Nowhere in the Bible does Jesus tell his followers to meditate, to contemplate, to recite the Psalms every day, to engage in lectio divina, or to engage in any other spiritual practice traditionally associated with mysticism. What he does insist is that we love one another. Paradoxical as it may seem, the Christian flight of the alone to the Alone must occur in conjunction with a flight of the communal to the Communal.
God is One.
God is a Holy Trinity.
Just as mysticism is both a solitary and a communal practice, Christianity understands God in terms of both perfect unity and personal interrelationship. And this is arguably the greatest of all Christian mysteries.
Christianity, which began as a sect of Judaism, insists, like its mother religion, that all things are created by One God. God's Oneness is an essential part of his nature. But Christianity also recognizes that God has three persons not three natures or three functions, but three persons: the Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ the Son, and the Holy Spirit of Love. The Father is not the Son, the Son is not the Holy Spirit, and the Holy Spirit is not the Father.Yet all are God, and God is One.
Critics of Christianity dismiss the Holy Trinity as an example of the mental wrangling early theologians had to go through as they attempted to preserve Christianity's monotheistic credentials while also explaining why the faith worshipped a heavenly creator (the Father), an incarnation of God (the Son), and an ever-present Holy Spirit sent from God. Quite a lot of arguing (not to mention some bloodshed) took place in the early centuries of the Christian era over just how to understand this. To this day, the doctrine of the Holy Trinity remains subject to ongoing debate and philosophical speculation which is largely incomprehensible to the average person sitting in the pews.
This criticism can be turned inside out, however. Instead of dismissing the doctrine of the Trinity as a mere compromise required by history, it makes just as much sense to marvel at it as a profoundly novel and beautiful expression of how to understand the mystery of God. The Holy Trinity proclaims a spiritual reality greater than the chaos of polytheism and the loneliness of radical monotheism. The Trinitarian vision of God transcends the limitations of human intellect and answers the question of how God can be greater than the cosmos and yet still relate to us as a part of his creation. In the HolyTrinity, the infinite mystery of God the Father relates eternally and intimately to the physical universe through the embodied life of Jesus Christ and the ever-loving presence within creation of the Holy Spirit. Thus, the Trinity not only embraces the paradox of transcendence and immanence; it invites us to find our ultimate destiny and fulfillment in our becoming in the words of Saint Peter "partakers of the divine nature."
The Holy Trinity reveals the dynamic way in which the loving community of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit expands itself to incorporate the endless flow of love to and from God and God's beloved creation. Put another way, Christian mysticism fosters an openness to receive the gift of union with God. This union, as understood in the Christian faith, is actually a communion, in which we are invited into communion/union with the Holy Spirit, with Christ, and, through them, with the infinite mystery of the Father and the fullness of the One Triune God.
Christ is fully human.
Christ is fully divine.
Next to the Holy Trinity, the most remarkable and controversial Christian teaching is the doctrine of the Incarnation, which holds that Jesus of Nazareth is both fully human and fully divine. This is the unique mystery of Christ.
Like the doctrine of the Holy Trinity, this central tenet of the Christian faith took centuries to hammer out. Some early Christians emphasized Christ's humanity, insisting that to call him "Son of God" was an honorific that had little real meaning when it came to explaining his relationship with God. He may have been specially blessed or favored by God, but was no more divine than you or I. Other Christians rejected the humanity of Jesus, insisting that, because he was divine, his holiness could never be enmeshed in the messy reality of human flesh. For them, Christ's humanity was just an illusion, a "form" he took on so that he could relate more easily with us. Eventually, orthodox Christians rejected both of these extreme perspectives and accepted the more paradoxical view that, as a man, Christ was human in every way, except that he didn't sin; as God, Christ was as fully divine as the Father and the Holy Spirit.
While this has become a central article of faith for all Christians, for mystics, it is also an important key to understanding the relationship between the Trinity, Christ, and ourselves. Mystically speaking, Christ is the great bridge builder. He is one with God the Father (John 10:30). But he is also "one" with all of us by virtue of his humanity. When Joan Osborne sang her song "What If God Was One of Us?" a few years back, Christians could reply, "In Jesus Christ, God is already one of us."
Many critics of Christianity see this as some sort of two-tiered system that distinguishes between Christ and lesser mortals. This criticism stems from a profound misunderstanding of Christian wisdom, however, and totally ignores Christian mysticism. God poured the fullness of divinity into Mary's womb, and so Christ was born. Christ, in turn, pours the fullness of his divinity into each and every Christian, through the power of the Holy Spirit. We are not mere spectators of the divine nature; we partake of it. The literal meaning of the word "Christian" is "little Christ" and so, each Christian becomes, in a mysterious (mystical) way, a part of Christ. Just as Christ remained fully human even while he was fully divine, Christians never stop being human, even though we are invited to become part of Christ part of his mystical body. Therefore, we share not only his full humanity, but also his full divinity.
Seek the light.
Embrace the dark.
This paradox emerges from two apparently contradictory Bible verses. In John, Jesus declares "I am the light of the world" (John 8:12). In Matthew, during his Sermon on the Mount, he says, "You are the light of the world" (Matthew 5:14). Hidden in this seeming contradiction is an important clue to just what the Christian mystical life is all about.
Christianity is not a "two-light" system. It's not as if Jesus were one light and we the community of Christians, or little Christs are, collectively, another. Rather, the light that Jesus says shines from him and from us is the same light. When we are united in Christ, we are incandescent with his spiritual light. Intuitively sensing this truth, Christians have been seeking the light of Christ ever since, both yearning to have it shine on us, and also hoping to be worthy for it to shine through us.
The light of Christ is true light, a spiritual light, something other than a physical energy stream to which our eyes can respond. Saint Paul explains: "For it is the God who said, `Let light shine out of darkness,' who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ" (II Corinthians 4:6). Thus, the light of Christ can most properly be understood as a light of knowledge, an inner enlightenment that reveals and makes plain what was previously shrouded in darkness.
The Gospel of John also uses imagery of light contrasted with darkness to express the difference between good and evil. For mystics, however, the tension between light and dark can be understood in another way as the tension between the mystery that is revealed and the mystery that remains hidden. And since the mystery of God is never fully revealed to us, this means that God will come to us, not only as Light, but also as a divine darkness.
"If the visible light is intangible, how can the hidden Light be comprehended?" muses the fourth-century mystic Ephrem the Syrian. Another mystic from the Middle East, Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite, wrote around the year 500 about the "dazzling darkness," suggesting that what appears to us as the darkness of God's hiddenness is actually a spiritual light so bright that it blinds us.
Mystics throughout the history of Christianity have played with this tension between light and dark. John of the Cross wrote a lovely poem called "One Dark Night," in which he compares the soul's yearning for God to a nighttime tryst between lovers. He also wrot
e a commentary on the spiritual meaning of this poem called "The Dark Night of the Soul," which is now regarded as one of the greatest Christian mystical writings. His treatise has given its name to the experience of profound, ego-shattering darkness that some advanced mystics experience as they surrender themselves more and more to God's deep transforming presence.
Taken on another level, the idea that Christ is light but that God is enshrouded in darkness can lead to a holistic appreciation of both the light and dark parts of life. Ironically, spiritual people are often prone to judging their own lives particularly when things aren't going well. When times are harmonious, pleasant, and joyful, we conclude that God is present. When we are plagued by suffering, doubt, despair, illness, or sorrow, God seems absent. The paradox of light and dark turns that simplistic approach on its head. We are more likely to feel the loving presence of God in the "light" times of our lives. But the witness of the mystics assures us that God remains present even when we don't feel that presence, even and, perhaps, especially in the profound shadow times. The God of darkness is a hidden God, and may feel like an absent God. On a level deeper than mere human experience or consciousness, however, he remains truly a present God.
Take delight in God.
Accept even suffering.
For mystics and contemplatives, God is just as present in the dark times of our lives as in the more joyful, light times. This leads to another paradox, one that finds God both in joy and in suffering. "Take delight in the Lord," says the Psalmist, "and he will give you the desires of your heart" (Psalm 37:4). This lovely promise offers a link between spiritual joy and personal fulfillment. Granted that your heart's desire, whatever that may be, will itself bring you delight and joy, this Bible verse suggests that opening yourself up to God's love is not merely a spiritual blessing, but will overflow to bless all of life. Delight in God leads to a delightful life.
That sounds reassuring. The only problem is that life doesn't always seem to work that way. Although blessings abound for most people the love of family and friends, the joy of a good meal, the excitement of sport, the pleasure of romance, the satisfaction that comes with setting and achieving goals for some, life's pleasures always seem to be just out of reach, whether because of illness, or poverty, or other challenges. Even in the midst of a joyful life, pain and suffering are never far away. Everyone will, sooner or later, face illness, injury, loss, and death and, more painful still, will watch loved ones suffer as well. Suffering is a central part of life. In ancient India, Siddhartha Gautama was so stunned by his discovery that life is filled with suffering that he embarked on his own spiritual quest, which culminated in his enlightenment as the Buddha.
It's easy to approach faith from a narcissistic perspective, seeing God as a year-round Santa Claus who exists only to shower his blessings on those who love him; and prayer, therefore, is merely the means for convincing God to bestow his favor on us. This kind of religion rejoices in the good times, but leads to despair and angst when times are tough. But Christ beckons us to leave behind our childish narcissism and to embrace the fullness of life suffering as well as joy. This is one of the lessons encoded in the grisly, traumatic death of Jesus: through his suffering, we are saved (made spiritually whole). Moreover, this salvation is not just some sort of promise for life after death; rather, it brings a blessing to us right here and right now and right in the middle of our suffering, if only we are open to it. Christ does not offer to remove your suffering; he redeems it. In other words, he brings his presence into it and thereby transforms it from pointless pain to a smaller part of a larger, meaningful whole. A woman in the pain of childbirth can bear her suffering because she knows it leads to the joy of giving birth and welcoming her new child into the world. In the mystery of Christ, we see that all suffering has the potential to be a "birth" experience giving birth to a newfound appreciation of God's presence and of his ability to turn anything, no matter how bad or painful, into a new possibility where divine love and presence can shine forth.
God is all-merciful.
God is uncompromising in his justice.
I think the argument could be made that the polarization within religion and politics in the United States largely runs along the fault line of this paradox, with so-called "conservatives" standing up for God's justice and socalled "liberals" standing up for his mercy. Of course, it's not entirely that simple. It seems evident, however, that relatively few people whether in politics or among Christians seriously try to apply both of these principles equally in their lives.
From prayer to meditation to contemplation, Christian spiritual practices focus your attention on seeking, establishing, or deepening intimacy with God. Just as a truly happy marriage must be built on love rather than a prenuptial agreement, the mystical quest for union with God gives precedence to love and relationship over rules and regulations. Yet many of Christianity's most renowned mystics would probably disagree with this position. In the writings of Christian mystics from Clement of Alexandria in the second century to Faustina Kowalska in the twentieth, you'll find a near-obsessive emphasis on obeying God's laws as the foundational requirement for anyone seeking holiness or divine union.
This obedience-to-law perspective is not particularly in sync with our freewheeling, self-centered, if-it-feels-good-do-it age. While mysticism and spirituality are popular both inside and outside the Christian faith, the classic mystical hunger to live in submission to divine law has become increasingly rare. Even among those who identify as conservatives and argue for the importance of moral regulations, too often there seems to be a selective obedience for example, an eagerness to accept (and enforce) traditional views regarding marriage and human sexuality, combined with a willingness to ignore the far more challenging calls for economic and social justice.
Meanwhile, traditional ways of understanding "God's law" have come under increasing attack in our time. Science, psychology, sociology, and feminism have all inspired far-ranging debate that has led many to rethink old approaches to morality and holiness and wrestle with these profound social issues. For some people, this has led to a belief in ethical relativism, where each individual is required merely to follow the dictates of his or her conscience. Others react to the uncertainty of our age by adopting one of two apparently opposite but equally rigid responses either to cynically reject traditional ideas of divine law altogether, or to retreat into an inflexible, fortress mentality that defends "traditional values" against all questioning, at all costs.
The Bible teaches that God's law is holy and just (Romans 7:12), but also that God is all-merciful (Deuteronomy 4:31). So what does it mean to say that God represents pure justice as well as pure mercy? How do these two qualities merge?
In human terms, they seem to subvert one another. Justice demands that wrongs be set right, that we are all held accountable for our actions, that those who are weak and vulnerable have their day in court against those who oppress or victimize them. Meanwhile, mercy promises forgiveness for wrongdoing, and leniency in punishment. I suspect that, deep down inside, we all want God to be just toward all those who have wronged us or offended us. But we also want God to show mercy to us and to our friends. This is human nature.
Mysticism, on the other hand, suggests turning this human impulse inside out. It enjoins you to police your own thoughts, behaviors, spending habits, and other actions with an eye to observing God's law, while trusting in God's mercy to shower forth love and forgiveness even on those who have hurt you, or who oppose you politically, or whose moral values are at odds with your own. If Jesus could ask God to forgive those who crucified him, even though we have no reason to believe that they asked for God's forgiveness, shouldn't you ask God's forgiveness for all those whose behavior doesn't meet with your approval?
I really don't know how to resolve this paradox. But I do believe that much of what is dynamic and beautiful about the Christian life including Christian mysticism is propelled by the creative tension between seeking to live a just
life and seeking to be an ambassador for God's mercy.
Seek holiness.
Practice hospitality.
Here is a paradox of which most people, even most Christians, probably aren't aware. It is an extension of the justice/mercy paradox we just considered. To the extent that God stands for uncompromising justice, he calls us to live holy and pure lives. To the extent that God stands for allembracing mercy, he calls us to live by the dictates of hospitality. Holiness is exemplified by Hebrews 7:26, where a holy priest is described as "blameless, undefiled, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens." By contrast, hospitality is characterized by the Parable of the Great Banquet, where a rich man invites everyone to his feast even those who are impure or unclean (Luke 14:16-23).
Holiness is pure. Hospitality is messy. Holiness requires rigorous selfcontrol and unwavering commitment to standards of righteousness. Hospitality, by contrast, works only when flexibility and a willingness to meet people where they are come first. Thus holiness and hospitality seem to pull us in opposite directions.Yet mystical Christianity operates under the assumption that God calls us to both: to a life of spotless holiness and allembracing hospitality.
No one doubts that holiness is a central quality promoted in the Christian faith. Even a cursory reading of the New Testament reveals that a core characteristic of life in Christ involves refraining from behaviors regarded as "impure" sexual misconduct, the worship of false Gods, lying, theft, even drunkenness. And while we may not worry anymore about some of the concerns expressed in the NewTestament for example, I have never been tempted to eat meat that has been offered to idols other Biblical principles remain as relevant as ever.
Mystically speaking, holiness is more than just the quality of a life surrendered to God's grace. It is the first and essential requirement for those who wish to see God. Christ tells us, in fact, that it is the "pure of heart" who "will see God" (Matthew 5:8). Yet we all know that no one gets it right all the time, which is why Christians always have the opportunity to own up to their failings and do what it takes to set things right (in religious jargon, this process involves repentance, confession, contrition, and making amends). From the Catholic Sacrament of Reconciliation to a Southern Baptist altar call, all Christian communities acknowledge that people make mistakes, and offer tools for dealing with those blunders. The point behind holiness is to never give up striving for purity, even if it can never be achieved.
The Big Book of Christian Mysticism: The Essential Guide to Contemplative Spirituality Page 9