I was recently asked to participate in an online class discussion on interfaith dialogue for a course on “religion and cultures”1 offered through North Park Theological Seminary in Chicago. The students had read an excerpt from my book Unteachable Lessons and were now presenting me with questions, most of which concerned best practices in interfaith dialogue. The course instructor, Dr. Paul de Neui, asked the students to create questions for me and submitted them to me to get my response. I was impressed by how thoughtful the questions were, and asked the instructor if I could use them to document this conversation on my Substack. With that permission granted, here are the questions (and my responses) for your perusal.

How does one break through the common sentiment that politics and religion have no place in polite conversation?

I think it’s helpful to keep in mind that this “common sentiment” seems to be intertwined with a certain measure of social privilege. We often avoid talking about religion or politics just to avoid conflict, especially when we have the kind of privilege that enables us to just opt out. I don’t think there’s any real benefit in pushing someone to have a conversation they don’t want to have, whether on religion or politics or finance. I also don’t think much is to be gained by trying to debate someone whose mind is made up, especially when they hold views contrary to ours. But I think if we can see that the prohibition on these discussions primarily benefits those who are privileged, then we are more at liberty to engage in these conversations ourselves, no matter how messy they might be.

Put another way: if someone doesn’t want to engage with you in a conversation about politics or religion, there could be a variety of reasons besides just social convention. They might not trust you. They might not see any point in getting embroiled in a debate or argument. If you want to share your faith with such a person, I invite you to consider the classic idea attributed to Francis of Assisi: “preach the good news at all times, but only use words when you have to.” In other words: don’t talk about the love of God or Christ: embody it.

When you have observed instances of interfaith dialogue breaking down is there a commonality you can note? For instance, does the dialogue cease to happen based on an unwillingness to proceed from one or more parties? Or maybe wrong intentions? Perhaps miscommunication due to cultural misunderstanding or language barrier?

I’m going to answer this as a Christian, not only because the audience I’m speaking to is a Christian audience but also because the single biggest problem I have seen in the breakdown of interfaith conversations has been bad faith among Christians: in other words, Christians who pretend to have a different agenda than what they really do. “I’m only here to learn about you” but really I want to get you to come to my church. That just smells bad and if people of other faiths did that to us, we would naturally find it offensive, but again, since I’m speaking as a Christian to other Christians I mainly want us to be mindful of our foibles. It’s the old “take the log out of your eye first” principle.

So what I have observed causing interfaith dialogue to break down: dishonesty and bad faith. If the only reason you want to have a conversation with a person whose faith is different from yours is to show them why your faith is the “true” faith, be aware: this is not interfaith dialogue; it’s proselytizing. So be honest. But then don’t be surprised if you have a hard time finding dialogue partners.

What is a mistake you made when entering an interfaith space and what did you learn from it?

One mistake I made was to soft-pedal my own faith identity as a Christian. That may seem paradoxical based on my strong message that Christians shouldn’t proselytize; but I’m actually not saying “don’t proselytize,” I’m saying, “don’t pretend you’re not proselytizing if that’s what you really want to do.” Likewise, even if you have no intention of proselytizing, good interfaith dialogue requires authenticity: so if you are a Christian, then don’t pretend otherwise, don’t apologize for what you believe, and don’t pretend to believe something other than what you actually do. Be real and be honest: just don’t be a jerk about it! You can be authentically Christian without attacking the other person’s faith or suggesting non-Christians are rejected by God, etc. Keep the focus on your own faith, your own experience, your own values and doctrines, and if the other person wants to engage with you then do so (but if they don’t want to engage, respect that as well. Interfaith dialogue, like physical intimacy, requires consent: no means no).

Western culture shies away from the type of long-term relationships required to connect and authentically dialogue with Eastern faith traditions, what can you suggest to us to help us recognize this and pursue these dialogical relationships?

I’m not sure I agree that Western culture shies away from long-term relationships — at least, not necessarily. Technology, individualism, late-stage capitalism, artificial intelligence, social media: there are lots of things in our society that can be used to undermine our capacity for meaningful, long-term relationships. But if we are willing to make meaningful relationships a priority in our lives, there are steps we can take to make it happen (or at least, make it more likely to happen). But to your question: I think to help us recognize the value of meaningful and sustainable relationships, we need to be modeling such relationships for one another whenever we can. Hopefully faith communities can be “labs” where long-term relationships can be fostered. We need to make a commitment to this on an individual level, but then also seek out communities where meaningful relationships are valued and hopefully nurtured.

Yes, long-term relationships can be a help to meaningful interfaith dialogue, but we also need to recognize that long-lasting relationships are valuable in their own right, and therefore are worth pursuing for no other reason than their intrinsic value.

How do you navigate the elephant in the room that all religions are incompatible with each other due to competing truth claims? Do you avoid it, soft-pedal it, redefine it, etc?

Why not simply accept it? If we recognize that there is a level on which religious truth claims will always bump up against each other, then we can have more honest and hopefully more constructive dialogue. I get it that many Christians might see it as a problem that competing truth claims exist, with the resulting incompatibility that means people from different religious backgrounds will never fully see eye to eye. But not all Christians consider this a problem nor do all adherents of other faiths. For some people, it is a positive thing that our creator has fashioned a world of such diversity. With this approach, the diversity of religions is not a problem to be lamented, but a reality to be celebrated.

In a diverse society like ours, what does effective interfaith engagement look like on a day-to-day level for believers?

I don’t think there’s a “one size fits all” answer to this question. Interfaith engagement can take on different forms depending on the person’s interest, knowledge, and background. Some may simply be happy learning about different faiths as a way to be informed in today’s world. Others might want to participate in shared activities, such as interfaith service projects (like building a Habitat for Humanity house together); still others might want to get involved in the academic study of comparative theology or religious diversity. The question is, finding a way of interacting with people from faiths other than your own in a way that works for you.

How do you handle situations where there is strong disagreement without damaging the relationship?

This question is bigger than just interfaith dialogue. How do we handle political disagreement, or conflict in marriage, or any other situation where people in some sort of relationship have to navigate significant differences? The short answer seems to me to be, “don’t be a jerk.” But of course that also means: be kind, be respectful, listen to one another, use “I” statements, refrain from the temptation to judge the other person or explain to them why you think they’re wrong, and so forth. Fortunately, there are resources available to help people navigate having conversations on difficult topics, and perhaps anyone who is serious about interfaith dialogue needs to become familiar with best practices for constructive dialogue. It is possible to talk about significant differences without destroying the relationship, it just takes a commitment to the relationship and a willingness to learn the necessary skills.

Within interfaith dialogue, where do you draw the line? Where do you draw the line between courageous conversation and offense?

I rather think this is a false dichotomy. One can be offensive without being particularly courageous — and vice versa. There’s nothing wrong, even in polite society, with disagreeing with one another or acknowledging that we have different values and see the world in different ways. The question is, can we share such convictions without attacking or denigrating those with whom we disagree? Are we willing to express what we hold to be true, and offer an equal willingness to listen to those who hold contrary views? That’s a problem I’ve seen among too many Christians: an insistence on dominating the conversation and refusing to offer any kind of respect toward those who disagree. Respect must be earned, and if we want others to respect us, we earn that respect by showing a similar courtesy toward them. So to me, the question is not “what’s the line separating courage and offense,” but rather “what’s the line separating kindness, respect and civility from the lack thereof?” If Christians don’t want to be offensive when sharing what we believe, we need to practice empathy, respect, goodwill, civility, and a genuine willingness to dialogue, which means, among other things, a commitment to listening as eagerly as we speak.

How has interfaith dialogue shaped your understanding of God and what is one way that interfaith engagement shaped your faith?

Interfaith dialogue has certainly deepened my faith, even though in ways that theological exclusivists would probably find alarming. I was raised a conservative Lutheran and then spent some time immersed in a non-denominational charismatic community, so in those contexts I was taught that God is resolutely opposed to any type of non-Christian religion or spirituality, and that as Christians it was our responsibility to bring others to Christ… or else. Even before I became engaged in interfaith work, I struggled with this image of God—it seemed inherently contradictory that a God of love and mercy would be so wasteful as to throw away most of his creation simply because they failed to conform to a particular cultural religious tradition.

I would say that interfaith work, and encountering sincere and ethically mature adherents of other faiths, helped me to more quickly abandon what I now believe to be a very toxic image of God. Over time, I came to understand that many Christians use Christian thinking to deconstruct the dominating/punishing God, but for me, interfaith work helped me on that journey. So I still believe that God wants to heal us of our sin and injustice, but I no longer equate holiness and sin with adherence to Christianity versus adherence to other faiths. I see sin not in terms of cultural purity but in terms of healthy or toxic human relationships. To hate another person is a sin, and to fear another person is, at least, a fault that needs to be healed. Ironically, many Christians seem to react to non-Christians (especially Muslims, but really all non-Christians) with either hatred or fear. This is what needs to be healed — not the fact that religious diversity exists.

What challenges do you consistently run into when it comes to interfaith dialogue? What are some ways that we can avoid those challenges? What are some ways that one can start interfaith dialogue if they have never done it before?

Alan Race’s taxonomy of religious exclusivism, inclusivism, and pluralism (which I discovered through the amazing work of Perry Schmidt-Leukel) has been very helpful for me to understand both the promise and the challenge of interreligious dialogue, interfaith encounters, and inter-spirituality. To answer your question, I’d say the most common challenge I run into is the hostility or opposition to interfaith dialogue that comes from the exclusivists and even the inclusivists. That is what tends to undermine this kind of work. As for what can we do to avoid this challenge: my thought would be for churches and other faith communities to work harder to promote a truly pluralist theology. But we all know that ideological purity does not exist, and trying to enforce a kind of theological conformity would just create as many problems as it solved. So I don’t know that I have a very promising answer to your question. I think those who feel called to interfaith dialogue need to keep doing it, and hopefully the culture of Christianity and the other faiths will move toward mutual respect over time.

As for how a beginner can get started in interfaith dialogue, I would recommend getting involved with interfaith initiatives at the community level. For example, here in Atlanta we have a number of organizations dedicated to promoting interfaith dialogue and understanding, including Interfaith Atlanta (formerly Faith Alliance of Metro Atlanta / FAMA), Interfaith Community Initiatives (ICI), Georgia Interfaith Power & Light (GIPL), the Interfaith Children’s Movement of Georgia (ICM), and the Georgia Interfaith Public Policy Center (GIPPC). And those are just the ones I’m aware of! Frankly, most churches simply don’t teach us how to do interfaith dialogue well, so the best bet for those interested in this work is to get involved with nonsectarian organizations where we can learn best practices. There’s also national or international organizations like the Parliament of World Religions or Spiritual Directors International; they may or may not have a local presence that you could plug into.

You’ve written several books on Celtic spirituality. Can you share a little more about the Celtic tradition and how this might be a form of Christianity that leans into the “pre-Christian spiritualities of Europe,” and comment on how we can learn from this tradition as Jesus followers?

What’s interesting about Christianity in the Celtic lands (Ireland, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall, etc.) is that it marked the first time that Christianity traveled beyond the boundaries of the Roman Empire, at least in the west. So it marked an opportunity for the teachings of Jesus to be received by people who were not under the thrall of an imperial government. And while the literature of early Celtic Christianity can still feel very dualistic to us today, and still seems to be geared toward a very patriarchal and authoritarian understanding of God, what emerges over time is a beautiful expression of spirituality that is deeply mystical, celebratory of nature, communitarian, and anchored in story more so than in doctrine or theology. I don’t want to overstate it, and some scholars question the whole idea of “Celtic Christianity” as distinct from Christianity in general, but in our time it has come to represent a way of following Jesus that is more holistic, balanced, optimistic, and ecological. If nothing else, it is a reminder that it is impossible to separate our spiritual lives from our cultural context, but we need to remember that culture is not the same thing as spirit, and sometimes what we may chafe against in religion or spirituality might simply reflect the limitations of our culture. We can work to make culture better without having to throw spirituality under the bus.

Regarding your book Read the Bible like a Mystic. I am curious to understand more about how to read the Bible like a mystic and then how does one know when you’re truly encountering God in Scripture versus just your own thoughts or interpretations?

Well, to understand more about how to read the Bible like a mystic, please read my book! 😇 But to summarize, I’d say we need to learn how to read the Bible less like a legal document (or a policy manual) and more like a love letter, designed to foster intimacy and build a meaningful and lasting relationship. And the mystics can be trusted guides in this particular process.

Regarding how to know when we are truly encountering God in scripture (or in any aspect of our lives) versus merely having a subjective, imaginative experience, this of course is a question for discernment, and the mystics have long been concerned about bringing a wise, discerning heart to the question of how to evaluate and understand our experience of God. I think when it comes to discernment, it’s best not to go it alone: work with a trusted spiritual director or soul friend, and/or a peer group, prayer circle, or some other intimate setting with people we trust, to whom we can be accountable about both our sense of encounter with God, and also our spiritual blind spots. I do believe that the Spirit of Love wants to be felt and known in our lives; we just need some due diligence in sorting out what is an authentic sense of the loving presence, versus what can be just the dance of our ego. It’s a question of “trust and verify” — and it is in relationship with co-discerners that we can best do this work.

In the article we read (a chapter from Unteachable Lessons), you mentioned that if Christians were willing to look towards the riches of our own contemplative tradition, we might not need to look to other faiths for insights about how to connect with God in grounded, contemplative ways. Does this mean to you that the Christian who is well-versed and satisfied in Christian contemplative practices would not have as much to gain from interfaith dialogue?

Not at all. But I do think many people have abandoned Christianity out of a mistaken idea that other faiths will give them something that Christianity can’t. And in the years since I wrote that article, I’ll confess I’ve become more pessimistic about Christianity, as a culture, being biased against contemplative spirituality, which I think is not only the church’s fault but also very much the fault of Western culture, from Roman imperialism to modern capitalism. So, while I would still hold that Christian contemplative practice is just as full and rich as any practice found in other faith traditions, I have become less judgmental of Christians who learn from other traditions; indeed, I do that very much myself now. And I think there’s a place and a benefit for interfaith dialogue even for those who feel completely grounded and happy in the practice of Christian spirituality and have no desire to practice any other tradition. There’s still the benefit of being good neighbors and discovering ways we can work together for the benefit of all.

What factors do you think lead to the most fruitful interfaith conversations?

Curiosity is important. Trust — in God, and in the beauty of diverse cultures. No matter how high our theology of sin, it should remain subordinate to an even higher view of human beings created in God’s image.

But most important of all is a genuine desire to be in relationship: to “love our neighbors as ourselves.” We have to have enough confidence that we can meet them authentically and honestly, that they will accept us for who we are, but that means we also have to make a best-faith effort to accept them for who they are, and not for whom we think they should be. Like any other relationship, approaching the other person with an appreciative curiosity rather than a tendency to criticize or judge will go a long way toward fostering a fruitful conversation.

From the course instructor: What is your position when entering interfaith dialogue in regards to people from other faiths believing in Jesus Christ as Lord and God and becoming Christians as a result of the dialogue?

Do you take the “fulfillment” position (for example, no need to change, just become the best Buddhist (or whatever you are now) that you can be)? Or do you take the opportunity during the dialogue to explain to someone who is interested how to pursue faith in Christ even further (i.e. introduce them into that relationship)? Or do you completely divorce the concept of conversion from your thinking when engaged in interfaith dialogue?

If it is the latter, how do you reconcile that with the instruction to “always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that is in you?”

I spent years working in a neighborhood church supporting adults who were preparing to be baptized or confirmed, so I am not at all averse to sharing my faith or inviting others to become followers of Jesus. But especially when it comes to interfaith dialogue, I believe there is a danger: when our prime reason for interacting with others is to challenge or convert them, that undermines the clear teaching of Jesus that we are commanded to love them. How can we express a truly supportive and compassionate love, if we are bringing a hidden agenda to the relationship? And if we don’t have an agenda — in other words, we trust the person to respond to the Spirit in their hearts on their terms, without any influence on our part — then why bring up the question of conversion at all? In other words, if someone wants to follow Jesus, they can ask for help from us; and until then, we “share the gospel” through our love, not our words.

Relating to someone only for the purpose of wanting to share the gospel with them is a type of spiritual narcissism, is it not? And we have to ask, what does this say about our belief in God, and our understanding of how God deals with God’s own creation — that we truly believe someone is “not okay” unless they conform to our religion? Yuck. So, we need to do a lot of careful introspection here, so that we are clear that our engagement with others is truly anchored in love, and not some sneaky attempt to control. Let the Spirit be not only our guide but their guide. And if you want to share your faith with someone for the purpose of them joining your faith community, trust that if God really wants us to help people change their religion, God will send such people our way: we don’t have to drum up business!

And in summary, are you inclusivist, exclusivist, or pluralist? And if so or if not, how would you define and explain your position?

Definitely a pluralist. Which for me is an outgrowth both of my own sense of God as well as my experience of other people. “God is love,” as the first letter of John bluntly states. So I try to be loving as best I can in all my relationships. When it comes to interfaith dialogue and inter-spirituality, I believe the pluralist position is the most loving. So that’s what I go with.

A deep bow of gratitude to Dr. de Neui and the students in this “Religion and Cultures” course for reading my writing, inviting me to be in dialogue, and engaging with my ideas. I certainly enjoyed thinking about and answering these thoughtful questions.

I will not judge you if you don’t believe in God.
Please tell me the ways you express love in your life.

~

I will not reject you if you don’t believe in Jesus Christ.
Please tell me how you show compassion for others.

~

I will not condemn you if you don’t believe in the indwelling Spirit.
Please tell me how you manifest resilience and perseverance.

~

I will not scorn you if you don’t believe in the Bible.
Please tell me how you appreciate the wisdom of the past.

~

I will not shame you if you don’t believe in the Fall of Humankind.
Please tell me how you cope with our imperfect world.

~

I will not shun you if you don’t believe in the Cross.
Please tell me how you foster courage and humility.

~

I will not disdain you if you don’t believe in Salvation.
Please tell me the ways in which you express deep gratitude.

~

I will not ostracize you if you don’t believe in the Church.
Please tell me how you participate in community.

~

I will not disapprove of you if you don’t believe in the Sacraments.
Please tell me all the ways you nurture yourself and others.

~

I will not criticize you if you don’t believe in Holiness.
Please tell me how you safeguard your honor and integrity.

~

I will not reproach you if you don’t believe in the Last Judgment.
Please tell me how you work for justice, fairness, and equality.

~

I will not pity you if you don’t believe in Heaven.
Please join me in cultivating a life filled with wonder and awe.

This poem was inspired by a talk I gave at a retreat recently, where I told the retreatants I didn’t really care if people believed in God, so much as I hoped they believed in love. After giving it some thought, I realized that the older I get, and more I embrace and appreciate the wisdom of mystical traditions from around the world, the less I am worried about such things as orthodoxy, sound doctrine, or “believing the right things.” Jesus instructed his followers not to judge others — and yet Christians often are quite the judgmental bunch, especially toward those who don’t believe as we do. So at the risk of scandalizing those who have strict boundaries around their faith, I hope this poem makes it clear how I want to relate to society at large. Just because I refuse to judge others on their beliefs, don’t assume that means I don’t have convictions of my own. I hope these are beliefs that all people of good will can share.

Hi everyone. Here’s the link, dates, and topics for our upcoming “Let’s Talk About Mysticism” Zoom calls!

First, the dates:

• Saturday, May 2, at noon Eastern USA time (EDT); Theme: Making Sense of Mysticism

• Wednesday, May 6, at 7 PM EDT. Theme: The Preparation of the Mystic

The link is below (same link for both calls).

Optional reading material (you do not ha…

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My father lived from 1923 to 2013, dying just a few months before his 90th birthday. A child of the Great Depression, a veteran of World War II who also saw active duty in Vietnam, he was very much a man of his times: of the twentieth century. Although born into a family that was nominally Methodist (that came from my grandmother; the McColmans were Scottish and therefore Presbyterian), religion wasn’t much a part of the first half of his life; as a boy I remember him talking about attending a Protestant service at the military chapel before I was born, so that would have been sometime in the 1950s; dad wasn’t a regular churchgoer by any stretch, but this was either Christmas or Easter and I think mom wanted to observe the holiday. So the family gathered together, went off to church — which, of course, was packed — and sat through a sermon where the Air Force chaplain shamed all the visitors for just being “Christmas and Easter” Christians. Furious, Dad refused to darken the door of a church again except for weddings and funerals, and kept that promise for about twenty years.

When I was in sixth grade, I participated in my school’s Ecology Club, which had been formed in the wake of the first Earth Day celebration in 1970. One of the teachers who sponsored the club turned out to be a pastor’s wife; her husband was the minister at a small Lutheran Church in our neighborhood. My mom was raised Lutheran, and when I asked if we could go to church she managed to talk dad into getting over his decades-old anger and give religion another try. Time must have healed him, for soon we joined the church — and he, at the age of 49, was baptized (although to be fair, to the end of his life he found it profoundly annoying when a minister at Christmas or Easter was anything but kind and welcoming to the visitors, which of course I think was splendidly good theology on his part).

Dad became a pillar of the church, eventually serving on the church council and teaching Sunday School to both youth and adults. Mom’s and his ashes are interred at the columbarium at that church. He is a wonderful example of someone with almost no religious upbringing who had a decided bias against institutional religion, but went on to accept the teachings of mainline Protestant Christianity and even organized the second half of his life around his newfound faith.

But my dad was still a product of his times. And one quality that he carried with him steadily over all the years I knew him: he respected science, and insisted that his faith be reasonable and consistent with a scientific worldview.

And remember his times encompassed the 20th century. No quantum physics weirdness for him. Dad’s way of seeing the world was much more shaped by Isaac Newton than Albert Einstein; he loved the space program and the miracles of modern medicine and appreciated how science and math made the technology of flight possible; but I never saw that he was much interested in questions like how human consciousness shapes reality, or why writers like Fritjof Capra or Gary Zukav or Michael Talbot built their reputation on exploring the interface between Western science and Eastern mysticism.

In other words, my dad was a no-nonsense kind of guy, and this attitude extended not only to how he understood science, but also how he understood religion and spirituality.

By the time the first edition of my Big Book of Christian Mysticism was published (2010), dad was already a martyr to the dementia that would ultimately take his life. So we never had an opportunity to talk about my book, or for me to learn what he liked (and didn’t like) about it. But I can guess. He was an introvert, and a very caring and compassionate man, so I doubt if he would have readily criticized it to my face. But if I were able to get him to lower his guard, I can imagine he would ultimately confess that it just didn’t make much sense to him. If I tried to explain it to him, I imagine he would have listened to me with the kindness of a dad, but ultimately he would stick to his more practical, logical approach to life.

I may be projecting here (and he’s not around to defend himself), but I have a pretty strong hunch that, as deep as my dad’s faith ultimately was, nevertheless he would have thought mysticism ultimately just didn’t make much sense.

What is mysticism, and why is it controversial?

Is mysticism nonsense? Before we take this on, let me explain what I mean by mysticism. Although I appreciate all forms of mystical spirituality from around the world, my approach is informed primarily by western Christian spirituality. In this context, I define mysticism (which on one level can never be “defined”) as the spiritual experience of living in the mystery of the love of God.1

So mysticism is many things, but for the purpose of this essay, one way to understand it is an experiential spirituality that can involve a sense of encountering a loving presence that people of faith call “God.”2

Back to my question. Is this nonsense? One does not have to look hard to find philosophers or psychologists or even religious figures themselves who dismiss the mystical as incoherent,

Take, for example, British philosopher A.J. Ayer (1910–1989), who offers this nugget in his book Language, Truth and Logic:

If a mystic admits that the object of his vision is something which cannot be described, then he must also admit that he is bound to talk nonsense when he describes it.3

So much for the mystery of ineffability! Meanwhile, Albert Ellis (1913–2007), the psychotherapist who founded cognitive behavioral therapy, was not only a noted atheist but also a firm critic of mysticism. He was the author of a scholarly article published in 1977 titled, “Why ‘Scientific’ Professionals Believe Mystical Nonsense,”4 in which he argued that psychologists and other scientists who accept the language and worldview of mysticism were therefore deficient in their ability to think logically.

Even religious professionals joined in on the fun, as evidenced by Saul Lieberman (1898–1983), a respected Jewish scholar and seminary professor; as a scholar, Lieberman adhered to historical criticism and therefore had little patience for metaphysical language or magical thinking. He is famous for introductory remarks he supposedly made when presenting the Kabbalistic scholar Gershom Scholem at a lecture at the Jewish Theological Seminary: “Nonsense is nonsense, but the history of nonsense is science.” One might think that a Bible scholar would be a friend of mysticism: but with friends like these, who needs enemies?

Notice that all three of these quotations come from men who lived roughly the same time as my dad. And while dad was not a distinguished academic (he graduated from flight school, not college), he nevertheless, as best I could tell, shared their opinion that if you can’t prove it, then the likelihood that it is simply nonsense is pretty great.

Making sense of mysticism

The reason I am exploring this topic is not so much because I want to make sense of why my dad and I saw the world in such different ways (although that is certainly a fascinating question); rather, I got to thinking about this question recently when I was looking at chapter 2 of The New Big Book of Christian Mysticism which is called “The Mute Mystery: Making Sense of Mysticism.” The title alone of that chapter left me with this obvious question: can we make sense out of something that is often derided as nonsense (whether fairly or unfairly)?

It seems to me that there are (at least) two ways to approach this question. The first way might be the more pointless: can we make the case that mysticism is actually reasonable and logical, so much so that even the skeptics like Ellis and Ayer and Lieberman would have to admit that they were wrong?

I am not interested in debating those whose minds are made up (that mysticism, or any kind of subjective spiritual experience, is nonsense). To accept that mysticism (or really, any type of spirituality) is reasonable or logical requires accepting a way of seeing the world that many scientifically-minded people simply will not consider. It requires not only accepting, but trusting, that intuition, mythology, subjective experience, and ways of thinking or seeing that pre-date the rise of modern science have at least some value in terms of giving life meaning, purpose, and beauty. Thankfully, many scientifically-minded people do keep an open mind about such things, even if they believe that science is better than religion at explaining many things (and frankly, I would agree; if I am going to have surgery, I want my physician to be a scientist, not just a daydreamer). In his book The Marriage of Sense and Spirit, Ken Wilber offers an eloquent defense of this way of understanding science and spirituality as complementary ways of knowing and understanding life and our place in the cosmos. It’s important for both science and spirituality to stay in their lanes: but it’s possible to have a scientific appreciation of the natural world paired with a deeply mystical approach to the meaning of life as found within. And I’ll admit, those who advocate for spirituality don’t always stay in our lane — but to the extent that we keep mysticism as a contemplative practice rather than a pseudo-science, I believe we are acting with integrity.

This is where I think my dad landed in the second half of his life, and also how I try to approach the encounter between science and spirituality. But, to a convinced “hard atheist” such arguments make little sense, simply because their overall worldview seems to be strictly empirical and materialistic. I can respect that, but again, my purpose in writing this article is not to get into a philosophical debate. So from here on out, I’m speaking not to those who scoff at mysticism for being irrational, but rather to those who, like me, find meaning in the mystical life even though we don’t expect it to be a “scientific” spirituality.

Which leads me to the second way of approaching my question. Can we make sense out of mysticism, as something that is often derided as nonsense (whether fairly or unfairly)? If this question is being asked of those of us who already are disposed to accept and appreciate the worldview of mysticism, then the question takes on a different sensibility (pardon the pun). In other words, it’s no longer about defending mysticism, and has now become about the best way for us to understand mysticism. That’s the spirit in which I wrote my chapter on “making sense of mysticism,” and the point I am hoping to make now.

For me, making sense of mysticism is not about making mysticism logically defensible — I don’t think that’s possible. By its very nature, mysticism invites us into a place beyond the power and limitation of human logic. You either accept it on faith, or you reject it. It’s your choice, and I respect you for being true to your own convictions. No harm, no foul.

To make sense of mysticism, make mysticism sensible

But for those of us who do accept mysticism on faith — who see it as a kind of poetics of the soul that offers us a pathway of meaning, a sense of spiritual purpose, and a tradition that can help us make sense of our inner experience — then this question “Can mysticism make sense” is less about eliminating nonsense and more about affirming mysticism as an embodied (i.e., sensory) experience.

In other words, to make sense of mysticism, we need to find a way to “locate” mysticism in our sensory experience. It’s not just an idea in our minds, but rather it becomes a way of seeing, hearing, touching, smelling, even tasting. Mysticism becomes an “interpretive filter” that we use to discern the spiritual value of the things we see, hear, touch, etc. It is tied in with Julian of Norwich’s principle: “The fullness of joy is to behold God in all,” or Ignatius of Loyola’s instruction for us to “find God in all things” or even St. Benedict, who said “we believe the divine presence is everywhere” — compare that to Thomas Merton, who almost 1,500 years later proclaimed “the gate of heaven is everywhere.”5

To make sense of mysticism means to accept the idea that nature, and the human body, and our most down-to-earth experiences, are not separate from God, or heaven, or angelic presence. This is not about abandoning logic or reason, but it is about daring to believe that we can see (hear, touch, etc.) the ordinary material world through a lens of wonder and ecstasy and deeply embedded joy. A sensible mysticism lets science be science, and lets reason and logic preside over the empirical world. But without refuting or rejecting the wisdom of science, a sensible mysticism always says “and there’s more.” There’s more hope. There’s more meaning. There’s more purpose. There’s more beauty. There’s more justice. There’s more ecstasy. There’s more peace. There’s more joy.

There’s more God. There’s more life. There’s more love. And there’s more even beyond the boundaries of life and death.

Sensible mysticism does not compete with reason. But it does invite us to consider that even the most advanced articulation of human logic cannot exhaust the splendor of divine presence. God always means there’s more than meets the eye.

It’s interesting to write this essay in 2026, at a time when many young people — even those who reject institutional religion — want spiritual meaning in their lives, and living mystics like the Dalai Lama or Richard Rohr are more popular than ever. My dad’s generation was uncomfortable with mysticism, but the generations that have come after mine seem to be increasingly open to mysticism having a place in life — even a life that respects science. I hope we can, as a society, continue to explore how to marry empirical logic with contemplative wonder. It seems to me this would make for a powerful approach to life indeed.

Note: Today’s Substack post is the transcript of a sermon I preached at Unity Atlanta Church on Sunday, April 19, 2026.

Hi friends. It’s so good to be here today. I believe the last time I visited Unity Atlanta was in the summer of 2019 — almost seven years ago now! Boy, hasn’t the world gone through some pretty radical transformations since then? COVID, Ukraine, Gaza, Iran… the rise of Artificial Intelligence, the first humans to travel to the moon in fifty years, it’s fascinating how different the world feels.

But I want to comment on something challenging about these times we find ourselves in. What I find particularly thought-provoking — and what inspired today’s message — is something I’ve learned from following research polls like the Gallup Poll and the Pew Research Center. The polls pretty consistently show that Americans are less hopeful today than we were seven to ten years ago—significantly less hopeful. Fewer people believe that their lives will get better in the next few years. More people have lost faith in our institutions like government, religion, or big business. I know there’s always going to be fluctuations in the mood of the general public, but it seems that we are in the midst of a heartbreaking trend here, and one that I think people of faith ought to be paying attention to.

Now, it would be very easy for me to wade into political waters here, but I want to remain mindful that we are gathered here as a spiritual, not a political, community. So I don’t want to spend a lot of time debating about why people seem to be losing hope. Based on the polls, it appears that the turn toward cynicism and even despair that many of our fellow Americans are experiencing is happening across the political spectrum. This is something far deeper than a political issue, it is a spiritual issue. And it requires a spiritual response.

But first, a message from our Buddhist friends.

Did you know that Buddhists — well, not all Buddhists I suppose, but at least some Buddhists — are suspicious of hope? Yes, it’s true. I remember the first time I stumbled across this, in an interview with the wonderful Tibetan Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön. She has written a number of amazing books, but here she was saying that she wasn’t very big on hope. I kind of wrinkled my nose like I had just smelled something unpleasant, but thankfully I did go ahead and read the interview, and I’m glad I did. Her gripe was not really with hope in itself, but rather with how people use hope — or should I say, misuse hope. You see, hope is always oriented toward the future. It makes sense, after all: we hope that tomorrow will be better than today. But this means that hope can actually distract us from the present, beguiling us into placing faith into something that does not yet exist, which can result in us ignoring what the present is asking of us, right here and right now.

It’s like the story of the very pious Christian whose house was caught in a flood. He climbed to the roof barely escaping the rushing waters. As he stood on the top of his house, he began to pray. “Lord, save me!” He pleaded. Just then, a canoe floated by with his next door neighbors in it. “Hey, jump into our canoe!” They shouted out to him, but he thought the canoe looked a little wobbly. So he shouted back, “That’s okay, I have faith in the Lord that he will deliver me!” The canoe soon was carried away downstream. Then along came a motorboat, put-putting along, and again the person in the boat shouted out, “I have a rope, you can get in my boat!” But our faithful believer waved him off, shouting that his faith was in the Lord. The water kept rising, and soon it was lapping at the very edge of the roof. Just then a helicopter flew by, and hovered over the house, and using a bullhorn the pilot shouted over the noise of the rotor, “We can drop you a ladder!” But the man shook his head, still confident that God would deliver him. Wouldn’t you know—the water continued to rise, and the man was swept away, and drowned. The next thing he knew, he was standing in front of the pearly gates, and there with him stood Saint Peter and Jesus himself. Our hero looked at Jesus and whined, “I had all my faith in you, why didn’t you save me?” Jesus rolled his eyes and said, “I sent you two boats and a helicopter, what more did you want?”

This, my friends, is an example of the kind of hope that a Buddhist like Pema Chödrön rejects. And she’s right! If we use hope as a kind of spiritual bypass to be so future focused that we stop doing the good work we need to do, right here, right now, in the present moment, then we have engaged in what I believe has been called “metaphysical malpractice.”

Creative, spiritual hope does not deny or avoid the present moment, but rather serves as a creative bridge that integrates the possibilities of the present with the promise of the future. Life-giving hope never avoids the present, for it is in the present that the seeds of the future are planted. But hope is a beacon of light, a clarion call that reminds us no matter how bleak or seemingly negative current circumstances might be, we carry within us everything we need to jump-start the miraculous transformation from apparent despair to manifest joy.

One thing I love about Unity is how this community uses affirmations to manifest a more healthy and abundant life. Those of you who work with affirmations know that they are always written in the present tense. Imagine a beautiful affirmation like “The Peace of God dwells within me.” But change that to “The Peace of God is going to dwell in me someday,” and it’s obvious that it is no longer an affirmation: it’s merely a wish. Now, I’m not here to fuss at anyone who’s been saying their affirmations all wrong! But we can all hear this invitation: the blessings that we hope for, we are invited to affirm—right here, and right now.

But perhaps the most important question about hope, is a world where too many people have lost hope, is simply this: what happens when we find it hard, or difficult or even impossible to hope?

Before I try to answer that, I’d like to talk about… guacamole.

Now, that may seem to be pretty much a random non sequitur, and I’ll admit, it is pretty random. But I love guacamole, and this is my message, after all, so humor me while I talk about guacamole just for a minute or so.

Here’s how much I love guacamole: many years ago, when Fran’s and my beautiful daughter Rhiannon was dying from kidney disease, I promised her that we would see each other again in heaven. When she asked me how we would find each other, I told her it would be very simple. All she had to do was go to the heavenly banquet, and look for me: she would find me between the chocolate fountain and the vats of guacamole.

Now everyone knows that guacamole is a lot more than just a mashed up avocado, even though that is its main ingredient. But to have really good guac, you need to blend that mashed up avocado with lime juice and salt, plus other ingredients like diced onions, peppers, salt, tomatoes, cilantro and just a hint of garlic. Mmmm! My mouth is watering just thinking about it.

Don’t get me wrong: I’ll gladly enjoy plain avocado on toast, or in a salad, or even floating in gazpacho. There’s lots of great ways to eat an avocado! But by itself, it’s not guacamole. You need those extra ingredients to truly work the magic.

Now, when I think about guacamole, it automatically makes me more hopeful. But you’ve humored me long enough, so let’s get back to the central point of this message. So back to my question: what can we do when hope seems difficult or even impossible to find?

It seems to me that when it’s hard to manifest hope, we need to take a step back and work on manifesting what I like to call “the ingredients of hope.” Just like you can’t have guacamole without the lime juice and tomato and onions, et cetera, there are certain ingredients that are necessary for us to mix up a delicious batch of hope. And just like there are lots of different, delicious recipes, all slightly different, for guacamole, I’m sure we could come up with plenty of different recipes for hope. But this morning let’s concentrate on three main ingredients, plus a few other elements that I believe are really important for nurturing lasting hope.

The main ingredients are trust and courage and joy — sort of the avocado, lime juice and salt of hope. For the more optional ingredients, like garlic, onion, tomatoes and peppers, I would suggest that hope is also made up of patience, perseverance, gratitude and connection.

Let’s take a moment and reflect on each of these, one at a time.

Trust

When I was a high school senior, ready to graduate and move off to college, my dad gave me a magazine article that was a compendium of advice that someone wrote for his kids. My dad thought it was pretty good, and it did have some good pointers in it, like “Make friends with someone who has a swimming pool.” Although actually, my wife and I have learned that it’s even better to make friends with someone who has a vacation home on the Gulf Coast. Just saying!

But there was one terrible piece of advice in that article; it said, “Do not trust anyone. If your mother says she loves you, check it out.” Now, maybe the author of the article was just trying to be funny, but if so, I think that particular attempt at humor really fell flat. Now, I understand that often trust needs to be earned, and not everyone deserves to be trusted. But when we’re talking about God, or even our own heart, then trust is really an important quality to cultivate. To trust in someone means to place our faith in them, and it orients us toward acknowledging that this person is a source of goodness and care. Yes, every human being makes mistakes, but God, who is love, is supremely trustworthy. But God’s trust-worthiness means nothing if we are not ready to trust God. Someone somewhere once said that the most fundamental question in life is simply this: is the universe safe, or not? Even with all the suffering, even with death and loss. God, who is Love, promises us that the universe IS safe, even when it doesn’t appear to be. Trust is an expression not just of emotion, but of the will. Trust is saying, I choose to believe, I choose to believe that LOVE ultimately wins.

Courage

I remember as a young child, watching The Wizard of Oz and feeling very curious about the cowardly lion’s quest for courage. I understood the Scarecrow needing a brain and the Tin Woodman wanting a heart. But courage was a bit too abstract for my young mind. I might have been surprised to learn that the Lion had more in common with the Tin Man than he realized. Courage, you see, literally means “to have a heart” — not just a physical heart that pumps blood, but a spiritual heart, filled with strength and fortitude, valor and bravery, a heart that is willing to meet whatever challenge comes its way.

If trust is a disposition, then courage is a call to action. You don’t manifest courage sitting on the sidelines, except to the extent that you are willing to get into the fray. Courage means standing up to be counted, volunteering for the difficult but necessary task, and standing up to the person who is frightening or intimidating. Now, as much as I believe that courage is an ingredient of hope, you could just as easily say that hope is an ingredient of courage. After all, in the realm of spirituality, anything is possible.

Rather than get lost in a “chicken or the egg” debate, I think we just need to accept that hope requires courage, and courage requires hope. The beautiful thing about courage is you don’t have to be perfect at it. The Grey Panthers activist Maggie Kuhn famously said, “Stand before the people you fear and speak your mind – even if your voice shakes.” Courage sometimes comes with a shaky voice or shaky hands. That’s okay: when you are faithful to your heart, sooner or later faith triumphs over fear.

Joy

Joy is the third major ingredient in the recipe for hope. And I want to be gentle here, because I recognize that many people have trauma or wounds that can make it difficult to access joy. But I think sometimes we lose sight of joy for no other reason than our lives are busy and stressful. Friends, I invite every one of us to consider what steps we can take to cultivate more joy in our lives. Joseph Campbell famously said that we need to follow our bliss: and Howard Thurman reminded us that the world needs people who have come alive. “Don’t ask what the world needs,” he said; “Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and go do that, because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” And if you want to know what makes you come alive, then follow your bliss. Make joy a priority. It has been said that joy is an infallible sign of the presence of God. Friends, the fact that you are here at Unity tells me that you either know God is in your hearts, or you are actively seeking that Divine presence within. Either way, joy is the key to that sacred presence in your heart — and it is also a key to genuine, life-transforming hope.

Now, what are some of the extra ingredients we need for our recipe for hope?

Patience

There’s an old joke about the person who prayed, “God, I want patience, and I want it right now.” Watch a small child in December who is struggling with how slowly the days go by as they wait for Santa Claus, and it’s obvious that we human beings are just not naturally very patient. But just like we can learn to be kind, and compassionate, and forgiving, so we can also learn to practice the spiritual gift of patience. Interestingly, psychologists recommend something as simple as the practice of a pause to recalibrate our hearts and minds toward deep, confident patience. Impatience, you see, is rather like the opposite of hope: whereas hope trusts in the future, impatience is unhappy with the present. To be impatient is to reject what is here and now, anxiously wanting to manifest something different and better, but to do it immediately.

To break the grip of impatience and to relax into the precious present moment of infinite patience, it might only require that we remember simply to breathe: here, and now. When we breathe, we are present. Thich Nhat Hanh says when we are mindful of our breathing, we are mindful we are alive. In that mindful place, we do not have to manage the future — or the present. We simply are alive, and we recognize that the future we desire will come in perfect divine timing.

Perseverance

When I was working my first professional job, my boss used to talk to me about “follow through.” I’m the type of person who’s better at starting things than finishing them, so obviously he wanted me to up my game a little. But as I learned the professional value of seeing things through, I began to recognize how meaningful this quality was for me spiritually as well. Perseverance is the active side of patience. If you or someone you love is in recovery you know the classic serenity prayer: “Grant me the serenity to accept that I cannot change, the courage to change what I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” This prayer is so popular — and powerful — because it is positively brimming with hope. Serenity helps us to be patient when things are out of our control; courage helps us to act when matters are within our control, and perseverance is the rocket fuel that keeps us going once we’ve activated the courage to act. Perseverance reminds us that life is a dance, not a pose: we are always in movement, always dynamic, always stepping in to new possibilities. Perseverance is that energy within that helps us to keep going.

Gratitude

The great metaphysical poet George Herbert offered this beautiful prayer:

I had a mentor many years ago who used to say that when we are living in gratitude, we don’t have the inner bandwidth to get caught up in the drama of playing the victim or being a martyr. Gratitude is the antidote to bitterness and envy and other corrosive energies that can leach the joy out of our lives. It’s a Biblical principle: in all things, give thanks — because the Biblical writers understood the power of gratitude to foster faith, joy, and all the other qualities we are celebrating today. I know it’s not always easy to live in gratitude, and that the same forces that make it difficult to hope can equally make it difficult to simply be grateful. But when hope seems elusive, let’s stay grounded in the present, and look for something, no matter how small, for which we may express a word of gratitude. The more gratitude we express, the more it flows. It’s the metaphysical principle of abundance in action. And like George Herbert, if you can’t access it on your own, ask Spirit for a helping hand. Grace is always available, and when it flows, it’s easy for gratitude to flow in its wake.

Connection

The last ingredient in my recipe for hope is connection. We need each other. We don’t always honor this truth, and all sorts of things can get in the way of it. I, for one, am an introvert, and I love to be alone. But even so, I know my life’s abundance and happiness depends on the presence of people whom I love, and who love me as well. When we are connected with each other, all the ingredients of hope can flow just a bit more easily into our lives.

I understand that so many of us are isolated, or we’re slowly healing after a difficult or traumatic relationship, or for any number of reasons we may feel lonely and disconnected. Unfortunately, this too is an epidemic in our society. While there’s no one-size-fits-all solution to this problem, I do believe that there is always ways to make connections — new connections if not old ones. We can volunteer, we can reach out to people online, we can choose to be more active in a loving community like Unity Atlanta. There are lots of good reasons to make connecting with others a priority — and one of those good reasons is that this makes hope more possible.

So that is my recipe for hope, my ingredient list for cultivating a more hopeful heart and hopeful life. Mix all these ingredients together and let them rise slowly in our hearts, until we can bake them into the nourishing bread of our dreams for a brighter tomorrow. You may have a different recipe. And that’s fine. Let’s support each other to continue to bake the bread of hope in the kitchen of our hearts. May these ingredients of hope activate our hearts so that under the loving guidance of the Spirit we may co-create a truly delicious and blessed life.

Join Carl McColman May 14-20 for a special online retreat experience: Meditating with the Mystics. For more information, click here.

Hi everyone. Here’s the link, dates, and topics for our upcoming “Let’s Talk About Mysticism” Zoom calls!

First, the dates:

• Saturday, April 18, at noon Eastern USA time (EDT);

• Wednesday, April 22, at 7 PM EDT.

The link is below (same link for both calls).

Optional reading material (you do not have to read the “homework” to participate in the call, but the re…

Read more

If you enjoy this and would like to participate in Zoom calls like this in the future, please join Patreon today: membership starts at just $11/month. Here’s the link: www.patreon.com/carlmccolman

Cheers!

Carl

The worst thing we ever did is pretend
God isn’t the easiest thing
in this Universe
available to every soul
in every breath. — Chelan Harkin

In “The Worst Thing,” the mystical poet Chelan Harkin reflects on the mistakes we human beings have made over the years as we have tried to make sense of God. We imagined God as a “cloud man” in the sky, far away from us and our embodied experience. We imagined a God incapable of dancing, of crying, of being present in our bones. “The worst thing we ever did,” she observes, “is pretend God isn’t the easiest thing in this Universe available to every soul in every breath.”1

Chelan is right. We’ve made God difficult.

Difficult to believe in. Difficult to relate to. Difficult to have a conversation about (it’s not easy to disagree with someone when they are convinced they have the ultimate truth). Too many of us labor under patriarchal, authoritarian images of God that reinforce all these difficulties and strip us of the possibility to re-connect with “the easiest thing” that is as close to us as our breath.

This is where contemplation comes in.

From Centering Prayer to the Prayer of the Heart to Christian meditation (or Jewish meditation, Muslim meditation, and so forth) to any other practice that invites us to rest in silence as a means of cultivating a deeper encounter with the divine, contemplation includes any spiritual exercise we undertake to weave together our embodied breath, our deep interior silence, and the sacred presence of the Spirit who is, after all, the easiest thing.

But here’s an irony. We work just as hard to make contemplation difficult as we do to make God difficult.

“I’m Not Very Good at Contemplation”

Through my work as a spiritual director, writer, speaker, and retreat leader, I have the honor of walking alongside many people, from different generations or backgrounds or professions or faiths, who are learning or seeking to go deeper in their practice of intentional silence. Again and again, people report to me, often with vulnerability, sometimes defensively, sometimes with an air of resignation, some variation of “I’m just not very good at this.”

I hear this so often that it doesn’t surprise me. It saddens me, but it doesn’t surprise me.

Usually I will ask, “Why do you say this?” And almost always, the answer will be some variation of this: “I can’t find the silence. All I have within me is an endless assault of distracting thoughts.”

If I’m feeling a little playful or snarky, I’ll reply, “Oh, you too, huh?” Because this is hardly unusual, even for seasoned contemplative old-timers like me. Most people find contemplative practice to be not some gentle doorway into blissful inner peace, but rather a humbling immersion into a torrent of seemingly chaotic thoughts, ideas, images, daydreams, fantasies, feelings, and so forth.

And when I point this out to people, they’ll say “I know, I know” as if this has all been reviewed time and time again. Any introductory course on contemplative practice will always include reminders of just how turbulent and jam-packed your ordinary stream of consciousness always seems to be.

But it’s one thing to be told this, in a theoretical and abstract way, and another thing altogether to settle your body and mind to the point that you experience it for yourself.

It’s actually a very good sign for beginning contemplatives — or even practitioners at any level of experience — to notice the flurry of activity within, even though it feels overwhelming and slightly crazy. It’s good because noticing the torrent means you’re paying attention — in contrast to how easy it can be to more or less sleepwalk through life, allowing our awareness to flit from thought to thought or idea to idea, without paying any mind to how much distracted thinking is flowing through our consciousness, at or just below the threshold of awareness.

Nevertheless, in our effort to make the easy practice of contemplation unnecessarily difficult, pretty much we all have fallen into the trap of judging our experience, naming it as “wrong” or “bad” or “inferior” because it is not living up to what we think it should be. We think that it should promptly, if not immediately, transport us into a place of delicious inner comfort and serenity. And of course, that’s not how it goes.

This is very much like getting cranky at the weather because the sky is not always sunny.

When that thought first occurred to me — that judging our meditation experience is about as useful as judging the weather — I had the insight that I’d like to share with you now. It involves the weather, the sky, and what I’d like to call “the firmament within.”

Sky Above, Sky Within

From the time that I was a child, I have loved the natural world. I love trees and the forest, the beach, the mountains, and sites of natural splendor like waterfalls or remarkable rock formations.

And above it all, always there is the beautiful sky.

In his luminous book exploring the basics of contemplative spirituality, Into the Silent Land, Martin Laird offers a fascinating metaphor to help us understand the difference between our truest and deepest identity and the mercurial changes and chances that mark the ordinary flow of human experience. “Who we truly are” he compares to a mountain, whereas the crazy and chaotic flow of life he likens to the weather that surrounds this mountain. The weather is always changing, the mountain (barring the slow process of erosion or other geological change) stays the same.

The marvelous world of thoughts, sensation, emotions, and inspiration, the spectacular world of creation around us, are all patterns of stunning weather on the holy mountain of God. But we are not the weather. We are the mountain… When the mind is brought to stillness we see that we are the mountain and not the changing patterns of weather appearing on the mountain. We are the awareness in which thoughts and feelings (what we take to be ourselves) appear like so much weather on Mount Zion… Stillness reveals that we are the silent, vast awareness… To glimpse this fundamental truth is to be liberated.2

Laird is a Catholic priest, and while the heart of his teaching is truly universal, he offers his wisdom to us using the language and symbolism of the Christian tradition (all spiritual teachers speak out of their own tradition, and so we who read them from a contemplative perspective are always invited to find the universal wisdom in their words that transcends the limitations of their own particular tradition). With this in mind, we see that Laird identifies the mountain — “Mount Zion, the Holy Mountain of God” — with divine union. We are already one with the mystery we call God, but we typically don’t see or realize this, because our attention is so riveted on the weather. How can we be gently still and silent and appreciate the stability and grandeur of the mountain, when we are dazzled by the thunder and lightning that is dancing in the sky all around us?

This idea of the weather as a metaphor for how changeable and intriguing the ordinary human stream of consciousness can be came to mind when I discovered the long tradition in Buddhism of using the sky — and the weather — as metaphors for the inner experience of meditation. Like meteorological conditions surrounding the mountain, the earthly sky is always changing with different weather patterns, cloud formations, and even levels of light, thanks to the sun, the moon, the stars, and phenomena like the northern lights.

Consider these insights drawn from recent writings by two contemporary Buddhist teachers, Sogyal Rinpoche and Pema Chödrön:

This essential nature of mind is the background to the whole of life and death, like the sky, which folds the whole universe in its embrace.3

Our true nature could be compared to the sky, and the confusion of the ordinary mind to clouds.4

Even when we’re feeling most confused and hopeless, bodhichitta—like the open sky—is always here, undiminished by the clouds that temporarily cover it.5

Let’s not forget Chelan Harkin’s wisdom: “The worst thing we ever did was put God in the sky, out of reach” she warns us. But maybe after exiling God to the sky, the second worst thing we did was to exile the sky out of us. If we cannot see the “sky within,” we are at greater risk of judging, rather than simply accepting, our changeable relationship to silence and stillness.

There is an old tradition of referring to the sky — and to the heavens at large — as “the firmament,” implying that there is something firm and stable about our celestial surroundings. In ancient and medieval times, people imagined that the heavens consisted of some sort of giant dome that the sun and moon and stars travelled across, not unlike the domed studio in the movie The Truman Show. Thanks to the wisdom of modern astronomy and physics, we now recognize that “the firmament” is not a solid dome at all, but a vast expanse of space, much of which is simply a vacuum, although mysterious phenomena like dark matter or nebulae keep it interesting. As our understanding of the heavens has changed this notion of “firmament” has fallen out of favor.

But the Buddhist idea of the sky and the heavens as a metaphor for meditative consciousness gives me two ideas. What if we resurrect this notion of the firmament, only thinking more in terms of the firmament within. In other words, can we imagine that the apparatus of our consciousness: our nervous system, clustered in the mind, the heart and even the belly, and perhaps even therefore the entire physical body, functions as a kind of firmament, as a metaphorical chalice into which the wine of our consciousness, our awareness, our very mind and soul, is poured? It’s not a perfect analogy: it’s a problem to think of “mind” and “body” as separate from each other, which the chalice and wine metaphor implies. But if we can expand this notion to recognize that the chalice and the wine belong together, that the existence of each depends on the other, then we are getting closer to how this way of seeing things can help us.

In this “sky within,” the human body and nervous system is our firmament, therefore the mind (or better said, the heart-mind) is the azure stratosphere of our being. Then the ordinary stream of consciousness, whether intuitive or sensory — what Laird calls “the marvelous world of thoughts, sensation, emotions, and inspiration, the spectacular world of creation around us” — is both the “weather” and rhythm of dark and light that is continually changing the way we experience the sky.

This, my friends, has immediate and practical implications to how we experience and understand the practice of contemplation.

For what if, when our experience of Centering Prayer (or any other contemplative practice) seems “bad” or “poor” or too infested with thoughts, what if that is just the equivalent of the sky on a cloudy or stormy day? While it may be normal to prefer sunny days to rainy ones, no one seriously rejects overcast days as “bad.” We don’t judge the weather, we accept it (and adapt to it). No one can control the weather (granted, we do influence the weather, as climate change reveals, but influence is not the same thing as control). What if, instead of judging our “noisy” or overly-distracted experiences of contemplation, we learn to simply watch what is arising, the same way we look out the window to gaze into the sky and see what the weather is like today? Then we respond appropriately to whatever we see, just like you use an umbrella during rainstorms and sunglasses on bright days. Using the sky as a symbol for the inner experience of contemplation, can we settle in to an idea that whatever is happening in the sky, we can be present to it and find beauty and meaning in it?

Contemplation with Curiosity, Not Judgment

When someone says “I’m not very good at contemplation because my silence is choked out by all my distracting thoughts,” there is a problem: but the problem is not all those chaotic thoughts. The problem is the tendency that so many of us have to always judge ourselves. That tendency, which can leach the joy out of so much of our lives, spills over into a practice as simple and gentle as silent contemplation. We assume we’re not very good at something because our experience of it doesn’t match up with our expectation. But what if the problem here is not the experience in itself, but the expectation: especially when paired with that all-too-human rush to self-judgment?

This is why I’d like to explore this notion that contemplation is a journey toward getting to know the firmament within, learning to observe the inner sky without expectation, without judgment, without criticism or aggression toward oneself.

To accept this way of seeing things, we’ll all have some learning to do.

Centering Prayer, the contemplative exercise that I both practice and teach, has four simple guidelines or instructions:

1. Choose a sacred word as the symbol of your intention to consent to God’s presence and action within.

2. Sitting comfortably and with eyes closed, settle briefly and silently introduce the sacred word as the symbol of your consent to God’s presence and action within.

3. When engaged with your thoughts (which include body sensations, feelings, images and reflections), return ever-so-gently to the sacred word.

4. At the end of the prayer period, remain in silence with eyes closed for a couple of minutes.

Maybe we need an unofficial “fifth guideline”:

5. Meet whatever arises during Centering Prayer with curiosity, not criticism. Practice accepting your Centering Prayer experience simply as it is, refraining from any impulse to judge it.

Boats on the River: Under the Ever-Changing Sky

I love Thomas Keating’s metaphor of “Boats on the River” as much as anyone; I’ve found it very helpful over the years, both for understanding my own practice and in helping others with theirs. This idea: that the water represents the stream of silent consciousness, boats on the water represent our various thoughts, feelings, etc. and our job is to simply let the boats float down the river, is elegant and practical. The instruction “don’t get on a boat!” is as helpful as it is whimsical, because there is always the temptation to get so engaged with this or that thought that we lose sight of our intention to simply watch the river.

I’m not suggesting we get rid of the boats and the river. I just propose we expand our field of awareness to include the beautiful sky above it all.

Just off the top of my head, I can draw up a list of at least twelve different ways we can experience the terrestrial sky, along with the rhythm of day and night and the weather. As you read over this list, see if you can imagine how our “inner sky” could likewise change as much, and as dramatically, as the earth’s sky.

1. Twilight: Whether dawn or dusk, represents a time when the sky is both beautiful and dramatic, filled with bold colors and perhaps even a planet or two twinkling over the horizon.

2. Sunny, Clear Sky: a clear blue sky on a sunny day is a wonder to behold. To say a day is “beautiful” often implies that radiant loveliness that seems to touch everything when the sky is bright and cloudless.

3. Sunny, with Cumulus Clouds: Maybe even more beautiful than the empty sky is a sky dotted by shining, luminous cumulus clouds. Strolling in the heavens like so many puffs of cotton candy, they inspire our imagination and can incite a sense of wonder.

4. Windy or Breezy Skies: Depending on the time of year, time of day, or incoming weather fronts, we might notice just how dynamic the wind is, rolling through the sky. Still beautiful, but a bit more dramatic.

5. Overcast Sky: “It looks like it’s going to rain.” Overcast skies feel dramatic and foreboding in contrast to the carefree wonder of a sunny sky. Like music shifting from a major to minor key, these skies seem somber and pensive.

6. Gentle Rain: The movie Singing in the Rain exploits the fact that we seek shelter from rainfall, but somehow love it anyway. The ions released by rain feel good, and of course the water nourishes the earth.

7. Thunderstorms: a little bit of rain might seem romantic, but a powerful thunderstorm can be a bit terrifying, or awe-inspiring. Thunder and lightning reminds us just how humble we really are.

8. Severe Weather: Unless you are a storm-chaser, you probably want to keep a respectful distance from tornadoes, hurricanes, or other forms of powerful weather. And with good reasons: such storms display mighty power, but can cause real damage.

9. Moonlit Sky: As beautiful as a sunny sky is, a night sky under the soft glow of moonlight has its own magical charm. Another “sky” associated with love and romance, and perhaps a bit of mystery.

10. Starlit Sky: When the moon is new, and we’re far enough away from city lights, the stars across the sky can evoke a powerful sense not only of awe, but of recognition just how little we truly are.

11. Northern or Southern Lights: Many people never see this spectacular celestial light show. But if you are among the lucky ones, you might see the entire firmament shimmering with colorful splendor.

12. Darkness: Sometimes the clouds roll in at night, and even the subtle light of moon and stars is obscured. Here is John of the Cross’s “dark night of the soul,” — an abyss where everything seems to disappear.

Contemplative practice can lead us to as many different experiences of the “inner firmament” as the sky gives us different experiences of life outdoors. Obviously, our “inner sky” may not look or feel the same as the azure chalice that cradles the horizon of our planet. The point here is not to try to imagine a “sky scene” when we settle in to silent contemplation, but rather to learn to see how whatever we may experience within our hearts and minds is no more solid or permanent than how we experience the sky outside. When we meet whatever comes our way in contemplation: whether it is an avalanche of thoughts, or graced moments of gentle serenity — with openness and acceptance rather than self-criticism or self-judgment, we are practicing hospitality to our own self, and meeting even our imperfections with kindness rather than evaluation, accusation or blame.

I hope you find this “expanded” metaphor of the boats, the river and the sky to be a helpful invitation to bring openness and gentleness into your contemplative practice. I hope over the next few weeks or months to write meditations inspired by the dynamics of the sky and the weather, to explore how contemplative practice can show up in our lives in a variety of ways. Through the metaphor of the sky, let’s explore the diversity and nuances of the experience of contemplation. I hope what emerges will be a new way to think about our encounter with silence, so that we can foster more curiosity, less judgment, and in getting to know our inner landscape better, we might also come to know the source of all silence and love better as well.

Join me for a Zoom conversation based on this Substack Post.

On Wednesday, April 8, 2026 I’ll be hosting an online gathering where we’ll come together for a period of Centering Prayer followed by a discussion of this article and some of the issues it raises. I’d love to see you there. This event is free, everyone is welcome, although pre-registration is required. To register, click here: www.tinyurl.com/boatsandsky

• April 18, 12 Noon Eastern USA Time

• April 22, 7 PM Eastern USA Time

Dates we’re meeting in May::

• May 2, 12 Noon Eastern USA Time

• May 6, 7 PM Eastern USA Time

Here are the suggested readings for April and May. Remember, you are welcome to participate in the Zoom calls even if you do not do the suggested reading beforehand.

April sug…

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For the past couple of months, my friends on Patreon and I have been exploring the question “What is mysticism?” by drawing on the wisdom of Evelyn Underhill and Bernard McGinn. While I believe it is impossible to ever nail down a topic as nuanced as mysticism in a single definition, I think we can explore a variety of ways to at least approach the topic, if not definitively define it. This post is a compendium of five shorter posts originally published on Mystical Journey, where I offer brief invitations for some of the different ways people like you and I might be able to encounter the mystery at the heart of mysticism: a mystery that can never be fully captured in words or earthly ideas.

A First Way to Encounter the Mystery: Desire

Often when I am speaking with someone who has asked me for some insight into contemplative or mystical spirituality, I’ll begin with a deceptively simple question: “What do you want?”

Sometimes people have no idea how to answer this question. I don’t blame them: we have all been conditioned to think that desire has no place in the spiritual life. Even if we’re not Buddhists, we understand that the Buddha linked desire to the root cause of suffering. However, the New Testament can seem just as dour on the subject of desire. “One is tempted by one’s own desire, being lured and enticed by it,” warns James, who goes on to say, “it gives birth to sin, and that sin, when it is fully grown, gives birth to death.” Who wouldn’t want to avoid desire, if that’s where it leads?

But more than once, when Jesus was interacting with his followers, he would bluntly ask someone some variation of “What do you want?” Such a question is hardly answerable if we dare not trust or even acknowledge our desires! Meanwhile, a Trappist monk’s solemn vows often begin with his abbot asking some variation of this question, “What do you seek from God and from the church?” Once again, it assumes that there is some degree of desire: certainly enough for someone to pledge their entire life to a specific spiritual community.

Maybe desire, in itself, is not a problem, although the object of one’s desire might determine whether it is spiritually beneficial or not. Desiring sensual indulgence, especially at the expense of another, is hardly commendable; but if our desire calibrates our lives toward intimacy with God, toward compassionate service and toward personal growth, perhaps it is a desire worth fostering.

Mysticism, it seems to me, often begins with some sort of desire: a desire for God, a desire for spiritual growth and contemplative living, a desire for an experience of union or divine intimacy. These desires may need to be refined or matured over the course of a dedicated lifetime. But just because a desire is limited at first does not make it worthless. The solution to an immature desire is taking the time to nurture a more integrated yearning.

If you want to live a mystical life, get to know your desires. Be prepared to surrender, or at least transform, the ones that appear to get in the way of your longing for God. But also, be prepared to nurture the desires that invite you into intimacy and love: walking the mystical path means letting desires like those, under the guidance of the Spirit, truly lead the way.

Quotation sources: James 1:14-15; John 1:38; Mark 10:51.

Another Way to Encounter the Mystery: Delight

“Take delight in Yahweh, who will grant you the desire of your heart.” This is a bold declaration, found in Psalm 37. Not only does it challenge the common stereotype that desire is somehow unspiritual, but it also links the deepest and most intimate kind of desire (“of your heart”) with another quality that is often overlooked in spiritual circles: delight.

The Hebrew word in this verse that gets rendered in English as “delight” is עָנַג or anag, literally meaning “to be soft” or “to take exquisite pleasure in.” It’s a rich, sensual word that loses a lot in translation. It has a lot of overtones that are “feminine”—or if you prefer to avoid traditional gender coding, we can say it is deeply receptive, luxuriating, embodied, and almost indulgent. This is not a command to obey an authoritarian, patriarchal God; it is more of an alluring proposal to savor the joy and deliciousness of a divine lover.

Forget the rules and regulations of Leviticus; this is an invitation into a relationship with God that is closest in quality and feel to the delectable love found in that most beautiful of Biblical poems: the Song of Songs.

Can you imagine a relationship with the divine where you are loved so fully that God simply wants to pamper you? Where you are invited into a soft, dainty, exquisite interaction, like an attentive lover enticing you to take a long, slow bath before… well, you get even closer?

If this scandalizes you, all I can say is I hope you’ll take some time to get to know the great mystics of the past, many of whom drew inspiration from the Song of Songs (the Song of Solomon or the Canticle of Canticles) more than any other book in the Bible. Their understanding of divine intimacy was never crude or vulgar, but sacred even as it is voluptuous, sensitive, amorous, and tender. This is an invitation that dares to suggest that a relationship with God invites us into a spiritual pleasure beyond our wildest dreams.

So how do we take delight in God, in such a nuanced and rich way? My purpose is to offer you an invitation, not a step-by-step program. Just as a teenager can never learn how to kiss from a book, so you and I cannot learn how to take delight in the divine from anything so coarse as the written word. But I can say this: mysticism is an invitation to let go of all the duty-bound, legalistic, overly formal ways of thinking about a relationship with God. This invitation into a deeper, contemplative, even mystical spirituality is no legal contract; it is a love letter. May we read it fully, and respond wholeheartedly.

Quotation sources: Psalm 37:4.

A Classic Mystical “Location” for Encountering the Mystery: Darkness

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light around me become night,”

even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day,
for darkness is as light to you. (Psalm 139)

One of the most powerful images for God is that of light. “Let there be light” was one of the initial creative acts expressed by the Holy One at the beginning of the Genesis creation myth; ages later, Jesus of Nazareth would proclaim, “I am the light of the world.” So powerful is the bond between the supreme being and the splendor of luminosity, that we run the risk of falling into a dualistic understanding of light: in other words, of seeing darkness as somehow opposed to the divine. In this oppositional way of seeing things, light is good, and therefore darkness is not-so-good.

Thankfully, many of the mystics can help us to see that, no matter how sacred and spiritual light might be, the absence of light should not be understood to signify the absence of God.

There’s a reason why two of the greatest mystical classics in the Western contemplative tradition are The Cloud of Unknowing and The Dark Night of the Soul. Even in the earliest centuries of the Christian era, great mystics like Saint Gregory of Nyssa wrote beautifully about encountering the Creator in the hidden and benighted places of our lives— a recognition that began with Moses’s encounter with the Holy in the midst of a cloud atop Mount Sinai.

What are the implications here? We all have times of darkness, of uncertainty, of loss and suffering and even betrayal. If we assume that only light brings us to heaven, then we will either judge or reject the shadowy places that life invites us into. Such shadowy places include the “darknesses” of depression and other mental health challenges, of grieving, of fear, of suffering whether our own or that of those we love… I’m sure the list could go on. These may represent times or seasons of our lives that we do not relish, that seem traumatizing or pointlessly painful. But when we simply give ourselves over to these most difficult moments, they can also surprise us as portals into a rich and meaningful experience of the divine presence.

I don’t think any of the classical mystics would have counseled us to seek out suffering for its own sake, but neither would they have ever suggested that the dark places are to be avoided. When we allow ourselves to meet the unfathomable dark places on their own terms, they can be sacred indeed, and teach us wisdom, and sometimes even introduce us to the one who comes to us veiled in mystery.

Quotation sources: Psalm 139:11-12; Genesis 1:3; John 8:12.

Still Another Way to Encounter the Mystery: Discipline

Train yourself for a holy life. — I Timothy 4:7

I love—and often quote—a line that seems to have originated as a paraphrase of the wisdom of Shunryu Suzuki Roshi, abbot of the San Francisco Zen Center and author of the contemporary classic Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind:

Gaining enlightenment is an accident. Spiritual practice simply makes us accident-prone.

I first heard this from a dharma teacher in Atlanta, who framed it as “enlightenment is an accident, meditation makes us accident prone.” While its origin may be Buddhist, it pairs quite well with Western forms of mysticism. One could just as easily say, “Union with God is an accident; spiritual discipline makes us accident prone.”

In old school Catholic spirituality, there was a difference between mystical theology and ascetical theology. Mysticism covers the attempt to understand (and make ourselves available for) the action of the Spirit in our hearts and lives: action that fills us with transforming grace, but that we ourselves have no control over. By contrast, asceticism (which comes from the same Greek root—askēsis—that gives us ‘athlete and ‘athletics’) covers the practice of spiritual disciplines and exercises that we human beings do to make ourselves available for the Spirit’s work within and among us. Like an athlete, an ascetic trains and practices, rigorously and without compromise, to be prepared—not for competitive sports, but for complete self-giving to the Spirit of love.

Mysticism is an accident; asceticism makes us accident-prone.

The problem is that over the centuries asceticism get fouled up with the body/spirit dualism that has bedeviled Christianity since its entanglement with Greek philosophy. So asceticism became linked not to discipline, but to punishment: punishing the human body with self-flagellation, horsehair shirts, excessive fasting, and other practices that seem oriented not toward the love of God, but toward a dysfunctional hatred of the self. No wonder asceticism became a dirty word.

Thankfully, we live in an age where more and more people are reclaiming positive, nurturing practices like Centering Prayer or Ignatian spirituality to anchor and shape their spiritual lives. Building on the “accident” motif, it seems to be a misunderstanding to suggest that such disciplines can guarantee us a felt experience of the Divine. But if we make the effort to be mystical-prone, who knows how the Spirit of Love might surprise us—in an amazing moment, or even just gradually over time?

Quotation source: I Timothy 4:7 (Common English Bible); for more on the “accident-prone” principle, check out Enlightenment is an Accident: Ancient Wisdom and Simple Practices to Make You Accident Prone by Tim Burkett.

Perhaps the Ultimate Way to Encounter the Mystery: Deification

Christ has given us his precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become participants of the divine nature. — II Peter 1:4

Christian life consists not so much in being good as in becoming God. — Michael Casey, OCSO

In The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen Covey suggests that influential business leaders “begin with the end in mind” — that one of the keys to professional success is having a sense of where you want your career to take you. There are probably as many possible ends or goals for our professional lives as there are people — some of us want financial success, a sense of personal accomplishment, a legacy to hand on to our children, and so forth. Covey’s point is simple: know what you want, for that knowledge will help to guide you to the kind of success that matters to you.

What is true for our working lives is, I believe, also true for anyone seeking to live a mystical life—and seeking to encounter the divine. We, too, are wise to begin with the end in mind.

What mystics from generation to generation have reported to us, is that the “end” of mysticism is nothing less than the unitive life: divine union, or becoming one with God. Indeed, this “end” of mystical spirituality is so essential that it has its own theological terminology: in Greek, theosis; in Latin, deification: these words basically mean “to be made God” or, more gently stated, to become one with God.

And unless you think this is just some strange idea from ancient times, Trappist monk Michael Casey bluntly said, “Christian life consists not so much in being good as in becoming God” — writing in the early 2000s!

Many people drawn to contemplative or mystical spirituality are inspired by their own heartfelt desire for an experience of God, or an experiential relationship with God, or, in the end, an experience of such complete, nondual identification with God that we can only speak of this using language of oneness and of union. In words from the Bible attributed to St. Peter, our “end” as contemplatives is nothing less than partaking in the divine nature (of God).

Is it being too obvious to suggest that the experience of oneness with God, however that may come about, is yet one more way for us to understand mysticism, to “encounter the mystery”?

Granted, many people, perhaps most, have not experienced such nondual union, regardless of whether they have wanted it (or even conceived that such an end is possible). Even when people do have some sort of extraordinary, unitive encounter with the mystery we call God, they often don’t know how to put it into words, so it in essence remains unspoken, and therefore perhaps unrealized.

Perhaps we need to consider that the desire for union with God may be, in a surprising way, a sign that God is already present in our lives and hearts, even if we don’t feel that presence at all. Which, of course, brings us right back to the beginning of this series. Perhaps deification is the ultimate encounter with God, but perhaps most of us only find deification through the mysteries of desire, delight, darkness and discipline.

Shunry Suzuki once wrote, “Enlightenment is not some good feeling or some particular state of mind. The state of mind that exists when you sit in the right posture is, itself, enlightenment.” It’s a provocative statement: to meditate is to beenlightened. One does not meditate to attain enlightenment; one meditates to remember or realize what one already is.

In other words, to walk a mystical path is to be immersed in divine union. Our desire, discipline, darkness and delight are all opportunities for us to realize, or remember, who we truly and already are: ones who are one with Love.

No matter how we comes to this, may we receive this encounter with consciousness and compassion. Amen.

Quotation sources: II Peter 1:4; Michael Casey, OCSO. Fully Human, Fully Divine: An Interactive Christology; Suzuki, Shunryu. Zen Mind, Beginner’s Mind: Informal Talks on Zen Meditation and Practice (Kindle Editions).

These five invitations into the encounter with the divine mystery are hardly exhaustive, but they do represent evidence that, in the words of Ignatius of Loyola, we can “find God in all things.” Whether through desire, delight, darkness, discipline, divinization, or other graces in our lives, the mystery is never more than a breath or a heartbeat away. Let’s explore… let’s play… or in the words of Star Trek’s Michael Burnham: “Let’s fly!”

These posts originally appeared on the Mystical Journey newsletter; click on the link to subscribe if you haven’t already done so. If you’d like to join this conversation with me in monthly Zoom meetings, either become a paid subscriber to this newsletter or join Patreon by clicking here.

March 17 is Lá Fhéile Pádraig — which is Gaelic for the Feast of Saint Patrick, although most people simply call it Saint Patrick’s Day. So happy St. Patrick’s Day!

At the risk of sounding like an Irish Grinch, I think it is fair to say that our consumerist culture has distorted this holiday almost as thoroughly as we have commercialized Christmas. Especially here in America, this has become a day for packing the Irish pubs to assuage our thirst for Guinness or some other beer, adulterated by artificial food coloring to give it a greenish hue. Meanwhile, not only in the pubs but anywhere St. Patrick’s day is observed, one is likely to find a party, replete with glitzy decorations that feature caricatures of leprechauns, jovially guarding their pots of gold at the rainbow’s end.

One can only imagine what the Celtic saints of old might make of these revels.

Not that there’s anything wrong with a good party. I love a festive get-together as much as anyone, so please, my point here is not to be some sour-faced killjoy. Then again, I have often been amused by the fact that Catholic bishops have been known to write “letters of dispensation” if St. Patrick’s Day (which always occurs during Lent) should happen to fall on a Friday. There’s no point trying to get all those Irish-American Catholics to forego their corned beef, just because March 17 falls on a day of abstinence!

Just as there is so much more to Irish culture than shamrocks and shillelaghs, there’s more to St. Patrick — and to Celtic spirituality in general — than our cultural travesty of this day reveals.

How do we get to know the beauty, wisdom and splendor of Celtic spirituality? I imagine most people who read this Substack are familiar with the writings of folks like John O’Donohue, Esther deWaal, and John Philip Newell (and if you don’t know these writers, then by all means check them out). I love each of these writers, but I also can see how their visions of Celtic spirituality can be interpreted as almost romantic — a sweet, affirming, nature-positive spirituality. But is that all there is to Celtic wisdom?

If you’re like me and you’d really like to take a deeper dive into the wisdom that made Saint Patrick tick, I’d like to recommend a relatively unknown but profoundly fascinating voice in recent Irish literature: John Moriarty (1938-2007), a mysterious, enigmatic writer and mystic who has been called “the bog shaman.”

What is a bog shaman, for heaven’s sake? Perhaps this: a shapeshifter and spiritual healer whose natural habitat is not some new age bookstore or a weekend retreat, but whose blood runs with the primal acuity of the people who inhabited the remote corners of Celtic landscape for generation upon generation.

When he wasn’t teaching literature and philosophy at universities in England or Canada, John Moriarty worked as a gardener for Carmelite monks in Oxford, before retreating back to his native Ireland to live close to the earth of his ancestors while he wrote. Author of books that are poetic, luminous but also confusing and profoundly mysterious, Moriarty’s dense and incantatory prose is challenging to read, and no one would blame you if you found yourself tempted to give up on his writing as inaccessible and incomprehensible prose.

I confided as much to an elderly priest in Dublin the last time I was in Ireland, telling him that I was stymied at how challenging it was to find a way into Moriarty’s deeply symbolic, layered words. He commiserated with me that Moriarty is not easy to read, but then he encouraged me to keep at it anyway, just like readers will keep trying to unpack and appreciate other challenging writers like James Joyce, Thomas Pynchon or Eimear McBride.

In other words, readers who bring patience and attentiveness to the writing of John Moriarty will be richly rewarded with a subtle wisdom that weaves together the deep knowing of the land with a truly mythical imagination.

While steeped in Celtic myth, Moriarty’s skill as a storyteller spanned the globe, and his writing draws from African, Native American, Buddhist, and other wisdom traditions as much as it is steeped in Irish lore.

If you’re new to Moriarty, I can’t think of a better introduction to his insight than these words from an interview he did not long before his death:

“Unless there’s wildness around you, something terrible happens to the wildness inside of you. And if the wildness inside of you dies. I think you’re finished.” — John Moriarty

Wildness has become almost a buzzword in some contemplative circles in our time, with websites, churches and other groups devoted to a spiritual vision of “rewilding” spirituality and community (from a concept first developed by Earth First! Activists as part of their call for the restoration of wilderness areas). But if eco-spirituality is trendy in our time, Moriarty, speaking some 20 years ago, reminds us that authentic Celtic spirituality has always called for a rewilding — not merely as a kind of spiritual preference, but as a matter of life or death.

What does he mean by “something terrible” happening to the wildness within us, if we’re separated from wildness in our environment? I think the specifics of what this could mean are for us to speculate each for ourselves, but I’m happy to share a few of my thoughts with you. An isolated or unsupported wilderness may not immediately die, but it would just be a matter of time before it fails to thrive. Like a land that is parched with a years-long drought, a wild place that is cut off from any greater wilderness might soon turn brown and brittle and be susceptible to fire. An isolated wilderness must, sooner or later, either be domesticated or slowly turn into a wasteland. Moriarty makes it clear that neither fate is acceptable. To worship the Spirit who created all wilderness, we must be prepared to protect, restore and inhabit the wild places, if not in our physical being, then certainly in our hearts and souls.

I live in the southeastern United States, where true wilderness is in very short supply. We have more than enough acreage given over to urban concrete or to the numbing uniformity of suburban sprawl. Even our rural areas seem to be burdened with a kind of curated sameness that replicates itself, from county to county, from region to region. If it weren’t for the national forests and parks, and the occasional wetlands protected by conservation easements, there would be no wild places left. As it is, well under 1% of the American south can be fairly described as wilderness.

The situation is different in many other parts of America and in other countries like Canada — at least for now. Still, I wonder if we as a society are not rapidly approaching that place of being “finished” as Moriarty so dourly describes it. Certainly, when we look at the problems besetting our common life—rates of addiction, mental health challenges like anxiety and depression, suicide, and income inequality—we see these issues increasing here in the American South.

Of course, we cannot simply blame these trends on just one cause, such as the region being overdeveloped (or then again, can we?). But I think it’s fair to speculate that in a landscape where the wild has been exiled, a similar exiling takes place in our own souls, and the resulting impact this has on the quality of life is a cause for concern, if not alarm.

I realize that we have traveled far afield from the jovial partying that we most often associate with March 17. But maybe not so far as it might seem. After all, a good party has an element of “wildness” about it. Consider a song from one of my favorite bands when I was in college: Georgia’s own B-52s. Their 1980 dance hit “Party Out of Bounds” is not only a frenetic send-up of how “poorly planned” parties can degenerate into their own flavor of chaos, but is also a metaphor for society as a whole: “Who’s to blame?” lead vocalist Fred Schneider asks again and again, for when things get out of hand — before the song’s final moments, when he muses on what it might take to bring the party out of bounds back in line.

Has our culture, starved of the wildness found in nature, created our own kind of compensatory “wildness,” like a party that’s gotten out of hand, only on a social level the “out of hand” refers to how our whole culture has gotten out of balance — we’re trashing mother earth, fostering increasing stress and anxiety at all levels of society, and using up resources so rapidly that it’s fair to wonder what we are leaving for our children and grandchildren — a world wracked by climate change and suffering with social structures that seem to be slowly breaking down.

So it’s not a binary question: do we have wildness or not? But rather, what kind of wildness are we preserving and nurturing in our society and in our world? Moriarty seems to be saying that if we lose the kind of wildness that we find in Mother Nature, we may be “finished” — and the frenzied angst of our entertainment-besotted party culture seems to corroborate his warning.

Contemplatives are sometimes dismissed as being killjoys: while other people want a good time, we get all focused on silence and stillness and spiritualities anchored in simplicity and austerity. But when I put John Moriarty and the B-52s together, I think we need to understand the relationship between contemplation and chaos in a slightly different way. Our commitment to silence and stillness is not meant to rob anyone of a good time. Rather, it is meant to be a tool we use for preserving true goodness: by reigning in the “wildness” of our jacked-up party culture, as a first step toward the long journey we must all take: toward restoring and preserving the kind of wildness that comes from the Spirit, that will truly help us to live sustainably, now and for generations to come.

Friends, I’m happy to announce that Spirituality and Practice will be hosting my Celtic Spirituality e-Course, running from March 23 to April 17 — a great way to journey from St. Patrick’s Day and the Spring Equinox to the ancient holy day of Beltane! The course includes 12 emails with meditations and exercises, a practice circle (which I will pop into from time to time) and a Zoom call with me on Friday, April 10! Here’s the page to learn more and register:

https://www.spiritualityandpractice.com/ecourses/course/custom/102/celtic-spirituality-2026

Sources:

John Moriarty and Tommy Tiernan, interview on Youtube:

The B-52s: “Party out of Bounds,” from the album Wild Planet

As you may know, I’m a co-host of the Encountering Silence podcast along with Cassidy Hall and Kevin Johnson. We haven’t released any new episodes lately, but we all want to do more, so stay tuned in that department.

The Encountering Silence website is currently off line, although you can still find the podcast at Spotify, Amazon and  Podcasts — check it out if you’re not familiar with it, we’ve interviewed some amazing folks over the years.

Recently, we’ve had a request for the resource page that used to be featured on our website: a list of books and other media titles that we have liked and endorsed for their relevance to the encounter with silence. We called it the “Silence Store,” and since the website is currently on hiatus, I’m re-posting that resource list here.

This list was last updated in 2022, so it’s missing more recent treasures (for example, Cassidy’s vital book Queering Contemplation — please leave a comment if you’d like to suggest some more recent silence resources. Maybe we’ll post an updated version sometime in the future. But for now, check out the list, there are plenty of treasures here!

The Silence Store

Here are some products we like — books, movies, and music that we or our guests have mentioned on the podcast. Please click on the links to visit Amazon.com where you can purchase these items. If you make a purchase after following one of these links, we receive a small commission from Amazon (at no extra cost to you).

Books

• Anthony De Mello, Selected Writings

• Audre Lorde, Your Silence Will Not Protect You

• Augustine, The Confessions of Saint Augustine

• Barbara A. Holmes, Joy Unspeakable

• Bede Griffiths, Essential Writings

• Bernard McGinn, ed., The Essential Writings of Christian Mysticism

• Bieke Vandekerckhove, A Taste of Silence: How I Came to be at Home With Myself

• Carl Jung, The Portable Jung

• Carl McColman, Answering the Contemplative Call

• Carl McColman, The Aspiring Mystic

• Carl McColman, Befriending Silence

• Carl McColman, The Big Book of Christian Mysticism

• Carl McColman, The Little Book of Christian Mysticism

• Carl McColman, Christian Mystics

• Carl McColman, An Invitation to Celtic Wisdom

• Carl McColman, The Lion, the Mouse and the Dawn Treader

• Carl McColman, Spirituality

• Caryll Houselander, The Reed of God

• Cassidy Hall and Patrick Shen, Notes on Silence

• Catherine Doherty, Poustinia

• Cathering Meeks (ed.), Living Into God’s Dream

• Catholic Church, The Liturgy of the Hours

• Christian Bobin, The Eighth Day: Selected Writings

• Christian Wiman, My Bright Abyss

• Coleman Barks, tr., The Essential Rumi

• Cynthia Bourgeault, Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening

• The Dalai Lama, Stages of Meditation

• David Bentley Hart, The Experience of God

• The Desert Fathers and Mothers, Early Christian Wisdom Sayings

• The Desert Fathers and Mothers, The Wisdom of the Desert (edited by Thomas Merton)

• e. e. cummings, A Miscellany (Revised)

• Elias Marechal, Tears of An Innocent God

• Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death

• Ernest Wood, A Zen Dictionary

• Evagrius Ponticus, The Praktikos & Chapters on Prayer

• Desert Mothers and Fathers, Early Christian Wisdom Sayings

• Francis X. Clooney, Comparative Theology

• Gerald G. May, Addiction and Grace

• Gerald G. May, Will and Spirit: A Contemplative Psychology

• Hans Urs Von Balthazar, The Glory of the Lord

• Helen Lees, Silence in Schools

• Henri Nouwen, Reaching Out

• Henry David Thoreau, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

• Henry David Thoreau, Walden and Other Writings

• Howard Thurman, Essential Writings

• Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited

• Howard Thurman, The Living Wisdom of Howard Thurman: A Visionary for Our Time (6-CD set)

• Howard Thurman, Meditations of the Heart

• Howard Thurman, The Centering Moment

• Howard Thurman, Disciplines of the Spirit

• Howard Thurman, With Head and Heart: The Autobiography of Howard Thurman

• Hugo Enomiya-Lassalle, Living in the New Consciousness

• Irene Zimmerman, Incarnation

• Isaac of Stella, Sermons on the Christian Year

• James Martin, Between Heaven and Mirth

• James Martin, The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything

• James Martin, Becoming Who You Are

• Jan Richardson, Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

• Jan Willis, Dreaming Me: Black, Baptist and Buddhist

• Jean-Luc Marion, God Without Being

• John Cage, Silence: Lectures and Writings

• John Cassian, Conferences

• John of the Cross, Collected Works

• Joyce Rupp, Fragments of Your Ancient Name

• Julian of Norwich, Showings

• Karl Rahner, Encounters with Silence

• Kathleen Dowling Singh, The Grace in Dying

• Lao Tzu, Tao te Ching

• Maggie Ross, Seasons of Death and Life: A Wilderness Memoir

• Maggie Ross, Silence, A User’s Guide Volume 1: Process

• Maggie Ross, Silence: A User’s Guide Volume 2: Application

• Maggie Ross, Writing the Icon of the Heart

• Martin Buber, I and Thou

• Martin Laird, Into the Silent Land

• Martin Thornton, Christian Proficiency

• Marvin C. Shaw, The Paradox of Intention

• Mary Margaret Funk, Thoughts Matter

• Mary Oliver, A Poetry Handbook

• Mary Oliver, Devotions: The Selected Poems

• Max Picard, The World of Silence

• Meister Eckhart, The Complete Mystical Works

• Meister Eckhart, Selected Writings

• Michael Casey, Sacred Reading: the Ancient Art of Lectio Divina

• Monica Furlong, Contemplating Now

• Mother Teresa, Come Be My Light

• Nelson Mandela, Long Walk to Freedom

• Nicholas of Cusa, Selected Spiritual Writings

• Pablo Picasso, Living in Art

• Paramahansa Yogananda, Autobiography of a Yogi

• Parker Palmer, The Courage to Teach

• Paul Tillich, The Courage to Be

• Pema Chödrön, Pure Meditation (the Audio Collection)

• Pico Iyer, The Art of Stillness

• Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters of Rainer Maria Rilke, 1892-1910

• Richard Rohr, The Naked Now: Learning to See as the Mystics See

• Richard Rohr, Yes, And…

• Robert Kennedy, Zen Spirit, Christian Spirit

• Rowan Williams, Silence and Honey Cakes

• Rufus Jones, Finding the Trail of Life

• Rumi, The Essential Rumi

• Saint Benedict, The Rule of Saint Benedict

• Sara Maitland, A Book of Silence

• Sherry Bryant-Johnson (ed.), Embodied Spirits: Stories of Spiritual Directors of Color

• T. S. Eliot, “Ash Wednesday”

• Teresa of Ávila, The Book of My Life

• Therese Taylor-Stinson (ed.), Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around — Stories of Contemplation and Justice

• Thomas G. Hand, Always a Pilgrim

• Thomas Keating, Open Mind, Open Heart: The Contemplative Dimension of the Gospel

• Thomas Merton, The Asian Journal

• Thomas Merton, Collected Poems of Thomas Merton

• Thomas Merton, Day of a Stranger

• Thomas Merton, Dialogues with Silence

• Thomas Merton, Emblems of a Season of Fury

• Thomas Merton, Essential Writings

• Thomas Merton, In the Dark Before Dawn

• Thomas Merton, Literary Essays

• Thomas Merton, Love and Living

• Thomas Merton, No Man is an Island

• Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation

• Thomas Merton, Raids on the Unspeakable

• Thomas Merton, Selected Essays

• Tilden Edwards, Embracing the Call to Spiritual Depth

• Walt Whitman, The Complete Poems

• William Johnston, Mystical Theology: The Science of Love

• William Johnston, Silent Music: The Science of Meditation

• William Johnston, The Still Point

Movies

• Philip Gröning, dir., Into Great Silence

• Patrick Shen (dir.), In Pursuit of Silence

• Martin Scorses (Dir.), Silence

Music

• Ambient One by Brian Eno

• Liquid Mind VII: Reflection by Liquid Mind

• Soundtrack for In Pursuit of Silence by Alex Lu

Shortly after my book Read the Bible Like a Mystic was published, I started getting emails from people who claimed to be marketing professionals and/or directors of book clubs. In their emails they would lavish compliments on my book, gushing about how wonderful my book was, including descriptive information about the book (to make it seem like they had actually read it). The email would go on to say that my book had been chosen to be featured in a future meeting of said book club, or a future promotion through Goodreads, etc. I was invited to write back to the person, to learn more about this “special opportunity.”

For the first such email that came this way, I did in fact respond; what author wouldn’t want their book to be the featured title for a large book club? After all, I often get requests to do Zoom calls with book clubs or podcast appearances, and I try to accommodate such requests when my schedule will allow it. But with these “special opportunity” pitches, that second email always included a price tag: I was being asked to pay the book club organizer for the privilege of having them feature my book.

Stunned that I was being presented with a pay-to-play scheme, I immediately forwarded the email to my publisher’s marketing team, to see if it really was legit (although I assumed it wasn’t). Sure enough, a publicist wrote back and told me to ignore and delete any messages like it that came through. And they did, in fact, keep coming through: more and more emails, always from a different “book club” in a different part of the country, always with the same pitch: we’ve got hundreds of members. They’ll all buy your book. They’ll love it as much as I did. All we need from you is $250.

Here are a couple examples of these kinds of emails. Definitely a lot more sophisticated than the old “I live in Nigeria and I want to transfer a million dollars to your bank account” scams!

Hi Carl,

I’m the organizer of the Boston Based “Brie & Beaujolais” Book Club. Our members are drawn to books that inspire reflection, expand awareness, and linger long after the last page. We love works that open the heart and spark meaningful conversation over a good red wine and a slice of soft cheese.

Your book Read the Bible Like a Mystic immediately stood out to us. Its gentle wisdom, contemplative approach, and invitation to deeper spiritual understanding beautifully align with the spirit of our group. The way you bridge ancient tradition and modern insight has truly resonated with our members. It feels like exactly the kind of work our readers love to engage with.

We’d love to feature Read the Bible Like a Mystic in our upcoming session on Wednesday, October 22, 2025, at 7:00 PM EDT. The evening will include:

• An engaging discussion exploring the book’s themes of contemplation, connection, and inner transformation
• A wine and cheese pairing adding our signature twist of flavor and fun to the conversation
• Community sharing with members posting authentic reflections and reviews across our platforms
• An optional author Q&A offering an opportunity for you to connect directly with readers who appreciate your message and perspective

We believe Read the Bible Like a Mystic will inspire one of our most thoughtful and heartfelt discussions this year, and we’d be truly honored to feature it and, if possible, to welcome you for a brief chat or virtual visit.

Would you be open to a quick conversation to explore this opportunity?

Sounds pretty cool, right? But it comes with a catch. Unlike legitimate book clubs, they expected me to underwrite the cost of their wine and cheese in exchange for my book being “featured.”

I must have received a dozen or more emails from different alleged “book clubs” last fall, all trying to get me to pony up between $150 and $250, just so they would “feature” my book. As they kept coming in, and each one sounded suspiciously similar (and they always had the feel of being personalized, and familiar with my book), I began to realize that these scams were being created with the help of an artificial intelligence tool — to make them appear to be real.

More recently, the tactic has shifted from “our book club will feature your book” to “I’m a marketer and I want to help promote your special book.” Again, here’s an example — one that is so obviously AI-composed that I almost find it funny.

Dear Carl,

There are many books about the Bible. Few invite readers to slow down, breathe, and listen.

Read the Bible like a Mystic: Contemplative Wisdom and the Word feels less like a commentary and more like an invitation, an invitation to recover something ancient, spacious, and liberating within the sacred text.

In a time when Scripture is often approached either defensively or academically, your work reintroduces what you rightly call a “third way.” Not literalism. Not sterile analysis. But contemplation. The kind of reading that trusts the Spirit more than argument. The kind that sees poetry where others see proof-texts.

Given your longstanding exploration of Christian mysticism, Celtic spirituality, interspiritual dialogue, and the Divine Feminine, this book fits seamlessly within your broader body of work. It reflects your inclusive and expansive voice, one that encourages spiritual depth without hostility, and conviction without rigidity. That tone resonates deeply with readers who are spiritually curious but weary of polarization.

Here is the opportunity.

On Goodreads, there is a substantial and engaged readership actively exploring contemplative Christianity, mysticism, progressive theology, spiritual formation, and interfaith wisdom. Many of these readers are intentionally searching for works that approach Scripture with reverence yet refuse weaponization. However, discovery in that space is highly dependent on positioning.

When Read the Bible Like a Mystic appears on the right Goodreads Listopia categories— such as Christian mysticism, contemplative prayer, progressive Christianity, spiritual formation, interspiritual studies, modern theology, it moves from being one more title to being contextually aligned with active reader intent.

Listopia, when approached strategically, is not about artificial promotion. It is about organic placement within curated environments where genuine curiosity already exists. Proper alignment increases page visibility, strengthens shelf presence, and encourages authentic engagement. Readers browsing those lists are not passive. They are searching, often for guidance that feels both rooted and expansive.

In addition, I remain connected with a focused reading community that values spiritually reflective nonfiction. These are readers who approach books slowly, prayerfully, and thoughtfully. They do not read for incentives. They read for meaning. When they discover a book that deepens their practice or reframes their understanding of Scripture, they share it organically within their networks, through discussions, small groups, and personal recommendations.

Your book belongs in that atmosphere.

The message you are offering, that Scripture can be approached mystically without abandoning intellectual integrity or ethical responsibility, is timely. But timing alone does not guarantee visibility. Strategic placement ensures that the readers already seeking contemplative depth actually encounter your work.

If you would be open to it, I would be glad to outline how intentional Goodreads Listopia positioning could help Read the Bible like a Mystic gain stronger visibility among contemplative and spiritually curious readers.

Because there are many who long to read the Bible not with fear or argument, but with wonder.
The question is whether your book appears when they begin that search.

Connecting thoughtful spiritual works with readers seeking depth and compassion.

What is designed to look like an eager email from an appreciative reader, offering to help spread the word about my book, is once again a veiled pitch for money. At best, this is an unscrupulous marketer asking me to pay him for a service that is actually meant to be a non-commercial forum for readers to do “word-of-mouth” sharing of favorite books. But what is more likely going on here is, again, a scam: an invitation to spend money for a “service” that probably does not exist at all.

Since I work with an established traditional publisher, I had someone I could turn to who confirmed that these kinds of emails are either flat-out scams or (at best) are pitches for me to buy a marketing product with little or no real publicity value. I’m posting these here on Substack because I worry about self-published authors or authors with small independent publishers who may not understand that these offers to “help promote your wonderful book” are actually AI-generated attempts to get you to spend money for what is little more than a modern-day marketing version of snake oil.

Every author I know, myself included, genuinely wants their books to reach as many readers as possible; no matter how successful a book might be, it never seems to be selling well enough. That heart-level desire, unfortunately, makes us prime targets for the con artists; vulnerable to these kinds of unscrupulous pitches, made that much more nefarious by how AI is used to mimic the one thing every writer desires: a genuine connection with a fan.

If you’re an author, beware. Don’t let a computer-generated compliment distract you from seeing these scams for what they truly are.

And if you are reading this even though you’re not a writer, take this as a glimpse into our brave new AI-generated world. The scammers who are using AI to target vulnerable authors today will be using it to find a way into your inbox — and your wallet —tomorrow. Be vigilant.

Like all authors, Carl McColman (Decatur, GA) always hopes his books will sell more copies than they do — but he’s not willing to fall for a scam to make it happen. Learn more about him and his titles at www.anamchara.com.

Also below the paywall, here’s a PDF you can download of quotations that we will be reflecting on together when we gather on Zoom, March 11 and March 14. The Zoom links are also listed below. See you on Zoom!

Read more

The other day I appeared on a webinar hosted by Spiritual Directors International (SDI) on “the Wisdom of the English Mystics” (see the end of this post for a link to watch this free webinar). In it, the executive director of SDI, Rev. SeiFu Anil Singh-Molares, and I discussed the spiritual wisdom that can be found in the writings of such amazing guides as Julian of Norwich, William Blake, Evelyn Underhill, and even C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. This webinar was originally conceived to help raise awareness of our upcoming SDI Wisdom of the English Mystics Pilgrimage that Rev. Seifu and I will be leading this spring — but currently we only have two openings for that event, so if you’re interested, sign up soon!

But even if you are not interested in the pilgrimage, I hope you’ll watch the webinar and learn a bit more about the wonderful mystics of England and how their words of wisdom remain jewels of spiritual guidance, even today.

Our webinar was only one hour long, and right at the very end I noticed that one of the participants posted a question in the chat box, asking me if I could recommend a book that explored the mysticism of William Blake. I didn’t have time to get to the question (sorry about that), but I figured posting a reply here on Substack would be the next best thing. And while I was at it, I could post some recommended books by (or about) some of the other mystics we had discussed as well. So here you go…

Some Books for Diving Deeper Into the Wisdom of the English Mystics

For exploring Julian of Norwich…

Julian of Norwich is one of the two greatest mystics writing in the English language (the other being the anonymous author of The Cloud of Unknowing). Her ideas are daring, her writing lyrical, and her visions (while sometimes difficult because of their medieval sensibility) are striking and memorable. Her writing is rich and nuanced, so a good commentary is a great help.

Julian of Norwich, The Showings: Uncovering the Face of the Feminine in Revelations of Divine Love, translated from the Middle English by Mirabai Starr — There are many great translations of Julian, but Mirabai Starr truly makes Julian’s voice come alive for our time. As a bonus, check out the audio vision, narrated by Katie Scarfe.

Robert Llewelyn, With Pity Not With Blame — Llewelyn was for many years the guardian of the Julian Shrine in Norwich. This book approaches Julian as a spiritual teacher, and looks at her mystical wisdom alongside that of her anonymous contemporary, the author of The Cloud of Unknowing.

Amy Frykholm, Julian of Norwich: A Contemplative Biography — There are many excellent studies of Julian (check out works by Veronica Rolf, Grace Jantzen and Andrew Louth, to name a few), but I’m partial to this book because it looks at Julian the woman, more than just the writer or the spiritual teacher. Mysticism is ultimately a story, so here is a delightful imagining of the story of Julian’s life.

For exploring William Blake…

When William Blake died in 1827, he was buried in a pauper’s grave. But today he is regarded as both a great British poet and artist as well as a mystic unencumbered by church dogma; it is widely recognized that the best way to unpack his quirky and idiosyncratic vision is by seeking to appreciate him for his contemplative vision.

William Blake, The Complete Illuminated Books — Blake was an artist as well as a poet, so it’s wise to approach his work visually, feasting on his quirky otherworldly illustrations that accompanied his poetry. As for the poems, get the Erdman edition.

John Higgs, William Blake vs. the World — Too many critics of Blake have either misunderstood his singular spirituality or tried to explain it away (often dismissing it as madness). Higgs, by contrast, accepts Blake the mystic and invites us to take a closer look.

Mark Vernon, Awake! William Blake and the Power of the Imagination — Blake, like St. Ignatius of Loyola, saw the imagination as an essential component of the spiritual life (as well as the artistic life); Vernon helps us see how the imagination is the key to Blake’s universal mysticism.

For exploring Evelyn Underhill…

This 20th century novelist and poet turned retreat leader and spiritual director made her name by writing accessible and inspirational books on how mysticism remains relevant even in the modern secular age. Although Underhill’s prose can seem really stuffy in our time, she is not afraid to celebrate mysticism’s inner beauty — making her work a celebration of how infinitely attractive mysticism is.

Evelyn Underhill, Practical Mysticism — Perhaps the most accessible entry into the words of wisdom of Underhill herself. This book finds her making the case that mysticism is for everyone, even the folks she amusingly calls “normal people.” Even those of us who think of ourselves as anything but normal (!) can appreciate the accessibility of this short book.

Dana Greene, Evelyn Underhill, Artist of the Inner Life — Several good biographies of Underhill have been published, but I’m partial to this one, written by a respected Underhill scholar who was herself very much a contemplative.

Robin Wrigley-Carr, The Spiritual Formation of Evelyn Underhill — This insightful book takes a close look at how Underhill’s spirituality evolved over her lifetime, by focusing on her relationships with her spiritual directors, including the renowned Baron Von Hügel.

For exploring J.R.R. Tolkien…

Tolkien is chiefly remembered today as the author of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings — he practically invented the modern genre of fantasy, and his ideas about fairy tales remain worth pondering, a half a century after his passing. But like his colleague C.S. Lewis (see below), Tolkien weaves a rich sacramental and mystical sensibility into his fiction.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion — Strange, incantatory, heroic, and deeply mythic, it’s become almost a cliché to say reading The Silmarillion feels like reading the Bible — such was Tolkien’s gift, that he could create mystical fiction that lands as a type of sacred scripture.

J.R.R. Tolkien, Tree and Leaf — This anthology includes two works essential for appreciating Tolkien’s approach to myth and mystery: “On Fairy Stories,” where he makes the case that magical tales are for adults, and “Mythopoeia,” a similar defense of myth in verse.

Verlyn Flieger, Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien’s World — like so many mythical (and mystical) writers, Tolkien is fascinated by the interplay between light and dark; Flieger uses this as an entry point into Tolkien’s spiritual depth.

Patrick Curry, Defending Middle Earth: Tolkien, Myth and Modernity — This study of Tolkien celebrates how he combines a deeply otherworldly spirituality with a lyrical love for and appreciation of nature and the earth, making his relevant to our age.

For exploring C.S. Lewis…

Another writer remembered primarily for his fiction (and also his “pop theology”), Lewis’ writing lacks the layered depth of Tolkien’s, but more than made up for it with the shimmering luminosity of his best work, writing that practically sang with an embodied invitation into spiritual truth.

C. S. Lewis, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader — As humble as The Silmarillion is grand, this entry from the Narnia series reveals Lewis’s ideas about the shape of the mystical life. Shaped by Platonic dualism, it’s flawed, but filled with lyrical paeans to silence and light.

David C. Downing, Into the Region of Awe: Mysticism in C. S. Lewis — a commentary written to introduce evangelicals to the mysticism of Lewis, this book nevertheless offers a clear, accessible guide to the contemplative dimension of Lewis’s writing, especially his fiction.

Carl McColman, The Lion, the Mouse and the Dawn Treader: Spiritual Lessons from C.S. Lewis’s Narnia — A shout out to one of my own books! 😇 This companion volume to The Voyage of the Dawn Treader highlights and unpacks that book’s mystical heart.

If you’d like to watch the video, click here: Wisdom of the English Mystics Free Webinar with Carl McColman (you may be asked to register with the SDI website in order to watch it).

Happy Valentine’s Day, friends! May this day be a way for you to celebrate love, in whatever manner that is appropriate for you. If this day causes you pain or activation in any way, I wish for your grace and serenity. And if this day brings you joy, may you find spiritual depth and meaning in the pleasure that love brings you.

I figured to celebrate Valentine’s Day today I would write about Julian of Norwich. She is more typically associated with the month of May, since her mystical visions occurred in May 1373. But I’m thinking the month of May could lend her to February just for today, since Julian is arguably the greatest Western mystic whose spirituality is focused on, grounded in, and affirming of love. This is evident even in the title of her book of mystical visions, often rendered as Revelations of Divine Love or the charming, Middle English-inspired Showing of Love.

Five Lessons on Love from Julian of Norwich

The following list of “lessons on love” does not even begin to exhaust the wisdom of Lady Julian. But it’s a great starting point (or even if you’ve loved Julian for years, like I have, I hope this list will be joyful for you to review). So I invite you to meditate on the amazing spiritual implications of each of these principles found in her mystical teachings.

I. Love is the Primary Way God Relates to Us

One of the most renowned and beloved of images found in Julian’s writing (and her writing is full of vivid images) is the vision of a small thing “the size of a hazelnut,” that appeared in the very first of her sixteen visions. Julian tells the story of the hazelnut in chapter 5 of her book. This quote speaks of how Julian received insight into the nature of God (the Divine) from this humble vision:

These words entered my understanding [regarding the small thing]: It lasts, and will last forever, because God loves it. Everything that is has its being through the love of God. I saw three attributes of this small thing: the first is that God made it; the second is that he loves it; and the third that he sustains it.

We are made, we are loved, we are kept (sustained). Whatever you may believe about God, Julian invites you to consider that these are the three facts that shape the relationship between divinity and humanity. What Julian called “God” we can call “Divine Love” which follows the teaching from the first letter of John in the New Testament: “God is love” (I John 4:8, 4:16). Interestingly, it’s the only time any of the Biblical writers attempts to offer such a succinct definition of God. We may speak of the creator of the universe as Divine Love, for Love truly is the creator. And this Love that creates us, that gives us our very being, also sustains us: keeps us. And it is all woven together and held together in love.

II. Divine Love for Us Even Predates Our Very Creation

Julian makes this point fairly late in her book, in fact, it’s found in the very last chapter (86). But it’s such a foundational concept that I believe this direct quote really represents her re-stating a principle that is central to her wisdom:

God wants us to know that he loved us before he even made us, and this love has never diminished and never will. All his actions unfold from this love, and through this love he makes everything that happens of value to us, and in this love we find everlasting life. Our creation has a starting point, but the love in which he made us has no beginning, and this love is our true source.

Wow. I don't know about you, but I could probably spend the next twenty years meditating just on this one paragraph. Divine Love predates even our very creation, and remains steady and constant, now and for all eternity. Therefore it makes sense to believe in the gift of eternal life, for that is just a natural outgrowth of the gift of even our mortal life. We can think about our lives as having a “starting point” — a moment of pure creation, before which we simply did not exist — but the love out of which we began has no beginning, just as it has no end. And while our mortal bodies will “end” through the experience of death, the love that created us remains: and we remain in that love.

III. Divine Love Transcends Gender — and Therefore, Transcends Limits

Julian is famous for how cleverly and poetically she subverts the patriarchal images of God that limit God to “Father” — as she so concisely puts it in chapter 59:

As truly as God is our Father, just as truly is God our Mother.

She wasn’t the first or the only mystic in the Middle Ages to speak about the Divine Feminine, but she may well have been the most daring, even though (as we have seeen) she is comfortable referring to God using he pronouns. While Julian’s treatment of God and gender may not seem to be directly about love, I believe her teachings about this topic directly relate to her wisdom regarding love. For one thing, gender (on a purely human level) is a way we organize our social expectations regarding love: We expect men to embody in certain ways, and women in other, hopefully complementary ways. In Julian’s day, deep in the medieval period, she would have understood “masculine” love as dominating, controlling, powerful, boundary-setting, but also hopefully providential. By contrast, “feminine” love she probably saw as nurturing, compassionate, affectionate, embodied, self-giving. We can argue whether any of these ways of thinking about love have any necessary relationship with gender, but the plain fact of the matter is, most people even today do often have a very gendered understanding of love, which may often operate subconsciously.

Julian understands that love is better than gender or sexuality — and that the only way to truly open up our limitless and unbounded experience of Divine Love is to make sure that our image of God is not confined to just one gender.

IV. Where Do We Find Divine Love? Inquire Within

Julian of Norwich was hardly the first mystic to proclaim that God is found within (frankly, that honor goes all the way back to Biblical writers like the Apostle Paul), but she certainly and explicitly includes that teaching in her own writings. Consider this nugget from chapter 54 of her book:

It is a sublime realization to see with inner eyes that God, our Creator, dwells inside us, and it is an even more exalted thing to understand inwardly that the essence of our soul, which is created, dwells in God. It is by this essence that, through God, we are what we are. I saw no difference between the divine substance and the human substance; it was all God.

God, our creator, dwells inside us: this is standard mystical theology 101, and no more daring than clear teachings you can find in the New Testament. But for Julian, this is just the stage on which the fullness of Divine Union is realized: not only does God (Love) dwell in us, but we dwell in Divine Love: and this is more than just some sort of contemplative Möbius strip — our mutual in-dwelling leads to the inescapable conclusion that we are substantially (completely) one with the Divine: all is God, all is Divine. You are not just loved by God, you are Divine Love. By grace, of course, a completely freely given gift from the Divine Lover, yet the gift has been given. We are one. One with the Divine, one with each other, for all is Love. To find the love in our loves, we truly have to go no further than to the depth within our heart.

V. Love is the Meaning of Life

Towards the end of her book, Julian recounts an insight she received more than fifteen years after her visions:

This is what I heard. “Would you like to know our Lord’s meaning in all this? Know it well: love was his meaning. Who revealed this to you? Love. What did he reveal to you? Love. Why did he reveal it to you? For love. Stay with this and you will know more of the same. You will never know anything but love, without end.” (Chapter 86)

This brings us back to the principle that Divine Love predates even our own making. Here we find the summation and integration of all Julian’s teachings, as if she were merrily unpacking the simple but radical New Testament teaching: “God is Love” (I John 4). Love is the name of the Divine Lover, so love is sentient and conscious, and therefore: Love loves us. Love gives our life meaning. Love reveals that meaning to us, and in revealing that meaning, Love is simply revealing Love’s own Divine Self to us. Love is its own purpose, and when we dive into love, we find that Love just keeps getting bigger and more heavenly, the deeper we go.

There certainly is more that can be said, but I feel like I should stop here both to keep this post from getting any longer than it already is, but also to leave you with plenty of treasures hidden with Julian’s mystical teachings to find for yourself. I myself have been reading, studying, and meditating on Julian’s words for more than 40 years now, and I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface: I’m always finding some new insight, some new treasure, some new way of understanding life and love and God (the Divine) through her. May you have a similar journey of ever-expanding insight.

A Final Caveat

Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge one important note of caution when we reflect on Julian as a teacher of love. Her understanding of love is like that of most medieval mystics: it’s sexless and pretty much disconnected from both the human body and the lived experience of human beings loving one another (in whatever form that might take). Julian’s love, inspiring and poetic though it may be, is strictly a heavenly love: Divine Love, the love of God. So while I’m happy to celebrate Julian’s teachings of love on this day when we honor the down-to-earth, fully enfleshed love of romantic and erotic bonding, let’s remember that as beautiful as Julian’s vision of love may be, it is still incomplete.

Yes, incomplete, but yes, beautiful, especially in a spiritual sense. So let us remember to allow Julian to inspire us: to remind us that no matter how good (or bad) we may have it in terms of our experience of earthly love, that’s not the whole story, either. Love is a spectrum, and the passions and pleasures of love between humans is just one end of the rainbow. The New Testament offers this perspective: “We love because God first loved us” (I John 4:19) — so whenever you experience love, receive love, or give love, in whatever form, you are sharing a light that has its origins in the heartbeat at the center of the universe and all things. You are a being of love because you are being loved. May we all truly embody this principle, both for our own capacity for joy but also so that we may more generously and vigorously share love with others, especially with those whom we find it challenging to love.

May it ever be so.

Would you like to explore the spirituality of Julian of Norwich (and other mystics from England) more fully? Then please join me for a conversation on the Wisdom of the English Mystics, this coming Wednesday, February 18, 2025, at 9 AM Pacific Time / Noon Eastern Time (USA). To register for this free event, click here: www.sdicompanions.org/event/the-wisdom-of-the-english-mystics/

We’ll spend time feasting on the wisdom of several great mystics, and also tell you about a week-long pilgrimage in search of the Wisdom of the English Mystics, May 26-June 3, 2025.

Quotation sources are from the Mirabai Starr translation of Julian of Norwich: The Showings (Hampton Roads Publishing, 2022). If you prefer audiobooks, get this beautiful version of Mirabai’s translation, narrated by Kate Scarfe: Audible Version.

In 1930, Evelyn Underhill wrote a letter addressed to the Archbishop of Canterbury, Cosmo Lang, intending for him to share it with the over 300 Bishops of the Anglican Communion who would be meeting with him at the Lambeth Conference that took place in July of that year.

There is no evidence that Underhill ever sent the letter; a handwritten draft of it was found among her papers after her death in 1941. Because the letter only exists in that form, it was not included in the two different collections of Underhill’s letters that have been published since her passing, nor has it appeared in any other publication of her writings. Nevertheless, it has been widely circulated among Underhill scholars and appears on multiple websites. The letter is reprinted below.

At that time, Underhill was an established authority on the subject of Christian Mysticism—her “big book” on that topic had been published almost 20 years previously, in 1911. If she had in fact submitted the letter to Archbishop Lang, we might assume it would have been taken at least somewhat seriously. Underhill understood that she was a layperson — indeed, a laywoman — writing at a time when people who were not ordained clergy (which is to say, men called to be priests or bishops) were regarded as having no real authority to teach or guide the bishops who led the church. Keenly aware of the social limitations she faced, Underhill speaks with humility and deference—but she still makes her request.

And what does she ask of the bishops? That they make it a priority to cultivate the spiritual life of the priests under their care.

However difficult and apparently unrewarding, care for the interior spirit is the first duty of every priest. Divine renewal can only come through those whose roots are in the world of prayer.

Evelyn Underhill certainly was neither the first nor the last observer to lament on how religious leaders often did not make spirituality a priority — either in their own lives, or the lives of the congregations they shepherded. But as a well-known a writer who promoted the revival of mystical spirituality among all people, Underhill’s call for prioritizing the spiritual life of ministers is meaningful indeed, and worth reflecting on, even almost 100 years later.

I know most people who read this Substack are not necessarily clergy — but I assume most of you share my interest in seeing contemplative spirituality prosper, both inside and outside the boundaries of traditional religion. I’m sharing Underhill’s letter with you today not because I’m particularly worried about the spiritual lives of priests. Granted, I want religious leaders to take their own spiritual lives seriously, not only for their own sake but also so they can also take seriously the spiritual lives of those under their care. But my main reason for sharing this letter arises from my conviction that what Underhill wanted for the priests is something I believe would benefit everyone — whether religious or not, whether ordained or not.

As a woman of her time, Underhill equated spiritual welfare with church membership, and saw that the single most important way to make churches more spiritually healthy would be to take good care of the clergy serving the church. In our time, more and more people regard church membership (and participation) to be a more optional feature in one’s spiritual life. However you stand on that particular issue, I hope you can agree with me that Underhill’s wisdom belongs to every body — not just bishops, or priests, but to anyone who seeks to grow spiritually.

And what does Underhill promote as important steps for anyone to take who seeks to grow spiritually? She calls for better education in the spiritual life, followed by the importance of making an annual retreat, and cultivating a personal rule of life, and—especially for ministers—to work to make their churches “a real home of prayer.”

I hope you can see how each of these recommendations is adaptable to the circumstances of spirituality among lay persons—now as much as ever.

Spiritual seekers deserve a spiritual education. Spirituality—including mystical and contemplative forms of spirituality—is countercultural; which is to say, it goes against the grain of the dog-eat-dog, looking-out-for-number-one values that shape our society. We learn the ropes of the culture we are born into, just by the normal socialization process of a child. But if we want to learn a countercultural set of values, that takes conscious, intentional work — in other words, it requires some sort of training or education. Spirituality cannot just be learned from books: we learn spirituality through a combination of intellectual study, embodied practice, and following the guidance of mentors or elders. A trust spiritual education will provide support in each of these areas.

Spiritual seekers grow more readily if they adopt a personal rule of life. If you start a business, sooner or later you’ll learn the value of a company mission statement and business plan. Sure, you can just set up shop and start selling whatever product or service you want to promote. That’s fine—but if you want to grow your business to its full potentional, having a game plan can make the difference between focussed effort or aimless wandering. In the spiritual life, a personal rule is like those corporate documents: it’s a way of focussing your intention on your spiritual values and the steps you want to take to make them a sustainable part of your life.

Spiritual seekers benefit from making an annual retreat. My first “real” job out of college was a management position with a retail corporation; every summer we had a manager’s conference in the Connecticut Berkshires, a time when we all focussed on our goals for the year to come and our game plans for making those goals a reality. The spiritual life, generally speaking, is not goal-oriented like a corporation, but there is a similar value in taking a week or so off from your regular schedule to go away —preferably to a monastery or retreat center—and dive deep into silence for prayer, personal reflection, and meditation. Just like a year of work with no vacation increases the risk of burnout, so a daily regimen of spiritual practice without time away for deep rest can prove to unsustainable. Avoid spiritual exhaustion: make a retreat at least once a year.

Spiritual seekers a real home for regular prayer. It doesn’t have to be your church, and maybe not even your home (although I would recommend that every home needs at least a corner dedicated to the inner life). But just as football needs a field and musicians need a band or an orchestra, so do people who seek a deeper spiritual life need some place where it is safe and sensible to go within.

Keeping a rule of life, making an annual retreat, regarding one’s home as a site for regular prayer, and maintaining an ongoing practice of spiritual education may not seem to be the most glamorous steps one can take to nurture and grow spiritually. For that matter, I imagine most people could also come up with other important steps anyone could take to nurture their own spirituality (like regular time devoted to caring for the poor).

What matters most of all? That we make spirituality a priority for our lives. We may not dive into the all-encompassing lifestyle of a monk or a nun, but there’s still plenty of room in anyone’s life for prioritizing the mystical path. What Evelyn Underhill encouraged bishops to do for their priests, you and I can do for our own souls—nurture an interior life that matters.

A letter from Evelyn Underhill to Archbishop Lang of Canterbury

(Found among her papers. c.1930)

MAY it please your Grace:

I desire very humbly to suggest with bishops assembled at Lambeth that the greatest and most necessary work they could do at the present time for the spiritual renewal of the Anglican Church would be to call the clergy as a whole, solemnly and insistently to a greater interiority and cultivation of the personal life of prayer. This was the original aim of the founders of the Jerusalem Chamber Fellowship, of whom I am one. We were convinced that the real failures, difficulties and weaknesses of the Church are spiritual and can only be remedied by spiritual effort and sacrifice, and that her deepest need is a renewal, first in the clergy and through them in the laity; of the great Christian tradition of the inner life. The Church wants not more consecrated philanthropists, but a disciplined priesthood of theocentric souls who shall be tools and channels of the Spirit of God: and this she cannot have until Communion with God is recognized as the first duty of the priest. But under modern conditions this is so difficult that unless our fathers in God solemnly require it of us, the necessary efforts and readjustments will not be made. With the development of that which is now called “The Way of Renewal” more and more emphasis has been placed on the nurture and improvement of the intellect, less and less, on that of the soul. I do not underrate the importance of the intellectual side of religion. But all who do personal religious work know that the real hunger among the laity is not for halting attempts to reconcile theology and physical science, but for the deep things of the Spirit.

We look to the Church to give us an experience of God, mystery, holiness and prayer which, though it may not solve the antinomies of the natural world, shall lift us to contact with the supernatural world and minister eternal life. We look to the clergy to help and direct our spiritual growth. We are seldom satisfied because with a few noble exceptions they are so lacking in spiritual realism, so ignorant of the laws and experiences of the life of prayer. Their Christianity as a whole is humanitarian rather than theocentric. So their dealings with souls are often vague and amateurish. Those needing spiritual help may find much kindliness, but seldom that firm touch of firsthand knowledge of interior ways which comes only from a disciplined personal life of prayer. In public worship they often fail to evoke the spirit of adoration because they do not possess it themselves. Hence the dreary character of many church services and the result in the increasing alienation of the laity from institutional forms.

God is the interesting thing about religion, and people are hungry for God. But only a priest whose life is soaked in prayer, sacrifice, and love can, by his own spirit of adoring worship, help us to apprehend Him. We ask the bishops . . . to declare to the Church and especially its ministers, that the future of organized Christianity hinges not on the triumph of this or that type of churchman’s theology or doctrine, but on the interior spirit of poverty, chastity and obedience of the ordained. However difficult and apparently unrewarding, care for the interior spirit is the first duty of every priest. Divine renewal can only come through those whose roots are in the world of prayer.

THE TWO things that the laity want from the priesthood are spiritual realism and genuine love of souls. It is by these that all Christian successes have been won in the past and it is to these that men always respond. We instantly recognize those services and sermons that are the outward expression of the priest’s interior adherence to God and the selfless love of souls. These always give us a religious experience. On the other hand, every perfunctory service, every cold and slovenly celebration (for these are more frequent than the bishops realize because when they are present, everything is at its best), is a lost opportunity which discredits corporate worship and again reflects back to the poor and shallow quality of the Priest’s inner life... It is perhaps worthwhile to recall the humbling fact that recent notable secessions to the Roman Catholic communion have been caused by declaration by a felt need of the supernatural which the Church of England failed to satisfy, while the astonishing success of the Oxford Group Movement among young people of the educated class witnesses to the widespread desire for an experience of God unmet by the ordinary ministrations of the Church. History shows that these quasi-mystical movements among the laity do not flourish where the invisible side of institutional religion is vigorously maintained.

I know that recovering the ordered interior life of prayer and meditation will be very difficult for clergy immersed increasingly in routine work. It will mean for many a complete rearrangement of values and a reduction of social activities. They will not do it unless they are made to feel its crucial importance. This will not be achieved through “schools of prayer” which stimulate the mind rather than the spirit. But the solemn voice of the united episcopate, recalling the Church to that personal, realistic contact with the Supernatural which has been since Pentecost the one source of her power, will give authoritative support to those who already feel the need of a deeper spirituality and will remind the others that the renewal of a spiritual society must depend on giving absolute priority to the spiritual life.

I venture to put before the conference the following practical recommendations: (1) Education of Ordinands— That the bishops shall emphasize the need and importance of a far more thorough, varied, interesting and expert devotional training in our theological colleges which, with a few striking exceptions, seem to me to give insufficient attention to this vital part of their work. (2) The Clergy— That they should call upon every ordained clergyman, as an essential part of his pastoral duty and not merely for his own sake: (a) To adopt a rule of life which shall include a fixed daily period of prayer and reading of a type that feeds, pacifies and expands his soul, and deepens his communion with God; b) To make an annual retreat; (c) To use every endeavour to make his church into a real home of prayer and teach his people, both by exhortation and example so to use it.

Also below the paywall, here’s a PDF you can download of quotations that we will be reflecting on together when we gather on Zoom, February 11 and February 14. The Zoom links are also listed below. See you on Zoom!

Read more

In December, I had the honor of preaching one Sunday at the Episcopal Cathedral in Honolulu. It was my first time in Hawaii, so I had never been to the Cathedral Church of Saint Andrew before. It was a joy to receive a tour of the building from the Cathedral dean. She regaled us with stories of the building’s history (probably the only church in America built through the generosity of a reigning royal family), and pointed out features in the architecture that were unusual or remarkably beautiful.

The nave of the Cathedral is dominated by a floor-to-ceiling stained glass window that was installed in 1958, more than half a century after the cathedral was consecrated. The story goes that the building had suffered termite damage, and the window was installed during the repairs. Known as the Great West Window, it is dominated by an image of Christ in glory, rays of sunlight shining over him. That large central figure surrounded by images of Biblical scenes and of church history. At his feet are figures associated with the church in Hawaii, including the Cathedral’s patrons Queen Emma and King Kamehameha IV. But the California-based artist who designed the Great West Window clearly had a sense of humor: at the bottom right corner of the window is an image of a termite, commemorating the wee pests who indirectly made this window possible; and opposite the insect, at the upper left is an image of Jesus riding a surfboard.

There are online commentaries on this window that suggest Jesus was depicted this way as a uniquely Hawaiian way of envisioning the miracle of walking on water. I think that’s charming, and perhaps is a helpful way of framing this image for anyone who might find it scandalous. But I’d like to suggest that we could also simply accept it for what it is: an image of the Christ that is meant to make him relatable to the people of that part of the world. Surfing, after all, is a practice that — as a sport — originated in Polynesia, and it remains deeply embedded in both traditional and contemporary Hawaiian culture. If Jesus really wanted to meet the people of Hawaii on their own turf (or should I say, on their own surf), wouldn’t he come to them riding a surfboard?

Jesus is hardly the only one. The humorous Christmas song “Hawaiian Santa” depicts Father Christmas like this:

Hawaiian Santa is a sight to see,
When he comes surfing into Waikiki…

Other local legends have Santa trading in his sleigh and reindeer for a canoe to get around the islands and share his gifts with all the children.

I can hear the objections of people who might say, “It’s all very well to make light of Santa by putting him on a surfboard, but Jesus? Isn’t that irreverent… if not blasphemous?”

Irreverent? Maybe. Blasphemous? Absolutely not. In fact, for this mainlander, seeing Jesus on a surfboard, depicted in stained glass in the midst of a beautiful house of worship, is arguably the most refreshing and wonderful image of the Christ that I have seen in quite some time.

Here’s why I say this:

Jesus Meets Us Where We Are. So many of us grew up with a distinctively European (Caucasian) image of Jesus, complete with creamy skin, blue eyes, and brown hair with just the right amount of golden highlights. If it bugs you to think of Jesus riding a surfboard, then it should also bug you to make Jesus look like those who lived hundreds of miles to the north of his actual home. As a Semitic child of the Middle East, we can trust that Jesus had dark skin, dark eyes, and probably jet-black hair. If Europeans can “revise” their image of Jesus to make him look more like them, then so can anyone else from around the world. And indeed, I’m not scandalized by blue-eyed Jesus — my only objection to this way of depicting Christ is when people start to think it’s the only way to visualize Jesus. I believe it’s human nature to want to see Jesus “look like us” — and while the most obvious way we think of this is through his physical appearance, perhaps we can also extend that to how we depict Jesus living his life. If the human Jesus had been born in O’ahu instead of Bethlehem, I think it’s reasonable to assume that he would have loved surfing. So why not depict him that way? Maybe that’s an unusual image for somebody living in Atlanta or Minneapolis, but it would make Jesus seem more like “one of us” to a Pacific Islander. The takeaway is a lot bigger than just surfing: Jesus meets us where we are, which can be interpreted to mean that God — the Spirit, the Divine, “Love-with-a-capital-L” — also, and always, meets us right where we are.

Jesus is Fully Human. People in the Christian tradition believe that Jesus was (is) the son of God — but there has been a long tension in the history of the church over how the humanity of an itinerant first-century Palestinian rabbi meets the divinity of God’s beloved child. Historically, Christians have dived into the paradox: Jesus is “fully human, fully divine.” But in practice, I suspect many Christians have an easier time keeping Jesus holy and spiritualized, and either ignoring or even denying his humanness. Emphasizing the divinity of Christ is a subtle way of keeping Jesus at arm’s length, which then makes it easier to ignore his teachings, or at the very least, dismiss them as unrealistic for mere humans, since of course that was God talking! But if we can remember the full humanity of Jesus, that is a sober reminder that Jesus is very much like us — and his teachings are meant for people just like you and me. If the son of God is fully human, that implies he had a human capacity for laughter, joy, fun, and even sports. Of course, a fully human Jesus would be the kind of person who would love to give surfing a try! When we think of Jesus on a surfboard, this has the double blessing of making surfing seem a bit more holy and making Jesus seem a bit more down to earth.

Jesus Knows How to Have Fun. I touched on this already, but it deserves to be said again: a surfing Jesus is a fun Jesus, a playful Jesus, a Jesus who is no stranger to joy. Joy, after all, is a fruit of the spirit (See Galatians 5:22) — but it seems to me that too many people forget their joy when they walk into church. Church is such a serious business, trying to get us all saved so we don’t fry in hell after we die. When that is the central message of religion, it becomes a death-cult. Hey, I’m all for seeking to live a life shaped by heaven, but to me, we do this because it is its own reward, not because it’s a way to manipulate God into doing nice things for us after we die. And if we seek a heaven-shaped life right here and now, then we are seeking a life shaped by love, by joy, by peace, and all the other fruit of the spirit. Clearly, Jesus knew joy — and what seems to capture this more than an image of Jesus riding a wave?

Jesus Knows There’s More than One Way to Perform a Miracle. Okay, let’s play it safe and assume that this is really meant to be a kind of Hawaiian version of the miracle of Jesus walking on the water. If you don’t know that miracle, here’s the story from the Bible:

Immediately he made the disciples get into a boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. And after he had dismissed the crowds, he went up the mountain by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, but by this time the boat, battered by the waves, was far from the land, for the wind was against them. And early in the morning he came walking toward them on the sea. But when the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified, saying, “It is a ghost!” And they cried out in fear. But immediately Jesus spoke to them and said, “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.”

Peter answered him, “Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat, started walking on the water, and came toward Jesus. But when he noticed the strong wind, he became frightened, and, beginning to sink, he cried out, “Lord, save me!” Jesus immediately reached out his hand and caught him, saying to him, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?” When they got into the boat, the wind ceased. And those in the boat worshiped him, saying, “Truly you are the Son of God.” (Matthew 14:22-33)

I think we can safely assume that Jesus was not on a surfboard when the events that inspired this story took place. But whatever faith (or doubt) you might have in regard to Jesus walking on water, the idea that surfing can symbolize walking on water is, to my mind, a charming way to bring a miracle story down to earth. I’ve heard of commentators who believe the real miracle of the feeding of the five thousand is encouraging everyone to share whatever food they might have hidden away in their bags or baskets; that may be a lot less dramatic than Jesus making tons of food appear out of thin air, but it’s certainly a lot more believable — and just as wondrous. Getting tired and hungry people in a huge crowd to be generous and to share with the strangers sitting next to them? That’s a miracle indeed.

Miracles can come in all shapes and sizes. To someone who is unfamiliar with surfing, it could easily seem to be a wonder: a way for someone to walk on the waves. A more sophisticated observer might remind us that surfing breaks no laws of physics, but who said that a miracle must involving breaking natural laws? I think there’s no reason to limit miracles in such a way.

So when you go to Hawaii, consider stopping by the Episcopal Cathedral and pay your respects to surfing Jesus. Give him a smile— and remember that humanity, joy, pleasure, fun, and even a dash of wonder are all central ingredients in the spiritual life.

I live in Georgia, and like much of the eastern half of the United States, we are hunkering down in anticipation of the major winter storm coming our way this weekend. As I write these words on Friday evening, it’s about 45° Fahrenheit, currently no precipitation. The highs over the next week will remain in the mid 40s and will dip as the week progresses, but the nighttime lows will be tough for us southerners: sub-freezing temperatures every night of next week. Brrr!

Yes, I know the winter weather will hammer states to the north of us far more severely. I pray everyone stays warm and safe. But storms like these are challenging to navigate because they bring extreme weather relative to what is normal for any given region. Here in Georgia, late January temperatures tend to be in the 35-55° range, so this will be noticeably cooler than normal. For all of you northerners who might be tempted to sneer at us, remember that we don’t have the clothing or the road equipment to make navigating a winter storm more manageable.

As I’m writing these words, I realize that the real topic here is not the weather at all, but suffering. When a burden seems greater than what we’re used to, we naturally suffer. If you have the right clothes — and your city has the right equipment — then weathering a winter storm is manageable, and perhaps even enjoyable (if you love winter sports like skiing, then naturally you’ll love winter snow much more than most). But without proper preparation, suffering is the natural consequence.

As best I can tell, no one likes to suffer. Even people who explore pain and suffering for erotic purposes (i.e., members of the BDSM community) prefer to keep it tightly controlled, with “safe words” agreed upon to make sure the suffering never gets out of hand. But while such careful limits might work in consensual erotic contexts, the pain that comes with the territory of being human cannot be managed so neatly in the wilds of real life.

No one can plan just how much suffering will come to us at any point in our lives, or how to minimize or mitigate real suffering when it does come to call. In his writings, contemplative author Martin Laird refers to the experience of depression as having an “uninvited guest” in one’s life. Just because we do not invite suffering into our hearts and our lives does not mean that at some points of our lives, suffering will show up anyways.

So what do we do about it?

We can be like Dylan Thomas and “rage, rage against the dying light” — refusing to acquiesce to the sting of suffering. But that is no guarantee that suffering will disappear; on the contrary, our efforts to fight suffering might have the unfortunate consequence of just making it worse.

Then there is Jesus, who seems to counsel a kind of gentle acquiescence in the face of life’s normal suffering. “Blessed are the meek,” “Blessed are those who mourn,” “Take up your cross and follow me” — in other words, when suffering comes, don’t fight it, don’t resist it, simply accept it and allow it to (if possible) teach us, and perhaps even bless us.

This harmonizes nicely with the teachings of the Buddha, who felt that suffering was ubiquitous — and that the way to alleviate suffering is to loosen our attachment to desire, including the desire to end suffering itself. By contrast, when we begin to understand that every human being must endure some measure of suffering, we can therefore try to be more philosophical and gently accept that this, too, is a part of life: and such acceptance can be a real key to the experience of suffering being mitigated.

Suffering never lasts forever (if suffering is too much to bear for now, tomorrow or at some point in the future we can trust that suffering will be alleviated). This impermanence of physical sensation (really, of all things) can seem cold or harsh when we are facing the impermanence of things or people or experiences we love, but the impermanence of suffering or pain seems like good news indeed. Christianity typically does not emphasize impermanence as a positive value, but musing on the impermanence of life and all things is both consistent with the Bible’s message that only God is perfect and permanent, as well as also helping anyone caught in the thrall of ordinary human suffering to find hope in trusting that tomorrow will be different.

Most people who dive into Christian spirituality, it seems to me, want something more than just a vague assurance that since nothing lasts forever, we can expect to outgrow our suffering. But that “something more” often is just a posture of trusting that God will, in the end, wipe every tear from our eyes. I for one am willing to let my expectations of God be modest. I don’t expect God to magically wipe away all my pain and sorrow.

But I do expect God to love me and care for me, even when I’m suffering. And that love and care proves to be everything I need to live my life shaped not by suffering, but by joy.