Liturgies

Today I want to say a few words about the mystery, awe and wonder of the mystical. Often a neglected part of Christian life, mysticism can be an amazing way to experience the Divine in the deepest part of our being. This can happen anywhere, at any time. In fact, both Scripture readings reveal the surprising presence of God in commonplace activities.

Now to an old Chinese story: Under a pine tree, a boy-servant, when asked where his master was, answered, “He went to collect medicinal herbs; I only know that he is somewhere on this mountain.” “But where?” The boy replied, “Mist hides everything.” The essential point is beyond words; all that can be spelled out can never fully describe a spiritual experience. Words are so inadequate, but we must communicate with them as best we can.

There have been many well-known mystics in the Church, but mystics have appeared in every major religion, in all ages, and in all parts of the world. We are all potential mystics and many people do have wonderful, deeply spiritual moments.

An example of these awe-inspiring moments comes from John’s Gospel when Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene outside the tomb, after the resurrection. At first, when Mary sees a man nearby, she thinks he’s a gardener. But when Jesus calls her by name, she “turns” and immediately “knows” it is the Lord. Before that moment, she “knew Jesus was dead,” but immediately Mary “knows” and needs no explanations. Mystics generally have a direct experience of God, or the unity of all things. For the person who has the experience, it is absolutely valid, completely certain. The mystic “knows.”

To people conditioned by scientific and rational thought, this may seem nonsense, but acceptance of a fact is not the same as an explanation of it. One way of moving towards the mystical, I have found, is through poetry, as in this poem by Denise Levertov.

                                                  As swimmers dare                                                   to lie face to the sky                                                   and water bears them,                                                   as hawks rest upon air                                                   and air sustains them:                                                   so would I learn to attain                                                   freefall, and float                                                   into Creator Spirit’s deep embrace,                                                   knowing no effort earns                                                   that all surrounding grace.

In medieval Europe, mystical knowledge was recognised as completely different from anything previously known and at the same time more real than any other teaching. It was as though a new clarity – distinct from the reasoning mind – had been revealed. Centuries earlier, this state was alluded to by St. Augustine when he said, My mind in the flash of a trembling glance came to Absolute Being –That which is.

Robert Waldron, in his commentary on Merton’s poetry writes: only in stripping ourselves of all that is egotistical are we prepared for an encounter with the Divine. That letting go of all thinking is one of the essentials. But for me, this was always difficult, until I had an unforgettable experience.

Reading a book at home one Sunday morning:

Suddenly, I’m on a mountain top with a panoramic view over a huge green valley. The whole valley is filled with green, as if the air itself is green but I know immediately that the “green” is God’s love. However, I am quite alone and in a frightening predicament, hanging by my fingertips to an outside ledge of a timber lookout that projects out over the valley.

I feel like a full-grown eagle pushed out of the nest to start flying, and I know this has to be done. But I’m resisting a powerful urge to let go, to trust I’ll be supported by this beautiful green ocean of divine love. Can I really risk everything and trust totally in God? After agonising for ages, I can’t hold on and I can’t let go, until it just happens, and I’m floating and moving effortlessly through this warm, supportive and divine space.

There is an amazing sense of peace and I’m at one with the divine love that surrounds me and supports me. The endless green bliss fills my entire universe.

I don’t know how long this lasted, but without warning, I was back in my chair at home.  This experience was so overwhelming that I was unable to speak about it for weeks, and there are still no adequate words to describe this most blissful time. It was extraordinary, being immersed in divine love, an amazing blessing that wasn’t earned by anything I had done, it just happened.

Welsh poet R.S. Thomas gives a further insight into mystical awareness in these words from The Bright Field.                            

                                              Life is not hurrying                                               after a receding future nor hankering after                                               an imagined past. It is the turning aside                                               like Moses to the miracle                                               of the lit bush. To a brightness                                               that seems as transitory as your youth once,                                               but is the eternity that awaits you.

The poet uses the word, “turning,” turning aside to the miracle, while the Gospel said Mary Magdalene “turns” and immediately “knows.” In this sense, “to turn” means shifting from rational thinking to a full acceptance of the “Now.” It means surrendering oneself fully to the immense reality of all that is, now, seeing without thinking, at one with the divine infinity.

A true mystical experience is a gift of pure grace and cannot be arranged. The Cloud of Unknowing presents “the negative way,” the way of not knowing, of deep humility. But the author moves on to “the positive way,” the way of love. In using both these traditions he shows that to human reason, God remains a mystery, but through heart-felt love, God becomes accessible. The practice of humbly letting go of all opinions and judgements can bring us closer to an awe-inspiring, mystical experience.

Truly, mysticism is love, both the acceptance of divine love for us, and our  genuine love for God. As the Indian mystic, Kabir, put it in one of his many poems: The flute of the Infinite is played without ceasing, and its sound is love.

Let me conclude with Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk and brilliant author. In 1958, when he made a rare visit to the city, he was living alone in an abandoned caravan at the monastery in Kentucky. Hear just a few of his words about that day.

Yesterday, in Louisville at the corner of 4^th and Walnut streets, in the centre of the shopping district, I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realisation that I loved all these people, that they were mine and I was theirs, that they could not be  alien to me even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation… Thank God… thank God ……