First
gathering in 17th-century England as the Religious Society of Friends, the
Quakers have always existed on the margins of Christianity, but that doesn’t
mean their impact has been small. In many ways, they were ahead of their time
(and even our times) when it came to women’s legitimate place in spiritual
leadership, abolitionism, pacifism, and even the necessity of silence to hear
the voice of God. From the beginning, they insisted that every individual had
access to the “Light Within” and must follow their own conscience. It took the
Catholic Church until Vatican II to state that clearly! In this passage by
Quaker mystic Thomas Kelly (1893–1941), I hear echoes of the writings of Thomas
Merton, as Kelly encourages his readers to recognize, trust, and live
authentically from the “Light Within.”
Deep
within us all there is an amazing inner sanctuary of the soul, a holy place, a
Divine Center, a speaking Voice, to which we may continually return. Eternity
is at our hearts, pressing upon our time-torn lives, warming us with
intimations of an astounding destiny, calling us home unto Itself. Yielding to
these persuasions, gladly committing ourselves in body and soul, utterly and
completely, to the Light Within, is the beginning of true life. It is a dynamic
center, a creative Life that presses to birth within us. It is a Light Within
that illumines the face of God and casts new shadows and new glories upon the
human face. It is a seed stirring to life if we do not choke it. It is the Shekinah
of the soul, the Presence in the midst. Here is the Slumbering Christ, stirring
to be awakened, to become the soul we clothe in earthly form and action. And
[Christ] is within us all.
You
who read these words already know this inner Life and Light. For by this very
Light within you is your recognition given. In this humanistic age we suppose
we are the initiators and God is the responder. But the Living Christ within us
is the initiator, and we are the responders. . . .
The basic response of the soul to the Light is internal adoration and joy, thanksgiving and worship, self-surrender and listening. The secret places of the heart cease to be our noisy workshop. They become a holy sanctuary of adoration and of self-oblation, where we are kept in perfect peace, if our minds be stayed on [God] who has found us in the inward springs of our life. . . . Powerfully are the springs of our will moved to an abandon of singing love toward God; powerfully are we moved to a new and overcoming love toward time-blinded human beings and all creation. In this Center of Creation all things are ours, and we are Christ’s and Christ is God’s.
We have a lot to learn from communities like the beguines, or later, the Quakers and Mennonites. These movements are made up of little groups, often on the margins of society, sharing the Word of God and their lives together. We might recognize this spirit at work today in the “base communities” of Latin America, in small Bible study groups, or new monastic “intentional communities.” They reveal to us the freedom of the Gospel. Author Laura Swan, a Benedictine nun, has studied Christian women’s spirituality movements and writes about the alternative lifestyle of the medieval beguines:
The beguines began to form in various parts of Europe over eight hundred years ago—around the year 1200. Beguines were laywomen, not nuns, and thus did not take solemn vows and did not live in monasteries. The beguines were a phenomenal way of life that swept across Europe, yet they were never a religious order or a formalized movement. And they did not have one specific founder or rule to live by. But there were common elements that rendered these women distinctive and familiar, including their common way of life, chastity and simplicity, their unusual business acumen, and their commitment to God and to the poor and marginalized. These women were essentially self-defined, in opposition to the many attempts to control and define them. They lived by themselves or together in so-called beguinages, which could be single houses for as few as a handful of beguines or, as in Brugge, walled-in rows of houses enclosing a central court with a chapel where over a thousand beguines might live . . .
The inner spiritual world of the beguines was rich in imagination. These women, and some of their monastic contemporaries, instigated a seismic shift in the province of the imagination, bringing their embodied experience of God and their spiritual journey into a broadened and deepened inner realm. Beguine mystics experienced a fiercely intimate encounter with the Divine—whom they called both “God” and “the One”. . .
For these women, prayer was being in the presence of God, seeking to unite their minds and hearts with the One they loved (and whom they frequently referred to as their “Beloved”). A central goal in life for beguines was unity of will—that their personal will would become so united with the will of God that they essentially functioned as a unified whole. God’s heart would be the seeker’s heart; the seeker’s heart would find a home in God and God alone. This unity of will would be evidenced by joy, mercy and compassion, and love. . . .
Beguines exhorted their followers to recognize that there existed no impediment to a deep and meaningful prayer life. No matter what a person’s station in life, be they educated or uneducated, poor or wealthy, it did not impede or deny them awareness of God in their lives. God yearned to draw close to all.
The
Fruitful Margins of the Empire
Wednesday, September 30,
2020
On
the margins of the Roman Empire, Ireland and Scotland helped hand down the
Christian contemplative lineage. The Romans had conquered much of Europe by the
time of Jesus’ birth; though they ruled Britain, the Romans never occupied
Ireland or parts of Scotland. This allowed the Celtic culture and Christian
monks the freedom to thrive independently. They weren’t controlled by Roman
practicality or Greek thinking. When Christian missionaries arrived by the
third century, the Celts blended their pagan or creation-based
spirituality with Christian liturgy, practice, and structure. As a result,
Celtic Christianity was still grounded in the natural world, and they had much
easier access to a cosmic notion of the Christ.
Perhaps we can
think of Celtic Christians as an alternative community on the edge of the
inside of organized Christianity. Lacking the structure and support of the
organized church, radical forms of Christianity never thrive for very long.
Without the Irish monks, much of Celtic practice and thought would not have
been passed on to us at all.
Like the Desert
Fathers and Mothers who influenced them, Celtic mystics focused on rather
different things than the mainstream church. The Celts drew on their own
cultural symbols and experience to emphasize other values than the symbols of
“Roman” Catholicism. For example, Celtic Christianity encouraged the practice
of confession to an anam cara (soul friend) more than to an ordained priest.
They also saw
God as a deep kind of listening and speaking presence, as in “The Deer’s Cry.”
I invite you to read this excerpt of St. Patrick’s traditional prayer slowly,
and to allow yourself, like the ancient Celts, to become aware of the presence
of Christ surrounding you through all things.
The Lorica of
St. Patrick (The Deer`s Cry)
I
arise to-day:
vast might,
invocation of the Trinity,—
belief in a Threeness
confession of Oneness
meeting in the Creator. . . .
I
arise to-day:
might of Heaven
brightness of Sun
whiteness of Snow
splendour of Fire
speed of Light
swiftness of Wind
depth of Sea
stability of Earth
firmness of Rock.
I
arise to-day:
Might of God for
my piloting
Wisdom of God for my guidance
Eye of God for my foresight
Ear of God for my hearing
Word of God for my utterance
Hand of God for my guardianship
Path of God for my precedence
Shield of God for my protection
Host of God for my salvation . . .
Christ
with me, Christ before me,
Christ behind me, Christ in me,
Christ under me, Christ over me,
Christ to right of me, Christ to left of me,
Christ in lying down, Christ in sitting, Christ in
rising up
Christ in the heart of every person, who may think of
me!
Christ in the mouth of every one, who may speak to me!
Christ in every eye, which may look on me!
Christ in every ear, which may hear me!
I
arise to-day:
vast might,
invocation of the Trinity
belief in a Threeness
confession of Oneness
meeting in the Creator. [1]
When Christianity became the established religion of the Roman Empire, something remarkable and strange took place. A whole set of people began to flock to the margins of the Empire to pursue God. They went to the deserts of Palestine, Cappadocia, Syria, and Egypt. This is the emergence of the ones we now call in a collective way the Desert Fathers and Mothers. These individuals in the desert sought to reflect more deeply on the Mystery of God and God’s will through work, prayer, and study of the Scriptures.
Thomas Merton (1915–1968) describes their movement this way:
Society—which meant pagan society, limited by the horizons and prospects of life “in this world”—was regarded by them as a shipwreck from which each single individual had to swim for their life. . . . These were people who believed that to let oneself drift along, passively accepting the tenets and values of what they knew as society, was purely and simply a disaster. The fact that the Emperor was now Christian and that the “world” was coming to know the Cross as a sign of temporal power only strengthened them in their resolve. [1]
Benedictine Sister Laura Swan has written about the spirituality of the Desert Mothers, and describes the quest for wholeness and salvation for which these seekers thirsted and could find only outside the mainstream society:
Desert spirituality is characterized by the pursuit of abundant simplicity—simplicity grounded in the possession of little—and the abundance of God’s presence. Yearning for complete union with God, desert ascetics sought to remove all obstacles to the deepening of this relationship. Obstacles included unhelpful attitudes and motives, thoughts that stalled their pursuit of God, and emotional ties that complicated their inner journeys.
The desert ascetics’ relationships were nonpossessive: They cared for others while leaving them free. Concern for reputation was discarded. Feelings were acknowledged and listened to for their wisdom but were subjected to the discipline of the heart’s goal to seek God. The desert ascetics sought to mortify disordered passions that distracted them from their deepening relationship with God and actively to cultivate a burning love for God.
Although the journey began with giving away possessions, desert ascetics understood that what possessed them was greater than the sum of goods owned. All that owned them, all that possessed their minds and hearts, their attachments and compulsions, must be healed and reconciled. Desert ascetics called this process of moving toward inner freedom detachment. Detachment allows for greater direct experience of the Divine Presence as the seeker is attached to fewer distractions.
Desert ascetics understood that the cultivation of inner freedom was vital to the deepening of their experience of God. As they deepened their interior freedom, all aspects of their false self were removed and a clearer understanding of their truest self emerged. It is this true self that dwells deeply with God. In the abundant simplicity of our true self, we experience deepest joy. [2]
A
Church on the Margins
Monday, September 28,
2020
We’ve tended to soften Jesus’ conflict with the system,
or the established powers, but Jesus’ ministry took place on the margins! In
the year 313 A.D., with the Edict of Milan, the Church dramatically changed
sides and Christians officially became the Church of the establishment. Before
that decree, the Church was by and large of the underclass. It identified with
the poor and the oppressed, and the Church itself was still being oppressed and
persecuted. The early Church read and understood its history from the
catacombs—literally from underground. Such a position will always give us a
different perspective than that “found in palaces” (see Matthew 11:8).
I’m
sure the Emperor Constantine thought he was doing Christians a favor when he
ended official persecution and made Christianity the established religion of
the empire. Yet it might be the single most unfortunate thing that happened to
Christianity. Once we moved from the margins of society to the center, we
developed a new film over our eyes. After that, we couldn’t read anything that
showed Jesus in confrontation with the establishment, because we were the establishment,
and usually egregiously so. Clear teaching on issues of greed, powerlessness,
nonviolence, non-control, and simplicity were moved to the sidelines, if not
actually countermanded. These issues were still taken seriously by those who
fled to the deserts of Egypt, Syria, Palestine, and Cappadocia. Their practices
grew into what we now call “religious life” as observed by monks, nuns, hermits,
and anchorites who held onto the radical Gospel in so many ways.
As
long as the Church bore witness from the margins in some sense, and as long as
we operated from a minority position, we had greater access to the truth, to
the Gospel, to Jesus. In our time we have to find a way to disestablish
ourselves, to identify with our powerlessness instead of our power, our
dependence instead of our independence, our communion instead of our
individualism. Unless we understand that, the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7)
isn’t going to make any sense.
We
see in the Sermon on the Mount that Jesus intended for us to take the low road.
He intended us to operate from the position of “immoral” minority much more
than the moral majority. When we’re protecting our self-image as moral,
superior, or “saved” persons, we always lose the truth. The daring search for
God—the common character of all religion—is replaced with the search for
personal certitude and control.
As soon as
people are comfortably enjoying the fruits of the established system, they
don’t normally want any truth beyond their comfort zone. Yet those who are not
enjoying those benefits, those who have been marginalized or oppressed in any
way, are always longing and thirsting for the coming of the Kingdom, for something
more. The Gospel always keeps us in a state of longing and thirsting for God.
Grace seems to create a void inside of us that only God can fill.
Mystics and the Margins
Margins
Create Liminal Space
Sunday, September 27,
2020
When we are content and satisfied on the inside of any
group, we seem to suffer from a structural indifference. We do not realize that
it is largely a belonging system that we have created for ourselves. It is not
until we are excluded from a system that we are able to recognize its
idolatries, lies, or shadow side. It is the privileged “knowledge of the
outsider” that opens up the playing field. People can be personally well-intentioned and sincere,
but structurally they cannot comprehend certain things. In his ministry, Jesus quotes the call of
Isaiah to describe this collective social disregard: “You will hear and hear
again, and not understand, see and see again and not perceive . . .” (Isaiah
6:9; Mark 8:18). Insiders are by nature dualistic because they divide
themselves from the so-called outsiders.
I
believe it is for that reason that so many saints and mystics and even everyday
people have chosen to live their entire lives at the edges of most systems.
They take their small and sufficient place in the great and grand scheme of God
by “living on the edge of the inside.” They build on the solid tradition (“from
the inside”) but from a new and dynamic stance (“on the edge”) where they
cannot be co-opted by a need for security, possessions, or the illusions of
power.
People
such as Francis and Clare of Assisi try to live on the margins so they will not
become enamored by the illusions and payoffs of prevailing systems. They know
this is the only position that ensures continued wisdom, ever-broadening
perspective, and even deeper compassion. Such choices may be seen in the lives
of monks, nuns, hermits, or Amish communities. There are softer forms, too,
like people who do not watch TV, people who live under the level of a taxable
income, people who make prayer a major part of their day, people who deliberately
place themselves in risky situations for the greater good. It is ironic that we
must go to the edge to find the center, but that is what prophets, hermits, and
mystics invariably do.
I want to
acknowledge that there is a difference between being marginalized—forced (usually by prejudice and systemic
discrimination) out of the common benefits and goods that come from living in
mainstream society—and choosing to live on the margins. Both can be privileged
places for spiritual growth and transformation. This week we will offer
examples from the broad tradition of Christian mystics and communities who
sought or accepted their location on the margins as a place of creativity and
interior freedom. Through their insights, writings, rituals, and art, these men,
women, and movements inspire us to cease protecting the surfaces of things and
fall into the core of our own souls and experiences.
Today’s
meditation continues with reflections from interspiritual mystic Bede Griffiths
who I introduced yesterday. I invite you to read his words with an open mind
and heart.
It
is only today that these different religious traditions are beginning to mix
freely all over the world and are seeking to relate to one another, not in
terms of rivalry and conflict, but in terms of dialogue and mutual respect. One
of the greatest needs of humanity today is to transcend the cultural limitations
of the great religions and to find a wisdom, a philosophy, which can reconcile
their differences and reveal the unity which underlies all their diversities.
This has been called the “perennial philosophy,” the eternal wisdom which has
been revealed in a different way in each religion. . . .
The
different world religions—Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity, and
Islam—have themselves to recover the ancient wisdom which they have inherited,
and this has now to be interpreted in the light of the knowledge of the world
which Western science has given us. . . . [1]
According
to the Letter to the Colossians, in Christ “all things were created, in heaven
and on earth . . . all were created through him and for him” [1:16]. This is
truly a cosmic vision embracing the whole created world, which we now know to
be an integrated whole, and this forms a body, a living organism, which is
capable of embracing all humanity. We have therefore the conception of a
universal community capable of embodying the universal wisdom and uniting all
humanity in one body, one living whole, in which the “fullness,” the whole, of
the Godhead dwells. . . . [2]
The
Second Vatican Council said that “the Catholic Church rejects nothing that is
true and holy in [other] religions.” [3] There is truth and holiness in all
genuine religion. . . . It has been our experience in the ashram that the more
we open ourselves to the other religions, to Hinduism in particular, the deeper
our Christian faith grows. Our aim is the deepening of our own faith, which
then becomes more open to others. . . .
If
you go deeply into any one tradition, you converge on a center, and there you
see how we all come forth from a common root. And you find how we meet people
on the deeper level of their faith, in the profound unity behind all our
differences. . . . The grace of Christ is present in some way to every human
being from the beginning to the end. [4]
Bede Griffiths draws his theological
insights from the teachings of the Catholic Church to which he remained
committed and the Christian Scriptures, which he never stopped reading and
interpreting as the word of God, yet now as a part of the perennial tradition.
He is an example of how interspirituality can strengthen our Christian faith by
deepening our capacity to love and respect the other.
It is only in prayer that we can communicate with one another at the deepest level of our being. Behind all words and gestures, behind all thoughts and feelings, there is an inner centre of prayer where we can meet one another in the presence of God. . . . If we could learn to live from that centre we should be living from the heart of life and our whole being would be moved by love. —Bede Griffiths (1906–1993)
The interspiritual teacher Bede Griffiths was born in England, became a Catholic after college, and soon entered Prinknash Abbey in Gloucester as a Benedictine monk. After almost twenty-five years in this community, he went to India in 1955. He recalled:
I had long been familiar with the mystical tradition of the West, but I felt the need of something more which the East alone could give; above all the sense of the presence of God in nature and the soul, a kind of natural mysticism which is the basis of all Indian spirituality. I felt therefore that if a genuine meeting of East and West was to take place, it must be at this deepest level of their experience and this I thought could best come through the monastic life. [1]
In 1968, Bede was asked to take over Shantivanam (Forest of Peace) Ashram, which was founded in 1950 by two French Benedictines. Thomas Matus, who lived with Bede at Shantivanam, writes:
The liturgical hours, tuned as they are to the cosmic rhythms of sunrise and sunset and the seasons of the year, already link the prayer of Christian monks to the religious and even mystical sense of the cosmos which is an essential characteristic of Hinduism. . . . The Hindu, Buddhist, Sikh, and Sufi texts, read at the beginning of each Hour, are seen clearly as a preparation for the Christian prayer, which opens with the sign of the cross and the invocation of the Holy Trinity. [2]
It was in India that Bede discovered a different way of thinking:
The Western mind from the time of Socrates and Plato had concentrated on the development of abstract, rational thought which had led to the great systems of theology in the Middle Ages and to the achievements of modern science and philosophy. But India had been nourished from the beginning by the truth of the imagination, the primordial truth, which is not abstract but concrete, not logical but symbolic, not rational but intuitive. So it was that I was led to the rediscovery of the truth which the Western world has lost and is now seeking desperately to recover. [3]
I have deep respect for the courage it must have taken Griffiths as a Catholic monk in the pre-Vatican II era to follow the calling of the Holy Spirit to live and worship in the East. He not only taught a nondual consciousness but embodied it in his life, remaining faithful to Christ while embracing the wisdom and practices of Hinduism.L
Story from Our Community: Six years ago, after being raised in a conservative tradition, working for a decade in the church and then attending a liberal seminary, I walked away from the committed faith I had always known. Then my dad tragically passed away in April (during COVID-19) and I was left reeling, needing faith of some sort and not knowing where to turn. Father Rohr’s books and daily meditations seem to be written just for me. They speak to the deep knowing of my soul and have given me a voice to once again believe, pray, hope, and even wrestle with the eternal. I miss my dad tremendously, yet [I] am finding my second knowing in a much more loving and loveable God. —Kelly H.
An
Interspiritual Awakening
Wednesday, September 23,
2020
Today,
I introduce you to my friend Adam Bucko, who is a devoted Christian
contemplative, Episcopal priest, activist, and friend to the poor. He
collaborates with spiritual leaders across religious traditions and mentors
young people, helping them discover a spiritual life for the 21st century and
live in the service of compassion and justice. Here he reflects on what he sees
as a spiritual awakening in younger generations.
For
younger people, many of us, it’s very clear we see God as present in all of the
traditions. . . . Not only do they believe that there is one underlying reality
at the foundation of all major world religions but they are also convinced that
different traditions and their unique approaches to God complement each other.
. . .
But
it’s also important to say, a lot of young people don’t actually identify with
a tradition any more. . . . Many of our churches, synagogues and mosques are
freaking out when they hear this, thinking that young people are no longer
interested in the sacred. But to me it is clear that young people are not
necessarily rejecting God, they simply feel that many religious organizations
lost touch with reality and are too concerned with money, power,
self-preservation, maintaining the status quo, and ‘having right beliefs’. As a
result, they tend to view them . . . as organizations that are spiritually
bankrupt, that are no longer able to speak to and address some of the big
questions of our time. And it takes deep insight and spiritual courage to see
that. It is for this reason and many others that I don’t think of the rise of
the ‘spiritual but not religious’ among our youth as a sign of spiritual
decline but rather a new kind of spiritual awakening. . . .
We
have to acknowledge that when people hear about spiritual and not religious
people, they often immediately think that these are people who are just
shopping around and not really that committed. . . . But when we look at some
of the people who come from that group, we realize that actually many of them
spend more time [in spiritual practices] than regular churchgoers.
Richard: I can honestly say that I
have observed many of these same things in my work with young people at the
CAC. I do not see a lack of spirituality and good faith in many seekers of the
next generation, but an abundance of it and a deep desire to live with
integrity and in alignment with their values. Such people are not satisfied
with a faith simply handed to them by an institution or the previous
generation. They insist on investigating what is truly important for
transformation and a more just and compassionate world.
While interspirituality is not for the faint of heart, or for dabblers who merely want to appropriate the clothing, language, or customs of other faiths, sharing in the spiritual heart of a different religious tradition can be a genuine vocation, bringing much needed peace and healing to the world. My friend, author and spiritual teacher Mirabai Starr, offers a compelling invitation to engage in the work of interspirituality:
As a spiritual writer and translator of the Spanish Christian mystics, a religious studies professor, and a practitioner of many spiritual traditions, I have spent my life responding to the call to honor diversity and celebrate unity among all paths that lead us home to love. . . .
America is the Land of the Consumer. . . . We are conditioned to treat the spiritual life as another commodity, rather than as a discipline of inner transformation with a corresponding commitment to alleviating suffering in the world. Yet, authentic engagement with the perennial wisdom that lies at the heart of the well means we must leap from the lip of the vessel and dive into the unknown.
The late Brother Wayne Teasdale [1945–2004] coined the term “interspiritual” to describe “the shared mystic heart beating in the center of the world’s deepest spiritual traditions.” [1] This perspective encompasses a much broader scope of shared religious experience than does its predecessor “interfaith” movement, which focuses more on the dialogue between the established institutionalized religions than on an intermingling of their common heart. Genuine interspiritual dialogue demands that we draw deeply on our inner knowing and show up for the hard work of understanding. It requires that we not only study and discuss religions other than our own, but that we commit to a disciplined practice in more than one tradition, immersing ourselves in the well of wisdom they offer, allowing these encounters to change us from within.
The sacred scriptures of all faiths call us to love as we have never loved before. This requires effort, vigilance, and radical humility. Violence is easier than nonviolence, yet hate only perpetuates hate. The wisdom teachings remind us that love—active, engaged, fearless love—is the only way to save ourselves and each other from the firestorm of war that rages around us. There is a renewed urgency to this task now. We are asked not only to tolerate the other, but also to actively engage the love that transmutes the lead of ignorance and hatred into the gold of authentic connection. This is the “narrow gate” Christ speaks of in the Gospels [Matthew 7:13]. Don’t come this way unless you’re willing to stretch, bend, and transform for the sake of love.
Remember what God said to Moses: “I AM Who I AM” (Exodus
3:14). God is clearly not tied to a
name, nor does God
seem to want us to tie Divinity to any one name. Which is why, in Judaism,
God’s statement to Moses became God’s unspeakable and unnamable identity. Some
would say that the name of God literally cannot be “spoken,” only breathed. [1]
Now that was very wise, and sometimes I wish we had kept it up. This tradition
alone should tell us to practice profound humility in regard to God, who gives
us not a name, but only pure presence—no handle that could allow
us to think we “know” who God is or have the divine as our private possession.
The
Christ is always far too much for us, larger than any one era, culture, empire,
or religion. Its radical inclusivity is a threat to any power structure and any
form of arrogant thinking. Jesus by himself has usually been limited by the
evolution of human consciousness in these first two thousand years, and held
captive by culture, nationalism, and Western Christianity’s own cultural
captivity to a white, bourgeois, and Eurocentric worldview. We have often
missed the ways Jesus reveals himself, because “there stood among us one we did
not recognize” (John 1:26). He came in mid-tone skin, from the underclass, a
male body with a female soul, from an often-hated religion, and living on the
very cusp between East and West. No one owns him, and no one ever will.
Jesus
clearly says naming God correctly is not the priority, “Do not believe those
who say ‘Lord, Lord’” (Matthew 7:21; Luke 6:46.
Italics added). It is those who “do it right” that matter, he says, not those
who “say it right.” Yet verbal orthodoxy has been Christianity’s preoccupation,
at times even allowing us to burn people at the stake for not “saying it
right.” We ended up spreading national cultures under the rubric of Jesus,
instead of a universally liberating message under the name of Christ. What I
call an incarnational worldview is the profound recognition of the presence of
the divine in literally “every thing” and “every one.”
I would go so
far as to say that the proof that you are a mature Christian is
that you can see Christ everywhere else. Authentic God experience always expands your seeing and
never constricts it. What else would be worthy of God? In God you do not include less and less; you always see
and love more and more. And it is from
this place that we lose any fear we have about entering into discussion,
prayer, and friendship with people of other faith traditions.
Interspiritual Mysticism
Solidarity
Instead of Judgment
Sunday, September 20,
2020
In
our one small and interwoven world, the great spiritual messengers of all the
sacred traditions are a universal human treasure, to be received and reverenced
with the respect due an attained being, an exemplar of a higher level of human
consciousness. —Cynthia Bourgeault
While
many Christians are familiar, and possibly even comfortable, with the idea of
interfaith dialogue, few have had exposure to the discipline of
interspirituality. While the first tends to be a respectful exchange of ideas;
the second is a shared journey into the depths of the heart. Most Christians
have been discouraged from exploring the teachings and practices of other
religions, but I believe the loving and universal scope of Jesus Christ
provides us with a model of how to recognize and celebrate truth on the many
different paths to God.
Through
Jesus Christ, God’s own broad, deep, and all-inclusive worldview is made
available to us. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that the point of the
Christian life is not to distinguish oneself from the other world religions,
but to stand in radical solidarity with everyone and everything else. This is
the full, final, and intended effect of the Incarnation—symbolized by the
cross, which is God’s great act
of solidarity instead of judgment. This is how we are to imitate Jesus, the good Jewish
man who saw and called forth the divine in Gentiles like the Syro-Phoenician
woman and the Roman centurions who followed him; in Jewish tax collectors who
collaborated with the Empire; in zealots who opposed it; in sinners of all
stripes; in eunuchs, pagan astrologers, and all those “outside the law.” Jesus
had no trouble whatsoever with otherness.
If
we are ready to reclaim the true meaning of “catholic,” which is “universal,”
we must concentrate on including—as Jesus clearly did—instead of
excluding—which he never did. The only thing
Jesus excluded was exclusion itself.
After
the incarnation of Jesus, humanity could more easily imagine a give-and-take,
relational and forgiving God. Christians had a very good model and messenger in
Jesus, but many outliers actually came to the “banquet” more easily, as Jesus
often says in his parables of the resented and resisted banquet (Matthew
22:1–10; Luke 14:7–24), where “the wedding hall was filled with guests, both
good and bad alike” (Matthew 22:10). What are we to do with such divine
irresponsibility, such endless largesse, such an unwillingness on God’s part to
build walls or create unneeded boundaries?
We must be
honest and humble about this: many people of other faiths, like Sufi masters,
Jewish prophets, many philosophers, and Hindu mystics, have lived in light of
the Divine encounter better than many Christians. And why would a God worthy of
the name God not care about all of God’s children? (Read Wisdom 11:23–12:2 for
a powerful Scripture in this regard.) Does God really have favorites among
God’s children? What an unhappy family that would create—and indeed, has created.
This CO2- (Church Of 2) is where two guys meet each day to tighten up our Connections with Jesus. We start by placing the daily “My Utmost For His Highest” in this WordPress blog. Then we prayerfully select some matching worship music and usually pick out a few lyrics that fit especially well. Then we just start praying and editing and Bolding and adding comments and see where the Spirit takes us.
It’s been a blessing for both of us.
If you’d like to start a CO2, we’d be glad to help you and your partner get started. Also click the link below to see how others are doing CO2.Odds Monkey
Steve Harvey Introduces Jesus To A Secular Audience
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