…
We interrupt the regularly scheduled programming of this blog to bring you a few notes about what’s up in the life of your humble blogger.
I’m currently reviewing and responding to the copy-edits of The Big Book of Christian Mysticism. This process will continue until February 10, when the manuscript is due back on my editor’s desk. From there the book will go to the designers, who will do the layout; copies will be mailed out to potential endorsers and early reviewers. I’ll review the book one more time after the design is finished, but that will be only for proof-reading or fixing last-minute minor glitches. The plan is to have the book to press by the beginning of summer, and in bookstores by the beginning of August.
So… that’s all to say that between now and February 10 I probably will not be posting to this blog every day. Or I’ll be posting more quotations from mystics and other authors, since I will be putting more time into making sure I meet my deadline. Readers who were following this blog before last August (when I was still writing the book) will remember what the rhythm was like. Not to worry, I love the blog and as soon as the copy editing review is completed, I’ll be back to posting daily.
In the meantime, I thought I’d post a few reminders and notices of upcoming events:
Upcoming Classes — I have two classes scheduled through Emory University’s Center for Lifelong Learning, starting in February and in April. Normally these classes fill up in a hurry, but this year enrollment has been sluggish; has the economy finally caught up with the Ken Wilber fans and mysticism lovers in Atlanta? Anyway, if you’re interested in them, please register soon: if we don’t reach a certain threshold, we’ll have to cancel the classes and of course I’d rather not do that. Follow the links to sign up.
- A Brief History of Everything through Emory University’s “Evening at Emory” Program.
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.
Textbook: A Brief History of Everything by Ken Wilber.
Instructor: Carl McColman
February 10-March 10, 2010
7:00-9:00 pm
To register, click here -
Introduction to World Mysticism through Emory University’s “Evening at Emory” Program.
Madonna is studying the Kabbalah. The Shack is a runaway bestseller. Centuries after he died, everyone’s reading Rumi. Yoga, Buddhism and other eastern practices are more popular among Americans than ever. So what gives? At the heart of all these cultural trends is mysticism, a vague word that can be translated as “the spiritual principle at the heart of religion.” Many people believe mysticism is the golden thread that unites all the world’s religions. Others scoff at the idea. Come decide for yourself in this class as we explore major themes and writings from the world’s great mystical traditions. Using Andrew Harvey’s The Essential Mystics as our textbook, we’ll examine the world’s great wisdom traditions — Taoism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, Islam, as well as pagan and philosophical forms of mysticism — acknowledging both the common ground and the distinctive qualities of each mystical path. Class is taught from an academic/nonsectarian perspective.
Textbook: The Essential Mystics : Selections from the World’s Great Wisdom Traditions.
Instructor: Carl McColman
April 14-May 5, 2010
7:00-9:00 pm
To register, click here
Also… I’m currently in conversation with a church in Atlanta to host a class on The Protestant Mystics, probably on a series of Tuesday evenings after Easter (in April/May). So keep those dates free if you’re interested, and I’ll post more information on this blog when we have the details nailed down.
Looking ahead, I have two retreats at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit this summer, a writing retreat on June 4-6 and a Christian mysticism retreat July 23-25. For more information or to register, click here.
I’ll be in Portland, Oregon the last weekend in October. We’re working on those details now, but it will include at least 2-3 events open to the public. Stay tuned, details will be posted here as they come available.
More events will be happening once the book is published. Certainly more events in the Atlanta area, and I’d love to travel, but because of family commitments my travel time is necessarily limited. If you or your church/organization would like to host me for a speaking/teaching/retreat event, please contact me (my contact information is listed in a widget on the right-hand column of this blog’s home page).
Okay… that’s it for now. I’ll be posting here, just probably not every day between now and 2/10. Please keep me in your prayers.
Quote for the Day
Contemplation is life itself, fully awake, fully active, fully aware that it is alive. It is spiritual wonder. It is spontaneous awe at the sacredness of life, of being. It is gratitude for life, for awareness, and for being. … Contemplation is also the response to a call: a call from Him Who has no voice, and yet Who speaks in everything that is, and Who, most of all, speaks in the depths of our own being; for we ourselves are words of His. But we are words that are meant to respond to Him, to answer to Him, to echo Him, and even in some way to contain Him and signify Him. Contemplation is this echo. It is a deep resonance in the inmost center of our spirit in which our very life loses its separate voice and re-sounds with the majesty and the mercy of the Hidden and Living One…
— Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation
Recollection and the Prayer of Quiet
In her classic work Mysticism: A Study in the Nature and Development of Spiritual Consciousness, Evelyn Underhill devotes two chapters to the subject of “introversion,” in which she explores three essential mystical practices: recollection, the prayer of quiet, and contemplation. Recollection, she points out, is a technical mystical term, not to be confused with ordinary remembrance; rather she defines mystical recollection as “the deliberate consideration of and dwelling upon some one aspect of Reality — an aspect most usually chosen from amongst the religious beliefs of self” (p. 314). In other words, recollection is a technique for focusing and perhaps stilling the mind. By this way of thinking, the method of centering prayer is a form of recollection. So also would be meditating on a single attribute of God, such as love, or forgiveness, or joy. The point behind recollection is to bring our awareness into a place of rest and repose where we can prepare for the prayer of quiet.
Such quiet Underhill describes as a profound experience which emerges out of recollection. “Out of the deep, slow brooding and pondering on some mystery, some incomprehensible link between himself and the Real, or the deliberate practice of loving attention to God, the contemplative … glides, almost insensibly, on to a plane of perception … characterized by an immense increase in the receptivity of the self, and by an almost complete suspension of the reflective powers. The strange silence which is the outstanding quality of this state — almost the only note in regard to it which the surface-intelligence can secure — is not describable” (p. 317). If recollection corresponds to centering prayer’s use of a single word to silence the discursive mind, than the prayer of quiet represents those moments in the centering experience where the repeated word gently falls away, leaving the person in prayer resting in the deep silence of the Divine presence.
If Underhill’s language (from a century ago) leaves you a bit cold, then compare her descriptions to a much more recent (2006) discussion of these topics, from John Crowder’s Miracle Workers, Reformers and the New Mystics. For Crowder, recollection is that moment of prayer “in which the Holy Spirit ministers healing and cleansing to the soul. It is here where we release the hurts, guilt, and wounds of the past … We release our burdens tot he presence of God. We are also cleansed from the expectations, fears or longings for the future … we begin to see God in the present … This first stage is a place of purification. It is where we lay our cares at the cross” (p. 235). He goes on describe the prayer of quiet as “a place where we recognize our inability to calm our own thoughts with our own strength. We become utterly dependent on God to lead us in prayer … It is a place of pure listening and quietness. Divine love pours over us and our spiritual senses are awakened” (p. 237).
It’s interesting to compare these two perspectives. Crowder’s definitions seem at first blush quite different from Underhill’s, but I think this may be driven largely by the fact that she was a British Anglo-Catholic, he an American charismatic evangelical. They are basically, it seems to me, describing two different paths up the same mountain. No doubt because of my own bias, I rather prefer Underhill’s descriptions, but I do find Crowder’s perspective both refreshing and insightful, if only for their ability to make me look at these foundational elements of contemplative experience in new ways.
Jesus Freak
Jesus Freak: Feeding — Healing — Raising the Dead
By Sara Miles
San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2010
Review by Carl McColman
Sara Miles and I have something really cool in common. We are both excited about the radical social, political and spiritual implications of the gospel, and we are both flat out nuts in love with Jesus. And, if this book is any indication, Miles shares my experience of sometimes finding it tricky to put those two realities together. “You’re such a freakin’ Jesus freak, Sara,” her own priest tells her. And then he adds, “I mean that in the nicest possible way, of course.”
But Sara Miles understands that Christianity isn’t really about “the nicest possible way.” It’s about being odd, being mysterious, being ironic and revolutionary and passionate and always managing to color outside the lines. In many ways, Jesus Freak serves as a sort of sequel to her inspiring conversion story, Take This Bread. In Take This Bread Miles gleefully connects the dots between the Eucharist, the overall thrust of the gospel, the politics of food, and the pleasures of cooking, and the result is a book filled with miracles and a knowing, smart wonder. Her conversion story ends with her holding on tight as the Holy Spirit blows through her ministry of feeding the hungry, multiplying her original food pantry on a level reminiscent of that day Jesus fed a crowd with just a few loaves and fishes. Jesus Freak revisits the author’s haunts: St. Gregory of Nyssa Church and the Food Pantry — where a Friday afternoon giveaway sounds far more mystical than anything the priests do on Sunday morning. But where Take This Bread is more of a travelogue, as we tag along with Miles’ adventures in New York, the Philippines, and Central America before landing in San Francisco, Jesus Freak has more of a sense of Benedictine stability about it, as most of the action takes place right there in the Bay Area. And while her earlier book was very much a confessional work, this new outing, while mostly just a journey through Sara’s world, feels more relevant as an invitation to all of us readers — to go and do likewise.
Do what, exactly? Consider the chapter titles: “Come and See,” “Feeding,” “Healing,” “Forgiving” and “Raising the Dead.” These are, pretty much, the marching orders of Christ’s followers. And while religion “in the nicest possible way” pays plenty of lip service to these kinds of pious exercises, Miles isn’t very interested in being polite for Jesus’ sake: she’s a Jesus Freak, she’s on fire with the Holy Spirit, and she wants to feed everybody, heal those most in need, forgive even her enemies (!) and… as for raising the dead, I don’t want to give too much away, but let’s just say that there’s a five star pun hidden in that particular story.
What I love about Sara Miles is that she somehow manages to combine the savvy of a veteran political activist with the wide-eyed innocence and wonder of someone who has fallen nutty in love with Christ for the very first time. Indeed, she refers to the Jesus as the “Boyfriend” — a delicious twist on bridal mysticism that just might make you squirm a little bit (she admits that even she finds it really edgy). Like a wild and alluring lover who dares you to break through limits you didn’t even know were holding you back, Jesus — as celebrated by Sara Miles — keeps inviting her, and her priest, and the folks who work with her at the Food Pantry, to keep doing wild and outrageous things to celebrate God’s lavish love and the possiblity of a new world and a new economy that is based on grace rather than profit. Maybe it won’t inspire you to start a food bank, but I bet Jesus Freak will call you to live more passionately for the gospel, in whatever envelope-pushing way is right for you. And that, my friends, is a freaky good thing indeed.
N.B. The publishers have put a short little interview of Sara Miles up on Youtube, with a little bit of footage from St. Gregory’s and the Food Pantry. Here it is:
Philosophy and the Trinity: From Thinking about Oneness to Experiencing God’s Love
In her introductory book on Neoplatonism, Pauliina Remes makes the following observation about the Neoplatonic conception of “the One,” the philosophical principle explaining the origin, unity, and ultimate end of all things:
The role of the One in metaphysics becomes threefold. We have seen that the One is an efficient cause of everything there is in the universe. It was also established that it is the ultimate explanation of everything’s unity and existence. Finally, since everything reverts back to its origin, the One is the final cause of everything that exists.
It’s easy to see why the early church thinkers incorporated Neoplatonic ideas into their own emerging story about God. Christianity’s central “metaphysical problem” is how to reconcile its Jewish heritage of the oneness of God with the distinctions between Creator, Christ and Spirit that arose out of Jesus’ life and ministry and the experience of his followers. So is God one? or three? Is God a unity or a plurality? How does it all fit together? (more…)
Quote for the Day
You seek for God, beloved soul, and he is everywhere, everything speaks of him, everything offers him to you, he walks beside you, he surrounds you and is within you. He lives with you and yet you try to find him. You seek your own idea of God, although you have him in his reality. You seek perfection and you meet it in all that happens to you. All you suffer, all you do, all your inclinations are mysteries under which God gives himself to you while you are vainly straining after high-flown fancies.
— Jean-Pierre de Caussade, Abandonment to Divine Providence
Contemplation and the Veteran’s Journey
I’ve been a civilian all my life. But my father was a veteran of three wars, and I’ve watched as people just a few years older than me served and died in Viet Nam, and now those not too much younger than me are serving and dying in Afghanistan and Iraq.
Whatever your political — or spiritual — persuasion might be, I hope you’ll agree with me that the physical, mental and emotional trauma suffered by those who serve in harm’s way is not only a significant social and psychological issue, but a crucial spiritual issue as well.
Now, a friend of mine named Andy Farris, who served in Viet Nam and whom I met through a writer’s retreat at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit, is working on creating a healing retreat specifically for veterans. He and I spoke yesterday about ways in which I could be involved in this kind of work.
I’m honored that Andy would even consider me for work this important. As he shared with me stories of his and other veterans’ journeys, including dealing with feelings of guilt over having survived, struggling to find faith that was damaged or lost in combat, and engaging in the long slow process of finding healing after trauma (whether physical or emotional/psychological), I came to realize just how vital it is for veterans to claim (or reclaim) a spiritual dimension to their lives and their healing process.
This isn’t just a Catholic issue or a Christian issue. But I do believe it is very much a contemplative issue. When I consider how much I have to struggle to embrace silence and serenity even in the midst of my rather pampered life, I am humbled when I think of the challenges a veteran must face as he (or she) strives to open their hearts to such an elusive inner peace. It seems to me that those of us who have made contemplation a priority in our lives ought to be available for veterans, who probably in many cases don’t have much in the way of deeply contemplative resources readily available to them.
If you have a moment, visit Andy Farris’ website, HealingVeterans.org. It’s a work in progress, but I think there’s already plenty of good stuff up there. Excerpts from the book Andy is writing can be found there, along with some ideas for Andy’s vision of veteran’s retreats.
I’d like to hear from anyone reading this blog who are themselves veterans, and/or who have loved ones who served, and perhaps died, in military combat. If anyone has any thoughts on contemplation as a healing tool for veterans who are in search of spiritual growth and inner peace, I’d love to see your comments. I’m particularly interested in hearing from veterans who meditate and contemplate or who have struggled to do so. I’ll pass on your ideas and thoughts and reflections to Andy, who is looking for input as he works on his veterans retreats (hopefully we’ll have one at the Monastery as early as 2011).
The ENDS of Prayer
Recently a monk shared this with me. His is a markedly apophatic approach to spirituality, so this may not speak to everyone. But for the monk and I suppose anyone else who shares his approach to prayer, this little mnemonic is a tool to assist in remembering the contours of deep contemplation.
It involves remembering the “ENDS” of prayer, in this way:
Emptiness
Nothingness
Darkness
Silence
Of course, entering into the emptiness, nothingness, darkness and silence of contemplation is not to suggest that all we are going to find there is a void. Rather, we are approaching the frontier of Mystery (with a capital “M”). We seek the One who is hidden in the darkness, whose voice rings out in the silence, whose presence becomes known in the emptiness and the nothingness. Or, perhaps a better way to see this, we dispose ourselves to be found by the One who seeks us.
Radical Forgiveness
There’s a man here in the Atlanta area (I think he’s from Britain originally) named Colin Tipping who has written a book called Radical Forgiveness. I haven’t read it, so I can’t say too much about the book one way or the other. But I love the title, that alone makes the book worth considering. I thought about it the other day when I was flipping through a different book, one which we sell at the Abbey Store (alas, I can’t remember which one, but it was a garden-variety book on Christian prayer) and saw a paragraph about how important forgiveness is to prayer. That book said something to the effect of, “before you get deep into your prayer, take time to consider if there’s anyone you need forgiving — and do it. Forgiveness is essential to prayer.” I like Tipping’s idea of radical forgiveness since it suggests that true forgiveness gets to the root of our spiritual identity. If we forgive all the way down to the root of who we are, then we are cleansed and purified all the way down to the root as well. What a lovely thought.
This, of course, reminds me of one of Jesus’ teachings:
“Whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father who is in heaven will also forgive you your transgressions. “But if you do not forgive, neither will your Father who is in heaven forgive your transgressions.” (Mark 11:25-26)
It also reminds me a bit of this snippet from the Sermon on the Mount:
“Therefore if you are presenting your offering at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your offering there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and present your offering.” (Matthew 5:23-24)
There seems to be, in Jesus’ teaching at least, a link between forgiving others and experiencing forgiveness, just as reconciling with others is a necessary prerequisite for worship. Forgiveness and reconciliation are forms of spiritual super-food. They cleanse us, they fortify in us virtues such as humility and hospitality, and they liberate us from the oppression of our own toxic resentments, bitterness, and unproductive anger.
So why don’t we forgive more? Why aren’t Christians (and other wisdomseekers) pouring more energy into reconciliation?
You know the drill. The ego doesn’t want to let go. Forgiveness feels weak and vulnerable, and we believe deep down inside that if we show our weaknesses and vulnerabilities, then we will get trampled on. We confuse forgiveness with condoning, and assume that if we forgive others, then they are getting away with their misdeeds. Then, perhaps it has to do with glamour: forgiveness is not showy or sexy; it doesn’t sizzle, it’s not going to get it’s own reality show anytime soon. Its rewards are so firmly lodged in the spirit that the ego is left thinking “what’s in it for me?” — and, concluding that all forgiveness does is starve the ego, it therefore will do all in its power to hold on to its righteous anger, its sense of victimization, and its bitter insistence that it holds the moral high ground.
So the ego wants to keep us separate from those whom we would forgive, but the terrible price to be paid for this is that it also keeps us separate from those who would forgive us — including God. Until we step out from under the self-defining construct/structure of the great “I” we will cheat ourselves of the possibility of experiencing the love and joy and peace of true forgiveness, true reconciliation, true re-union: with each other and with God.
I’ve written a fair amount in this blog over the last few days on such erudite concepts as theosis, kenosis, and gnosis. While those “osis” categories might make for interesting spiritual reflection and conversation, perhaps we need to bring the conversation back down to earth for a bit. Do you want real “jet fuel” for your spiritual life? Then take inventory of everyone in your life (including yourself) with whom you are not fully reconciled, and where there is need for forgiveness (to be given or received). And then get busy with the messy, get-your-hands-dirty work of making it happen. With God’s grace, of course.
iMonk
Michael Casey, a wonderful Trappist author from Australia, has begun a podcast on the Prologue of the Rule of St. Benedict. If you’re interested in checking out what contemporary monastics have to say about this ancient document, visit this page:
iMonk: Reflections on the Prologue of Saint Benedict’s Rule for Monasteries
Concerning Gnosis and Gnosticism
Yesterday I made the following off-the-cuff remark in a comment to my post Theosis and Kenosis:
It’s less about knowing who we are (that’s the error of gnosticism) and more about simply a way of being, a way of doing life.
And in reply, a reader named Tomasis left a simple frowning (sad) emoticon: 
To this, I replied,
I don’t know if it’s ever possible to affirm what one believes without sooner or later saying something that will elicit a “frowning face” from those who walk a different path… I struggle with the limitations of human language, and am continually challenged by the problem of how to express the teaching I’ve received from my own tradition in a way that refrains from attacking or dismissing other traditions. Clearly, my own lack of charity and wisdom works against me here.
And now, his lengthier (somewhat edited here) response, with further thoughts from me interspersed. (more…)
Theosis and Kenosis
What is the relationship between “participation in the Divine Nature” (II Peter 1:4) and the self-humbling of Christ (Philippians 2:7)? Part of the splendor of Christ, as described by Paul in his letter to the Philippians, is that Christ, “being found in appearance as a man, humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death.” Humility and obedience: self-emptying. Christ divested himself of the privilege of his Divinity, taking human form, entering so fully into the human experience to the point of becoming “obedient” to death.
Theosis, or deification, or divinization are all concepts that crop up again and again in the Christian mystery. We are not just called to be God’s servant or slave, but indeed to become “partakers” in God’s very nature. We abide in Christ as Christ abides in us. It is very tempting to see this “theosis” as getting in on how cool it must be to be Christ. To experience love like Christ loves; to be immersed in the wisdom of Christ; to know the joy that only Christ knows. It all sounds sweet and good.
But I think, perhaps, the real, ultimate, most important key to this mystical notion of theosis likes in this scriptural concept of kenosis. We are invited to participate in Christ’s self-emptying. We know Christ through adopting his freely chosen humility (down-to-earthiness).
What does this mean? We become partakers of the Divine Nature by surrendering all claim to our own “divinity.” The wisdom of Christ comes to us through the humility of our own unknowing. The joy of Christ is ours when we surrender our own claim to joy (which means — eek — being available to suffering). To experience the love of God, we must simply, lavishly, prodigally give it away.
The Two Faces of Restlessness
Yesterday at the Lay Cistercian Gathering Day we had a class on the monastic vow of stability (Cistercian monks have three vows: Stability, Obedience, and Conversion of Life). The brother who taught the class spoke at one point about restlessness as a tendency within us to undermine stability. I shared with him and the class that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with this idea, because, it seemed to me, that restlessness comes in more than one flavor. Certainly, there is the kind of restlessness that does not help us. It’s born out of low self-esteem or un-faced anger or grief, and it does seem to impel us to make choices that we often later regret. This is the restlessness that causes the practicing addict to reach for his or her fix, or that can drive a married couple apart after only a mild season of conflict or challenge. I agree with the monk that this kind of restlessness is the enemy of stability, which is the vow designed to help the monks to face (and hopefully heal) their own inner resistance to love.
But I believe there is another kind of restlessness, that does not necessarily lead to challenges to our commitments or our own highest good. This is the restlessness of an artist or other creative person. I read somewhere once where somebody (can’t remember who) said, “An artist creates a new work because he was dissatisfied with his last work.” True words indeed. Art is all about facing our imperfections, and then struggling against them, by creating again. In this sense it is like religion with the ongoing struggle against sin. Nobody beats sin, at least not on this side of eternity. Nobody once and for all defeats the capacity to choose selfishly even when it hurts others or violates the integrity of love. We fall down, and we get back up again. Likewise, an artist creates, and discerns all that is wrong with the creation. I can’t hear it, but I know that guitarists of a certain caliber can point out the mistakes in a recording by someone like Jimmy Page. Man, if Jimmy Page makes mistakes, doesn’t that mean everyone else playing the guitar is doomed? Of course. We all make mistakes, whether in a religious sense (the word sin basically means “mistake”) or in a creative sense. It is out of that mistake-making that our restlessness happens. Toxic restlessness then wants to destroy all that is good and true and beautiful in our life: it wants to enlarge the beachhold of sin. But creative restlessness pulls in the opposite direction. It impels us to get up and try again. If the opposite of toxic restlessness is stability, the opposite of creative restlessness is complacency. It’s a good thing to pray for more stability in our lives, but I think we also need to pray for less complacency. So we might be asking God to take away one type of restlessness. But the other type will always be with us, and will always impel us to create and create again.
Mysticism and the Three Vectors of Love
When I woke up this morning, I thought about the question of why mysticism isn’t more broadly celebrated, explored, and applied in the Christian churches.
There are a number of reasons for this. One rather obvious reason is that mysticism, which advocates personal experience of God and the individual exploration of transformed consciousness, to some extent undermines the self-interest of the religious institution, which places much greater emphasis on conformity of belief, submission to authority, and observable moral behavior.
But I think another reason for mysticism’s marginalization is actually even more prosaic than this: the writings of the mystics are often dense and challenging, philosophically erudite and layered with symbolism, metaphor and allegory. In other words, mystical writing is not always easy or accessible. It certainly does not mark out the path of least resistance. Historically, mysticism has functioned more or less as “advanced training” in Christian spirituality, available only to those in monastic life who were deemed ready for it by their superiors. Of course, the Holy Spirit would break free from this mold and rise up mystics among uneducated or ordinary or otherwise unremarkable people like Julian of Norwich, Catherine of Genoa or Thérèse of Lisieux. But generally speaking, the written record of mysticism – the writings of the great mystics themselves — have been read by relatively few Christians, suggesting that even a smaller number of people have actually seriously tried to apply this wisdom to their own lives.
Call me an evangelist if you will, but I think the wisdom of the Christian mystics needs to find a broader audience than what it has enjoyed over the ast 1500 years. That conviction is what motivates this blog, as well as my forthcoming book. And so, my morning ruminations took me beyond why mysticism isn’t more broadly embraced, to how advocates of Christian mysticism can get their message across to others, who might find within themselves a natural affinity for and attraction to mystical wisdom, if only they knew about it.
And I think this question has to do with love.
Yes, I know that mysticism is all about the transformation of consciousness, theosis, metanoia, and all that good stuff. But boil all that stuff down to its most basic essential components, and love looms large. Christ gave his followers basic marching orders that involved three vectors, or paths, of love:
- love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.
- love your neighbor
- as yourself.
Love of God, love of neighbor, love of our selves: the blessed trinity of Christian love. And I know that historically the church has tended to sacrifice love of self on the altar of submission to external authority; but that was then and this is now, and we are blessed to live in an age when we are finally beginning to recognize that healthy self-care is an essential prerequisite to the ability to love others (and, I would say, to a mature love for God).
I believe that mysticism is important precisely because it has something to say about each of these dimensions of love. Let’s start at the bottom and move up. (more…)
Local and Universal
Christianity claims to be a universal spirituality: it’s for all people, at all times, in all places. “Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations,” Jesus instructs his followers at the close of the Gospel of Matthew. All the nations: everyone is invited. It’s not just for Jewish folks, or people from the Middle East, or people of European ancestry. It’s for everybody. As a monotheistic faith, it worships a God who is seen to be the One God for all people and places. No matter what your cultural or social or ethnic background might be, Christianity says that what it has to offer is just right for you.
But we live in an age that has begun to deeply question the idea that one culture, or one ideology, or one set of values or ethics, is right for all people. Take business for example: many of us reject the idea that more Wal-Marts and more McDonalds’ and more Coca-Cola is the happy goal of American commerce. On the contrary, more and more of us have begun to reject the multi-national corporations that destroy other businesses — and unique local cultures — with their ubiquitous “mono-culture” as problematic, instead seeking to support businesses that are locally owned, locally operated, and responsive to local needs and concerns.
So if Christianity is the one-size-fits-all religion of universal applicability, perhaps it has a shadow side as bad as anything Wal-Mart or Coca-Cola can dish out to local economies that are forever altered in the wake of their expansionist policies.
Pagan and indigenous spiritualities, traditionally, are local rather than universal in their orientation and scope. Polytheistic spiritualities honor many different gods and goddesses in part because so many local variations exist within a given spiritual culture. In the Celtic lands, for example, many deities are anchored in a specific place, where a cult of devotion or worship might develop — but down the river, or on the other side of the mountain, or the next forest over, a different group of people (tribe, clan, kindred) venerate different deities.
I’m not suggesting that every Christian ought to become a polytheist. But I do think this question is worth answering: in a world created good, with amazing biological and cultural diversity, how are we to integrate the strengths of Christianity as a universal faith with the many unique circumstances and needs of endless different local communities, nations and ethnicities?
One of the reasons why I remain so interested in “Celtic Christianity” is because it — the Christian culture that emerged in Ireland, Wales, and the other Celtic lands, largely outside the sphere of the influence of the Roman Empire — represents one way of approaching the challenge of integrating a universalizing spirituality with local needs and cultural expressions. A form of Christianity that is not afraid to questions itself, or Christianity as a whole, or the relationship between the liberating gospel and the human tendency to create conformist religious institutions, is an expression of Christianity that can provide insight into addressing the universal/local problem. And Celtic forms of Christianity seem to fall into this category.
Quote for the Day
There are times when good words are to be left unsaid out of esteem for silence.
— St. Benedict, The Rule of St. Benedict
Finding the True Path
A reader of my blog has emailed me the following questions. They seem to involve the question of how to embrace the Christian mystery when one cannot be sure if it is the “true” path or not.
As a former neo-pagan, didn’t you find getting to grips with Christianity’s necessity to hold a set number of essential beliefs? Don’t you have any doubts and don’t you find them restricting? I was wondering if you knew much about Islamic mysticism – sufism – and if you had ever written something about it before? … I feel more at home with Christianity, although the problem is that I do not believe that Jesus is the son of God and think that the bible and Christian faith are products of man rather than the divine. On that note, I will leave you in peace and hope you keep up the good work and your lovely and inspirational blog!
Some great questions. Let me start with the easiest one first. Alas, my knowledge of Islam is impoverished. Although my friends Joe (a practicing Muslim) and Darrell (who has done extensive work with the Sufi Healing Order) have encouraged me to drink the splendid and refreshing waters of mystical Islam, I have yet to do so. I hope to remedy that deficiency someday — just as I hope to become more fully immersed in the wisdom traditions of Vedanta, or Vajrayana Buddhism, or the Kabbalah… so many mystics, so little time!
Now, on to “Christianity’s necessity to hold a set number of essential beliefs.” I guess I didn’t get the memo. I know that many Christians approach the faith propositionally — in other words, see being a Christian as all about believing the right things — which, to my mind, is a variation of moralism, which limits Christianity to those who behave the right way. It occurs to me that both propositional and moralistic religion are obsessed with purity: only those without blemishes are good enough for God. The problem is, this flies in the face of Jesus and his message. The gospel is all about breaking down old purity codes in the interest of building or strengthening real relationships between human beings. Thus, Jesus will heal a sick man on the sabbath, and when the religious authorities challenge him on it, he points out that any farmer will rescue a cow that has fallen into a pit, sabbath or no sabbath. Likewise, Jesus uses common sense to recognize that hungry folks gathering something to eat is not the same thing as a whole day’s work. But he gets criticized just the same. Meanwhile, Jesus talks to “unclean” people, like the Samaritan woman at the well or the Canaanite (pagan) woman who comes to him for healing — indeed, the Canaanite woman gets the better of him when Jesus initially tries to dismiss her. He allows a woman regarded by polite society as a sinner to anoint his feet and massage them with her hair — talk about sensuous! He publicly dines with those regarded as “sinners.” In other words, Jesus seems to consistently put people before rules.
I approach Christianity in pretty much the same way. To me, the point behind being a Christian is not that I have to limit my way of seeing things, but rather that I get to hang out with a number of truly wise and loving people (such as the contemplative monks for whom I work). Now, I personally love Christian teaching and I do not advocate the kind of “anything goes” religion that suggests you should just make up what you believe (hey, even the Unitarians have guidelines for their religious practice!). But I do struggle with it, and frankly I reconcile my own doubts with Christian teaching by simply acknowledging, in all humility, that I myself do not have all the answers and do not know the mind of God. So I live in the tension of “not knowing” and recognizing that, on a purely rational level, much of what Christianity proclaims doesn’t make a lot of sense. But I try to live my faith not on a rational level, but on a trans-rational level. In other words, for me Christianity is not a logic-puzzle to figure out (there’s that temptation to propositional purity again), but rather a mystery to be embraced and lived into. Jesus didn’t say that the two great commandments were “Understand all the correct things about God” and “Believe exactly the same way as everyone else.” Rather, the marching orders for being a Christian are “Love God with all your heart, mind, strength and spirit” and “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” So I work on loving as best I can, and I figure that the believing part will take care of itself over time.
Now, as to your specific concerns: “I do not believe that Jesus is the son of God.” There are two ways of approaching this. If you want to sign on to the Christian mission of loving God, loving your neighbors, and loving yourself, sooner or later you’ll notice that most Christians at least accept the theory that Jesus is God. So I’d ask you this: are you willing to at least suspend your disbelief, and say, “I don’t know”? One of the most important verses in the Bible is “I believe; help my unbelief!” (Mark 9:24). In other words, there is no such thing as “pure” belief anyway. So I think learning to live in the not-knowing is crucial. Now, the other way of approaching it is, frankly, more mystical (and probably more controversial). Consider these Bible verses, both of which quote Jesus:
- “The Father and I are one.” — John 10:30
- “Abide in Me, and I in you … I am the vine, you are the branches” — John 15:4-5
Taken together, this is a powerful message: Jesus is one with God, and we are called to be “part” of Jesus, to abide in him as he abides in us. In other words, Christian spirituality is all about abiding in God. Christianity teaches that those who love Christ are the Body of Christ, which literally means we are the Body of God. So Christianity offers a much more powerful way of immersing ourselves into God than any other faith tradition that I know of. And the key to it all is not believing the right things, or meditating the right way, or any other kind of knowledge-based or behavior-based effort. It’s all about love.
Finally, the Bible: you say it is a “product of man” rather than of the Divine. My response: “why limit it to one or the other?” I think the Bible is a beautiful, messy, mysterious, enigmatic, at times inspirational, at other times infuriating, document of the human struggle to connect with God. I also believe it is the word of God. I see both dynamics at work within it simultaneously. The splendor of Christianity is that it does not see matter, or humanity, or the messy stuff of life as alien to God. Rather, God works in and through our messy imperfections to do the undercover work of grace and love and forgiveness. Is it “perfect”? Of course not. Is it “pure”? By no means. But it is real, and the hope it offers is likewise real. And that’s good enough for me, for it is by that hope and that down-to-earth reality that I find the strength to keep loving, even in a world where handicapped children suffer and so many other people are in unresolvable pain. I can’t fix the broken world, but maybe through my choices I can make it all just a little bit more bearable, both for myself and for those I come int contact with.
And that’s what drives me as a Christian. And the more I keep my eyes on the prize (love), the less I worry about such things as whether or not I have all the right doctrines lined up in a row or not. I figure my beliefs are as imperfect as anything else in my life. And so I beg God for God’s mercy and forgiveness and I keep trying to do the best I can — which means, I keep trying to love.
I hope this helps. God bless you, wherever your journey may take you!
