The Wisdom of the Mystics

Richard Rohr shares how studying the mystics can transform us and help us meet the needs of our times:  

We live in a time of both crisis and opportunity. While there are many reasons to be anxious, I still have hope. Westerners, including Christians, are rediscovering the value of nonduality: a way of thinking, acting, reconciling, boundary-crossing, and bridge-building based on inner experience of God and God’s Spirit moving in the world. We’re not throwing out our rational mind, but we’re adding nondual, mystical, contemplative consciousness. When we have both, we’re able to see more broadly, deeply, wisely, and lovingly. We can collaborate on creative solutions to today’s injustices. [1]

Can seeing with the eyes of mystics really have relevance in our busy modern world? I think it is not only relevant but absolutely necessary to change our levels of consciousness, which many religious traditions might have also called growth in holiness or divine union. As Einstein said (though now in my own words), we have tried to solve today’s problems with yesterday’s software—which often caused the problem in the first place. Through a regular practice of contemplation we can awaken to the profound presence of the unitive Spirit, which then gives us the courage and capacity to face the paradox that everything is—ourselves included. Higher levels of consciousness always allow us to include and understand more. Deeper levels of divine union allow us to forgive and show compassion toward more and more, even those we are not naturally attracted to, and even our enemies.

Mystics have plumbed the depths of both suffering and love, and emerged with depths of compassion for the world, and a learned capacity to recognize God within themselves, in others, and in all things. If we can read the mystics with an attitude of simple mindfulness, the insights and practices they share can equip us with a deep and embracing peace, even in the presence of the many kinds of limitation and suffering that life offers us. From such contact with the deep rivers of grace, we can live our lives from a place of nonjudgment, forgiveness, love, and a quiet contentment with the ordinariness of our lives—knowing now that it is not ordinary at all!

By applying the wisdom of the mystics to our daily and even momentary outlooks, we will be able to bring open-heartedness into the lives we lead and the work we do. Then we might just be able to recognize that the ordinary path can also be the way of the mystic. It is all a matter of the eyes and the heart.

Studying the mystics, and hopefully identifying with them in at least some small way, allows us into the seemingly simple yet always profound realm of those who have found their way close to God and all of creation. The path of the mystic is within our reach. [2]

A Single Flame

In his talk Hell, No!, Father Richard considers the image of fire in the Scriptures:

God heals people by making them into what they are really meant to be. The prophet Ezekiel proclaims that when Israel sins, all God does is love them more. Their image for that love was a purifying fire. Often when the word fire is used in the Bible, it’s not a torturing fire, it’s a purifying fire. That’s a metaphor that mystics and poets still use to this day. We describe times of suffering that offer us greater strength, insight, or resilience by saying, “I was tried by fire.”

In one chapter, Ezekiel repeats the word restore. God says to the people, “I will restore them … I will restore them … I will restore you” (see Ezekiel 16:53–56, Jerusalem Bible). The prophet has spent chapters scolding them for their unfaithfulness to their covenant with God, and then he changes course. Ezekiel says that God’s love, forgiveness, and commitment to restorative justice are so complete that Israel’s conscience will awaken. They will understand what they have done and be reduced to silence and confusion (see Ezekiel 16:63). That’s what we Catholics understood as purgatory. Here’s an example: Have you ever spoken ill of somebody, actively disliked somebody, or put someone down in the presence of others? Then they approach you, and it turns out they’re not only nice, but they’re really nice. They wish you well. That feeling is called remorse; we used to call it compunction. We are reduced to silence and confusion. Let’s be honest, grace is always a humiliation for the ego.

Of course, we clergy overplayed the notion of purgatory, making it some kind of retributive justice instead of restorative love. We couldn’t deny the mercy of God, and we knew that the love of God was going to win, but we still made it necessary to burn there for some number of years. We had a deeper intuition of love’s flame, but we settled instead for the literal fire. [1]

Teresa of Ávila (1515–1582), the mystic and Carmelite reformer, used metaphorical images of fire, water, candle, and wax to describe the soul’s union with God. Author Mirabai Starr writes:

The Beloved (as you teach us, Saint Teresa) longs for union with us as fervently as we long for union with him. God’s desire for the soul is no less than the soul’s desire for God. It is a matter of perfect reciprocity (you assure us). Believe it.  

The only difference is that when the soul unites with the Holy One, she disappears and he grows. She is the raindrop falling into the river. He is the river calling her home. She is the candle flame burning in the daytime. He is the sun absorbing her. They are a single sea. They are one fire. [2] 

Since my Beloved is for me and I for my Beloved, who will be able to separate and extinguish two fires so enkindled? It would amount to laboring in vain, for the two fires have become one. [3]

The Suffering Servants of Today

Shortly after van Gogh’s father died in March 1885, Vincent painted a still life featuring his father’s open Bible. Behind the massive book stand an extinguished candle, an obvious reference to his father’s death. In the foreground is a small French novel. It seems to cower before the grandeur of the holy book. Many art historians have seen the painting as Vincent’s attempt to illustrate the difference between himself and his father, between the old way of religion and the new way ways of modernity. At first, this view makes sense. After all, Van Gogh’s father was a very traditional pastor, highly suspicious of new thought, and critical of his son’s affection for French novels.But this interpretation misses the nuances of the painting, and it forgets the high view Vincent retained for the Bible despite his growing skepticism toward the institutional church. (Years later, one of van Gogh’s friends even said that “his Dutch brain was afire with the Bible.”) A closer look at the painting reveals the Bible is open to Isaiah 53, the passage describing the mission of the Suffering Servant. The text is a prophecy written centuries before Jesus foreshadowing his sacrificial death for the sins of others.Vincent also ensured the title of the novel was visible—The Joy of Living by Emile Zola. On the surface, the suffering of Jesus prophesied in Isaiah 53 and a modern novel called The Joy of Living appear to contradict each other. This explains why many have seen the painting as Vincent’s rejection of religion in favor of modern thought. But the plot of Zola’s novel reveals van Gogh’s true intent. The story is about an orphan girl who is abused, betrayed, and rejected by those she served. Still, she lavishly loved others at a great personal sacrifice and even saves the life of her enemy’s child. Rather than a contrast, Vincent saw the French novel as a modern retelling of Isaiah 53—a contemporary example of a suffering servant who was rejected but chose to love her enemies nonetheless.Far from rejecting Christian faith, Van Gogh was showing how the way of Jesus is still alive and relevant in the modern world. The painting, like the best sermons, is a bridge between the world of the Bible and the world we inhabit. Vincent was affirming those who still choose to walk in the steps of Jesus by serving, suffering, and sacrificing for the sake of others. For him, the cross wasn’t merely something that happened 2,000 years ago to be remembered, but the ongoing call of all those who worship the Suffering Servant of Isaiah 53 as their Lord.

For Father Richard, our stories are found within God and the story of creation. He looks to the generative love of the Trinity as our origin story that begins in Divine Love instead of fear, punishment, isolation, or domination.

Let me share an astounding bit of poetry from Meister Eckhart (1260–1327), the wonderful German Dominican mystic:

Do you want to know
what goes on in the core of the Trinity?
I will tell you.
In the core of the Trinity
the Father laughs
and gives birth to the Son.
The Son laughs back at the Father
and gives birth to the Spirit.
The whole Trinity laughs
and gives birth to us. [1]

God has done only one constant thing since the beginning of time: God has always, forever, and without hesitation loved “the Son” (we can equally and fittingly use “the Daughter” or “the Child”), understood in this sense as creation, the material universe, you and me. The quality of the relationship toward and between each Person is the point, not gender or anything else. This flow of love goes full circle. The divine Child also creates the “Father” precisely as Father—as any parent can attest. A mother or father is not truly a parent until their child returns the flow. Watch the joy and tears on a parent’s face when their little one first says “Mama!” or “Dada!”

The Trinity has tremendous practical, pastoral, and political implications. We don’t have time for anything less than loving! Fear will never build a “new creation” (Galatians 6:15); threat is an entirely bankrupt and false storyline. The lowest level of motivation is guilt, shame, reward, and punishment; it has not moved us anywhere close to a civilization of love. [2]

When we—as individuals, a family, a church, or nation—find ourselves drawing any negative or fearful conclusions about God, we need only look deeply inside ourselves and we will probably find that we are angry and projecting our anger onto God. This very human pattern is illustrated throughout the Bible. [3]

Our sacred stories reflect both the growth and resistance of the human soul. I call it three steps forward, two steps backward. References to the “wrath” of God are examples of two-steps-backward storytelling. Yet the whole story moves slowly and inexorably toward inclusivity, mercy, unconditional love, and forgiveness.

The Trinity beautifully undoes all negativity by a totally positive movement that never reverses its direction. God is always giving, even in those moments when we experience the inaccessibility of love as if it were divine anger. I do not believe there is any wrath in God whatsoever—it’s theologically impossible when God is Trinity. [4]

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John Chaffee Five for Friday

1.
“Oh Humility, that bashful dame, flees the moment you whisper her name.”

• Unknown
   
  Humility is core to what it means to be human.  We run into incredible danger as soon as we treat ourselves as more (or less) than being simply human.

2.
“Insofar as man ‘loses his soul for My sake,’ he becomes Christ, is united with him.”

• Sergius Bulgakov, Orthodox Theologian and Priest
   
  Sergius Bulgakov has been an interesting figure for me to learn from.  Having been raised in Protestantism, I know the works of the Western Church rather well.  Figures such as Karl Barth and Hans Urs von Balthasar come to mind.

However, Eastern Orthodoxy has been a more recent exploration and is the home of Sergius Bulkagov.  It has been fascinating to hear what is Eastern Orthodoxy’s starting points, and therefore what conclusions it arrives at…

Conclusions which, in my mind, are refreshingly different than that of Western Christianity.

If you are interested in his work, I suggest starting with his work called The Lamb of God.

3.
“A person who seeks God with true devotion should not be dominated by the literal text, lest he unintentionally and unknowingly receives not God but the things that refer to God; that is, lest he feel a dangerous affection for the words of Scripture instead of for the Word.”

• Maximus the Confessor, 7th Century Christian Monk
   
  This is a tricky one from Maximus.

It tackles head-on our tendency to overvalue the words of the Bible, to the exclusion of who and what they are actually about.  To overvalue the Bible is commonly known as “bibliolatry” and is a mix of the words “Bible” and “idolatry.”

Jesus actually spoke to this tendency in John 5:39-40 (MSG). “You have your heads in your Bibles constantly because you think you’ll find eternal life there. But you miss the forest for the trees. These Scriptures are all about me! And here I am, standing right before you, and you aren’t willing to receive from me the life you say you want.”

4.
“Don’t preach to people you don’t love. If you don’t love, you have nothing to say that is worth hearing.”

• Vladika Lazar
   
  Love is the only reason we should have to speak comfort or challenge to one another.

5.
“When the Church hears the cry of the oppressed it cannot but denounce the social structures that give rise to and perpetuate the misery from which the cry arises.”

• Oscar Romero, Priest and Martyr
   
  Oscar Romero was assassinated/martyred immediately after giving a sermon while standing in the front of the church service and right next to the altar.

There are many reports and conflicting stories, but there is a fair amount of evidence that both the organized crime of the area and the government of El Salvador might have wanted Romero killed.

He has since been canonized as a saint by the Catholic church and is known as a Christian example of care for social justice.

On the CAC podcast Love Period., Sikh activist Valarie Kaur describes what happens when Love becomes the ethic and the story by which we live:

Love is a wellspring from which we all can drink, but we may be coming to the wellspring from different paths. You can come to it from different sources of inspiration, but the love ethic itself is what is available for all of us, no matter who we are.…

I describe love as sweet labor, a fierce and bloody and imperfect life-giving choice that we make. And if love is labor, then love can be taught. Love can be modeled. Love can be practiced. What I find so invigorating is that more and more of us now are naming the practices—how to be brave with your grief, how to honor your rage, how to let go of things that are dragging you down and the little critic in your mind that’s keeping you from realizing your full self. The more we can share the good news around these practices, the more we can say, “All of us can have access to building beloved community right where we are.” [1]

Author and civil rights activist Grace Lee Boggs (1915–2015) wrote about the power of collective commitment:

When people come together voluntarily to create their own vision, they begin wishing it to come into being with such passion that they begin creating an active path leading to it from the present. The spirit and the way to make the spirit live coalesce. Instead of seeing ourselves only as victims, we begin to see ourselves as part of the continuing struggle of human beings, not only to survive but to evolve into more human human beings. [2]

Valarie Kaur continues:

I’m seeing people waking up, being in relationship, grieving together, raging together, marching together, reimagining their own area of public life, their own sphere of influence in ways that I never imagined possible before. In those acts, in those moments and those gatherings around fierce love, I feel like I see glimpses of the nation, the world, that is wanting to be born.…

If we can create and nurture and inspire more and more of those containers, every school, every home, every workplace, every church, every house of worship, every neighborhood can become a pocket of that kind of beloved community, because this love stuff is not saintly. It’s practical. It’s pragmatic….

In the moments when I feel alone or afraid or that this love is absent, I just have to open my eyes, feel the earth beneath my feet, remember my grandfather’s love, know that separateness is an illusion. If I just sink into the present moment here and now, I can access the love that has been poured into me, the love that I am capable of, the love that surrounds me on all sides. And that can give me enough energy to take the next breath and then push. [3]

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Sarah Young Jesus Calling

I AM above all things: your problems, your pain, and the swirling events in this ever-changing world. When you behold My Face, you rise above circumstances and rest with Me in heavenly realms. This is the way of Peace, living in the Light of My Presence. I guarantee that you will always have problems in this life, but they must not become your focus. When you feel yourself sinking in the sea of circumstances, say “Help me, Jesus!” and I will draw you back to Me. If you have to say that thousands of times daily, don’t be discouraged. I know your weakness, and I meet you in that very place.  

RELATED SCRIPTURE: 

Ephesians 2:6 NLT

6 For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus.

Matthew 14:28-32 NLT

28 Then Peter called to him, “Lord, if it’s really you, tell me to come to you, walking on the water.”

29 “Yes, come,” Jesus said.

So Peter went over the side of the boat and walked on the water toward Jesus. 30 But when he saw the strong wind and the waves, he was terrified and began to sink. “Save me, Lord!” he shouted.

31 Jesus immediately reached out and grabbed him. “You have so little faith,” Jesus said. “Why did you doubt me?”

32 When they climbed back into the boat, the wind stopped.

Gareth Higgins and Brian McLaren describe how Jesus invites us into the Seventh Story:

[Jesus] radically interrupted the six stories, saying that instead of getting stuff and keeping others from getting stuff, you can’t actually possess stuff for yourself alone in the first place. Instead of building walls, you are invited to show the same kindness toward your neighbor as you would want them to show to you, to celebrate his joys, to grieve her losses. Even more provocative: instead of defeating enemies, you are asked to love them. We call this the reconciliation-liberation story.

The most revolutionary part of the Seventh Story … is this: in each of the six stories, humans are masters of “our” domain, the world is divided into “us” and “them,” and the purpose of life is to be a selfish economic unit, producing bounty to keep for yourself and your group. The six stories are all based on reacting to other people’s desire; they invite separation at best, and violence at worst; and they seek to avoid suffering…. And in a world where we have the power to destroy ourselves, they are evolutionarily inappropriate.

But in the Seventh Story, human beings are not … masters of “our” domain, but partners in the evolution of goodness. [1]

McLaren discusses freedom to create a better story, and how Jesus lived out the Seventh Story:

I think it would be dangerous if there was some version of the Seventh Story imposed upon everybody to achieve world peace. There is something about the Seventh Story that needs to be powerful without exercising power, and needs to be persuasive without backing people into a corner. Something about it has to involve freedom and discovery and choice….

What we need isn’t a storyline that wants to erase all the others. What we need is story space that invites people, in whatever story they’re part of, to stop and wonder, “I don’t like where this story is going, and I don’t like how this is going to end. Is it possible there’s a better story to tell? Could we make a change and find a better ending?” That, to me, is what good news is about. For example, Jesus went around saying, “Repent.” I don’t think that necessarily means we should feel guilty and shameful about things we’ve done. I think it means rethink the story of your lives and open yourself to a different and better ending.

Jesus doesn’t give up on his story, but to the very end, he lives this Seventh Story. In the resurrection stories, he doesn’t come back saying, “Okay, enough of that love story. I’m going to come back a second time to get revenge on all those people.” The story of the resurrection is, “Let’s keep this story going.” He tells his followers to go into the whole world and keep this story going. Jesus lives and dies by a story of love, and the protagonist of the story is love. [2]

________________________________________________

Jesus welcomed the weird.

Weird is a relative term. We all have likes or dislikes or tendencies that others might consider weird. Some people think what we’re doing is weird—creating a campaign focused on the humanity of Jesus—a man who became the world’s most prominent religious figure. But as we read about Jesus, we cannot help but appreciate how often he made room for the outcast, the despised, and those people that most of society deemed “weird.”

His inner circle of disciples, for example, were not religious scholars but blue-collar workers, fishermen, former corrupt bureaucrats, and reformed violent zealots. It was a weird crew to start a love movement, to be sure.

And there was this story about a corrupt tax man named Zacchaeus. He was reviled by his own people. A corrupt tax collector working for the foreign occupying force of the Roman Empire, he made himself wealthy by extorting and overtaxing his countrymen. Oh … and he was really short.

By the time they’d crossed paths, Jesus had developed significant notoriety as a healer and a teacher. Crowds would follow him everywhere he went. When the crowd passed his way, Zacchaeus was curious to see what all the fuss was about, so he climbed a tree to see over the crowd of average-sized onlookers towering over him. And of all the people Jesus passed by, and of all the people who were following him down the path, Jesus only stopped for the odd short man that nobody liked sitting up in a tree.

Weird. But powerful. They spent time alone in his house, and their brief visit together changed Zacchaeus’ life. He gave back all the money (and some) he’d extorted from his fellow oppressed citizens. People marveled at how a visit with this teacher of love forever changed that weird little person.

And we were also enamored with the story of Mary Magdalene—one of the earliest and most devoted followers of Jesus. As his movement grew, she remained a steadfast member of his inner circle, but the Bible records her history as one who was demon-possessed. Tradition ascribed even more labels to her and her past, from being a prostitute and more. My guess is she had a host of challenges, and we don’t know all of them, but she certainly didn’t fit the mold most people would assume characterizes a devout, loving follower of Jesus. But Jesus welcomed her with open arms, helped her overcome her issues, and gave her an important role in his movement. It was one of the many instances where people dealing with spiritual, mental, and emotional disorders—even people with a questionable past—were not just cared for, but included in Jesus’ community in meaningful ways.

Jesus welcomed the weird, loved the weird, and built a movement full of weirdos that ended up changing the world. The example reminds us that every person has incredible value, and their story and their identity, no matter how strange, are beautiful and important.

The Seventh Story

Gareth Higgins and Brian McLaren describe how Jesus invites us into the Seventh Story: 

[Jesus] radically interrupted the six stories, saying that instead of getting stuff and keeping others from getting stuff, you can’t actually possess stuff for yourself alone in the first place. Instead of building walls, you are invited to show the same kindness toward your neighbor as you would want them to show to you, to celebrate his joys, to grieve her losses. Even more provocative: instead of defeating enemies, you are asked to love them. We call this the reconciliation-liberation story.

The most revolutionary part of the Seventh Story … is this: in each of the six stories, humans are masters of “our” domain, the world is divided into “us” and “them,” and the purpose of life is to be a selfish economic unit, producing bounty to keep for yourself and your group. The six stories are all based on reacting to other people’s desire; they invite separation at best, and violence at worst; and they seek to avoid suffering…. And in a world where we have the power to destroy ourselves, they are evolutionarily inappropriate.

But in the Seventh Story, human beings are not … masters of “our” domain, but partners in the evolution of goodness. [1]

McLaren discusses freedom to create a better story, and how Jesus lived out the Seventh Story:

I think it would be dangerous if there was some version of the Seventh Story imposed upon everybody to achieve world peace. There is something about the Seventh Story that needs to be powerful without exercising power, and needs to be persuasive without backing people into a corner. Something about it has to involve freedom and discovery and choice….

What we need isn’t a storyline that wants to erase all the others. What we need is story space that invites people, in whatever story they’re part of, to stop and wonder, “I don’t like where this story is going, and I don’t like how this is going to end. Is it possible there’s a better story to tell? Could we make a change and find a better ending?” That, to me, is what good news is about. For example, Jesus went around saying, “Repent.” I don’t think that necessarily means we should feel guilty and shameful about things we’ve done. I think it means rethink the story of your lives and open yourself to a different and better ending.

Jesus doesn’t give up on his story, but to the very end, he lives this Seventh Story. In the resurrection stories, he doesn’t come back saying, “Okay, enough of that love story. I’m going to come back a second time to get revenge on all those people.” The story of the resurrection is, “Let’s keep this story going.” He tells his followers to go into the whole world and keep this story going. Jesus lives and dies by a story of love, and the protagonist of the story is love. [2]

The Story of Accumulation

Gareth Higgins shares why the story of accumulation, which is second nature to most of us in West, can be so damaging: 

The accumulation story is about money and fear. It’s a story about being possessed by things rather than enjoying and sharing them. And it’s a story nested within a bigger story about how sometimes when we think we have more, we actually have less…. Whether it’s bigger sofas or bigger houses or bigger jobs or bigger bank accounts or reputation or ego or a bigger empire, we don’t have to look too far to find the accumulation story at work. The story that says we will achieve peace and security through having more things. It’s an expansionist narrative, but it doesn’t expand peace and security. The more you think you need to accumulate, the bigger fence you need to build around yourself and the fewer people you will trust and let into your life. It’s the inverse of what it means to live in true peace and security, which only comes in the context of relationship with people you can trust. [1]

Author Lynne Twist names the malignant effects of buying into the accumulation story:

Money has only the power that we assign to it, and we have assigned it immense power. We have given it almost final authority. If we look only at behavior, it tells us that we have made money more important than we are, given it more meaning than human life. Humans have done and will do terrible things in the name of money. They have killed for it, enslaved other people for it, and enslaved themselves to joyless lives in pursuit of it…. We all, at one time or another, have demeaned and devalued ourselves, taken advantage of people, or engaged in other actions we’re not proud of in order to get or keep money or the power we believe it can buy. [2]

Richard Rohr often critiques the story of accumulation:

Jesus is absolute about money and power because he knows what we’re going to do. Most of us will serve this god called mammon. Luke’s Gospel even describes mammon as a type of illness, as Jesuit John Haughey (1930–2019) explained: “Mammon is not simply a neutral term in Luke. It is not simply money. It connotes disorder…. Mammon becomes then a source of disorder because people allow it to make a claim on them that only God can make.” [3] “Mammon illness” takes over when we think all of life is counting, weighing, measuring, and deserving. 

To participate in the reign of God, we have to stop counting. We have to stop hoarding in order to let the flow of forgiveness and love flow through us. The love of God can’t be doled out by any process whatsoever. We can’t earn it. We can’t lose it. As long as we stay in this world of accumulation, of earning and losing, we’ll live in perpetual resentment, envy, or climbing. [4

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A blessing from Gareth Higgins

A BLESSING FOR THE NEXT STEP  It’s no wonder you want to be a peacemaker, for you have seen so much conflict.  It’s no wonder you want to heal shame, for you have been a home for humiliation.  It’s no wonder that you have sat in the ashes of loneliness, for you have been scapegoated to the point of wanting to die.  It’s no wonder that you want to transform supremacist stories, scapegoating stories, selfish stories, separation stories, for you know the weight of what happenswhen humans do not do their inner work. So  May you go to places of most delighted knowing with friendsand deepest intimacy with loversand through the dangerous, exhilarating woodsof activism with comrades.  May you emerge into spacious places, finding reassurance that you did not deserveto be burdened by other people’s shadows.  May you discover that poisonous shame is built on a lieand your loneliness is not the end. May you find the path to honest amends for your mistakesand repair for the hurt you have known.  As the pain is healed and the gifts come into bloom,may they dance with each other.  May the fruit of kindness and solidarity be full on your lips.  And may you discover, and carefully hold,a vision of what you’re here for.  Brilliantly creative, courage when you need it, with all the community you want, woven into the fabric of this moment’s crisis,and this moment’s gift. A sovereign, a lover, a magician, a warrior-protector for the common good.  May your wound transform first into a scar, and then a medicine story.

The Good News Story

The Daily Meditations continue to explore the “seven stories” inspired by Brian McLaren and Gareth Higgins’s e-book The Seventh Story. Father Richard describes how the gospel offers us a new story: 

If we’re honest, culture forms us much more than the gospel. It seems we have kept the basic storyline of human history in place rather than allow the gospel to reframe and redirect the story. Except for those who have experienced grace at their core, Christianity has not created a new story, “a new mind” (Romans 12:2), or a “new self” (Ephesians 4:24). The old and tired win/lose scenarios seem to be in our cultural hard drive. The experience of grace at the core of reality is much more imaginative and installs new win/win programs in our psyche, but has been neglected and unrecognized by most of Christianity.

Up to now, Christianity has largely imitated cultural stories instead of transforming them. Reward/punishment and good people versus bad people have been the plot lines of most novels, plays, operas, movies, and conflicts. It’s the only way a dualistic mind, unrenewed by prayer and grace, can perceive reality. It is almost impossible to switch this mind with a short sermon during a Sunday church service.

As long as we remain within a dualistic, win/lose script, Christianity will continue to appeal to self-interested moralisms and myths. It will never rise to the mystical banquet that Jesus offers us. The spiritual path and life itself will be mere duty instead of delight, “jars of purification” instead of 150 gallons of intoxicating wine at the end of the party (John 2:6–10). We will focus on maintaining order by sanctified stories of violence instead of moving toward a higher order of love and healing, which is the heart of the gospel. [1]

The great traditions give name, shape, and ultimate direction to what our heart inherently knows from other sources. This is not new or unorthodox but exactly what Paul taught: “Ever since God created the world, God’s everlasting power and divinity—however invisible—have been there for the mind to see in the things of creation” (Romans 1:20). Similarly, as the Hebrew Scriptures say, “It is not beyond your strength or beyond your reach. It is not in the heavens, so that you need to ask, ‘Who will go up to heaven and bring it down to us?’ Nor is it beyond the seas, so that you need to ask, ‘Who will cross the seas and bring it back to us?’ No, the word is very near to you, it is in your mouth and in your heart” (Deuteronomy 30:11–14). We must honor the infinite mystery of our own life’s journey to recognize God in it. Or is it the other way around? It seems that God is not going to let us get close unless we bring all of ourselves—in love—including our brokenness. That’s why the Good News really is good news. Nothing is wasted. [2]

The Story of Victimization

Buddhist teacher angel Kyodo williams describes how clinging to harmful stories may increase our suffering:

The movies we replay in our heads—held on to from lives past—cause us to recycle stories that no longer serve us, if they ever did.

We run these stories over and over again and like hamsters on a wheel; we go nowhere in our inner life development, and as a result we suffer as adults from the wounds of our childhood.

Slowly these toxic stories crowd out the potential for joy and ease that is the birthright of every human being…. If we simply give ourselves over to this narrative, to the storyline of “Uns and Nots”—unloved, unseen, unappreciated, unwanted, uncared for, not good enough, not smart enough, not attractive enough, not powerful, not rich enough, not the right color or gender or position or class—then we abdicate the one thing that can reposition our relationship to the entire experience of our life: responsibility.

I often say, “It’s not your fault, but it’s your responsibility.” It is quite true that there are many conditions in life that confer a less-than-desirable experience. But it is also true that at the end of your days on this planet, your life will have been lived only by you. How you experience whatever conditions life hands you correlates directly to how much responsibility you choose to take. None of us can control all (if any) of the conditions, but we can choose how we experience the conditions we find ourselves in.

If we do not begin to debunk the deep inner myth that many of us carry that we do not deserve greater joy, love, or ease in our lives because we are _______ (fill in the blank with your choice of Uns or Nots), then we condemn ourselves to the role of victims in our own movies. [1]

Brian McLaren witnesses how the Seventh Story can free us from other unjust stories, including the story of victimization:

The stories that we’ve looked at—the stories of domination, revolution, purification, isolation—these stories create victims. These stories victimize people, and very often people’s lives are devastated, destroyed, or ended by these stories. We might be able to say that in millions of people’s lives, their experience of being a victim of these other stories becomes the biggest reality of their lives. This reality becomes the story of victimization. Part of the Seventh Story framework is that it communicates to people who’ve been victimized by other stories and says, “We’d like to give you permission to not let that story be the defining factor in your life, but rather to help you see and understand yourself in some other way.” Domination creates victims. Revolution creates victims. Purification creates victims. But victims have an alternative in how they define their lives. The Seventh Story can liberate us from our lives being defined by oppression, abuse, exploitation, marginalization, or vilification in some way. [2]

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From John Chaffee

“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding about ourselves.“

– Carl Jung, Swiss Psychologist and Philosopher

Everything is our teacher.  Not just our friends and our successes, but our annoyances and our failures.  Perhaps it is because I am approaching 40 in December, but I have been internally shifting to the things that Jung calls the “second half of life.”  The first half is all about building our ego and sense of self, the second half is all about letting it go and learning from our failures.

It is not easy, but it is good work to get around to doing.  Keep growing.  Everything is your teacher.

Gareth Higgins explores how our tendency to isolate ourselves springs from a genuine need for the inner work of contemplation:

The isolation story is ultimately a story of separation: separation from each other, separation from God and goodness, separation from the earth and the ecosystem of which we are a part. It’s a story of separation even from ourselves.…

Jesus came to subvert all stories of violence and harm, not to repeat them. Instead of advocating escapist stories of isolation [like John the Baptist and the Essenes], he sent his followers into the world to be agents of positive change like salt, light, and yeast. But even Jesus needed peace and quiet sometimes, and this reveals the legitimate need that the story of isolation answers….

It’s not the need to completely withdraw from community, and it’s not that we shouldn’t participate in groups that have boundaries. What the story of isolation answers (poorly) is the need of the inner life for contemplation.

There is a universal need for finding a space inside and tending it through practices of contemplation that can enable us to become what we might call strong peace…. Some peace is as strong as a block of marble. We might become strong peace through contemplation even in the face of roaring traffic, of people on a city street, or the bombardment of headline news on our screens….

Instead of withdrawing from the world, whether as individuals or groups or nations, we are called to be fully immersed in the places we are. Learning to discern light and shadow, bringing what we have and asking for what we need. Our contemplative practices are always ways of being more alive in the world and more active for the common good.… When we exchange isolation for contemplation, we discover it’s not where you live or with whom you live, but how you live. Instead of a lonely, separatist, isolationist life, we can become the contemplative life of the party or the most hospitable hermit. [1]

Author and translator Carmen Acevedo Butcher shares how contemplation disrupts unhelpful stories that run through her mind:

One of the things that contemplation does for me is what Meister Eckhart calls Gelassenheit. [2] [It allows me] to let go of my own stories. We all have these stories going through our minds … these different aspects of ourselves that are always having an inner conversation. When I practice contemplation, whether it’s walking down the street … or just returning to love, somehow, I’m letting go of my stories for the moment. There comes a quiet where I can hear again what Beatrice Bruteau calls that “radical optimism.” [3] What I love about contemplation is that it’s kind of like that record scratch … where everything stops and you go, wait, what am I doing? Who am I? Why am I just participating in this blather inside … when I could sink into this real love that is who I am and who everyone is? [4]

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Jesus, the storyteller.

Everyone knows someone who can spin a yarn. At gatherings, they capture the attention of those within earshot and never let go until the fish is caught, the lost item is found, or someone is saved from complete disaster. There is a smile in this storyteller’s voice, a way about their words. And their stories get passed down and around until they become nothing short of family lore.

On a larger scale and in much the same way, history’s best storytellers and their stories endure. Homer’s poetry. Shakespeare’s plays. And yes, Jesus’ parables. It’s likely — whether you’re familiar with Jesus’ personal story or not — that you’ve heard a few of his narratives. Perhaps it’s “The Prodigal Son” or “The Good Samaritan”? Even if those titles don’t ring a bell, you’ve probably heard their retellings. Because we haven’t let these stories go. Jesus captured our attention with them.

During his time, it’s obvious he captured the attention of his immediate audience, too. He was known to draw a crowd whenever he spoke, whether walking outside or sitting around the dinner table. And you can imagine the joy in his voice when he spoke about a shepherd finding his lost sheep or a father welcoming back his wayward son.

Jesus’s stories were — and still are — compelling.

But like all good stories with staying power, they do more than entertain. They hold meaning. That’s what gives stories their value. Some call Jesus’ stories “logos,” which simply translates to “word,” but we all know words must be put in the right order to amount to anything. And Jesus ordered his words with purpose, pointing to the truth about wisdom, discernment, and love. When we see this “logos” in any story — from Jesus’ parables to our favorite fairy tales, from popular movies to the news — we recognize it. It resonates when goodness prevails. And this goodness is what holds us all together. It’s part of our shared human experience.

This is why we can still look to Jesus’ stories and use them as reference points. It turns out, things haven’t changed that much. Humans are still humans, and the world still runs on stories. And Jesus told some of the best of them.
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Did you know Jesus told nearly 40 parables?

There are so many to discover, but here are the few mentioned above:

Parable of the Prodigal Son: Luke 15:11-32
Parable of the Lost Sheep: Matthew 18:10-14
Parable of the Good Samaritan: Luke 10:25-37

Scripture References: 

Luke 15:11-32, 

The Parable of the Lost Son

¹¹ Then He said: “A certain man had two sons. ¹² And the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the portion of goods that falls to me.’ So he divided to them his livelihood. ¹³ And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, journeyed to a far country, and there wasted his possessions with ^[a]prodigal living. ¹⁴ But when he had spent all, there arose a severe famine in that land, and he began to be in want. ¹⁵ Then he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country, and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. ¹⁶ And he would gladly have filled his stomach with the ^[b]pods that the swine ate, and no one gave him anything.

¹⁷ “But when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! ¹⁸ I will arise and go to my father, and will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you, ¹⁹ and I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Make me like one of your hired servants.” ’

²⁰ “And he arose and came to his father. But when he was still a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. ²¹ And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and in your sight, and am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

²² “But the father said to his servants, ^[c]‘Bring out the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet. ²³ And bring the fatted calf here and kill it, and let us eat and be merry; ²⁴ for this my son was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ And they began to be merry.

²⁵ “Now his older son was in the field. And as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. ²⁶ So he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. ²⁷ And he said to him, ‘Your brother has come, and because he has received him safe and sound, your father has killed the fatted calf.’

²⁸ “But he was angry and would not go in. Therefore his father came out and pleaded with him. ²⁹ So he answered and said to his father, ‘Lo, these many years I have been serving you; I never transgressed your commandment at any time; and yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might make merry with my friends. ³⁰ But as soon as this son of yours came, who has devoured your livelihood with harlots, you killed the fatted calf for him.’

³¹ “And he said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours. ³² It was right that we should make merry and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found.’ ”

Matthew 18:10-14, 

The Parable of the Wandering Sheep

¹⁰ “See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven. ^[11] [a]

¹² “What do you think? If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off? ¹³ And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. ¹⁴ In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish.

Luke 10:25-37;

The Parable of the Good Samaritan

²⁵ On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

²⁶ “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

²⁷ He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’^[a]; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’^[b]”

²⁸ “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

²⁹ But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

³⁰ In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. ³¹ A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. ³² So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. ³³ But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. ³⁴ He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. ³⁵ The next day he took out two denarii^[c] and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’

³⁶ “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

³⁷ The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

Brian McLaren describes the deep and compelling attraction of the story of purification:

There’s a scary tendency you find across nations, across cultures, religions, centuries, social classes…. It’s called coalitionary aggression. There’s this tendency of human beings who form groups to then find some minority within their in-group, whom the majority then begins to bully, pick on, or marginalize. The majority calls itself clean and they call this minority unclean. The majority is acceptable, the minority is unacceptable. The majority is normal, and the minority is queer, odd, or different. The majority eventually creates a kind of coalition aggression against the minority. And in so doing, they make themselves feel good, and they unite themselves because now they’ve created a common enemy close at hand….

We see stories of purification going on in our politics, in our churches, in our business power dynamics, in our families, even in our own psyches. When we’re feeling guilty or tense about something, it really does help to find someone else to project our anxieties upon and to make ourselves feel innocent, pure, and clean…. [But] scapegoating others does not actually create peace and security. It almost creates an addiction. Every so often we need a new victim upon which to pour out our accumulated guilt or shame or fear or anxiety or hostility.

McLaren describes how Jesus directly challenges the purification story:

All the people that Jesus hangs out with and eats with are people who are being scapegoated, people who are being used for somebody else’s purification narrative.  These are the people that Jesus humanizes: people such as Zacchaeus, Matthew and his tax collector friends, a leper, or the woman caught in adultery…. If you read that story in chapter 8 of John’s Gospel, notice Jesus’ physical posture. It’s as if he’s using his body to draw attention away from the woman and becomes an interruption to a purification narrative that was heading toward a deadly end.

McLaren acknowledges the complexity that arises when we challenge these stories:

The purification story strikes me as especially dangerous to people who want to be good…. That desire to be good can then create in us this need, especially when we feel that we’re failing at being good, to find somebody who looks bad or somebody we can portray as bad to lift ourselves up.…

In a certain sense, what we’re inviting people to do [by identifying these stories at work] is not to make their lives simpler, but to give them some clarity on the complexity of life. We’re inviting people to see that there are these domination stories, revolution or revenge stories, and purification stories out there at work. It doesn’t make life simpler, but when we understand the stories that we find ourselves in, perhaps it gives us enough clarity to try to be a more moral and more peaceful agent in this world.

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Jesus was fed up with politics, too. (From He Gets US)

In Jesus’ time, communities were deeply divided by bitter differences in religious beliefs, political positions, income inequality, legal status, and ethnic differences. Sound familiar?

Jesus lived in the middle of a culture war, too. And though the political systems were different (not exactly a representative democracy), the greed, hypocrisy, and oppression different groups used to get their way were very similar.

Let’s set the scene.

Jesus was born at the height of the Roman Empire’s power. They’d conquered most of the known world, and Israel was no exception. Unlike previous empires that would try to destroy cultures by displacing conquered peoples’ leaders, the Romans didn’t force people to change their religion or customs as long as they kept their obligations to the empire. Rome would install a client king (a puppet government) and exact tribute (cash) in lots of different ways. Families were charged taxes per person—farmers on crops, fishermen on catches, and travelers were charged fees to use the roads. This was in addition to local business and religious taxes charged by priests.

In Israel, political and religious factions were one and the same. Back then, it was Pharisees and Sadducees. Today, we have conservatives and liberals.

The Pharisees were the most religiously conservative leaders. They had the most influence among the common working poor, who were the majority. They believed that a king would come one day to conquer Rome with violence and free their nation. Some preyed upon a mostly illiterate population by adding extra rules and requirements that were designed to force the working poor into a posture of subjugation.

The Sadducees were wealthy aristocrats who had a vested financial interest in Roman rule. They were in charge of the temple, and they didn’t believe any savior king was coming. They made themselves wealthy by exacting unfair taxes and fees from the labor of their own people and by contriving money-making schemes that forced the poor to pay exorbitant prices to participate in temple sacrifice—a critical part of their religion.

There were Zealot groups who hid in the hills and violently resisted Roman occupation, and then there were the Samaritans, often oppressed and marginalized because of their racial and ethnic identities.

And so, the common farmer, fisherman, or craftsman’s family lived through a highly volatile political period. Overbearing religious leaders who despised and oppressed them, wealthy elites who ripped them off, racial and ethnic tension with neighbors, and sporadic violent outbreaks between an oppressive occupying army.

So where was Jesus in all of this? Did he align with the religious elites? With the wealthy and powerful? Or did he start an uprising to overthrow them?

None of the above.

He went from town to town, offering hope, new life, and modeling a different way to live and to change the world. Instead of pursuing power, money, or religious authority, he shared a loving and sacrificially generous way of living. He chose not to go along with the schemes others used to impact the world. Instead, he championed a better way.

And so, each of these political groups saw him as a threat. The Pharisees recognized his movement as an affront to their authority—exposing the hypocrisy of their practices. The Sadducees saw Jesus as a threat to their power and wealth because he exposed their money-making schemes. The Zealots violently rejected one of the essential themes of Jesus’ movement: love your enemy.

In the end, it took all three of these groups to have him killed. A Zealot (Judas) betrayed his location to those seeking to arrest him, the Sadducees brought him before the Romans to be executed, and when the Romans couldn’t find a crime committed, the Pharisees rallied the people to force Rome’s hand.

Isn’t it funny how political foes can come together to destroy a common enemy that threatens their designs? But in spite of their best efforts, his execution was only the beginning of a movement that continues to impact the world thousands of years later. Jesus’ movement was so impactful because he actively resisted and rejected participating in culture-war politics.

Scripture References: 

Matthew 9:35-38, ³⁵ Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. ³⁶ When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. ³⁷ Then he said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. ³⁸ Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field.”

Luke 19:10; For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”

The first two stories, domination and revolution, are a kind of yin and yang. Where one exists the other will inevitably follow. —Brian McLaren

Gareth Higgins grew up in Northern Ireland, a place haunted by cycles of violence and revenge. His experience shaped a commitment to live out a better story:

Throughout my childhood, nearly 4,000 people were killed and over 40,000 directly physically injured. Countless hundreds of thousands were traumatized or otherwise wounded by a conflict rooted in the domination story but met by the revolution story. I’m not sure that I like the word “revolution” because it’s also been applied to movements for the common good. If we take it literally, it actually means a movement that ends up exactly where it started. It might be better called the revenge story.

Movements that overthrow repressive regimes have not always replaced them with something better. In fact, unless a restorative consciousness is engaged, revolutions run the risk of merely turning the tables, replacing one set of broken relationships with yet more domination, perhaps a slightly less oppressive form of domination, but domination, nonetheless.

Instead of replacing domination with more domination, we need to imagine societies and institutions in which everyone is welcome at the table. The only rule for joining would be to agree not to harm anyone. For that to happen, the table needs to be enlarged, not flipped over, with the widest range of people possible involved in making and setting the table. It’s not my table, nor is it theirs. In the spirit of the Seventh Story of liberation and reconciliation, it’s Love’s table….

These past few years, many of us have felt more concerned than ever about elected politics. It’s felt like we’ve been living in revolutionary times, but really revenge times, times where we pit ourselves against each other and where we believe that the only way to have peace and security in the world is to totally defeat our political opponents. But whether your team or my team was in charge or not, whether they occupy the positions of power in society, there’s only so much that elected politics can do.

Higgins shares his hope for the future:

If you want a better world, tell a better story, even about the possibility of embodying justice without vengeance. If you think that sounds naive, I hear you. But I’m coming from a society where we have enacted significant generational, structural change. We have radically reduced the use of violence and taken some tentative steps toward cooperating with each other rather than just flipping the tables so that the people who used to be oppressed are now the people doing the oppressing. The reason [justice without vengeance] doesn’t sound naive to me is because I’ve seen it work.

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Jesus had strained relationships, too. (From He Gets Us.)

We were thinking about what Jesus’ relationships with friends and family might have looked like and were surprised by what we found. Pastel paintings and imagery of Jesus so often depict him having a peaceful, wonderful time with his loved ones, but a closer look at the text paints a more complex picture.

Shortly after beginning his public ministry, Jesus went back to his hometown to share his message. A whole crowd gathered to hear him speak. By the time he was done speaking, they were calling to have him killed. They even tried to take matters into their own hands and throw him off a cliff. If we read this story too quickly, we might miss the fact that the very people trying to kill him grew up with him. They would have been friends and neighbors that knew Jesus when he was a boy. And that’s not the only example of good relationships gone sour. One of Jesus’ closest friends gave him up to the authorities in exchange for money, and another denied ever knowing him while he was being arrested. His family doubted him, and his own mother likely felt the relational strains that came part and parcel of a full-time traveling ministry.

The point is, Jesus’ relationships were far from perfect. Betrayal, doubt, insecurity, disagreement and distance muddied the waters even for Jesus. He couldn’t avoid relational stresses, but he did give us a model for how to respond to them and work toward restoration. His model? Radical patience and forgiveness.

It might have been best illustrated in a story he told about a father and son. The son asked for his inheritance while the father was still alive—he valued the money more than the relationship. The father obliged, gave the money, and the son went off and spent it until he found himself completely destitute with nothing left. He resolved to return home to his father to humbly ask for a job—not to reclaim his spot as son, but as one of many hired hands. As he was walking up to the house, the father saw him from afar and ran out to embrace him. To forgive him. To welcome him home as a son.

Repairing broken relationships is incredibly difficult, and the forgiveness Jesus both talked about and displayed is often messy and complicated. But know if you feel the pang of hurt in your relationships, Jesus did too, and take encouragement in his resolve to repair what was broken.