Answering the Contemplative Call

First Steps on the Mystical Path

Hampton Roads Publishing Company, Inc.

Contents

The Call of the Mysteries

Life is filled with mystery.

Probably the biggest mystery of all is the simple fact that we exist. Why shouldthere be something instead of nothing? Why are there mountains and waterfallsand forests and beaches? Why do the heavens exist, filled with planets and starsand galaxies? The sheer reality of nature, of the cosmos, is basically a mindblower.

If you haven't already had the privilege, someday may you be present at a birth.Even the birth of animals is wondrous. But the birth of a human being? Wow!Sure, we have plenty of science that can help us understand the processes ofreproduction, of cell division and growth, of the development of an embryo to afetus to the world shattering moment when the baby emerges from its mother. Butthe science just helps us to understand the processes; it cannot explain themystery— the joy, the wonder, the beauty—of a new life, emerging with eyesdancing full of light and a smile (or a cry) to greet the world. Like natureitself, birth is a profound mystery.

Fast forward to the other end of life. For death, too, is a mystery. There's theobvious enigma that none of us has a very clear sense of what to expect when ourtime comes. Sages and saints from around the world have offered up various ideasabout what happens— from reincarnation to resurrection to never-ending rest. Andsome researchers have collated stories of unusual occurrences duringlifethreatening trauma or illness, leading to popular books about neardeathexperiences—traveling through a tunnel to a Being of Pure Light, and so forth.But all these teachings and speculations cannot erase the profound silence ofsomeone who simply stops breathing. Like birth, death is something that, whenencountered, can usher us into a powerful sense of wonder.

Death can be a harrowing, terrifying mystery, for we mourn those we've lost andwe fear the loss of others (and of ourselves). Another painful mystery is themystery of suffering. From the raw jagged edge of grief or a broken heart, tothe agony of unrelenting back pain or fibromyalgia, to the slow undoing ofdementia or the murky despair that characterizes a deep clinical depression—thereseems to be no end to the ways in which suffering can constrict a life orvanquish joy. Even when torment is relieved, it can leave physical orpsychological scars. Why do we suffer? Why must those we love feel such pain?What can we do, when it seems that there is nothing that can be done? Thesequestions defy easy answers, if they can be answered at all. And when we resortto the canned comforts of religion ("God has a purpose in this"; "Your faithwill see you through"), we run the risk of sounding glib and out of touch. Yeteven in its darkest forms, suffering can be a threshold to a most profound placeof wonder and awe.

Before the mysteries of death and suffering tempt us into cynicism or despair,consider also one of the most blithesome of mysteries—the mystery of love. Thatthe person who causes my heart to skip a beat can feel the same way about me—wordssimply cannot describe the joy, the excitement, the reverie, and the hopethat love brings into our souls. Love fills a drab world with color and brings asong to the most cacophonous of settings. It is a force for healing by which ourhearts are refreshed and renewed. Best of all, love takes many forms, eachfilled with its own grammar of delight. Beyond the love of sexual and romanticunion, there is the love of parents and children, the love of family andfriends, of pets, of homeland and nation. We love people, places, and things,and our loves form who we are.

And yet, who can explain love? Why do two people fall in love, while another twosimply cannot hit it off? What inspires passion? Or sustains it? Or repairs itwhen it is wounded? We cannot force ourselves to love any more than we cancompel ourselves to be happy, and yet to love is at the heart of being human.

Another mystery that takes many forms is the mystery of creation (creativity).This is related to the foundational mystery of existence, for all things seem tohave some sort of beginning. On a strictly human level, however, creationdefines who we are as beings engaged with our environment. Obviously, there isartistic creation, from making music to writing to painting to dancing (amongmany others). But the mystery of creation is not limited to the fine arts.Creation is all about impermanence and change, and each of us changes the worldwe live in, in small or large ways, pretty much every day we breathe. Abusinessman creates new opportunities through his deals and sales; a scientistcreates out of her research and theories. Even soldiers can have the opportunityto create peace out of the conflict into which they have been sent. While plentyof life's changes are for the worse (leading to suffering), creative changesappear to generate light, life, and joy where nothing of the sort existedbefore. How? Why? We marvel and we wonder at such a mystery.

Finally, let me touch on the mysteries of right and wrong, and of mercy. A childdoesn't have to be very old before he or she can figure out the differencebetween what is fair and what is unfair. Nobody likes to get the smallest pieceof the cake—and everyone, if we admit it, harbors a capacity for sneaking thebig piece of the cake when no one else is watching. We recognize basic qualitieslike fairness, decency, kindness, and honor, but we almost always fall far shortof our own standards of what is right or good. Why is this? How do we unravelboth the capacity for goodness and the capacity for cheating?

Closely related to the mystery of right and wrong is perhaps the even morepuzzling question of mercy. If we think someone gets mercy they do not deserve,we become indignant—but if the tables are turned and we are the ones injudgment, we beg for mercy, even knowing how unfair it would be. Mercy is abreach of fairness, and yet it is something we honor and respect, and (whennecessary for ourselves) something we desire.

Where, then, do right and wrong come from? Sure, many ethical principles areculturally relative, but others seem knit into the very DNA of humanity. Theorigin of justice is an enigma, and mercy seems just as inexplicable. Justiceand mercy, like each of the other great mysteries of life, bring us to a placewhere knowledge yields to wonder, in the recognition that these essentialcomponents of the human experience can never be fully explained or understood.

All these mysteries shape what it means to be alive, to be human. We cannotexplain our very existence, our births or our deaths, our capacities to sufferor love or create, our common recognition of the demands of justice, or the giftof mercy. Yet we cannot imagine life without these realities either. Themysteries of life represent the frontier where the sensibility of our livesshades off into areas we cannot control, cannot comprehend, and cannot manage orcontain. Faced with the mysteries of life, we become vulnerable, undefended,open to the marvels that can fill us with the liberating uncertainty of wonder.And even though we live in a world that tries to manage or at least contain themysteries—hiding birth and death away, medicating the suffering, puttingcreative folks on pedestals, and settling for a legal system that reduces ethicsto a conflict between competing interests—despite all our efforts to controlevery aspect of our lives, the mysteries are never very far away. They crop upwhen we least expect them—when we meet someone new and fall in love, when an oldfriend dies suddenly, when a sudden flash of inspiration leads to the creationof an artistic masterpiece. We never know—literally from one moment to the next—whenthe mysteries will crack our safely constructed lives wide open. And wenever know whether they will fill us with joy or with pain. But they always fillus with wonder.

To mystics, the mysteries of life are our teachers. It's no accident thatmysticism and mysteries are such closely related words, both evolving from thesame Greek root. What makes something a mystery is that it is hidden from thepeering, penetrating efforts of the human mind to analyze, categorize, andunderstand everything. Mysteries defy any kind of mental classification. Theypoint to an inscrutable reality that is beyond our mental or physical grasp.

Here's a comment that Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, a monk of the twelfth centuryand a renowned mystic, once made about nature—one I believe could just as easilybe applied to any of life's mysteries. "Believe me as one who has experience,"said Bernard, "you will find much more among the woods than ever you will amongbooks. Woods and stones will teach you what you can never hear from anymaster." Strong words from a man known for his preaching and teaching skills!Consider this: Bernard is not rejecting the kind of wisdom or understanding thatcan be found in books or from a spiritual director. He just recognizes thatnature—even the silence of "woods and stones"—is an even greater teacher. And,of course, it may be the silence of the woods that Bernard is praising (in thepages to come, we will look at silence in depth).

But I think it is just as likely that it is the mystery of nature that appealedto this medieval mystic. And all the mysteries—not just the beauty of theforest, but also the awe-inspiring realities of birth and death and sufferingand love and all the rest—can teach us better than any book or master. For themysteries open us up; that is to say, they evoke in us a sense of wonder. Andwonder is a key to the contemplative call.

Discerning the Caller

Embodied within the wonder that the mysteries of life evoke in us is thepossibility of discerning the source of all the mysteries. For the differentmysteries of life open us up to what the Lakota Sioux called Wakan Tanka, theGreat Mystery. Like Jews and Muslims, Christians recognize the Great Mystery asGod.

Right away, we encounter one of the paradoxes of mystical spirituality: God is amystery, the ultimate mystery, the Great Mystery. Yet God is not an abstractforce or idea. We can encounter God in a direct and personal way. God relates tous personally. This is why we can talk about a contemplative call. If God wereonly a force (like something George Lucas dreamed up), it would make no sense tosay, "God is calling." A call implies a caller. This is an important distinctionto bear in mind, for contemplation—at least in its Christian form—concernssomething far deeper than just having awesome spiritual experiences. It is acall to intimacy with God. Intimacy with God can mean many things, and that mayinclude some amazing moments of insight, or ecstasy, or Divine union. Or it maynot. God is what matters, and any experience of God is secondary.

If we take Ruth Burrows at her word, then we are faced with this idea that Godis longing to give us the mystical life. But what does that mean? And how can Irelate it to my own sense of spirituality?

I took Saint Bernard's idea that the woods and stones are our best teachers andexpanded it to include all of life's mysteries for a simple reason. At thebeginning, we may not have much of a sense of God in our lives, but chances arethat we have had a sense of awe, of wonder, of marveling at the mysteries oflife. When it comes to embarking on the spiritual journey, start where you are.From there, work backward to see where you've come from, and that may give youinsight into where you're going.

As I noted in my Introduction, I assume that, because you are choosing to readthis book, you have some sense of this mysterious longing of your own. Perhapsyou have enough of a sense of religious vocabulary that you can say: "I long forGod." Or perhaps the word God scares you a bit, and you feel more comfortablesaying, along with C. S. Lewis, that you long for Joy (with a capital J)—alonging that, in itself, is a way of recognizing the elusive presence of thisJoy. For that seems to be the key to this mysterious longing—a longing we can'tput into words: even the experience of longing itself somehow satisfies thisdesire. The Germans have a word for it: sehnsucht, a word that cannot beadequately translated into English but that has a meaning more or less ofinconsolable longing. It is a precious longing, however. As C. S. Lewis puts it:"This sweet Desire cuts across our ordinary distinctions between wanting andhaving. To have it is, by definition, a want: to want it, we find, is to haveit."

Now, here is the kicker. The longing we sense for God is a gift given to us byGod, out of God's longing for us. God desires us and gives us sehnsucht as a wayof calling to us. Our yearning for God is a mirror image of God's yearning forus. But we are the mirror—the yearning starts with God and arises within us as aresponse.

To put it in human terms, the mystical path is the path of love between you andGod. But in the great party of life, God notices you first. You go about yourlife, having fun, doing your thing. And God longs for you; God loves you somuch. But like any other would-be lover, God sets about trying to get yourattention. Of course, being loving and kind, God will never force himself on youor anyone. God wants your free response to Divine love. So how does God "flirt"with you? Simply by giving you a taste of God's own longing.

It is my belief that all people have this longing, this sehnsucht, encodedwithin them. Some may go through life ignoring the hunger poised inside theirsouls. And for a variety of reasons, many others may refuse to interpret it as alonging for God. Some may call it lust for life or the urge to create, or mayeven misinterpret it as a hunger for sensual pleasure, which, if handled poorly,can lead to addiction rather than to liberation. But some of us are fortunateenough to recognize this delicious longing as an invitation from the GreatMystery, from the One who longs for us with an even greater longing. When wemake this recognition, we take the first important step toward discerning— andresponding to—the contemplative call.

Saint Teresa of Avila speaks about the soul being a mirror, based on a visionshe received:

Once while I was reciting with all the Sisters the hours of the Divine Office,my soul suddenly became recollected; and it seemed to me to be like a brightlypolished mirror, without any part on the back or sides or top or bottom thatwasn't totally clear. In its center Christ, our Lord, was shown to me ... Isaw him clearly in every part of my soul, as though in a mirror. And this mirroralso—I don't know how to explain it—was completely engraved upon the LordHimself by means of a very loving communication I wouldn't know how todescribe.

What a fascinating vision. Teresa sees her soul as a mirror, but a mirror alsoinscribed on Christ, with "loving communication" flowing between them that shecan't put into words. Perhaps it was this mutual longing that she saw. She goeson to say that, even if the mirror is clouded or blackened by sin, Christremains present in her soul. Indeed, even when we cannot discern our ownlonging, this connection with the Divine mystery remains encoded in our hearts.

So if we are mirrors, our job is to offer as clean and clear a reflection as wepossibly can. The light shines on us, and we are meant to offer it back. Part ofthis task of recognizing the caller is making sure the mirror is clean. Thefourteenth-century German mystic John Tauler has some insight for us here:

If my eye is to receive an image, it must be free from all other images; for ifit already has so much as one, it cannot see another, nor can the ear hear asound if it be occupied with one already. Any power of receiving must first beempty before it can receive anything.

We have to create space within us to receive the caller. Put in spiritual terms,we need to open our hearts to receive the presence of God, shining in us, withinus, and through us. We need to be like Mary of Nazareth, opening ourselves up sothat our very bodies can offer hospitality to Christ. Like Mary and Martha ofBethany, like Zacchaeus the tax collector, like Simon the leper, we are invitedto receive God— within us. This is not a mental game, as if we just have tothink, "God is inside me," to make it so. After all, God is everywhere, so Godis already inside you (and me, and everyone else) whether we know it or not,whether we like it or not. Therefore the key is to learn how to recognize God'spresence and, in recognizing that presence, choose to embrace it, respond to it,and love it. And the only reason to love God's presence is because we love God.