Sunday, April 10, 2016

Who is a Mystic?

What do you think of when you hear the word “mystic?” Do you think of people sitting around in a trance, perhaps trying to contact the dead, like the spiritualists of the last century? Do you think of whirling dervishes, dancing their way into a spiritual frenzy? Do you think of some mad tribal ritual, where people go into raptures and speak in strange voices?

I once heard a priest, a well-respected man about the age I am now, say in a sermon that he had never had a mystical experience. And I thought to myself, “Are you sure?” Mystical experiences are not necessarily strange or exotic. What we are talking about when we say “mystical experience” is a direct sense of the reality of God, of the divine or holy foundation of life. It is a sense of faith based on direct experience, rather than intellectual assent to certain creedal statements. Mystical experiences also include a sense of being addressed by God or even of being commissioned by God. Most important, when we have a mystical experience, we know that we are in God’s presence. So perhaps mystical experiences are not so strange after all?

All of today’s readings depict what we could call mystical experiences, experiences of direct encounter with God. The reading from the book of Acts actually lets us see two mystical experiences. In the first, the more dramatic one, we see Paul stopped dead in his tracks and temporarily blinded. Sensing that he is in God’s presence, but in a very different way than he had ever before experienced God, Paul asks the only possible question, “Who are you, Lord?” Along with the answer to his question, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting,” Paul receives a hint of the commission that awaits him: “You will be told what to do.”

But Paul isn’t the only one in this story to have a direct sense of God’s presence. Ananias too, has a vision, a vision in which he too receives a commission. He hears God command him, despite his reservations about Paul, to go to Paul and minister to him.

The psalmist too has had a direct sense of God’s presence. Pondering the ebbs and flows of life, the psalmist knows that God has been with him, supporting him and upholding him. As a result, the psalmist can exultantly shout, “my heart sings to you without ceasing/ O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever.”

That we are hearing about a mystical experience is most obvious in the reading from the book of Revelation. Actually, the whole book depicts a series of visions that John, the leader of a community of Christians in Ephesus, saw while he was exiled by the Romans on the island of Patmos. In the brief reading that we heard this morning, John sees himself ushered into the divine presence, where he is surrounded by virtually all of creation joined together in praise of Christ. As he joins in praise, he sees Christ as the sacrificial lamb, now reigning triumphantly in heaven.

The reading from the gospel according to John also shows the disciples having a direct experience of the risen Christ. Interestingly, notice who realizes first that the stranger standing on the beach is Jesus. It is the “beloved disciple.” He was Jesus’ intimate friend, and the one who was lying right next to Jesus at his last meal. You might remember that last week I mentioned Henry Ossawa Tanner’s painting of the empty tomb. In the painting, Peter is downcast and doubtful, but the beloved disciple is radiant, glowing with an inner light. Could it be that intimate friendship with Jesus helps us recognize him, as the beloved disciple did here from the boat?

Of course, Peter too has a direct experience of being in the presence of the risen Christ. Like the others, Peter also receives a commission: to let his love for Jesus be reflected in feeding Jesus’ sheep, i.e., in satisfying the hunger, both physical and spiritual, of those to whom he is sent. Even the beloved disciple has a commission. In the very last verses of this last chapter of John’s gospel, which we don’t hear today, the writer tells us that his task is to testify to “these things” and to write them down.

So, all our lections show us God bringing about personal transformation in people through direct encounter. By God’s grace, the psalmist, Paul, Ananias, John of Ephesus, the beloved disciple, Peter, and presumably everyone else who was on the beach that day had a direct experience of God’s reality and Christ’s risen presence. And all were charged and commissioned to share the good news of God’s love through concrete acts of mercy.

Are the psalmist, Paul, Ananias, John of Ephesus, the beloved disciple, Peter, and the others in the boat that day the only ones ever to have had experiences like the ones we just heard about? Oh sure, you might say, maybe there have been a few saints since the time the Scriptures were written. Julian of Norwich, who lived in the fourteenth century, wrote down her vivid visions of Jesus. Teresa of Avila also wrote about her visions of Jesus and imagined the soul as an interior castle in which he comes to live. And you can still read the journals and other writings on contemplative prayer of Trappist monk Thomas Merton, who died only in 1968.

So, do real, ordinary people, people like us, have such direct encounters with God? Actually, they do. Some years ago, I visited the church where Julian was thought to be enclosed. Most of us would not choose the life she chose: living intentionally in a room built onto the side of a church and spending her days in prayer and contemplation. But what was surprising to me when I visited the church was that a group of people were sitting in Julian’s enclosure spending an hour in silent prayer! You can also visit Our Lady of Gethsemani in Kentucky, the Trappist monastery where Merton lived. In fact, lay people from all over the world have come to the monastery since its founding in 1848. You can go for a long weekend or for four and half days. Either way, you spend the entire time in silence, except for the seven daily sung offices, which lay folks can join. Those who come to the church of St. Julian or to Gethsemani come to have that same direct experience of God that the people in Scripture and so many others since have had.

But you don’t have to go to England or Kentucky to have such an experience – although going to such places is definitely worth the effort. And it’s not only especially holy people who experience God’s presence with them directly. All of us called to know in our own flesh the reality of God and of Christ’s risen presence with us. We might have such a direct experience of God in nature or when we are at table with Jesus in the Eucharist. More likely, we may have direct sense of God’s presence when we allow ourselves some time to be alone with God, when we “recline next to him,” like the beloved disciple, when we let God love us.

And what happens when we actually have such a direct experience of God’s presence in our lives? Like the psalmist, we may have a deeper trust in God’s mercy, forgiveness, and love. God may start in us a process of inner transformation, in which we begin to become the person we were truly created to be. We may be able to reflect more clearly for others God’s love for us and for them. We may have a clearer idea of what God is calling us to do. God may even strengthen our ability to minister to God’s people.

At this point, you might be thinking, “Wait, wait, none of this applies to me.” To be sure, our temperaments are different. Some of us are called to a more contemplative life, while others of us are called to engage more actively with the world. And we are at different stages of life. Some of us have demanding jobs and families who need our attention. However, as we age, and our social and familial responsibilities lessen, many of us feel called to life that includes more prayer and contemplation. Indeed for many of us, the key to graceful aging is to let go of our tight self-concern and begin to see ourselves as connected with both God and Jesus’ “sheep.”

Almost all of us can discover, or rediscover, that our life is rooted in God, and that our ministry, whatever it is, ideally flows out of the relationship that we develop with God through prayer. And the key to a deeper prayer life? Intentional practice. Our way of putting ourselves into God’s presence does not have to be elaborate or protracted, but it does have to be regular. Whether you spend five, ten, thirty, or more minutes a day with God is immaterial. What does matter is that, when we regularly open ourselves to God’s presence and allow God into our lives, God will grace us with what we need. So I invite you to examine your life. Where are the times when you can allow God to be present to you?

And here is the good news: God meets us where we are. Whether we are in an upper room fearing for our lives, whether we are on the road to Damascus, whether we are out fishing, whether we are in our own rooms, whether we are on the road to Columbus, or whether we are out on our morning walk, if we open our eyes and ears, the risen Christ will make himself known to us. He will gently take us by the hand and graciously begin to work his will for us. We only have to let him.

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Where is the Risen Christ?

“Where did you meet the risen Christ this Easter?” The question from my spiritual director stopped me in my tracks. I couldn’t answer it, so she decided to tell her own story. She is a Dominican sister, and for some years she had worked in adult formation in a large Columbus parish. For the Easter vigil this year, she and another sister decided to go back to that parish. As she was walking into the sanctuary, she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around. It was a man she had worked with some years back. Let’s call him “Bill.” When my director had first met him, Bill was an alcoholic. He had already lost two marriages and declared bankruptcy twice. Things went well for a while. But by the time my director left that parish, Bill had gone back to drinking, lost another business, and dropped away from the church. However, one look at Bill’s face at the Easter vigil this year told my director that something had changed. “Sister,” said Bill excitedly, “I’ve cleared up my debts, my business is stable, and I’ve been sober for two years!”

Where do we meet the risen Christ? Where did Thomas meet the risen Christ? Actually, if you think about it, we have an odd set of readings for this Sunday. In our lesson from the Acts of the Apostles, we hear Peter’s declaration that he must obey God rather than human authorities, and that, as a witness, he must continue to proclaim Christ crucified and risen. Our psalm exhorts us to praise God joyfully and noisily, most especially for God’s “mighty acts.” In our reading from the book of Revelation, which we will hear throughout Easter tide, John of Ephesus proclaims the Christ “who is and who was and who is to come.” He reminds us that the same Christ has brought us into a kingdom, in which we are all priests – all of us.

And then we hear the gospel passage, which, at first glance, seems to contrast with the joy of the other lessons, especially the exuberant tone of the psalm. It’s a passage, as you’ve just heard, with two episodes. In the first we see the anxious disciples, afraid that they will be the next to be executed. Jesus comes among them and reassures them. He gives them a commission: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Then Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit into them. They are good to go.

We don’t know why Thomas wasn’t with the group of disciples when Jesus appeared to them that Easter evening. Actually, we don’t know much about him at all. We might infer from the three times that he appears in the Gospel of John that he bluntly “tells it like it is.” We first saw him when Jesus heard of the death of Lazarus. Jesus decided to return to Bethany, even though he knew that he was a marked man. “Come along,” Thomas said to the others, “we might as well die with him.” We next encountered Thomas at Jesus’ last meal with his friends. Jesus told them that they would live as he did, since they knew where he was going. Thomas countered, “Master, we have no idea where you’re going. How do you expect us to know the way?”

And now here we are, a week after Jesus first visited the frightened disciples. Like many of us, Thomas refused to accept hearsay evidence. Someone else’s report of the risen Christ would not convince him. And really, wasn’t such good news too good to be true? As we know, he was not the first or the only one to wonder about reports that Jesus had been raised. Thomas was especially not ready to believe that Jesus had been raised – not after that horrific execution. If you were Thomas, would you have believed such a report?

By God’s grace, Thomas receives the confirmation that he needs. He meets the risen Jesus. Jesus has all the wounds that prove that it is he, not a ghost nor a hoax, nor some other deity. Thomas is then able to make a deep profession of faith: “My Lord and my God.” Then Jesus gently reminds Thomas that all those who follow Thomas in faith will not need to see Jesus’ physical body to trust that Jesus was indeed raised from the dead. We hear no more of Thomas in John’s gospel, but perhaps he received the same commission as the other disciples. Tradition has it that Thomas spread the good news in India. In fact, the Mar Thoma church in south India traces its founding to Thomas.

So where do we meet the risen Christ today? We are among those who will not see Jesus’ physical body. But is God still bringing life from death? As I continued to meditate on my director’s question, I thought about a woman I have come to know through the Wellstreams program. When I first met her, I was sure she was “not my type.” And indeed, at first glance ours is an unlikely friendship: she is about fifteen years younger than I, has been a stay-at-home mom to five children, is delightfully artistic, and is a committed Roman Catholic. By God’s grace, when she contacted me after the program ended, I was able to say “yes,” and we have met regularly over coffee ever since. Our relationship has been a gift to me, and I felt truly blessed by our last visit. Has the risen Christ made himself known to me in her?

Perhaps Episcopal priest and writer Barbara Crafton is right. Crafton has a daily e-message. For the last few months, she has been sending paintings of Scripture stories, with her own commentary. On Friday she sent a picture of a painting by the early twentieth-century African-American artist, Henry Ossawa Turner. Depicting Peter and John at the empty tomb, the painting shows a somber, puzzled-looking Peter. On the other hand, John is transfixed. He is radiant and glows with an inner light. We know he has had a life-changing experience. Instinct tells me that Crafton is right. “We see the resurrected Christ best,” she says, “by seeing the people who see him.”

But there’s more. As the frightened disciples, the walkers on the road to Emmaus, and Thomas discovered, the risen Christ also shows up in unexpected places, in places where old lives are being renewed, where people are welcomed into fellowship, where death is turned to life. Look around you, you may discover him too. Here are some other places he has recently turned up. Marcel Visser discovered the risen Christ through his friendship with a member of the L’Arche community for disabled adults in Cape Breton, Canada. In the Za’atari refugee camp in Jordan, Ibrahim, a six year-old Syrian refugee who is deaf, is learning sign language through the Holy Land Institute for the Deaf and its partner agencies. Ibrahim and other refugee children like him might have been condemned to a minimal life. However, with the support of Episcopal Relief and Development and other organizations, hearing-impaired children, blind children, even those with mental disabilities are receiving education and, with it, hope for the future.

And one more. I don’t normally read the Sunday New York Times sports pages. However, a couple of days ago, an article caught my eye, and I knew that the risen Christ had unexpectedly turned up in, of all places, a boxing club in Toronto.1 You’ll see all the trappings of a standard boxing club in the Newsgirls Boxing Club: a rope, rings, speed bags, heavy bags, and a punching mannequin. Initially aimed at women, the club is now a welcoming haven for all. The club especially welcomes transgender people, who often find daily life difficult, even dangerous. For many the club is a place of sanctuary and empowerment, even though they will never box anywhere else. Recently, a newcomer to the club, who had come for a few times, asked club founder Savoy Howe a simple question that profoundly moved her. “Why are you so nice to trans people?” the person asked. Howe’s eyes filled with tears as she told the interviewer the story. Then she paused, composed herself, and said, “I mean, why wouldn’t you be?”

And you? Where did you meet the risen Christ this Easter? Where are you meeting him? Have you met him at the altar, when he nourishes you with his Body and Blood? Have you met him in your own prayer time, when you stay silent long enough to hear his faint whispers? Have you seen him in the faces of other people who have seen him? Or perhaps you have met him in your loved ones and friends, those who minister to you and bless you, and those with whom you share God’s blessings. Have you met him in nature, when you look with loving eyes on the beautiful earth which God has given us? Have you met him in the faces of those whom you serve, in work or ministry? Or perhaps he has turned up in places where you never expected he would turn up, in places where outcasts are welcomed, the neglected are cared for, and lives are transformed.

I invite you this week to look around you, to see if by chance the risen Christ has shown up. Be sure: he has and he will. And when he does, he will reassure you that, although we do not see his physical body, we are still blessed with his presence in our lives.

1. David Waldstein, “Sunday Sports,” March 27, 2016, pp. 1, 6.