When it comes to holiness and purity, Christian mystics have tended to be even less compromising than members of the church as a whole. The Desert Fathers and Mothers, some of the earliest Christian contemplatives, demanded faultless moral behavior from their disciples, and purity of thought as well. Indeed, it was out of this quest for purity of thought that the practices of meditation and contemplation emerged.
Yet here is another paradox: the quest for purity can result in its own form of impurity, as individuals who desire to be holy before God can all too easily succumb to scrupulosity, obsessive/ compulsive behaviors, or simply spiritual pride. Holiness and purity may be lofty goals, but there seems to be a danger in pursuing them single-mindedly.
Perhaps holiness is, finally, not just a matter of moral purity, but also a matter of gracious, joyous, and messily imperfect hospitality. When Christ enjoined his followers to "be perfect" (Matthew 5:48), he wasn't advocating moral rectitude so much as a limitless love that flows to good and evil persons alike. This includes loving the very people who offend you by their very lack of holiness. And I don't just mean "loving" people in the abstract. Hospitality goes beyond merely writing a check to your favorite charity or voting for the politician you believe is the most "righteous." Jesus demands more. He wants you to reach out to the homeless person who skulks around on the street corner near your office, or learn to engage in positive and charitable dialogue with those whose political values are opposed to your own, or shower yourself with forgiveness when you fail to meet your own internalized standards of "purity." For while he promised that the pure of heart will see God, he also insisted that he himself is to be found among those who are hungry, poor, homeless, or naked. Showing hospitality to those who are truly in need no matter how pure or "impure" they might be may, ultimately, be a far shorter route to mystical union with God than a lifetime of contemplation. In the fifteenth century, a book called The Imitation of Christ suggested, among other things, that those who truly want to live a Christ-like life must avoid contact with strangers. The book was written at a time when the Black Death was still all too real in the minds of most, so the author's lack of hospitality can be forgiven. But today, we need to remember that the pursuit of holiness involves more than keeping ourselves free from the stain of sin our own or anyone else's.
Plumb deeply the Christian tradition.
Embrace all positive wisdom.
One of the practical ways that the purity/ hospitality paradox plays out is in the question of how Christians ought to relate to non-Christian faiths. I have two friends who are both devout Christians who love Jesus and seek to do his will in their lives. But they are like night and day when it comes to how they express their faith, especially in relation to other religions.
One sees her faithfulness in terms of keeping herself pure before God. This means that she rejects any kind of spiritual activity, practice, or idea that has a non-Christian origin. She is uncomfortable with some forms of Christian meditation, for example, because they are too similar to transcendental meditation, which has Hindu roots. For her, there is so much splendor and beauty in the gospel and the tradition of the Christian saints and mystics that she sees no point in muddying the waters by blending Christian spirituality with elements from other religions.
The other, however, sees things differently. Not only is he a faithful and active member of a large Christian church, he is also a leader of the Atlanta Sufi community. He loves to read the Gnostic Gospels, the poetry of Rumi, and the writings of various Eastern teachers like the Dalai Lama and Thich Nhat Hanh. His faith in Christ is deepened by the delight he takes in learning about other faiths and their spiritual practices.
Think about my two friends in terms of the purity /hospitality paradox. One embodies the quest for spiritual purity untainted by any "foreign" elements. The other embodies the quest for a spirituality of hospitality, in which devotion to Christ leads to an openness toward the wisdom and insights of other faiths. Both are sincere in their faith and genuinely want their relationship with Christ to transform their entire lives into holiness and beauty. And their different perspectives represent the two dimensions of this paradox. Christian mysticism calls you to plumb deeply in the seemingly endless riches of the Christian tradition. Paradoxically, however, it also can inspire a genuine and heartfelt desire to find ways to share, and even integrate, Christian and non-Christian perspectives on spirituality.
It would be very easy, at this point, to get distracted by a debate over which of my friends is "right" which is to say "more faithful" to the gospel. Instead, I will follow the advice of Matthew 7:1: "Judge not." Rather, I'll look at this paradox and consider how each perspective can be a powerful expression of devotion. Each approach has its limitations or "blind spots." The person who embraces all sorts of non-Christian wisdom can wind up adhering to a kind of blended spirituality that lacks any real identity and appears to be rooted in nothing deeper than individual preferences. Meanwhile, the person who eschews non-Christian spirituality out of a desire to maintain a kind of spiritual purity runs the risk of falling into a fundamentalist mentality that judges non-Christians or fears them, rather than simply trying to love all people as Christ demands.
Put another way, perhaps both the "embracers" and the "purity seekers" need to remain open to a continual process of conversion. Those who embrace other faiths indiscriminately need conversion to the virtue of stability, by which they can learn to rely on the deep roots of the Christian tradition for their spiritual identity. Those who are excessively insistent upon purity need conversion enlightened by charity, by which they can learn to relate to those who are different from themselves with a gracious openness rather than a defensive resistance and an unwillingness to learn or understand.
Love God's creation.
Do not love the world.
Christianity holds a tension between the "earth" and the "world." The earth is God's creation, and especially in the Hebrew Scriptures it is celebrated as a good thing, a gift from God. "I brought you into a fertile land to eat its fruit and rich produce," says the prophet Jeremiah, speaking for God. "But you came and defiled my land and made my inheritance detestable." Herein lies the crux of the paradox. What God has created the earth, the land, nature and her bounty is good. "God called the dry land earth, and the gathering of the waters He called seas; and God saw that it was good" (Genesis 1:10) .What we do with it and to it, however, is another story. "Do not love the world nor the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him" (I John 2:15).
It's tempting to read the language of "not loving the world" or not being "of the world," as found in the New Testament, as mandating some sort of split between humanity and the rest of nature. It can also be seen, however, as a split between the human mind and the human body. The mind, or consciousness, is more akin to spirit, while the body is obviously part of nature. This kind of thinking leads to dualism -a distorted way of seeing the universe in which only spirit is good, while matter is rejected as fallen or evil. Dualism originated in Greek philosophy and in pagan religions like Zoroastrianism and Manichaeism, not in the original teachings of Jesus or in the Jewish culture in which he lived.
At its best, Christian spirituality can embrace a distinction between "the world" as an abstract symbol representing the human capacity for error, and "the earth" as the beautiful creation God has given us, including nature, the land, and our bodies. This is not to say that the physical universe is entirely benign. Indeed, the capacity to turn against the love of God what in traditional language is called sin has personal, social, and even cosmic dimensions. When we see how "the world" is so deeply embedded in nature, however, we are faced with two contrary temptations. One is simply to accept uncritically the urgings of worldly nature: "If it feels good, do it."This temptation ultimately leads to selfish exploitation, treating human beings and indeed all of nature not as miraculous gifts from God, but as instruments to be used for personal pleasure or material gai
n. The other temptation involves rejecting the body and nature as evil. Not only is this the error of dualism, but it ironically plays into the first temptation. If something is evil or fallen, why not treat it merely as an exploitable resource rather than as a gift from God? Once again, this paradox is an expression of the purity/ hospitality issue. Rejecting the errors, addictions, abuses, and injustices of the fallen world is a function of the quest for purity, while embracing and celebrating God's good creation (even in its messy imperfection) is a form of spiritual hospitality. Both are essential to the mystical quest.
Humankind is sinful.
Humankind is invited to participate in union with God.
Now we come to one of the most unpopular and misunderstood Christian doctrines: sin. If you are secretly hoping that Christian mysticism offers a way to be spiritual without all that sin and guilt stuff, well, I'm sorry to disappoint you. If anything, the mystics throughout history have exhibited an even greater focus on sin (and its corollary, repentance) than their nonmystical counterparts.
When you fall in love with someone, really fall in love, you can become almost painfully conscious of all the ways you fail to live up to your be- loved's expectation of who you are (or your own expectation of who you want to be). That is a fairly apt analogy for what motivates the dynamics of Christian repentance. It emerges out of love, and is oriented toward self- improvementfor the sake of love. This is a far cry from the common misperception that repentance is merely something we mortals do to make God stop being angry with us.
For many Christians, their faith focuses more on sin than it does on God. They worry about how "bad" they are, rather than appreciating how good God is. They forget that the word "sin" means simply "mistake," and does not necessarily involve "evil." Here's a way to think about sin: whenever you make a choice that entails unloving or hurtful behavior, you have made a mistake, and sooner or later you will need to clean up the mess you've made. This makes you just like every other human being alive on the earth today.
Sin happens. We all make mistakes, and we all have that something inside us that can make us act selfishly. But let us recognize that universal quality for what it is, rather than succumbing to the ominous conclusion that "humankind is evil" (which, unfortunately, some Christians throughout history have insisted is true). Some people reject Christianity because they think it's a negative, pessimistic religion. But the problem of sin (and how to deal with it) is only one part of Jesus' overall message. Christianity also promises that those who choose intimacy with God through Christ will
in a process that begins now and lasts into eternity actually become, in the words of Saint Peter, "partakers of the divine nature."You don't just get to "meet" God in the afterlife, as if heaven were some sort of awesome reception hall, some sort of cosmic reward for a j ob well done. Nor is your destiny limited to just an externalized dynamic of loving God and being loved by him (but remaining separate). The ultimate destiny for Christians, as understood by the great mystics throughout history, is decation a word that basically means to become God-like. You actually become immersed in God. You become part of him. You don't become identical with God, but the union you experience between creature and creator is the closest that any two beings can enjoy. I remember a priest who used to say during Mass, "God is closer to you than you are to yourself." That is the beginning of deification, of participating in the divine nature, of finding union or should I say, communion with the Blessed Trinity.
A sinful, which is to say, broken and wounded and often narcissistic, humanity destined to actually participate in God, the fount of ever-expansive love and delight? It's a paradox.
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.
Perfect love casts out fear.
Again and again, Jesus tells his followers to not fear. Sometimes he says this to reassure his listeners; other times he seems to be scolding them for their timidity. As for Jesus himself, even his critics acknowledged that he feared no one (Mark 12:14). He does, however, draw a distinction between not fearing those who can hurt the body and yet fearing God, who alone has power over your spirit. The fearlessness Jesus advocates in relating to other human beings is, paradoxically, related to a deep humility and awe that we should direct only toward God.
When the Psalmist says "the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom," perhaps the most important word in that verse is "beginning." Fear, or dread, or existential angst, is a force that can initiate a truly transformational spiritual journey. But if wisdom is born out of fear, it reaches its full maturity only through love. Love casts out the kind of fear that undermines our integrity and self-esteem; it purges us of seeing God as a force for punishment or condemnation. But love does not lead us to some sort of flippant place where we ignore God's call to holiness. The casting out of fear does not mean we can disregard the call to pass on to others the love that has been so freely given to us. Fearlessness is not the same as mindlessness. The love of God is not a sweet, sentimental emotion that ignores or denies such things as sin and suffering. We find fearless freedom in divine love precisely because we have known fear, and therefore know how to treat love with the respect it deserves.
Place your hope in the future when you will find conscious union with God.
Live in the present moment; that's the only place you'll ever find God.
If you're discouraged by the idea that not everyone will experience a jawdropping, eye-popping, mind-twisting encounter with divine consciousness, consider that pretty much everybody has peak experiences of some kind what the twentieth century mystic Evelyn Underhill calls "unitive experiences," or experience of oneness with God and/or the cosmos. Unitive experiences do not necessarily involve a specifically religious or Christian setting; they may occur as a consequence of falling in love, or as part of the awe felt when holding a newborn baby. They may manifest as a sense of getting caught up in a majestic mountain vista, where suddenly you and the mountains become one. Or they may be grounded in a similar feeling of joyous littleness when standing beneath the MilkyWay on a dark, cloudless night, far enough away from the insidious glare of urban neon that the soft luminescence of the galaxy can be seen.
Peak experiences happen. They typically are beautiful, joyous, even ecstatic. For many, even a humble experience of the beauty of nature can have a lifelong impact that changes how we see what true happiness or joy or simply feeling "alive" is like. Ken Wilber suggests that "peak" experiences are really "peek" experiences events in which we get a sneak preview of how the highest evolution of human consciousness will unfold and what humankind will experience in the centuries and millennia to come. Wilber is interested in the evolution of consciousness, and so he sees peak experiences as harbingers of how human consciousness will evolve.
For Christians, peak or unitive experiences may not only represent hints of future evolution, they may also signify a present reality the possibility of real, deep, lasting joy to be found in the presence of God. After all, if a work of art can evoke a sense of wonder, how much more remarkable it would be to get to know the artist who created it. So peak experiences, even when triggered by nothing more than the grandeur of nature, are hints at the beauty that lies hidden in the mystery of God.
But... life is not just about hanging out on the mountaintop. Nor do mountaintop experiences excuse you from the ordinary tasks of living.You have to keep looking for divine presence, not only in the mountaintop experiences, but also in the ordinary, mundane, slightly boring or unpleasant dimensions of life.
Remembering a wonderful peak experience can be a source of consolation, and hoping for a future mind-expanding encounter with God can be a means of inspiration that can keep you focused on the disciplines of the spiritual life. But life is not lived in the past or the future, no matter how glorious it was or how lovely it promises to be. Life is lived right here and right now, in the present moment. Which means that this is where mysticism happens as well.
Live by faith.
Live the trut
h.
If mysticism is about experience such as of loving God, of feeling his love, or taking responsibility to do the kinds of things that open you up to his presence then it seems erroneous to say that mysticism is about faith. In fact, wouldn't faith even be a hindrance to mysticism, since faith, as described in the Bible, is "the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen" (Hebrews 11:1)? In posing this question, I'm reminded of Yoda, who, when teaching Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back, sternly admonished his apprentice to do the task given to him not merely to "try." Wouldn't Christian mysticism work the same way? We are called to experience God's presence and love, not merely hope for it or believe in it.
Well, yes and no.
Mysticism is not just about experience, it is also about mystery, and the mystery of God cannot be controlled, predicted, engineered, or manipulated. While God in his gracious goodness may grant some sort of awareness of him to all who seek him, it may not be the kind of experience you hoped for or secretly think is necessary in order to be a "real" mystic. In fact, if you're not careful, your encounter with God's presence may be so subtle that you miss it altogether.
Just as there is no such thing as a perfect human being, so too there is no such thing as a perfect experience of God. Faith is the quality that we need because our knowledge and experience and awareness of God will never be perfect, at least not on this side of eternity. Faith is the lifeline that pulls you through the darkness the darkness of your own sin, the darkness of the pain and suffering that characterizes so much of life, or the darkness of the mystery of God. We experience all of these shadow times, and sometimes even catch glimmers of God's presence in the dark. But there are other times when we may have only a dull sense of the darkness as, well, dark. And that's where faith proves essential.
The Big Book of Christian Mysticism: The Essential Guide to Contemplative Spirituality Page 10