Christian mysticism and other mystical traditions
A reader named Guido posted the following comment on the Christian Mysticism page of this blog:
Does it not occur to us that all “mysticism” is not the same? I came back today from hearing a conference on Christian/catholic mysticism. It spoke of the dark night of the soul and its place in the path of union with God. However, in making her points, the speaker used Buddist quotes. Does this not seem problematic given that the aims of Christianity and Buddhism are not the same. In the former the idea is a union with God understood as intimately connected with His creation and yet distinct from it. He is the creator. In the latter, God is that ultimate reality of consciousness behind the illusionary material world. God is not really a being per se in the Eastern non-Christian traditions. He is not a creator because all of what we see created is a part of the divine whole. Having read through this site, I get the impression that several feel that somehow it is all the same. Why do we persist in that way? Is it not disrespectful to both traditions to insist they are saying the same thing when they are not?
Thanks for this comment, Guido. I agree with your assessment that Christian mysticism celebrates relationship and communion with God “understood as intimately connected with His creation and yet distinct from it.” Likewise, many other types of spirituality seek not so much communion with a creator but union or identity with the monistic “One” — as Plotinus put it, “the flight of the alone to the Alone.” In fact, I would say the single most significant factor differentiating Christian from non-Christian mysticism is this question of whether mysticism is seen as culminating in Divine-human communion or in some sort of boundary-erasing union with the One/All/Brahmin/deity (however you wish to name the Absolute).
However… just because we can easily chart the distinctions between Christian mysticism and, say, Buddhist mysticism, is not to suggest that Christians can never learn from Buddhist wisdom, or apply Buddhist teaching to Christian practice (or vice versa). First of all, I think a measure of humility is in order here: ultimately, whatever we say about mystical experience remains, at best, attempts to put the Mystery into words, which means therefore that there is always an element of paradox, ambiguity, darkness, unknowing, and mystery in and beneath our discourse about mystical experience. Given this, we do well to remember that, no matter how eloquent our ability may be to put into words our understanding of Christian mysticism and how it differs from all the other mysticisms of the world, we might also bear in mind that all of our words ultimately fail to convey the full splendor of the mystery. Which means, quite frankly, that the “difference” between different wisdom traditions or different understandings of mysticism may ultimately be more a matter of our own linguistic and conceptual limitations than of any real ontological divide. Put another way: I think it is wise to understand the differences between wisdom traditions, and I believe it is also wise not to dwell on those differences overly much. After all, if we make it our business to emphasize what divides us, we then remain a divided people. I for one cannot believe that this is really what the Holy Spirit ultimately wants.
My second reason for accepting the use of non-Christian wisdom in exploring Christian mysticism is rather pragmatic. Frankly, true mysticism is such a rare phenomenon that I believe it is important to draw wisdom from every possible source of contemplative or mystical insight. Just because the ends of Christianity and Buddhism may differ does not mean that we cannot find much in the way of common ground. If our ultimately loyalty is to truth rather than to dogma, we must be prepared to recognize truth wherever it occurs, even if it is beyond the doctrinal bounds of our own faith tradition. To me, Christians who rely on Buddhist wisdom are not adulterating Christianity so much as they are ennobling it, by drawing on the riches of wisdom available to us from the east.
Certainly my views may be controversial, and so I will shut up now and, perhaps, some folks will see fit to comment here and perhaps take this conversation further. But let me summarize: yes, indeed, there are real differences, at least on the level of theory, between Christian and Buddhist mysticism, but I see no reason why Christians should therefore avoid Buddhist wisdom. If Buddhist teaching can shed light on our own journey into deeper communion with God, then I say “Bring on the Buddhist wisdom!”
Four Dimensions of Christian Spirituality for Our Time
About a month ago I wrote this:
I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately about how my spiritual identity is shaped by the contemplative tradition (as exemplified by the Lay-Cistercian community where I am in formation), my Celtic heritage (of which I have written several books and which continues to inform much of my self-understanding as a Christian), my love for mysticism (primarily Christian mysticism, but extending into all the wisdom streams of the world) and the emergent conversation (which is primarily a Christian phenomenon, but which I believe also has significant interfaith implications and in any event signifies the unfolding of a truly loving, hospitable, justice-oriented, postmodern way of doing faith). I won’t go into how I see these four dimensions of spirituality working together just yet; I’ll save that for a future post.
Okay, so now it’s time for that “future post.”
I just finished reading Brian McLaren’s A New Kind of Christianity (review coming soon!) and last night I started to read J. Philip Newell’s Christ of the Celts. Putting these two books side by side, I thought it was rather obvious that, in many ways, they were saying the same things. There seems to be quite a bit of overlap between McLaren’s “new kind” of following Christ, which of course is linked to the postmodern and emergent conversations, and the Christ that Newell suggests the Celtic people have been following all along. McLaren begins his book by suggesting that we need to deconstruct the Greco-Roman assumptions that color our way of reading the Bible (and, therefore, of understanding Jesus). The Celts, as a cluster of tribal peoples who never lost their sovereignty to the Roman empire, just might be an excellent resource for considering how we can strip Christianity of its Greco-Roman distortions and yet still explore how the message of Jesus remains relevant to all people, across cultures. “Celtic” Christianity may be a culturally specific expression of the faith, but its value lies in how it testifies to the truth of Christ’s message in a way that transcends the particularity of the Celtic experience.
But Celtic and Emergent ways of being a follower of Christ are not the only “alternative” approaches to discipleship. I believe two other categories need to be considered: the monastic and the contemplative. At first blush, this may seem to be a redundancy, so maybe I should expand these two to delineate their distinctions: the monastic/communal/exoteric dimension of discipleship, and the contemplative/mystical/interior dimension. Both are vital, both have both a long tradition and exciting new expressions, and ideally they complement each other in a truly symbiotic manner, as exemplified by the best monastic/contemplatives, like Thomas Merton, Thérèse of Lisieux, Jan Ruusbroec and the author of The Cloud of Unknowing.
The monastic/communal dimension recognizes that Christian spirituality requires a relational expression. Even those called to the deepest kinds of solitude need some form of community for discernment, support, guidance and grounding. The desert fathers and mothers quickly adapted their life from solitary to monastic expressions of discipleship; the Carthusians who are the most solitary of monks still gather together for worship and for Sunday recreation; great hermit mystics like Julian of Norwich or Merton at the end of his life still engaged in the larger Christian community through their writing and spiritual direction. An important part of Christian discipleship is growth in humility and healthy self-forgetfulness; the experience of community is the single best tool for nurturing this dimension of maturity in Christ.
Monasticism is exciting not only because of its traditional/historical expressions (find a vibrant Benedictine or Trappist monastery and you will find a goldmine of resources to assist you in your own spiritual growth), but because of the exciting new forms of Christian community, or “neo-monasticism,” emerging, with communities like Koinonia, L’Arche, the Simple Way, or the Lindisfarne Community, all exploring new ways to create community and be people of faith and service together.
The shadow side of community is, of course, that it can favor an extroverted, externalized expression of discipleship, so it needs to be complemented by the contemplative/interior expression of spirituality. Historically, Christian mysticism thrived primarily in monasteries, and I predict that mysticism of the future will likewise have a strong connection the community, whether traditional monasticism, neo-monasticism, or other forms. Contemplation is grounded in Christ’s instruction about prayer: “whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you” (Matthew 6:6). Secrecy, silence, solitude, withdrawal: these are key elements for contemplative practice, in which we seek to encounter the face of God in darkness, loneliness, and stillness. Here we move beyond the certainties of the mind into the paradox and ambiguity of unknowing. Thanks to the cross-fertilization that has occurred between many Christian contemplatives and the practitioners of other contemplative paths, we have begun to see that the path of contemplation is the path of entering into altered or higher forms of consciousness, which in turn can transform how we engage in community and how we relate to the world at large. So while it may be tempting to dismiss contemplative practice as a form of spiritual self-indulgence, in reality it is an essential component to maintaining healthy relationships: with God, with ourselves, and with one another.
So. Here, then, is a diagram I have created to integrate these four essential dimensions of Christian spirituality…
It’s not a perfect diagram, as of course these things never are. But I think it can be a fruitful tool for reflecting on how mysticism, Celtic Christianity, the emergent conversation, and Christian community all can work together in the formation of a mature spirituality.
First, we have the vertical axis: the “love God” axis, with the Body of Christ — Christian community, particularly but not exclusively in its monastic form — forming the foundation. The body grounds us, and anchors us through our DNA to our ancestors and to the physical world. Through the Body of Christ we receive the wisdom of the tradition, the insight of all those who have gone before us and whose efforts to follow Christ are the foundation on which we build our spiritual lives today. But just as the human body needs the mind, so too the Body of Christ needs the Mind of Christ — the expansive, visionary, inclusive consciousness and experience of divine presence that comes to us through contemplative practice and through the guidance of the great Christian mystics. The wisdom of the mystics is the wisdom of growing in conscious love of God, and so it both animates and nurtures our experience as embodied/communal Christians.
Completing the diagram is the horizontal axis: the “love neighbors” axis, in which we turn to two alternative/marginal but truly vital expressions of Christian discipleship for guidance and nurture. The Celtic tradition, with its roots in late antiquity but its continuing relevance today, provides a wisdom from the past that is particularly relevant for expression Christian discipleship in terms of the love of nature, of matter, of God as immanent present in our world today. Counterbalancing this ancient/particular expression of faith is the postmodern/universal expression of the emergent conversation, integrating Christian wisdom with the unique concerns and demands of our age in order to equip the followers of Jesus to more fully and authentically love all people, including those who have traditionally been marginalized by the church, those who follow other wisdom paths, and those who stand truly in need of mercy, forgiveness, support and comfort. This encompasses those who have victimized by religion, those who have suffered due to addiction, poverty, disease or other challenges, and those who have danced with the sirens of secular culture only to find their lives hollow and meaningless, but too embittered and cynical to engage with traditional forms of religiosity. I’m sure the list of possible neighbors could go on and on.
So this is a basic overview of how I see my own faith in Christ shaped and formed, nurtured in particular by these alternative or liminal expressions of spirituality and discipleship. I’m not sure if this will work for anyone else, but it clearly works for me. I hope that anyone who shares my interest in mysticism, Celtic Christianity, the emergent conversation, and monasticism (both ancient and new) might find in this diagram a way to put all the “pieces” together into a coherent and unified expression of faith and love and obedience to Christ.
So now for the really interesting question: where will this take us?
P.S. The beautiful Celtic Cross I used in my diagram (which is found on the cover of one of my books) comes from the amazingly talented Cari Buziak over at Aon Celtic Art.
The Protestant Mystics
Here are the details of my forthcoming class:
-
- Evelyn Underhill
Mystics of the Protestant, Reformed and Evangelical Traditions
Six Tuesday Evenings, April 6 through May 11, 2010
7:00 – 8:30 PM
First Christian Church of Atlanta
4532 LaVista Road
Tucker, GA 30084
Ours is an age of Spiritual renewal, and many Christians are sensing a call to a deeper life of devotion and conscious contact with God. Traditionally, the spiritual disciplines — and resulting experience — associated with such a hunger for the presence of God has been known as “mysticism.” This concept has met with resistance among many Protestants and Evangelicals because of its historical association with Catholicism. But in fact, many great and lesser-known Protestants have been mystics. In its best sense, mysticism is not contrary to the Gospel, but actually a way to live the Gospel more deeply, fully, and joyfully. This class will explore the writings and wisdom of some of the Protestant mystics and prayerfully consider how their teachings can be applied to the Christian life in our day.
For the purposes of this class, “Protestant” refers to any church with roots in, or after, the 16th century Reformation of northwestern Europe. The mystics we will study in this class come out of the Anglican, Quaker, Reformed, Methodist, Holiness, Presbyterian, and Evangelical traditions; including: George Fox, Jonathan Edwards, William Law, John Wesley, Phoebe Palmer, George MacDonald, Evelyn Underhill, T.S. Eliot, A. W. Tozer, and C.S. Lewis. We will also consider the question of “Is mysticism in the Bible?” and how mysticism (or spiritual practice) relates to the overall calling of Christian discipleship.
The class will meet on six Tuesday evenings, April 6 through May 11, from 7:00 – 8:30 PM, at First Christian Church of Atlanta, 4532 LaVista Road, Tucker, GA 30084. There is no required textbook for the class. Class is taught by Carl McColman, author of the forthcoming Big Book of Christian Mysticism and the Website of Unknowing Christian mysticism blog (www.anamchara.com). There is no set tuition for the class but an offering will be taken to cover expenses and to help support future spiritual development programming at First Christian Church.
For more information or if you have any questions, please contact Carl at mccolman @ anamchara.com.
Zealous Love
Zealous Love:
A Practical Guide to Social Justice
Edited by Mike and Danae Yankoski
Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2009
Review by Carl McColman
Human trafficking. Refugees. Hunger. Unclean water. Education. Poverty. HIV/AIDS. The environment. The areas in life where injustice or social inequality threaten both individual lives and the common good are, alas, all too numerous. The Christian life mandates that we care for those in need (Matthew 25:31-45; Luke 10:25-37). But it is far too easy to simply feel overwhelmed by the enormity of the need in our world today. Where should I begin to respond to the call to love my neighbor, to feed the hungry, to shelter the homeless, to comfort the afflicted?
Enter Zealous Love. This “practical guide to social justice,” written for ordinary first-world Christians, focusses on eight specific areas of need in today’s world. Each section begins with a brief overview of the nature of the scope of the problem, and then provides a number of “Field notes” — first person narratives in which activists describe their experiences encountering the problem, and then working to fight it, in different ways and different places around the world. “Now What?” at the end of each section provides concrete suggestions on how to reflect and pray about the issue at hand, with practical suggestions on how to respond, spread the word, and connect with organizations engaged in work related to the issue.
What I think makes this book useful is how it combines honest assessment of how serious each issue is with a manageable list of suggested action steps that concerned persons can take to join the fight for justice. “A thousand mile journey begins with a single step,” as the old saying goes, and Zealous Love is all about resolving to take that first step. Just casually flipping through the book will open your eyes to social and political problems you may either not have known about (or preferred not to know about). The Field notes make the issues come alive, with real stories about real people involved. And then the recommended action steps offer a range of possible responses, from simply learning more to making a commitment to full-time service.
In our time it is easy to feel overwhelmed just with the challenges that face even those of us who are, by global standards, quite affluent. Considering the depth of suffering and the enormity of problems such as environmental threats or economic inequality, and it is easy to feel tempted to retreat into a shell of apathy or indifference. But such is not the Christian way. We who have been touched by the wild love of the Holy Spirit are called to share that love with others, and fighting injustice is an important way to do just that. Zealous Love provideas a full range of gentle — and challenging — ideas on how average folks like you and me can join in the fight.
Unconditional Confidence
Unconditional Confidence:
Instructions for Meeting Any Experience With Trust and Courage
By Pema Chödrön
Boulder: Sounds True, 2009
Review by Carl McColman
Here is a wonderful audio book filled with gentle wisdom for transforming all of life’s experiences into occasions for spiritual growth. If you (like me) sometimes feel like you relate to life more from a position of fear or anxiety than from a place of deep trust and confidence, then this teaching program just might inspire you to cultivate courage in your own life.
Unconditional Confidence is really two programs on two CDs. The first disc features a talk given by Buddhist teacher Pema Chödrön before a live audience; the second features a more intimate approach to the topic, in which Pema is interviewed by Sounds True owner Tami Simon. The first disc provides the message of “unconditional confidence” in a more formal way; the interview functions as a “behind the scenes” look at the wisdom and life experience that helped to shape Pema and her message.
And what is her message? Simply put, that if we choose to approach all of life mindfully, we can learn to trust and relax into anything that comes our way — even times of suffering, or anxiety, or stress. Any experience that arises is an opportunity to learn non-attachment, to practice gentleness and mindful awareness, and to cultivate a spirit of trust and basic friendship toward ourselves (even our failings) and our experiences. “Unconditional confidence” does not mean living a robotic life in which we never feel doubt or fear or disappointment, but rather a mindful and “heartful” life in which even the challenges that come our way are seen as dharma — as occasions to grow.
Pema Chödrön is a wise and warm teacher, and her down-to-earth manner makes her message accessible and inviting. Her ability to laugh gently at herself is a witness to her humility (in the best sense of the word) and the quality of her message. Listening to her (whether lecturing or conversing in her interview with Tami Simon), I came away with a sense that true confidence and trust is available to anyone who really wants it; the key is not years of almost super-human meditation practice (although she is clear that a disciplined meditation life can only help the fostering of confidence); rather, the key seems to be learning to cherish every moment that life brings us, by “leaping into, smiling at, and experiencing” all of life, even those moments that seem to be filled with fear or angst.
The interview disc includes honest discussion of such issues of physical pain and health issues, facing death, dealing with explosive interpersonal relationships and “triggers,” and other real-world considerations of when confidence is not something that flows naturally, but must be mindfully cultivated. Pema’s vulnerability in speaking of her own imperfections and challenges is particularly inspiring and reinforces her basic message that unconditional confidence is not about living a perfect life void of any doubt or fear, but simply a life in which all of our messy imperfections are embraced with kindness and mindful non-attachment.
Protestant Mystics and Catholic Mystics
C. S. Lewis, the mystic who claimed he wasn't one. Image via Wikipedia
I’ve begun work on a lesson plan for a course on “the Protestant Mystics” that I will be offering at the First Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) Atlanta this spring (details as to date and time, etc. still have to be worked out, but as soon as I know the particulars I’ll post them here). For my research, I’m using an old, out of print anthology edited by Anne Fremantle, The Protestant Mystics. The book features a wonderful introduction by W. H. Auden, which I’ve quoted from on this blog several times over the last few days. Fremantle and Auden set out to do this book because they wanted to prove W. T. Stace wrong — Stace being a Protestant philosopher who said, “There are no Protestant mystics.” The anthology includes a wide variety of voices, from Jacob Boehme to George Herbert, George Fox to Thomas Traherne, William Law to Jonathan Edwards, John Wesley to George MacDonald, Rufus Jones to T. S. Eliot, and so forth. And while the authors seem to be more comfortable with heterodox mystics than I am (Emmanuel Swedenborg and Ralph Waldo Emerson are among the other-than-orthodox figures represented), all in all it’s a wonderful anthology and a clear refutation of Dr. Stace’s arrogance.
But why would someone as eminent as Stace make such a sweeping generalization? In his defense, probably most of the so-called Protestant mystics would, themselves, be uncomfortable with the designation. C. S. Lewis is included in the anthology, and he explicitly disclaimed himself as a mystic (see his Letters to Malcolm). I suspect that Lewis would hardly be alone. For Protestants, mysticism long was tainted by the perception that it arose not from devotion to Christ, but rather from Catholic excess.
In his wonderful book Beloved Dust, Robert Davis Hughes offers a historical survey of the history of Christian spirituality, and suggests that, in the wake of the Reformation, Protestants and Catholics alike began to view mysticism with suspicion, seeing its claim to direct experiential union with God as an affront to the good order of church authority as established by God. Ironically, for Protestants the claims of mysticism were rejected because it was too Catholic; for Catholics the same rejection implied that mystical experience was too Protestant! Since to a large extent the Protestant / Catholic divide is an argument over authority, mysticism with its experiential, but liminal, claim to personal authority directly given by God would be perceived as dangerous by both parties. Mysticism did not just go away, of course, but Catholics and Protestants successfully marginalized mysticism in different ways. In the Catholic world, mysticism became increasingly associated with persons who had little or no ecclesiastical power: gone were the days when great theologians or bishops like Augustine, Richard of St. Victor, Nicholas of Cusa or Meister Eckhart were also the greatest mystics. In post-reformation Catholicism, mysticism increasingly became associated with women, and typically obscure women in religious life: Rose of Lima, Marie of the Incarnation, Thérèse of Lisieux, Faustina Kowalska, Emma Gelgani, and so forth. Meanwhile, Marian apparitions at places like Lourdes and Fatima became the province of children. Mysticism could survive in Catholicism as an essentially non-threatening private devotion, charming and pious but ultimately having little real impact to the larger church. Indeed, the “messages” promulgated by these latter-day Catholic mystics all seem to be variations on a single theme: pray the rosary and obey the church. And it seems that when a Catholic mystic does come along with a more transformational or visionary message, he (or she) is soon marginalized by the church: think of Teilhard de Chardin, Thomas Merton, or even Thomas Keating in our own time.
On the Protestant side, mysticism retained more influence, but only by divesting itself of the name. Protestant mystics simply never were called mystics, by either their supporters or their detractors. This, Auden brilliantly explicates, has to do with the fact that Protestantism represented a fundamental break in the tradition: the Protestant “mystics” did not have access to the same contemplative culture that their Catholic brothers and sisters enjoyed. Thus, a young woman like Thérèse of Lisieux could write a theologically nuanced book (and win a designation as a doctor of the church) because she was immersed in the living contemplative tradition not only of the Carmelite Order but of Catholicism as a whole. Protestants, meanwhile, had only one reference point for their experiential spirituality: the Bible. Thus, Protestant mysticism tends to be scripturally informed in a manner that has not been seen among Catholic visionaries since probably the time of the church fathers (I do not mean to suggest that Biblical resonance is absent from Catholic mystics. But figures like Julian of Norwich or John Ruusbroec derived their Biblical knowledge through the Divine Office rather than through the culture of personal Bible study as promulgated in the Reformed world, and their mysticism was as richly informed by the writings of the saints as by scripture).
So this, then, is the defining mark of a Protestant mystic: an experiential and direct knowledge/relationship with God, informed almost exclusively by scripture, and completely unconcerned to label itself as “mystical” or “contemplative.” After all, the words mysticism and contemplation (theoria) are of pagan rather than New Testament origin. Does this, then, render the concepts of mysticism and contemplation obsolete or unnecessary? I don’t think so. If nothing else, they are markers that invite us to acknowledge the depth and transforming power of the spirituality that figures like John Wesley or Jonathan Edwards experienced. One could almost argue that the tradition of Protestant mysticism, even among the great theologians like Wesley and Edwards, falls under what Merton called “masked contemplation” — the experience of ordinary Christian men and women who seek to live a holy and transformed life in Christ, but who don’t engage in any particular method or technique of prayer and who lack any sort of self-consciousness regarding their spiritual life. To me, this kind of masked contemplation sounds healthy in its very humility and hiddenness. Perhaps we who fancy ourselves as contemplatives would do well to follow their obscure example.
Quote for the Day
The mystics themselves do not seem to have believed their physical and mental sufferings to be a sign of grace, but it is unfortunate that it is precisely physical manifestations which appeal most to the religiosity of the mob. A woman might spend twenty years nursing lepers without having any notice taken of her, but let her once exhibit the stigmata or live for long periods on nothing but the Host and water, and in no time the crowd will be clamoring for her beatification.
— W. H. Auden, “Introduction to The Protestant Mystics“
anthologized in Forewords and Afterwords
“People of Christlike Love”
In A New Kind of Christianity, Brian McLaren ponders the question of what the church’s “one mission, message, and quest” should be. In other words, here in our fragmented, postmodern world, where the church has splintered into so many different theological, ecclesial and cultural forms, what can Christians rally around as a unifying message to inspire the community of faith as we move into the third millennium? McLaren goes on: “What one great danger do people need to be saved from, and, more positively, what one great purpose do they need to be saved for?” And then he provides his answer:
Of many possible answers, there is one to which I am continually drawn, embarrassingly obvious and simple to understand, but also embarrassingly challenging to do: the church exists to form Christlike people, people of Christlike love. It exists to save them from the great danger of wasting their lives, becoming something less than and other than they were intended to be, gaining the world but losing their souls. (p. 164)
Really nothing radical here. McLaren is just pointing out that the heart of Christianity is the two great commandments:
One of the scribes came near and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, he asked him, “Which commandment is the first of all?” Jesus answered, “The first is, ‘Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.’ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” (Mark 12:28-31)
So simple. So obvious. And yet, so difficult. Those of us who are engaged in the contemplative practices: silent prayer, meditation, contemplation, the Daily Office, Lectio Divina, working with a spiritual director, making retreats and quiet days, participation in a third order or oblate community, engaging in the “higher consciousness” projects of thinkers like Ken Wilber or Jim Marion, studying the writings of the great mystics and contemplatives, and/or interfaith spiritual practices such as Shambhala Training, Christian yoga, Christian zen, or so forth — we need to keep asking ourselves, over and over again: is all this “stuff” that we are doing, A) helping us love God better; B) helping us to love our neighbors better, C) helping to love ourselves in healthy ways better; and D) helping us to become, more and more, people of Christlike love? If we cannot enthusiastically, honestly, and simply say “yes” in response to all four of these questions, then something is out of joint. You can do all the contemplation in the world, but if it isn’t making you a more loving person, it’s a waste of time.
Of course, I believe that the contemplative practices do slowly but inexorably form us into “people of Christlike love.” That’s the whole point: not gaining higher levels of consciousness, or attaining secret knowledge (gnosis), or experiencing mind-blowing union with God, or even feeling as if our sins have been washed away. Those are all worthy goals in themselves, and the dedicated contemplative will reap benefits in each of these ways. But all these “goals” are secondary, to a practice that ultimately has no “goals” at all: for contemplation is not meant to make us into something different, but rather to call us back to who we really are to begin with: children of God, ambassadors of love. By keeping that essential goal front and center, all the other benefits of contemplative practice will assume their proper perspective.
And I suppose it must be said that if a person is humbly working on growing in Christlike love without doing any of the contemplative exercises, than he or she is further along on the mystical path than someone who meditates flawlessly, practices lectio daily, etc. etc. but whose heart remains trapped in anger and fear.
Keep the mission alive: walk with wisdom — live in love.
Quote for the Day
Broadly speaking, then, we can say that there are three kinds of contemplation: one is philosophical and its peak-point is a metaphysical experience of being; the second has for its object Christian dogmas the inner meaning of which it savors with the light of faith; the third is a high form of union with God, conferred gratuitously upon His intimate friends. A consideration of these three kinds of contemplation helps us to understand the traditional relationship between reason, dogma, and mysticism.
— William Johnston, The Mysticism of The Cloud of Unknowing
Quote for the Day
Contemplating a loving God strengthens portions of our brain — particularly the frontal lobes and the anterior cingulate — where empathy and reason reside. Contemplating a wrathful God empowers the limbic system, which is ‘filled with aggression and fear.’ It is a sobering concept: The God we choose to love changes us into his image, whether he exists or not.”
— Michael Gerson, quoted by Brian McLaren in A New Kind of Christianity
(original source: The Washington Post)
Running with Expanding Heart
Running with Expanding Heart: Meeting God in Everyday Life
By Mary Reuter, OSB
Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2010
Review by Carl McColman
Just in time for Lent: here is a wonderful new addition to the literature of Benedictine wisdom.
Running with Expanding Heart (the title comes from a phrase in the prologue to the Rule of Saint Benedict) offers a vision of how Benedictine spirituality can provide inspiration and guidance for twenty-first century Christians—including the laity. Sister Mary Reuter, a member of Saint Benedict’s Monastery in St. Joseph, Minnesota and a theology professor at the College of Saint Benedict and Saint John’s University, understands just how down-to-earth and practical Benedictine wisdom is, and uses storytelling, personal reflection, and thought-provoking, open-ended questions to illustrate just how relevant Benedict’s Rule continues to be. Beginning with an homage to her father whom she describes as an “extraordinary ordinary man,” the author goes on to show, in a variety of ways, how Benedictine wisdom can help Christians to find the extraordinary in all of life’s ordinary moments.
The chapters of the book cover the key elements of Benedictine wisdom, including hospitality, stability, obedience, the beauty of the ordinary, the spirituality of place, and the recognition that everything is holy. Although the book does not promote any sort of method or technique of prayer, the overall message will support all who seek to nurture a contemplative dimension within even the most down-to-earth corners of their lives.
This book can serve as an introduction to Benedictine spirituality for beginners, but also as a bouquet of new insights for those who have walked with Benedict for some time. It’s a slender little book (100 pages plus notes), making it ideal to read as part of an overall discipline of daily devotion. St. Benedict expected his monks to read a book for Lent; if you want to make Benedictine wisdom more integrally part of your life, this would be an ideal selection for your Lenten reading.
Quote for the Day
The vision of the splendor of creation, like all kinds, lays a duty upon one who has been fortunate enough to receive it, a duty in his turn to create works which are as worthy of what he has seen as his feeble capacities will permit. And many have listened and obeyed. It has been, I am quite certain, the initial cause of all genuine works of art and, I believe, of all genuine scientific inquiry and discovery for it is the wonder which is, as Plato said, the beginning of every kind of philosophy.
— W. H. Auden, “Introduction to The Protestant Mystics“
anthologized in Forewords and Afterwords
Snuggling with Clarissa
Clarissa, who came to live with us in 1999, is now our “senior” cat. She has always been very sweet-tempered, affectionate, and particularly kind with Rhiannon (when she was younger she used to hop onto Rhiannon’s wheelchair and ride around with her, something none of our other cats have ever done). Since we lost our eldest cat, Julian, in 2007, Clarissa has become increasingly bonded with Fran, and often crawls onto Fran as she rests in bed.
The other day Clarissa did just that, but also did something I had never seen before — she snuggled up to Fran, practically cheek to cheek. I grabbed my phone and snapped this picture.
Fran and Clarissa, 2/13/10
Cats are such wonderful creatures. We who are privileged to live with them should be humbly grateful.
The Naked Now
The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See
By Richard Rohr
New York: Crossroad, 2009
Review by Carl McColman
Many of the finest studies of Christian mysticism are just that: studies. While authors as renowned as William Ralph Inge, Cuthbert Butler, Evelyn Underhill, Louis Bouyer, John Macquarrie, Bernard McGinn and Robert Davis Hughes have made splendid contributions to our knowledge and understanding of contemplative and mystical spirituality, their erudite and scholarly works are, alas, often just too challenging for the ordinary, non-theologically-educated layperson. Although perusing their work can be a dazzling journey of insight and cognition, the casual reader may well be left wondering the all-important question, largely unaddressed by the scholars: “How do I apply this wisdom to my life?”
Enter Richard Rohr and his inviting, accessible introduction to the mystical element of spirituality written for the average seeker in our time. He understands that mysticism is far more than just “experiencing God,” and he refuses to reduce contemplation to mere psychological nurture or stress management. He deftly understands that mysticism often exists in tension with established religious authority, and yet at its heart Christian mysticism is about reconciliation and relationship more so than revolution and rebellion. Rohr has a clear sense of the paradox and play at the heart of mysticism, and manages to avoid both the trap of esotericism (mysticism as a retreat into private spirituality) and devotionalism (mysticism as a metaphor for super-piety). The title, The Naked Now, evokes a range of “present-moment” spiritaul masterpieces, from Eckhart Tolle’s The Power of Now to Jean-Pierre de Caussade’s Abandonment to Divine Providence. Like these previous works, The Naked Now recognizes the mysticism is a gift already given, not something we achieve so much as something we, by God’s grace, simply allow: in the undefended, un-judged (hence, “naked”) here-and-now present.
The key to this book’s accessibility and usefulness lies in its subtitle. Rohr does not promise his readers that The Naked Now will make them become mystics; instead, he promises to invite them to “see” as mystics do. He uses the metaphor of seeing and even of the “third eye” to unpack not only what is wrong with religion in general, but to present mysticism as a shift into all-embracing, nondual consciousness. He grounds this fundamental truth in the Christian tradition, discussing how mysticism relates to the Christian (particularly but not exclusively Catholic) life, and especially to the teachings of Jesus. Like Cynthia Bourgeault or even Ken Wilber, Rohr’s understanding of Jesus liberates Christ from the kind of metaphysical superhero who dies to placate a wrathful God and instead celebrates him as a wisdom teacher whose death and resurrection become the archetypal pathway for the life of mystical initiation: descent into the dark night (and surrender of the ego), followed by the resurrection into the “new mind” or “mind of Christ” (metanoia, conversion) that characterizes mystical seeing — and being.
In his introduction to the book, Rohr suggests that these principles epitomize what he is trying to say: “All saying must be balanced by unsaying, and knowing must be humbled by unknowing,” and “All light must be informed by darkness, and all success by suffering.” The key to these mystical axioms, of course, is unlearning the dualistic way of seeing and thinking by relaxing into the naked now: the “sacrament of the present moment.”
The Naked Now is a gentle book, and probably will not convert anyone who is not already predisposed to its joyful and expansive message. It lacks the polemical punch of Brian McLaren’s A New Kind of Christianity or Phyllis Tickle’s The Great Emergence; but it really has a different mission than either of those books. It’s not about convincing the ego of how “right” the mystical path is, but rather simply about accepting the invitation to walk the mystic path and see for yourself. Because Rohr is not interested in oppositional consciousness, so he is not particularly interested in meeting his critics (or the critics of mysticism in general) on their level. Rather, he simply invites everyone to “come higher” to the third-eye, naked now level of contemplative seeing. Those who accept the invitation will find this book encouraging and hopeful. Those who don’t probably wouldn’t read the book to begin with.
If you like The Website of Unknowing I can confidently say that you will love The Naked Now. If you’re not particularly familiar with my website, then consider if you are drawn to centering prayer, interfaith spirituality (Christianity in dialogue with Buddhism, etc.), Benedictine/Monastic spirituality, Celtic Christianity, or the emergent conversation. If any of these are of interest to you, get this book. It will inspire you to connect to the spiritual heart of all these creative movements within the Christian community.
More Thoughts for a Small Contemplative Community
First of all, I’m really pleased at all the wonderful ideas and expressions of support for the idea I blogged about yesterday. I don’t think I have it in me to start a network of contemplative groups throughout metro Atlanta, though! Besides, Contemplative Outreach has already done that. I’d rather start small and see where the Spirit takes us from there.
Here’s just another thought or two that came to me yesterday, after I made the initial post.
While I’m really interested in having a group read through the writings of the mystics together, I’m also aware that some attention the Scripture would need to be part of this experience. Here’s what I’m curious about: can we find some sort of middle ground between the purely affective experience of group lectio and the more traditionally academic methodology of “Bible study”? Put another way: is it possible to read the Bible for both discipleship and contemplative formation, simultaneously? Obviously, like any hybrid, this approach would have its own weaknesses, but I think for the purposes of this particular group, trying to bridge both the “theory” and the “practice” of contemplative spirituality, such an approach might prove deeply rewarding.
Two thoughts along this line. First, for the Gospel of John, I know of at least three commentaries that approach the Gospel from an explicitly contemplative/mystical orientation:
- Bill Countryman’s The Mystical Way in the Fourth Gospel: Crossing Over into God
- Bruno Barnhart’s The Good Wine: Reading John from the Center
- Ravi Ravindra’s The Gospel of John in the Light of Indian Mysticism
Meanwhile, Phil mentioned the Song of Songs, where the mystical commentaries are even richer:
- Origen, The Song of Songs, Commentary and Homilies
- Gregory of Nyssa, Commentary on the Song of Songs
- Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermons on the Song of Songs, Volume 1, Volume 2, Volume 3 and Volume 4
- William of St. Thierry, Exposition of the Song of Songs
- Teresa of Avila, Collected Works, Volume Two (includes “Meditations on the Song of Songs”)
- Denys Turner, Eros and Allegory: Medieval Exegesis of the Song of Songs
- Michael Casey, Athirst for God: Spiritual Desire in Bernard of Clairvaux’s Sermons on the Song of Songs
Back in 2006 I published an even longer list of commentaries on the Song of Songs.
So would it be too much for a regular gathering of folks who would commit to a “lectio continua” reading of about 1 chapter a week of a Biblical text (like John or the Song of Songs), along with about 10-15 pages a week of a classic writing by a great mystic (Merton, Julian, Eckhart, Teresa of Avila, et al.)? This means the group, over the course of a 90 minute meeting, would A) check in; B) reflect on the scripture reading for the week; C) discuss the writing of the mystic assigned for the week, which would lead to D) time for group spiritual direction, culminating in E) silence and F) compline and/or time for shared vocal prayer.
Is that too much?
And for those of you who live in Atlanta: how does Wednesday evenings sound?
Prospectus for a Small Contemplative Community
When I was a young man, I took a class at the Shalem Institute on leading contemplative prayer groups. I’ve had several opportunities to lead groups devoted to meditation and/or contemplative prayer over the years, and I’ve always enjoyed participating in that kind of a communal setting. The other evening I had a conversation with my friend Phil who is the associate minister for spiritual development at a Protestant church near me. As part of his ministry there, he leads a wonderful group that meets weekly to engage in communal lectio divina — over the course of 90 minutes the group reads together the lessons and the Psalm from the common lectionary for the coming Sunday, and then each person reflects on which of the lessons they feel drawn to, which word or phrase in that lesson seems to be speaking to them, and what their sense of God’s call is for them in the lesson. Their time together is completed with 20 minutes of shared silence.
My friend mentioned that while the group is thriving, there seems to be a growing need for more interaction among the members, particularly in regard to their spiritual practice. He thought that this could signal the need for a new, or at least differently formatted, group, to meet in addition to the lectio group.
This conversation resonated with me because it touched a dream I’ve had for a while: to create a group that met regularly, either weekly or bi-weekly, that would combine shared silence, communal prayer, and the study and reflection of the writings of the mystics. Basically, such a group would be an experiment exploring this question: can lay Christians in our time support one another in their contemplative practice, drawing on the wisdom of the mystics of old? I think the answer to such a question must be ‘yes’ or else I wouldn’t be thinking about this at all. But as to how such a small group would work—that’s the interesting question.
It seems to me that such a group would almost have to be ecumenical in nature, for no one parish or congregation could provide enough people to make such a group viable. The reality is, most people drawn to contemplative spirituality are not necessarily drawn to a small group setting for interpersonal spiritual growth — and vice versa. To find 10-15 people who would want to read the mystics, and engage in a practice of daily prayer, and who would commit to meet 2-4 times a month with others engaged in a similar practice, I think it would be necessary to draw on the entire spectrum of Christian communities.
I know that the emergents in Cobb County (northwest of Atlanta) have a book discussion group called the “Group of Unknowing” that meets regularly. I haven’t participated in that simply because of the distance (from where I work to where they meet is about 45 miles). I’m curious to hear from anyone who reads this blog who might be involved in a centering prayer group, or some other small-group forum dedicated to the practice of contemplative Christian spirituality. I’m also curious to know if folks from the Decatur and East/Northeast regions of Atlanta would be interested in helping to create such a forum. I can’t commit to something like this indefinitely (people who know me will testify that when I get involved in a book project, other commitments tend to take a backseat!), but I think setting up a group that met for three to six months might be really valuable for all its participants.
Any thoughts?
Quote for the Day
Is God violent? Nearly all religions—and certainly all monotheistic religions—seem at times hell-bent on inspiring people to kill each other, making atheism sometimes seem a more ethical alternative to conventional violence-prone belief. So we ask: Why does God seem so violent and genocidal in many Bible passages? Does God play favorites? Does God choose some and reject others? Does God sanction elitism, prejudice, violence, or even genocide? Is God incurably violent and is faith capable of becoming a stronger force for peace and reconciliation than it has been for violence in the past?
— Brian McLaren, A New Kind of Christianity: Ten Questions
That Are Transforming the Faith
Snow in Atlanta
Okay, I know this is a tremendously boring picture, especially for everyone who lives in the north and who is dealing with three feet rather than three inches of snow. But, snow is such a rarity in Atlanta that I’m indulging myself and posting a picture I just took a couple of minutes ago outside our front door.
Two New Books
I have recently received two books that I am eagerly looking forward to reading. It will probably be a few weeks before I can write in-depth reviews of them, but I wanted to mention them now in case anyone who reads this blog would like to get copies.
A New Kind of Christianity by Brian McLaren features a series of questions that McLaren has been wresting with — questions he has had posed to him, all over the world, as he has travelled, speaking about the challenges the community of faith is facing as we enter more fully into the postmodern age. Some of the questions are very much in line with the kinds of conversations we have on this blog: “How should followers of Jesus relate to people of other religions?” “How can we translate our quest into action?” Other questions wade into areas I haven’t directly addressed here, but that every thinking Christian should be wrestling with: “Is God violent?” “Can we find a way to address human sexuality without fighting about it?” “What is the overarching story line of the Bible?” I suspect that McLaren will adress these, and the other questions he raises in this book with his customary love for scripture and Christian tradition, coupled with a keen awareness that all the old ways of “doing church” are increasingly obsolete in our day. It will be interesting to see where he goes. Incidentally, I was privileged to be part of a conference call McLaren held last night for about 60 bloggers who are engaging in the emergent conversation. Over the course of 80 minutes he responded to our questions, showing a gracious respect for those who may differ or disagree with him, and an overall sense of openness to seeing just where God may be leading us (with the humility to admit that he, or we, don’t have very much figured out).
Prayer and Prophecy: The Essential Kenneth Leech is an anthology featuring some of the best writing from Ken Leech, arguably one of the most exciting Anglican theologians living today. Leech made a name for himself in the late 1970s with Soul Friend, one of the first books on spiritual direction to reach an audience beyond just clergy and monastics. Several other books on the spiritual life ensued. But this priest is more than just a teacher of prayer, and his ministry (in the east end of London for just about the entirety of his career) has had as much to do with care for the poor, feeding the hungry, engaging in community organizing, and learning to be good neighbors with non-Christians, as it has been concerned with prayer and meditation and the discernment of spirits. Thus, Leech held a space within the Anglican world where contemplation and action naturally came together — similar to the space that Richard Rohr holds among Catholics today. But Leech is simultaneously more orthodox and more radical than folks like Rohr or Cynthia Bourgeault or Tilden Edwards. He combines a rich Anglo-Catholic love for the sacraments and for ceremonial with a clear understanding that devotion to Christ in the Blessed Sacrament is only true when it is accompanied by devotion to Christ whose real presence is found most assuredly among the hungry, the homeless, and the downtrodden. In connecting these dots, Leech does not shy away from the political implications of his radical faith, but he always remains clear that his politics are in service to his vocation as a Christian, and not the other way around.
Okay, so it’s obvious that I’m enthusiastic about Brian McLaren and Kenneth Leech as persons and as ministers of the Gospel. I’ll write more about these books after I read them — but in the meantime, follow the above links and go buy copies of your own!
A Notice and a Reminder (regarding upcoming classes)
Please note that the “Introduction to Ken Wilber” class scheduled to begin on February 10 has been canceled due to low enrollment.
In the meantime…
Space is still available in my class that starts on April 14:
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
Please do sign up — this is a fun class where we explore wisdom teachings from around the world. Hope to see you in April.
Quote for the Day
I used to think that paired opposites were a given, that love was the opposite of hate, right the opposite of wrong. But now I think we sometimes buy into these concepts because it is so much easier to embrace absolutes than to suffer reality. I don’t think anything is the opposite of love. Reality is unforgivingly complex.
— Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life
Thich Nhat Hanh on Christian/Buddhist relations
My friend Martha just alerted me to this wonderful article by Thich Nhat Hanh. It looks like it’s quite a few years old, since in it he talks about wanting to write Going Home: Jesus and Buddha as Brothers, which was published in 2000. But its message remains important for us today:
Going Back to Our Religious Roots
In this article, the good Vietnamese monk tells the story of counseling a young Buddhist woman who had fallen in love with a Catholic man, and was distraught because his family was insisting that she become a Catholic in order to marry him. After speaking with her, Thich Nhat Hanh basically gave his blessing for her to enter the church, suggesting that if she continued to do mindfulness work, she could be a Buddhist on the inside, even while practicing Catholicism. She thought it over, and her reply is worth considering, as she weighs the merits of the two faiths: “[Buddhism is] a tradition that is so embracing, so tolerant, so open, if I abandon it and turn my back to it, I am not a person of value. [By contrast, Catholicism is] a tradition that is so strict, that has no tolerance, that is not able to understand, how could I formally identify myself with it?” (more…)
Advice for a Beginner
A reader posted these questions to my blog this morning:
As a novice to Contemplative Prayer I guess I should take the introduction pace . Any suggestions ? Also, Carl, do you consider Henri Nouwen a mystic?
I’ll answer your second question first. I certainly have the sense of Henri Nouwen as a contemplative, based on what I know of him and his work. As you may have surmised if you’ve poked around this blog very much, though, I tend to be reticent about applying the word “mystic” to people (and especially to myself!), unless of course they are widely acknowledged in the tradition to be mystics (Julian of Norwich, Teresa of Avila, etc.). Having said, that, like Karl Rahner I do believe the call to be a Christian is in fact the call to be a mystic, and I believe that to be a sinner (which we all are) means to resist that mystical call. John Lennon once said, “We are all Christ and we are all Hitler.” That, it seems to me, pretty much sums up how I feel about whether any one person deserves to be called a “mystic” or not. So was Nouwen a mystic? I suppose I could say “of course he was.” But I bet as a consequence of his own humility he would have been uncomfortable with the label. Read C.S. Lewis’ Letter to Malcolm in which he vigorously disclaims being a mystic himself. Then read Till We Have Faces or The Voyage of the Dawn Treader and it becomes obvious that C.S. Lewis certainly could, to use Richard Rohr’s wonderful language, “see like the mystics see.” Somehow I suspect that the same could be said of Nouwen.
Now, then; as for suggestions to an aspiring contemplative, here a few thoughts for you to ponder…
I hope these thoughts are helpful. As for pacing, that’s where humility kicks in. You don’t have to have it all figured out tonight, tomorrow, or next month. We are like babies, learning to crawl. Yes, we want to walk and run, and we will get there, eventually. But it’s important to be gentle with ourselves, for change takes time. First things first, in patience and confidence and joyful awareness of the gifts of each precious, present moment.
So there you go!
Share:
February 15, 2010 | Categories: Christian mysticism, Contemplation, Formation, How to Become a Mystic, Mysticism, silence, spirituality | Tags: C. S. Lewis, Contemplation, contemplative prayer, Henri Nouwen, Hospitality, humility, lectio divina, Prayer, questions, Reader's comments, Richard Rohr, silence, Spiritual Direction | 11 Comments »