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.