Return to Vocal Ministry
Return to Vocal Ministry
Just the other night, it happened again. There I am—having a good time, twirling around in that good ole New England style of contra dance, when the dreaded question emerges from the lips of my well-meaning dance partner:
“So what do you do?”
Now don’t get me wrong, I truly love my work. I cannot imagine a more fulfilling vocation…but I stumble a bit in my response to his innocent question:
“Well, I teach at Earlham. Earlham School of Religion.”
“And so what do you teach?”
This is when I begin to feel even a bit sheepish. No, it’s not that I don’t find real joy in facilitating classes where students share their spiritual journeys and prayers and struggles…classes where I get to talk about inspiring folks like Teresa of Avila. No, I really love what I do, so out the word pops…
“Spirituality,” I say. And then it happens. For the upteenth time, I get that look: that dreaded “halo effect” look! …And suddenly I want to be 80, speak in wise proverbs, have all spiritual knowledge, and perhaps even be wearing a habit!
And then, my dance partner confirms my worst fears:
“So, you are one of those holy ones,” he says.
Now, I don’t wear a halo, as you all well know. I pray, but I also like to laugh at stupid, junior high jokes about bodily functions, read People magazine at the dentist’s office (even when I have brought a Henri Nouwen book with me); I like to check out the new sales at Dillard’s and dance whenever I can. I eat too much chocolate; I tend to drive over the speed limit. My halo just never fits securely—it has this annoying way of slipping off.
All kidding aside, however—I am passionately committed to my spiritual journey as a Christian, and to fostering that deepening in others. In fact, I am more than sorry that the “halo effect” often gets in the way of meaningful dialogue about the life of the Spirit. We think we have to a pray in a certain kind of confining, reverent way; be ever disciplined (and thus productive) in our spiritual practice; and always speak in wise, loving words about God—in order to be spiritual. I love medieval renditions of halos, but I praise God that the Spirit is wider and higher and wilder than any halo effect. Like the wind, the Spirit will blow where it wills…
A word I much prefer to use in talking about spirituality, is “icon.” Despite the reality that many of you, as well as I, come from the iconoclastic Believers Church tradition, I agree with Henri Nouwen, who writes that “an icon is like a window looking out upon eternity. Behinds its two dimensional surface lies the garden of God, which is beyond dimension or size.” Of course, Nouwen is writing about the kind of icon that sits on the table here, but icons abound in nature, in art and music, in experiences of worship, and in the words and deeds of friends, neighbors, and sometimes even enemies. And profoundly, these iconic windows which open us to eternity are to be found by rummaging in the storehouse of Church mystics, a privileged kind of fun we are having in History of Christian Spirituality this semester.
Still, I think we have to watch the way we use the words “mystic” and “mystical experience.” We tend to save such holiness for a St. Francis or a John Woolman—anyone other than ourselves! Indeed, I agree with theologian Dorothee Soelle, who invites us to become more conscious of the mystical experiences in our own lives. “Mystical experience,” says Soelle, “should not be limited to the spiritual zenith of contemplation.” So, then, how do we define mystical experience? A good question, answered in different ways by religious scholars, theologians, and various gurus. Soelle describes mystical experience in the Christian life as an experience of divine inbreaking into the present moment, when the hidden is revealed, something deeply true comes to light. It is a profound experience of amazement and awe. Often a sense of joy, overwhelming love, and spiritual lightness accompany mystical experiences. And they happen not just to spiritual giants, but also to the likes of you and me.
Soelle invites us, her readers, to “take our own experiences seriously, to save and to frame them like an important photograph.” And I think we might do even more. I also believe we can and should be sharing these photographs with others—in our faith communities, with our friends, in writing, in conversations with co-workers, even with our families—sometimes the hardest audience of all.
One such experience for me came during a time of deep loneliness and isolation. My marriage, unbeknownst to me at the time, would be coming to an end in less than three months; I was a pastor’s wife living in parsonage next to the church on Main Street (talk about a fish bowl effect); I was teaching English part-time in two small colleges and feeling empty vocationally; and I was lonely. I was driving down a busy street in nearby Salisbury, North Carolina, on my way from the one college where I taught to the other, when in a moment lasting minutes that seemed like hours, I felt I was being carried in a wide and expanding pool of love that flowed out of my very body into the streets around me. I knew in a way I still cannot articulate clearly that God loved me and loved every creature, every tree, every person on the street, everyone in the world. When the experience ended, I was left with a residue of warmth, love, and well-being that would continue to carry me through the many hard months ahead. It is a photograph that I carry and treasure. I find that I have written “Salisbury” in the margins of many of my books about spirituality.
In our History of Christian Spirituality class, we have been looking through photograph albums, not only the mystical photos of many women and men in our Church’s history…but also pulling out old photographs of our own. Today, I would invite you to listen to this sampling from our Christian tradition and some experiences of class members. And I would invite you to reflect on experiences in your own life where God’s presence as touched you in mystical ways. After hearing from our seven “mystics,” we will enter a time of open worship.