This three-stage model of the mystical life was embraced by other authors and, by the time of Pseudo-Dionysius in the sixth century, it had more or less stabilized as the threefold path of purgation, illumination, and union. In other words, the mystical life consists of growth in holiness, growth in awareness of the presence of God, and finally, participation in the divine nature (II Peter 1:4). We achieve each of these "stages," not by our own efforts, but entirely through the gift of God's grace.
Other mystics and contemplatives over the centuries have put forth other descriptions of the mystical path. In his wonderful anthology of essential Christian mystical writings, Bernard McGinn points out that, since every human being is unique, we all chart our own course toward God, even when we have the benefit of a supportive faith community and tradition to guide us along the way. In addition to the classic threefold path, McGinn notes that other mystics envisioned a journey with four, six, or even seven stages of transformation. Evelyn Underhill, in her study of mysticism published in the early twentieth century, expands the traditional threefold path to a five-stage journey: conversion, purgation, illumination, dark night, and union. More recently, American theologian Robert Hughes recast the traditional language into three "tides of the Spirit": conversion, transfiguration, and glory.
But not all mystics use the metaphor of a journey, nor do all consider it particularly useful. Instructive here is the Irish poet, philosopher, and mystic John O'Donohue, who said: "There is no spiritual program." In other words, we ought to be wary of linear models of mystical development that present the contemplative life as a nice tidy progression from pointA to point B to point C. As O' Donohue notes: "When time is reduced to linear progress, it is emptied of presence." In other words, if you are so hypnotized by the notion of a journey, you can too easily dismiss your past as worthless and regard the present as merely an instrumental moment useful only for launching you into the future, which in turn is valuable only insofar as it beckons you to the next "stage." This model reflects the human insistence of being in control, which is at odds with the deep contemplative mandate to surrender our controlling into the love of God.
Hughes suggests that, as an alternative to a linear understanding of the three-stage journey, we use the metaphor of waves crashing on the beach to describe the various dimensions of spiritual growth and development. Water flows, dances, and cascades. Waves do not move in straight lines; they advance and recede according to the overall thrust of the tides. Hughes suggests that we think in terms of "tides of the Spirit" when talking about the journey of faith. This metaphor can help alleviate the temptation to think of the mystical life as a "ladder" involving prerequisites and an orderly, predictable sequence of development.
So again we enter the realm of paradox. Mysticism is a journey; and it's not a journey. It's a climb up the mountain; it's a transformation that happens right here, right now no movement necessary. Since paradox is at the heart of mystical experience, the journey/not-journey becomes yet another key to unlocking the depth of the Christian mysteries.
Therefore, rather than try to describe various stages of "the mystical journey," let's try to think of these descriptions as a map, remembering that "the map is not the territory." Furthermore, as spiritual adventurers, we may sometimes throw the map away and explore terrain that has not yet been mapped out. And sometimes we may even find that the map is a bit outdated.
Let's start by looking at some of the elements that are often part of the contemplative or mystical life some of the features on the map. Although many mystics and contemplatives follow the traditional model of purgation, illumination, and union, remember that the inner life is organic, and simply cannot be reduced to a universal model or outline. The manner in which you or anyone else interested in the mystical life may actually explore or experience the mysteries of Christian spirituality may be nothing like anything anyone has experienced before.
Ultimately, the particular contours of your relationship with God are between you and the Holy Spirit (and, perhaps, your spiritual director). The structure I have chosen for the next three chapters comes from a medieval manuscript of spiritual instruction for monks, written by Guigo the Carthusian (also known as Guigo II) to guide monks on the spiritual path. I assume most people reading this book today are not monks and never will be, but I think this wisdom remains relevant even for those of us with "secular" lives. After all, every journey even a journeyless journey has to follow some sort of map to begin with, even if the itinerary changes once the journey has begun. Contemplation requires not that we know where our destination might be, for ultimately that knowledge is God's alone. All the contemplative life asks of us is that we be willing to move forward in faith, one step at a time.
CHAPTER 13
Lectio Divina
Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.
PHILIPPIANS 4:8
Let all my world be silent in your presence, Lord, so that I may hear what the Lord God may say in my heart. Your words are so softly spoken that no one can hear them except in a deep silence. But to hear them l fts him who sits alone and in silence completely above his natural powers, because he who humbles himself will he lifted up. He who sits alone and listens will he raised above himself.
GUIGO II38
Lectio divina is a Latin term that means "sacred reading." It describes an ancient monastic practice that employs a particular method of reading an approach to reading the Bible or some other worthy text, like the spiritual writings of a saint or mystic. Lectio divina is a unique approach to reading that enables you to open up the time you spend with the written word so that your reading becomes a doorway to meditation, prayer, and contemplation. The method is easy to learn, yet a powerful tool for opening up to the presence of God, mysteriously hidden in your life, and especially in your interaction with sacred scripture or other contemplative writings.
Lectio divina, or lectio, is a nexus where the wisdom of the Bible encounters, and is immersed in, the complementary wisdom of silence the portal to the mystery. Although the practice of lectio is not as well known as meditation (which, as you will see, has for Christians an intimate connection with sacred reading), it is nevertheless the single most foundational spiritual exercise related to Christian mysticism. Indeed, if you decide to engage in only one practice from this book, I hope it will be lectio. If you want to engage in Christian meditation or in contemplative prayer, begin with lectio.
Lectio opens you up to allow God to lead you where he chooses. Prayer, meditation, and contemplation are powerful disciplines of the mystical life precisely because they are outgrowths of this practice. As disciplines of silence, meditation and contemplation function like a house in which you will live out your journey into the mystery of Christ. Lectio, by contrast, is the foundation upon which that house is built. I remember when I first became interested in rock music. I wanted to learn everything I could about it who the best musicians were, how rock and roll evolved from earlier musical forms like folk and the blues, and how technology was influencing the evolution of rock sound. It seemed that a natural extension of my love for the music was a desire to learn as much as I could about it. Eventually, that interest even extended to reading biographies of my favorite musicians, playing my own guitar and bass, and keeping an eye on what my favorite critics were saying, while being careful not to let their opinions sway my own perspective on which bands made the best music.
This natural hunger to learn more about our favorite things also holds true for religion and spirituality. In fact, one of the most important gifts you can receive from a faith community is the opportunity to learn more about the history and philosophy of the Christian tradition. This may come to you through the actual study of Christian doctrine or Biblical theology, or in more down-to-earth ways through absorbing the ideas and value
s of the faith, by participating in Christian worship, or by getting to know the great stories of the life of Christ or the heroism of the saints; stories that help to define what it means to be a follower of Jesus. The joy you take in worship and in prayer, the choices you make to cultivate a willingness to be holy, and the actions you take to build fellowship and community with other Christians all come alive for you when you make the effort to learn about your faith. When you study the scriptures and learn the history of the faith, when you learn about the great heroes of the faith (saints, martyrs, and mystics), and apply their lessons to your own life, you make the experience of being a Christian more rewarding, more challenging, and ultimately more satisfying.
However...
As valuable as this knowledge is, be careful not to reduce the Christian mysteries to mere intellectual exploration. You can become so caught up in trying to understand the Trinity or some other exercise in theological hair-splitting that you lose sight of the profound invitation to love that lies in and beneath all the words. In other words, as joyful as it is to learn about God and Christ and the faith that bears Christ's name, be careful that these mental gymnastics don't become an obstacle to actually becoming intimate with this God you are so busy studying.
This tension between studying God and getting to know him forms the backstory to this chapter, in which we will look at a way of reading the Bible and other sacred texts that is significantly different from traditional methods of study. For contemplatives, this essential difference is the key to relating to the words of wisdom at the heart of the tradition as containers in which the silence of God can be discerned.
For most of my early childhood, my family did not participate in a church community. We were nominally Christian, but made no effort to seek out a church until I was in the sixth grade, and met a teacher at my school who was married to a Lutheran pastor. Soon we joined the Lutheran Church, marking the first time in almost twenty years that my parents regularly attended church, aside from weddings and funerals. But even during those years without formal religious observance, my parents always kept an old King James Version Bible on the coffee table in our living room. I don't ever remember anyone actually reading it; on the contrary, once when I was a toddler I was reprimanded for touching it! But even if it was off-limits to me, the Bible always had a place of honor in our home. It was the one firm symbol of our religious identity, no matter how dormant that faith may actually have been.
As a teenager, I became friends with a number of evangelical Christians who not only owned Bibles, but also actively studied the scriptures. For them, believing in Christ meant more than just going to church on Sundays; they read the Bible, marked important passages, made notes in the margins, and mulled over how the words of scripture could be applied to their daily lives. At the recommendation of some of my evangelical friends, I bought a "chain-reference" Bible, which features references on every page pointing to other verses that address the same or similar themes. This focus on studying the Bible analyzing it, dissecting its message, seeking to grasp intellectually the full meaning of the text is a distinctively modern phenomenon. Among Protestants today (but increasingly among Catholics as well), Bible study has become an essential, core element of what it means to be a serious, devout follower of Christ.
I'm not suggesting that ancient Christians didn't study the Bible; of course they did. Before the advent of the printing press, however, few people had access to, let alone owned, a copy of the Bible. But even more to the point, before the coming of modern ideas of scholarship, research, historical criticism, and other aspects of the academic pursuit of knowledge, nearly all those who wrestled with the words of scripture did so to acquire a spiritual, rather than an intellectual, understanding of the text. In other words, for most of Christian history, reading the Bible was not an exercise in "figuring out" Christianity, but rather a practice for encountering God through the medium of the written word.
Of course, many Christians who engage in all the mentally stimulating processes of serious Bible study will insist that, for them, an intellectual approach to sacred scripture is very much an exercise in drawing closer to God. Although these Christians may feel spiritually nurtured when they study the Bible, however, the ancient spiritual practice of lectio divina suggests that, in terms of fostering intimacy with God, there are approaches far more valuable than mere study and analysis.
Some Christians would even claim that approaching the Bible as if it were a textbook chokes off any sense of the divine presence rather than nurturing or inviting it. And indeed, a strictly academic reading of the Bible may stimulate the brain, but doesn't necessarily transform the heart. When it comes to the divine mystery that is at the heart of Christian mysticism, more is required of us than just a cognitive understanding. Knowing about God does not necessarily lead to the powerful transformation that lies at the core of Christian mysticism.
THE KEY TO THE MYSTERIES
If merely studying the Bible is an exercise that is, by itself, spiritually incomplete or, even worse, spiritually meaningless what is the key to true mystical intimacy with God?The great Christian mystics insist that the key to the threshold of the divine mystery lies not in filling our minds with words, no matter how holy or edifying they may be, but rather in bathing our minds, our awareness, our consciousness in silence.
Mystery lies at the heart of all our thoughts, images, experiences, notions, ideas, and speculations about God. Nothing reveals God perfectly; indeed, everything that reveals God also conceals God. Our experiences of God's closeness conceal his transcendence. Our sense of God's judgment masks his mercy. Our intuitive grasp of God's fatherhood blinds us to his maternal care. The paradox at the heart of mysticism emerges from the paradox of being human. That which is infinite cannot be squeezed into a finite container, no matter how grand and noble and beautiful that container may be.
If we talk about how God is present in our hearts, we proclaim ourselves as containers of God. But we are finite, and God is infinite. We can ponder God's presence throughout the cosmos, but even the entire expanding universe is finite when compared to the infinity of God. We trust certain modes of authority to reveal God to us the Bible, the church, the wisdom of the great saints and mystics of the past.Yet we must not forget that all these are finite containers holding or attempting to hold an infinite God. All conceal even as they reveal.
My point is not to undermine the authority of the Bible or its value as a source for Christian wisdom. But I think either ignoring the Bible, or approaching it merely as a textbook to be studied, functions as a way to ignore the depth of the mystery to which the sacred text invites us. Without denying the insight and information that may be gleaned from studying the Bible, the contemplative tradition offers an entry into scripture that, spiritually speaking, invites us deeper into the Christian mysteries.
For those who are eager to encounter the divine mystery, the Bible and indeed, all worthy spiritual writing, not just that which has been canonized as sacred scripture is best engaged in a spirit of silence, of meditation and reflection, and, most important of all, in the context of prayer in order to realize its power to transform us. And this is precisely the function of lectio divina.
A NEW WAY OF READING
The actual process of lectio divina is deceptively simple so simple, in fact, that the medieval contemplative who wrote the classic instructions for it, Guigo II, did so in a text that is barely twenty pages long. The key to lectio is not just in learning a four-step process, but also in rethinking your entire approach to the meaning and purpose of written words and how we use them. Lectio does not change the Bible, but it does change how we approach it. Therein lies the secret of its power.
The written word is a tool and, like all tools, it serves as a means to an end. Reading is a means to learning something new, to gathering information, to being entertained, to staying in touch with friends. The ability to read is such a profound blessing that we consider literacy to be the primary indicat
or that separates those who are educated from those who are not. The power to read is essentially a means by which we maintain (or seek to expand) control over our lives. We read to attain something we may not otherwise have more knowledge, more pleasure, more mastery, more skill, more data, more fun, more love and social contact. All of this is very good; clearly, the ability to read is a true blessing.
However, everything that reveals God also conceals him. Thus, one of the challenges we face when we read a sacred or saintly text is the very hiddenness of God (Isaiah 45:15). Reading a spiritual text in the "normal" way of reading for personal mastery or control can sometimes have the unintended consequence of pushing God farther into hiding.
Hence the need for lectio divina. Lectio turns the normal goal of reading for attaining mastery and control on its head. When you practice lectio, you do not seek to control, but rather to yield.You do not seek to master, but rather to serve. Whereas you usually read to discover new ideas or enjoy entertaining stories, sacred reading presents an opportunity to turn yourself over to God and let him be the master, the one in control, the one wielding the power. Whereas you usually read with the subconscious intention of helping yourself, lectio leads you to ask the question: "How can I be of service (to God)?"
The Big Book of Christian Mysticism: The Essential Guide to Contemplative Spirituality Page 19