John H Armstrong

Growing Into the Mystery That Is God

The apostle John says, “No one has ever seen God, but the one and only Son, who is himself God and is in closest relationship with the Father, has made him known” (John 1:18). 

God’s people in the Old Testament age were like us in their deep desire to see and know God. In the book of Exodus, God forbade the making of images, not because God is remote from us, but rather because no words, no concepts, no images and no power of imagination can define or describe God. Images can only give an impression that you understand or comprehend the incomprehensible. That you can limit the limitless. Israel was not permitted to see the form of God thus God spoke from the fire or from the cloud. 

However, in the opening words of the Epistle to the Hebrews we read:

 ¹ In the past God spoke to our ancestors through the prophets at many times and in various ways, ² but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed heir of all things, and through whom also he made the universe. ³ The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being, sustaining all things by his powerful word. After he had provided purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty in heaven. ⁴ So he became as much superior to the angels as the name he has inherited is superior to theirs.

And Paul makes this truth even clearer in Colossians chapter one when he adds in verse 15, “The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation.” And he then adds, “For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church; he is the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy (1:16-18). 

Jesus told his disciples at the Last Supper that whoever had seen him had seen the Father. Jesus is not the Father but rather the one sent by the Father. He is the human image of God, the logos, or the word of God. God has spoken in these last days and he has spoken openly by his Son. This truth is revealed in the gospel and is clear when we come to know God in Jesus Christ. But all knowledge of God must be grasped by the Spirit, which leads us right back to mystery. The gospel is mystery revealed but it is mystery concealed. If you find this difficult then you are likely thinking the right way. If you find it inviting them plunge into the ocean of God’s love and trust him to reveal to you the greatness of this eternal mystery. It helps when you stop trying to explain everything in formulas and philosophical fragments, or in simplistic solutions that are popular but unsatisfying. There is a place for honest philosophy but good theology is the consideration of this great mystery before it can be anything else. God is not remote. He is here but he is not here for us to create in our image. He is here, as God, to be known and this knowing is in the mystery of the Trinity. This ocean is deep enough to swallow your pride but shallow enough to allow you to take one small step at a time into the unfathomable depths of God’s being through the mystery of living and growing faith. Stop creating new formulas and promoting new fads and enter into the mystery that has gripped the heart of every faithful Christian, to one extent or another, from the beginning of this new age of the Spirit. As we move into Pentecost remember this one thing – God is God and you are not!

 

The Christian Mystical Tradition: Its Value and Place

In the New Testament the Greek word for mystery, musterion, occurs twenty-eight times. Twenty-one are in the writings of the Apostle Paul. Mystery is vital to Christian faith and understanding. Yet the concept has been frequently misunderstood too.

The best theology has always maintained that what is known must be balanced by what is not clearly known. God is a mysterium trememdum et fascinans, compelling the worshiper with awe toward him but remaining ultimately beyond the grasp of human reason and imagination. The so-called mystical tradition, which uses all the available means to approach God (reason, prayer, meditation, spiritual imagination, the sacraments, etc.), finds its biblical roots in a text like Colossians 2:2–3:

² My goal is that they may be encouraged in heart and united in love, so that they may have the full riches of complete understanding, in order that they may know the mystery of God, namely, Christ, ³ in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge.

It was once thought that Paul was using this term to connect with esoteric and mystery religions in his missional context but most biblical scholars now concur that it was used to speak about something previously hidden but now revealed (cf. Col. 1:26–27; 1 Cor. 2:1; Eph. 6;19). In this sense divine mystery is virtually shorthand for the gospel. Yet the word is also used to describe a degree of continued hiddenness. In fact, when used in relationship to divine revelation, Stephen Motyer says the term seems to convey the idea of ultimate ungraspability (cf. 1 Cor. 2;7; 13:3; Eph. 5:32 and Colossians 2:2-3 as noted above). Thus the term has two sides to it–revealed and hidden. This is not contradictory. It corresponds to two facts regarding all our knowledge of God. His judgments are unsearchable and his ways inscrutable (Rom. 11:33) and yet “he [has] made known to us in all wisdom and insight the mystery of his will” (Eph. 1:9, RSV). 

Desmond O’Donnell rightly says, “A mystery in the New Testament is something so deep that it is endlessly rich. Our only approach to a Christian mystery is to accept our inability to fully comprehend the richness and depth of its beauty.” 

Paul speaks of “the mystery of Christ” and “the mystery of God” and “the mystery of faith” and “the mystery of God’s message.” In the Colossians text above Paul says he wants our hearts to be encouraged and united in love so that we may have all the riches of assured understanding and the “knowledge of God’s mystery which is Christ himself.” 

We are not apostles yet we too share, by he Spirit, in this same mystery, the very mystery given to Paul and the Apostles of our Lord. In fact, we are servants of this mystery. We do not receive it directly by human means but by revelation and prayer. We must discipline our minds and hearts to contemplate this mystery more deeply if we are to receive it and share in it as good stewards of the mystery of the gospel. 

 

How St. Benedict's Rule Transforms Daily Life

St. Benedict’s Rule has remained popular for centuries. I believe that this is true for one very simple reason. It answers a question that serious Christians all ask. “If the power and presence of God are real and effective, what does this mean for human experience in day-to-day life?” Put another way, “What does Christ offer to men and women and what does he ask from them in return?” How do we recognize him, know him, respond to him?

People, including most Christians, have various images in their minds about God. Some think of him as entirely and always benevolent while others think of him primarily as wrathful. Some want to know what God will do for them while others wonder what God wants from them. The real question, I believe, is this: “Can all the holy aspects of the divine Being somehow be reconciled in our minds so that our hearts are warmed by the interior reality of Christ in the human soul?” Where is God when I suffer? Is God good, truly good? Can his promises be trusted, especially when life deals us a cruel blow? 

St. Benedict answers these questions in ways that very few classical Christian writers do. He does so by appealing to what is called lectio divina (“divine” or “sacred reading”). He believed, like many after him from the fourth century down to the present, that such careful, sacred reading is essential to a deeply spiritual life. This kind of reading is more than reading a text, or scanning material for useful facts and Bible information. (This is why I despise “Bible trivia” games of all sorts!) 

There has been a magnificent recovery in recent decades when it comes to reading the Bible as narrative, or story. In this reading we are seeking to really hear the Scripture in the context in which it was written. We can even discover a plot line that leads to a climax, as in the decisive act of a drama. (This is one of several reasons we call my own mission ACT 3.) But lectio divina is a meditative approach. The reader seeks to taste and savor the beauty and truth of the passage, even of a phrase within a passage. It is contemplative reading. The reader is deeply moved and shaped by the text, not just informed and taught. This kind of reading also invites the reader into something that is beautiful and true, namely into the Trinity. 

Yesterday I mentioned the four steps of lectio divina that are stressed by St. Benedict, as well as others who have followed him. These are: (1) To read, (2) To meditate, (3) To rest in the sense of God’s nearness and, (4) To increase one’s desire for the holy Trinity wherein all that is truly lovely and unspoiled might be discovered in one’s real interior experience, not simply in the mind or by concept. This kind of reading, if you follow what I’ve said, is really prayer itself. Indeed, it is in this kind of prayer that God manifests his presence to us. 

Fifteen hundred years ago a young man studying in Rome became so totally disgusted with paganism that he decided, like others in his time, to seek a cave some distance from the city where he could live in solitude and seek God. Thomas Moore says, “In that decision Benedict enacted a fantasy that has inflamed the hearts of men and women before and since–the idea of making a life apart from the crowd, in a style at odds with the norm.” 

In some ways it is in spite of this story that Benedict came to pursue God and the development of his interior life in a way that has touched millions over the centuries. Most people will never practice Benedict’s Rule in a monastic setting. But multitudes practice it nonetheless. Why? Behind the Rule is the imagination of a pilgrim learning how to seek after God’s own Being. 

I have often been confused by various approaches to spiritual life but the Rule of St. Benedict allowed me to see that genuine spirituality can never be separated from local, real (incarnate and human) community. (This is why we read Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together in the ACT 3 Cohort groups.) If a deeper interior life is shaped by a constant struggle between obedience and freedom, between listening and speaking, between possessing and letting go, between clinging to stability and embracing change, then we need community in our lives. We dare not do this alone. 

The simple truth is that virtually none of the church communities that we belong to in our time foster these struggles in a healthy way. It is uncommon to find such a place where life is free but ordered. We are extremists today and we are so far out of balance that rare is the place where you find harmony. 

The spirit of St Benedict's Rule is summed up in the motto of what is called The Benedictine Confederation: pax ("peace") and the traditional ora et labora ("pray and work"). Compared to other precepts, the Rule provides a moderate path between individual zeal and formulaic institutionalism. This is why it appeals to me so deeply. It carves out a middle ground. 

It is this reality that prompted me to create the ACT 3 Missional-Ecumenical Cohort training course. I want to create a safe place where freedom and discipline are developed. I want to find ways to help hungry souls find what they desire. 

Personally, I am weary of books about theology that do not lead me to God alone as my living hope. Abstractions do not feed me, they merely give me arguments. I need a sensible, sane and practical way of becoming more like Christ. St. Benedict’s Rule has helped me. This is why we will work it into the new ACT 3 Cohort groups that are forming this year. 

 

Listening to God's Word with the Heart

Yesterday I made a point about the Hebrew word (dabhar) that is used for God's Word. This word means much more than the sound of words in our ear or the registry of a meaning upon our mind. The same Hebrew word is used for God's creating the world by his word. And this is the same word that expresses God's revelation in Jesus Christ. When the word became incarnate it was this creative, powerful, faith producing word, which became the Logos of God (cf. John 1:1).

We listen to words at many different levels and in many different contexts. Words come at us in many forms and at many levels. Some words go no further than our ears. We hear sounds and that is it. Others enter our minds and make us think. (I am convinced that this is how most people read the Bible!) Some words touch us on the surface of our emotions and bring shallow feelings of joy or sadness.

The deepest form of listening, that which the biblical writers speak about regularly, is to listen with the ears of your heart. Such words will impact us powerfully. They can and do change us. This is real listening. We usually listen to dear friends in this way, a way that is rooted in the love of a relationship. The words of such friends might hurt us but they ultimately enhance our sense of self-worth and change how we see ourselves and the world around us. More times than not they encourage us to keep moving in faith and love. 

This is how God wants us to hear his words in Holy Scripture, with holy listening that touches our deepest inner being, the heart. Jesus told Mary and Martha that Mary had chosen the better way because, rather than serving his meal and speaking to him, Mary sat with him and listened with her whole being. We also recall that on the Road to Emmaus the two disciples hearts burned within them while they were listening to Jesus open up the Scripture and reveal himself to them. This is what needs to happen to you and me? We need to experience the Spirit opening our hearts to the Scriptures so that we might see and hear Jesus speaking to our hearts. 

When we listen to the word in this way we experience deep feelings of love, joy, freedom and need. We experience hope and confidence, awe and wonder. We may even experience regret about sin or shame. But even this regret, or sorrow, is godly and is clearly meant to lead us into the love of Jesus. Whatever you feel when you properly read/hear the Word of God you know that you are rightly listening to the Word of the Lord. Do not settle for less. Refuse to study the Bible as an academic text or a devotional manual. Open your heart and your soul to God and ask him to speak to you.

Caution: If you read God's word and you have continual feelings of guilt, fear and loathing, or excessive anxiety, then you need some help. Find a spiritual adviser or solid Christian counselor. Speak to a trusted friend. But do not accept constant anxiety as the norm for what happens when you listen to God's Word from the heart!

God’s Love Brings About Real Change

I was taught, like most, that God loved me if and when I changed. Simply put, if I repent then God will love me. But 1 John 4:8 and 16 says, “God is love.”

Love is the supreme revelation of the Christian faith. Divine love is the chief characteristic of living faith. Other religions know something about a God who is compassionate (to varying degrees) but no other religion has known the dynamism of divine love, a love that moves the entire creation toward the Creator. This God-Love is the most distinctive quality to be discovered in true Christianity. But listening to much of what I hear Christians say about God and faith you’d never know this to be the case.

Because God-Love is who God is we are loved. God loves you and me so that we can change. Richard Rohr says, “What empowers change, what makes you desirous of change is the experience of love. It is that inherent experience of love that becomes the engine of change. If the mystics say that one way, they say it a thousand ways. But because most of our common religion has not been at the mystical level, we’ve been given an inferior message—that God loves me when I change.”

Most of our religion is lived at the level of propositions and intellectual knowledge. This easily becomes a form of moralism. Believers of all the major Christian historical families are guilty of teaching moralism instead of love. (Note: Love will lead to true morality, not immorality! But we fear this is not the case until we know this love firsthand.) Moralism puts the motivation for deep change back on you. But you will never be holy enough, pure enough, refined enough, or loving enough. Never, no matter how long you try and how hard you work.

Richard Rohr is insightful when he concludes, “Whereas, when you fall into God’s mercy, when you fall into God’s great generosity, you find, seemingly from nowhere, this capacity to change. No one is more surprised than you are. You know it is a gift.”

The Apostle John links God-Love with our love for others. A true Christian, says John, begins by loving God through faith and faith is “believing in God’s love, that God is love (1 John 4:16). So faith and love are inseparably linked in biblical theology.

I can’t believe it took me decades to deeply grasp this truth since it is self-evident to all who read the Holy Scriptures with real faith.

When the great theologian Karl Barth was asked what was the most profound theological truth he had learned in his lifetime of deep biblical study he answered: “Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so.” That says it as well as anything I’ve heard. Do you really believe that he loves you?

Poustinia: Encountering God in Silence, Solitude and Prayer

Before I found the book, Poustinia: Encountering God in Silence, Solitude and Prayer, I confess that I had never heard of Catherine Doherty. She was a remarkable lady who sought to translate Eastern Christian insights (sometimes called “desert spirituality”) into the context of Western life. More than a half century ago Catherine arrived in Canada as a Russian refugee. She used her background in Russian Christianity to give her a matrix for responding to the needs of Christian life and work in the busy, modern West. Catherine became “poor to serve with the poor Christ” among the poorest people in Toronto and Harlem. But the work that led to my finding her moving book was the establishment of a spiritual lay center, the Madonna House Apostolate, in rural Ontario.

The title of this book bears the Russian word for “desert.” At the center of Catherine’s lifelong journey was her experience of the desert. She writes, in the opening chapter, “For the mystery of men in the midst of the world, nature, technology, and urbanization, is intrinsically a Divine Mystery” (Poustinia, 4). But, this great mystery is not to be found in the world as such. “It seems strange to say, but what can help modern man find the answers to his own mystery and the mystery of him in whose image he is created, is silence and solitude—in a word, the desert. Modern man needs these things more than hermits of old” (Poustinia, 4, italics are in the text).

If we are to effectively bear witness in today’s busy marketplaces, where we are continually bombarded with ideas that challenge our whole person, we need “silence.” If I have discovered anything that sustains me, and I am a novice at the practice really, it is this hunger for silence and the need to make it a regular part of my pilgrimage. She writes, “If we are to be always available, not only physically, but by empathy, sympathy, friendship, understanding, and boundless caritas, we need silence. To be able to give joyous, unflagging hospitality, not only of house and food, but of mind, body and soul, we need silence” (Poustinia, 4).

True silence is man’s search for God. True silence is “a suspension bridge that a soul in love with God builds to cross the dark, frightening gullies of its own mind, the strange chasms of temptation, the depthless precipices of its own fears that impede its way to God” (Poustinia, 4-5). In silence the speech of true lovers happens. In silence the soul can meet with God. And true silence is the key to a burning heart that stays alive to God and grace.

Silence does not call for special places, though I’ve found several that help me. Catherine Doherty is right when she concludes that deserts, silence and solitude are “not necessarily places but states of mind and heart” (Poustinia, 5). Such deserts can be found in busy cities as well as in places where we live each day of our lives.  These can be “tiny pools of silence” (Poustinia, 6). The prophet says, “I will lead you into solitude (the wilderness) and there I will speak to you” (Hosea 2:14). True silence is not always the absence of all speaking but it is always the act of careful listening. The mere absence of noise is not poustinia. Noises can become the echo of God’s presence but if we are filled with ourselves and our agenda we leave true silence aside. In silence we learn to repeat God’s intimate words, often words learned from Scripture that we’ve learned in the desert.

But how do we achieve this silence, this poustinia? Doherty answers, “By standing still!” (Poustinia, 7, italics in text). Stand still and look into the motivations of your soul. We were born to be saints and lovers. The Lord died to make us such and this we must strive for by faith. We must stand still and pray that the mighty wind of the Holy Spirit will clear out “all the cobwebs of fear, selfishness, greed, and narrow-mindedness” (Poustinia, 7-8).

But there is a danger here that is too often missed. We fail to distinguish between prayer and solitude. This is, in my view, the danger to evangelicals in particular but all people in general. I believe Doherty is correct when she writes that prayer and solitude are “two different aspects of the spiritual life” (Poustinia, 10). Prayer is contact with God. Without it life dies. Solitude, on the other hand, is a special vocation. Some can enter it for only brief times. This is my experience. Others are clearly called to it more permanently or as a unique vocation for life.

But prayer is first, like silence, a journey inward, as are all pilgrimages of the Spirit. I must journey inward to meet the Triune God who dwells within me. This is why I do not need a special spot to pray. “Prayer is a contact of love between God and man” (Poustinia, 10).

It is good to have periodic solitude. Indeed, this is what Doherty experienced and called others to as a Christian. But you can have solitude in many places and ways. A quiet room is helpful but might not be accessible. Prayer is a full-time affair but solitude is a temporary thing, unless you are one of those rare people called to it permanently. The desire for solitude is good but it must be understood. Poustinia is one of the best attempts to explain what it is and why it matters that I’ve yet encountered. You might not be ready for a book like this but if you are I encourage you to read it with much care and very slowly.

Practicing Mental Prayer

Once we realize that prayer is “friendly intercourse” with God, rooted in his deep love for us, we can begin to talk about the method for how we do this. I offer, based upon my own reading of various spiritual directors and great theologians, some observations on how to pray in this way.

First, we cannot speak to God “intimately” unless we are in contact with him personally. This doesn’t just happen in conversion but daily as we approach him directly. Because we are in personal contact with God we make preparation. This is not a matter of human works offered up to save us in any sense of the word. It is our placing ourselves in the presence of God, turning ourselves to him by means of true godly thoughts. I begin to relate to God more intimately when I place myself in his presence, turning aside to him by means of good thoughts. This includes both biblical words and insights from other Christian teachers who thought deeply about the Word of God.

Second, to prepare we must again and again convince ourselves that God loves us. During my early days I always wondered, “Have I been truly saved?” Maybe I’d not done something right. Maybe I needed to walk forward and “rededicate” myself. Then after I came to appreciate much of the Reformed confessional tradition I wondered, at times, “Am I among the elect?” And, “Did Jesus really die for me?” How do I know for sure? More confusion followed. Now I know that unless I am fully persuaded that God loves me then I will never pray as intimately and personally as I should. This is why “friendly intercourse” with God is so precious to me.

In order to know that God loves me I choose readings, from the Bible and other wonderful treasures rooted in the Bible, that reveal his love to me. But reading is not enough.

Third, I must meditate by reflecting upon this truth. God loves me. He really does love me. This is the greatest truth in all the world. I must chew this and digest it and revel in it. All revealed truth can manifest God’s love to me but each day I try to get hold of one reading that does this for me. I make direct use of various thoughts contained in things I choose to meditate upon in quietness. My goal is always to convince my heart that God really does love me. What often happens is that this love springs up spontaneously in my heart after some time alone.

Fourth, there begins a colloquy, or a dialog with God. I tell God, with whatever words spring to my heart, how much I love him, how much I want to love him even more and that I desire to advance in his holy love this very day. I also tell him that I want to demonstrate his holy love in my actions this day by doing his will.

Fifth, I come to the center of real prayer. This is the heart of it all. In order to facilitate the dialog I do three things:

1. Give thanks. I not only tell God I love him but I thank him for all the benefits and blessings that he has given to me. “Count your blessings, name them one by one . . .”

2. Offering. Aware of all my blessings I ask God what I can give to him? He does not need anything from me but as my heavenly Father he loves to receive my good resolution and my decision to give. What can I do this day to show my gratitude to him?

3. Petition. The consciousness of my weakness and humanness prompts me to then pray for divine help.

You can practice mental prayer without the last three acts but they fill out the practice and make it applicable to every aspect of my daily life.

When my soul freely reflects upon a text read, a thought pondered, I can pass into dialog, or colloquy. This is at the heart of the process of mental prayer. As for tools that specifically help me I just keep looking and finding an incredible treasure of ancient and modern resources. Here I draw from the whole Christian tradition—Catholic, Orthodox and Protestant. Here ecumenism deepens my sense of the whole church throughout all the ages seeking the same God who loves me in this place, right now.

Learning the Practice of Mental Prayer

The great saints and writers of the Christian church all have much to teach us. I embarked upon reading some of the classic writings of the historic church some years ago and my only regret is that it took me this long. One such writer is St. Teresa.

Saint Teresa of Ávila (1515 – 1582) was a prominent Spanish mystic and Carmelite nun. She was a theologian of contemplative life through mental prayer. She is considered to be, along with John of the Cross, a founder of the Discalced Carmelites.

One of St. Teresa’s most important contributions to the spiritual life of the church came though her teaching on mental prayer. This is how I discovered her writings to be so truly helpful in my journey.

But what is mental prayer?

Mental prayer is a form of prayer in which one loves God through dialog and by meditating on God's words. It is a time of silence focused on God. It is distinguished from vocal prayers which use set prayers, although mental prayer can proceed by using vocal prayers in order to improve dialogue with God. St. Teresa put it this way: "Mental prayer [oración/mental] is nothing else than a close sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with him who we know loves us." Since the emphasis is on love rather than thought, modern authors recommend that it be called interior prayer.

Mother Theresa wrote of mental prayer: "We must never forget that we are bound to perfection and should aim ceaselessly for it. The practice of mental prayer is necessary to reach that goal. Because it is the breath of life for our soul, holiness is impossible without it. It is only in mental prayer and spiritual reading that we cultivate the gift of prayer. Mental prayer is greatly fostered by simplicity—that is forgetfulness of self and of the body and of the sense, and by frequent aspirations that feed our prayer.

St. Teresa says that mental prayer is really “friendly intercourse and frequent solitary converse with Him who we know loves us.” By this St. Teresa reveals the affective spirit of mental prayer, which I believe is its special characteristic. It is, as she rightly says, “friendly intercourse” with God—intimacy rooted in an awareness of divine love. Thus it is the fruit of love. The soul speaks, in listening and quietness, to the one who loves and is loved.

But Teresa says the soul that enters into mental prayer must “know” God’s love. This means mental prayer involves the intellect as well as the spirit. The intellect will seek to convince the soul that God loves him/her and wishes to be loved in return. This is the part of the mind and will responding to the divine invitation.

One of the first books on prayer that I was ever given was written by a Baptist fundamentalist who said that prayer was only two things: asking and receiving. Everything else, including all forms of contemplation, were simply not prayer. It didn’t take me long to realize how wrong, and inadequate, this answer really was. But I didn’t know what to replace this type of thinking with until later in my life. (Yes, I read many good books on prayer and continued to struggle with it and pray as best I could.) When I discovered this teaching about mental prayer I realized, over time, that there really was no clearer and more comprehensive concept of prayer. But how does this concept work in practice? I’ll say more about this tomorrow.

My Visit with Fr. Joseph Girzone on Joshua Mountain

The famous author and well-known spiritual teacher, Fr. Richard Rohr, wrote an endorsement for Barbara Benjamin’s engaging biography of Fr. Joseph F. Girzone, The Joshua Priest: A Biography of Faith. The endorsement noted: “It has been said that ideas do not change people, but people change people. In this book you will have two beautiful ‘people’ encounters – with a great man and with the great woman who writes about him. Be prepared to be changed, enlightened, and readied for an even greater Encounter.”

That sums up well my experience with the life and writing of Joseph Girzone, a man that I now have the joy of calling my dear friend.

Barbara Benjamin shows how faith, for Joseph Girzone, is not an intellectual state but a deep conviction, or what the writer of Hebrews calls the evidence of “things not seen.” Faith is, to use another expression, an attitude of being convinced by the person one trusts and loves. My friend Joe Girzone is convinced of Jesus and by Jesus. Guided through a life of pursuing God from childhood Joe eventually came to realize that his fear of God was rooted in not intimately knowing Jesus through faith. His journey was always taking different turns in the road, as Barbara Benjamin’s biography shows, but his destiny was clear – to know Jesus and to make him known to the world. If I had to say one thing about Joe it would be this; he knows and loves Jesus in a deeply personal and completely human way!

Barbara Benjamin writes, in the final two paragraphs of her story of The Joshua Priest:

Looking back over the Joshua years, and over a lifetime filled with so many small and wonderful miracles, Father Joe remains deeply humbled. For his faith journey has led him closer to Jesus, closer to God, and closer to his own unique ministry than he could ever have hoped for. It has led him to met people from all over the world and from all walks of life and to share with those people the new sense of Jesus that had renewed his own soul and brought him unimagined freedom and joy. And he has graced with the opportunity to see people of every nationality and religious persuasion respond to God’s universal love, respond to the healing compassion of the good shepherd and to the living spirit of Jesus among them.

Indeed, his journey with his deeply rooted, living faith had led him to Joshua and to his own spiritual rebirth as The Joshua Priest (135-36).

This was precisely how I found Father Joe to be in the flesh. He was exactly what I expected in every way. He was as non-pretentious as any spiritually-formed man I’ve ever met. He prayed with me, he shared meals with me (he is a good and healthy cook), he listened to me ramble on about this and that, he argued with me and even watched a Stanley Cup hockey game with me! We discussed Jesus, faith, politics, the church, the sacraments, Mary, visions, homosexuality, the scandal of so many priests who’ve been charged (often falsely he believes and I now do as well) with molesting children, the afterlife, the beauty of creation, the history of Albany (NY), the wonder of friendships, etc. Three days with Fr. Joe was rewarding and life-changing.

Joe lives in Altamont, New York, a small place outside of Albany. After the success of Joshua in the late 1980s Joe bought this lovely large home to be a place for him to pray, rest, write, counsel and entertain friends. I spent three days in a large, quiet room where I could see three states: New York, Vermont and Massachusetts. The spring flowers and foliage were gorgeous and the days were not too hot. We walked to the higher reaches of Joshua Mountain, drove into Albany to see sights and generally relaxed and talked a lot about the real Jesus, the one so many people (sadly) do not know. Joe gave me many of his books that I have not yet read and opened his heart and home to me as if I was a long lost brother. Each morning began with the eucharist and morning prayers. Our pace was relaxed and our conversation not prepared in any sense. We just “hung out.” For a man who was told thirty years ago he might not live another six months Joe is fit and energetic at age 81. He also maintains an active life through the Internet, the telephone and the guests he sees around his home. Several times a month he conducts evening times for teaching and people come to Joshua Mountain from around the area. It is all simple and straightforward. No pretense and no barriers. Joe is one of the freest and most genuinely joyful souls I’ve ever gotten to know.

After conversation for several days I determined that Joe clearly is a Christian mystic. He understands contemplation, practices it and does not get distressed over the things that bother so many people. He walks and talks with Jesus who is closer to him that the world itself. What does distress his soul very deeply is to see people, especially poor and weak people, being treated unjustly by other people and by social systems like government and the church. He feels the pain of the oppressed deeply but lives with joy, the very same spiritual paradox I see in the life of Jesus.

A Theology of Negation

In the fourth century three eminent Greek theologians, called the Cappadocian Fathers, gave birth to a theology that has remained in the church through the centuries. I am quite persuaded that a recovery of this theology is underway among some Christians in the West. Let me explain.

Two brothers, Basil of Caesarea (icon at left) and Gregory of Nyssa, together with their close friend Gregory of Nazianzus, began to stress the incomprehensibility of God. This emphasis, which was later called apophatic theology (from the Greek for negation), reached a climax by the end of the fifth century in the divine darkness of Dionysius. It was Dionysius who introduced into theology the terminology of mysticism. For Dionysius the word theology meant wisdom, indeed theology was the highest form of wisdom. Theology was not an end in itself but a wisdom that should be used to serve and love God. The word mystical is thus derived from the word mystery. In mystery there is a hidden, dark and ineffable sense to knowing God, thus mystical theology. This cannot be expressed in clear-cut images and concepts thus it will always be rejected by people who crave rational and purely logical theology.

Dionysius is himself a controversial figure. His identity and orthodoxy have both been questioned. All we know for sure is that someone in the ancient world affixed to his writings the name of Dionysius the Areopagite, the disciple of St. Paul (Acts 17:34). Though questions of authenticity remain the Dionysian writings became extremely influential in the Eastern world. They were eventually translated into Latin in the ninth century and greeted with considerable enthusiasm in the West. Bonaventura called Dionysius the prince of mystics and Thomas Aquinas quoted him some 1,700 times. The theology of Dionysius influenced Western writers like Tauler and Eckhart to St. John of the Cross. These writings are read to this day and their popularity has recently surged. The author of The Cloud of Unknowing made a free translation of Dionysius.

Both Erasmus and the Reformers raised questions about the writings of Dionysius but most scholars now conjecture that he was a Syrian monk, a Christian neo-Platonist. He seems clearly to have possessed a deep commitment to Jesus and a profound religious experience.

This much we know. After the Cappadocians and Dionysius the theology of negation flowed into the mainstream of Christian thought and practice. The Fourth Lateran Council, held in November 1215, declared that “between creator and creature no similarity can be noted without a greater dissimilarity being noted.” Please read that again. We are like God, in some ways. But our likeness must always remind us of just how unlike God we really are when all is said and done. Vatican I (1869-70) added that “the divine mysteries so exceed the created intellect that, even when given in revelation and received by faith, they remain covered over by the veil of faith itself.” This is, in my understanding, good theology! Faith reveals truth to us, mostly by revealing Truth. But faith leads us to see that there is much more we do not see than we ever understood before we knew Christ.

Mystical theology has assumed an even greater role in the church today for several reasons. First, postmodernism has rightly challenged what we know and how we know it. The whole idea of certitude is being challenged, in many cases for good reasons. Second, this theology of negation will become more important as the Christian faith encounters other religions and thus different ways of expressing the mystery of the divine nature. This is especially true when you deal with Asian and Indian religions.

Don’t let these developments frighten you. Paul himself said “No eye has seen, no ear has heard, and no mind has imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9). This text is placed into a context where the apostle is talking about the wisdom of God which transcends all human ability to comprehend. Paul says we understand these things because “we have the mind of Christ” (1 Corinthians 2:16b). So there is paradox here if I read this correctly. We have “the mind of Christ” but we do not comprehend as God comprehends and we must confess this as well as the positive.

Mystical theology has its own unique and practical ways of speaking about negation. It insists that God is not this, not this and then not this! It urges all who believe to live in a cloud of unknowing, forgetting things seen in this world in order to enter into a silent mystery of God. Does this have dangers? You bet. But it also has huge potential in an age like ours, driven by science and efficiency.

Apophatic theology has a role in modern Christian faith and practice. It has served me in some rather wonderful ways over recent years.  But it must always have this role with an equal and proper emphasis upon cataphatic theology, or a theology of affirmation. The Cappadocian Fathers avoided the dangers of mystical theology by giving us a solid model of spiritual life that emphasized both the role of negation and affirmation. They were, pre-eminently theologians of the Trinity. Gregory of Nyssa said that the believer who ascends into the divine darkness also enters into the mystery of Christ. (Gregory was about all being Christocentric).When this happens God then speaks to the believer “face-to-face” because the Christian is God’s friend, as Moses was on the mountain. So the Cappadocians blended this negative theology of what God was not with a positive theology of what God was as he was revealed in Jesus Christ. This resulted in them believing there was a single paradoxical experience! This paradoxical experience is what I have found so helpful in understanding my growing relationship with God.