Religious faith and spiritual experience are not at odds with one another. Experience is not a higher doorway to God that is opened for the deserving few, while faith is the breadcrumbs left on the table for those who fail to make the mystical grade. Rather, faith and experience work together just as the head and heart work together. Those who listen to their hearts but not their heads (and vice versa) can quickly do foolish things. Love without common sense can lead you to the wrong person, whereas common sense without love can lead to a life of joyless drudgery. "Use your head" and "follow your heart" are both great words of advice especially when they are offered in tandem.
The relationship between faith in Christ and spiritual experience functions much the same way. On the surface, merely assenting to the ideas or teachings of the Christian tradition may seem like a dry intellectual exercise. But faith is more than just saying you agree to a set of propositions. It means giving your entire self heart as well as mind, body as well as soul to the wisdom that is offered to you. That self-giving is, in itself, an experiential act. So you can't truly have faith without it having some sort of experiential foundation. And it works the other way as well. Take Paul's conversion on the road to Damascus. By itself, it was just an amazing experience. But because Paul was able to respond by faith to what was asked of him by his encounter with Christ, it became far more than just a psychic anomaly. It became one of the most famous mystical experiences in Christian history. And, in fact, all encounters with the mystery require that element of faith. Without it, instead of being true mystical experiences, they would just be interesting spiritual phenomena. It's faith in the mystery that puts the mystery into mysticism.
Authentic Christian mysticism conforms to Biblical and church teaching.
Mysticism is following spiritual vision to greater freedom.
What makes a Christian a Christian? Well, that depends on who you talk to. Some may simply say "loving Jesus." Others may add that, more than just loving Jesus, it also means worshipping him, acknowledging him as the Son of God, and trying to live your life in a Christ-like way. Still others may say it depends on whether you think the Bible is the inerrant word of God or a collection of ancient myths, which church you belong to, or whether you believe in the HolyTrinity and the Real Presence.
Christian mysticism suffers from a similar identity crisis. Some define it loosely as an undiscriminating tendency toward "out-there" experiences. Others take a much more conservative approach, insisting that you must be a good Christian in a religious sense in order to qualify as a Christian mystic. What is at issue here is the role that Christian teachings play in the mystical life. Those with a more casual understanding of Christian mysticism are not particularly interested in Christian doctrine; those with a narrower definition of what it means to be a Christian mystic usually have a deeper appreciation of dogma.
Although our society tends to value personal freedom above group identity, for Christians the shared values of the community really do matter. Casual kinds of spirituality that are all about "doing your own thing" ultimately center, not on Christ, but on each individual. If my personal freedom matters more to me than the wisdom of the community, I might be a mystic, but it's likely that I'm not a Christian mystic.
But once again, there is a paradox. Christian mysticism may involve conformity with the central teachings of the tradition, but it also acknowledges, and even celebrates, the fact that subjective experience is an important part of the mystical life. Being a Christian mystic means assenting to Christian teachings, but also honoring your own experiences as long as they don't directly contradict those teachings.
But even this is tricky. Look at Galileo, who ran afoul of church authorities because he dared to promote scientific theories that contradicted church teachings. History has shown Galileo to be the wiser, an innocent victim of church authorities who placed more faith in their own dogma than in scientific truth. While mysticism is not the same thing as science, whenever a mystic has a vision or receives some sort of insight into spiritual wisdom, a real tension immediately emerges between this experience and the tradition.
Consider these two Bible verses:
Where there is no prophecy, the people cast off restraint, but happy are those who keep the law (Proverbs 29:18).
Do not let anyone disqualify you, insisting on self-abasement and worship of angels, dwelling on visions, puffed up without cause by a human way of thinking, and not holding fast to the head, from whom the whole body, nourished and held together by its ligaments and sinews, grows with a growth that is from God (Colossians 2:18-19).
The verse from Proverbs suggests that "prophecy" (some translations render this as "vision" or "revelation") is actually connected to religious law. Without vision, people lose restraint. The function of vision is thus not so much to set you free in some sort of anti -authoritarian sense, but rather to help you find a deep freedom in God that makes you obedient to his law and, therefore, to human law insofar as it is consistent with God's law. Meanwhile, the passage from Colossians warns that visionaries, when "puffed up without cause" by a "human way of thinking," can lead you astray, simply because their pride prevents them from holding fast to the authority that comes from Christ, the "head" of the mystical body (the church).
This paradox that Christian mysticism conforms to Christian tradition, but also involves personal experience of Christ can be resolved only through discernment and a willing relationship with a wise and loving spiritual guide. This is not about control; it is about identity. Part of what gives Christian mysticism its identity is the recognition that not all spiritual insight is necessarily compatible with the Christian worldview or message. Truly Christian mystics are by nature humble enough to work with a spiritual guide who can help them discern when their experiences are (or are not) consistent with the overall meaning of the faith. Letting go of visions or other mystical experiences that contradict the faith may be a painful experience, but it serves a greater good the ongoing glory of God and the health of the entire body of Christ.
Pray methodically.
Prayer cannot be reduced to a method.
Books about Christian spirituality often contain one of two very strong messages that seem to be at odds with one another. One advocates the use of methodical spiritual practices set procedures or a step-by-step process. Saying the Rosary is one such process reciting a series of prayers in an established sequence while meditating on key events from the lives of Jesus and Mary. The Jesus Prayer, or the Prayer of the Heart, which involves the repetition of a single short prayer (usually "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, Have mercy on me, a sinner") and sometimes rhythmic breathing and relaxation, is a similar Eastern Orthodox practice. Centering prayer, a form of contemplation similar to transcendental meditation, is yet another. It involves the use of a single "prayer word," similar to a mantra, to recollect the mind and allow for deep inner silence to emerge. What all these prayer practices have in common is a method, a procedure by which rhythmic and repetitive words or actions foster a subtle shift in consciousness, which enables you to relax more deeply into a state of prayerful receptivity where you are open to the presence of God.
These prayer methods have their critics within the Christian family, however. Some Protestants reject the Rosary as a violation of Christ's teaching not to use "vain repetitions" in prayer (Matthew 6:7, King James Version). Likewise, some critics denounce centering prayer because of its affinity with Eastern spirituality. But beyond the criticism of any one method is the more general objection that technique or method really has no place in spirituality. Popular Catholic retreat leader Thomas Dubay sums it up well: "Contemplative communion cannot be attained by any technique, oriental or occidental, nor by a centering method aimed at emptying the mind."23 The logic behind this position is simple: God is a divine person, not a cosmic puppet. If the purpose behind prayer and, by extension, spirituality and mysticism is intimacy with God, we should avoid technical or methodical approaches to prayer or meditation th
at suggest that, by occupying or emptying the mind or altering your breathing patterns, you can "make God appear" as if he were a servant available to heed your call.
Does this mean you should abandon all methodical practices? I wouldn't go that far. After all, we are creatures of habit and it is in our nature to perform repetitive actions, whether they involve slowing down breathing to relax consciousness or getting into the habit of saying prayers every morning and evening. The important thing is to remember that God is bigger than you are: bigger than your efforts to contact him and bigger than your efforts to open yourself up to receiving him. Methodical prayer, like all forms of prayer, is valuable, not to the extent that it changes God for that is impossible but rather to the extent that it changes you. Prayer is not merely self-therapy, however: it is primarily worship and adoration offered to God. If a methodical prayer or, for that matter, any spiritual practice is offered for purely selfish reasons, it is hardly prayer at all. When it is offered truly as a gift for God, it shines. Methodical spiritual practices are tools designed to help you engage in your desire to draw closer to God. But the real wonder that will emerge between you and God can never be contained in a mere technique.
Become like little children.
Love God with all your heart, soul, and mind.
This paradox emerges out of two teachings of Christ that appear, on the surface, to be contradictory. In Matthew 18:3, Christ says: "Unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven," while in Matthew 22:37, he says: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind." Comparing these two verses, you may wonder which is more important to have a childlike faith, or a more mature love for God?
This paradox seems to hinge on the mind. Children are much more likely to take things on faith. They do not need to be convinced to dream, to wonder, to play with possibilities. But there is a shadow side to this childlike openness: gullibility or naivete, which can result in an uncritical acceptance of ideas or values that may not be good, beautiful, or true. Loving God with all your mind suggests making the effort to balance a childlike faith with a keen adult willingness to ask questions, to weigh evidence, and to seek the truth that may not easily be explained in a way that a small child can understand.
So what is Christ asking us to do? Be faithful and gullible, or be questioning and skeptical?
Perhaps the answer to this question lies in another comment Christ made to his followers: "Be wise as serpents and innocent as doves" (Matthew 10:16). Here, Jesus appears to be suggesting that his disciples hold different levels of consciousness within themselves simultaneously. The serpent represents the "adult" consciousness: shrewd, discerning, wise. The dove represents the "child" consciousness: innocent, simple, in the present moment. The key seems to be a matter of adopting the uncomplicated clarity of a child's mind, while simultaneously considering all the nuances that only an adult mind in its full maturity can attain. Christ appears to be calling us to have adult minds that remain childlike: to be both master and amateur, expert and humble beginner.
I suspect few of us have achieved this state of adult/child consciousness. In fact, much of the political wrangling in the church (if not in society as a whole) seems to be driven by a rift between those who are more faithful to their childlike minds and those who are more faithful to their adult minds. Let us honor them both. We need both a pure and simple childlike faith, and the discerning and wise mind that can come only out of maturity. If we can't find them within ourselves, let us at least learn how to respect them in one another. A triple paradox.
God is Father.
God is Mother.
God transcends gender.
The Nicene Creed which for many Christians both Catholic and Protestant is the single most succinct statement of just what it means to be a Christian begins with the words "I believe in God the Father Almighty," linking God with male language. Likewise, in the Bible, the Hebrew and Greek words for "God" are masculine, and Jesus explicitly calls God his father. Add to this all sorts of cultural imagery associated with God that is implicitly masculine God as king, warrior, mighty in battle, a lover wooing a wayward bride and it seems pretty obvious that God is a "guy."
But, like grass sneaking through the cracks in an urban sidewalk, some images found in the scripture paradoxically point to a more feminine understanding of God. Both biological and cultural images of God as a mother occur in the Bible. Isaiah depicts God as a mother in labor (Isaiah 42:14) and Moses compares God to a mother nursing her children (Numbers 11:12). In the story of Adam and Eve, God adopts the role of a seamstress, tenderly making clothes for his disobedient children. Jesus, meanwhile, compares God to an old widow seeking a lost coin, and even compares himself to a mother hen who seeks to gather her chicks under her wings (Luke 15:8- 10; Matthew 23:37). Meanwhile, the Holy Spirit is explicitly associated with feminine imagery. Not only is the Hebrew word for "spirit" feminine, but the Holy Spirit is linked with the feminine personification of wisdom, Sophia, and with womanly traits like giving birth. Indeed, for several centuries after the time of Christ, some Christian communities viewed the Holy Spirit as feminine, and some theologians today, like Robert Hughes, are calling us to reclaim this ancient, feminine tradition.
As Christian mysticism flourished, it retained this feminine face of God. Medieval mystics like Bernard of Clairvaux, Aelred of Rievaulx, and William of St. Thierry used feminine or maternal imagery when speaking of Jesus. Likewise, Julian of Norwich bluntly said: "As surely as God is our father, so surely is God our mother." In our own day, many feminists have embraced the idea of the Motherhood of God, presenting it as a healthy corrective to centuries of overly masculine imagery for the Ultimate Mystery.
The third part of our paradox has its roots in Saint Paul's declaration that Christ is "no longer male nor female" (Galatians 3:28). Jesus may have been masculine in his earthly body, but Paul tell us here that God transcends gender. To assign either masculinity or femininity to God is to diminish the essential divine unknowability. To assign gender to God is to limit God.
From a mystical perspective, perhaps the best way to approach the question of God's gender is with a light touch and the humility that comes from unknowing. The tradition calls God the Father, but at least some voices also name God Mother.
Yet the mystics remind us that restricting God to either gender erects an artificial fence around him and projects our human biases. Because human beings are embodied (and gendered) creatures, we inevitably need masculine or feminine language to try to make God somehow more approachable. By seeing him as a father figure (or as a nurturing mother), we can relate to him better than we can through the purely abstract language about a God who refuses to be captured by any image or category of human thought.
William Paul Young's popular novel The Shack: Where Tragedy Confronts Eternity has sparked heated debate about his depiction of both the Father and the Holy Spirit as feminine. It seems that both those who love the novel and those who hate it point to this gender issue to explain their strong feelings. WhenYoung spoke at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit, someone asked him why he depicted God as female. He answered that the protagonist of the novel like himself couldn't relate to the image of God the Father because of pain associated with having had an abusive earthly father. This simple statement highlights why we need to remain fluid and flexible in the images we hold of God. Mysticism, with its keen understanding of God as the Ultimate Mystery, allows us to do just that.
Mysticism is an intellectual pursuit.
True mysticism is mostly about the heart.
Mystics like Meister Eckhart, Augustine, John of the Cross, and Thomas Aquinas possessed towering intellects, and certainly exercised their minds in their efforts to connect with God through knowledge. Others, like Francis of Assisi, Faustina Kowalska, and Gemma Galgani, are known not for their mental prowess, but for the simplicity and beauty of their heartfelt devotion to God.
So is mysti
cism a matter of keen intellectual insight into the Christian mysteries, or a simpler, emotional approach to loving God?
In a sense, we've already looked into this paradox. We are called to love God with all the strength of our minds, and yet we are enjoined to become as simple as little children. And, in fact, some of the greatest mystics have rejected the entire notion that God is knowable, insisting that the mind is ultimately cast into darkness by God's divine brilliance meaning that we can know God only through unknowing.
Yet some continue to seek God through intellectual means, following an innate desire to know, to understand, to comprehend. However, just as the quest for knowing must be balanced by the humility of unknowing, the intellectual quest for understanding must be tempered by the affective, or emotional, dimension of mysticism. Think all you want about God; just make sure that you're also opening your heart. Remember, mysticism is more than just a head trip; it's very much a heart trip as well.
This same argument can be made in reverse, however. Reducing spirituality to a lot of gooey feelings about God doesn't give you inner knowledge of him either. The Ultimate Mystery is more than just a feel-good proposition. It's one thing to feel an experiential love for God, but if you aren't discerning and mindful about the object of that love, perhaps all you are experiencing is an emotional projection of your own egoic ideals. That may feel like bliss, but it's hardly authentic mysticism.
The Big Book of Christian Mysticism: The Essential Guide to Contemplative Spirituality Page 11