MYSTICAL THEOLOGY

18” x 25” Cedar, pine, wood pallet, acrylic paint

When I was in my 40’s I attended a small Anglican Church. The interior was beautiful with dark, warm woodwork and elegant stained-glass windows. There were a lot of families and a choir that was less than inspiring, so the Sunday morning service seemed busy and chaotic. I felt the need for a more contemplative experience, and the atmosphere of the church was certainly conducive to this, so I approached the rector and offered to conduct Sunday evening contemplative services. He enthusiastically accepted my offer and was very supportive.

I put together an order of service, with some traditional elements and lots of quiet time. The first service went well, but I got a call from the rector the next day saying that there were some complaints and that we needed to suspend the services until further notice. It turned out that I had placed The Lord’s Prayer and The Nicene Creed in the wrong order, which evidently was a major violation of Anglican liturgical protocol. I offered to switch the order, no big deal, but that was not sufficient. I was to revise the service and submit it to the liturgy expert at the diocese office before we could continue the services.

Two months later I had an order of service that met diocesan standards and I lead another Sunday evening contemplative service.

I got a call from the rector the next day saying that he had received a complaint and that we would have to suspend the service until I could have a meeting with the choir. It seemed the choir was miffed that they weren’t included in the service. I explained that it was a contemplative service and that it had no music. They countered that any service in the church should have choir representation. I agreed to incorporate some contemplative music and asked for any volunteers from the choir to join the service. None of them were interested, so after haggling for a few weeks we were able to recommence the services without music and with the choir’s resentful acceptance.

And so, we had another service. The next day I received a call from the rector saying that he had received a complaint and that the church was going to discontinue the services. It seems that a parishioner, a major donor in the church, felt that it was inappropriate for a service to be led by a layperson, and he insisted that it stop.  You don’t argue with a major donor.

In a way, this was much like the tension between Jesus and the Pharisees. I’m not painting the Anglican Church with the Pharisee brush, and I’m not saying I was Christ-like in the episode, but the same core issue was in question. The Pharisees were concerned that Jesus was not respecting the Law, and thereby disrespecting Yahweh. Jesus countered that he had a great regard for the Law, but the Law and rules are two separate things. The Law, according to Jesus, was to love God and love others. The rules are there to instruct us on how to love – what love in action looks like. However, if applied mechanically, rules can override love.

An analogy from my practice as a psychotherapist: When I counsel couples it is often that they love each other, but they have forgotten how to show this love, if they even knew in the first place. I go over some rules with them: Do not talk disdainfully with your partner, seek opportunities to offer supportive words to your partner, do not impose unrealistic expectations that they can be the ideal partner, etc. Sometimes I give couples the “homework” of consciously practicing one or two of these rules over the coming week. Unfortunately, they sometimes come back the next week with one totally berating the other for not diligently doing the homework. Instead of learning how to love, they have used the rules to further entrench their resentment of each other.  Love gets lost in trying to keep the rules. But ironically this matters so much to them because they do in fact love each other.

Another analogy from my career: Sometimes when I ask another therapist what their theoretical orientation is, they will reply, “I basically use whatever I think will work at the time. I have read about a lot of theories, and I use ‘a little bit of this, a little bit of that’.”  I would never refer a client to a therapist like this. I have told my counselling students to settle into a core theory as a foundation. Once they have this, they can draw on interventions from other theoretical orientations to support the goals of their therapy work. Their core theory is the “law” for how they relate to their client and understand the client's issues. Their core theory will have “rules” for how to apply these concepts, but sometimes an intervention from another theory will address the issue more effectively. If you adhere rigidly to the interventions of your theory base you end up serving the theory and not your client.

All this to say that I am not anti-religion. I respect the “theory base” of Christianity, which is loving God and loving others. And I respect the rules (creeds, dogmas, and traditions) insomuch as they guide us in how to love. But I recognize how easy it is to worship the rules and lose sight of the intent of the rules.

This leads me to my piece, “Mystical Theology”. Down through the history of the church there has been a tension between mystics (or contemplatives) and the establishment. Church officials have often had the suspicion that the mystics were bending or breaking “the rules”. These mystics were usually not in the mainstream of church politics and protocols, and yet most have been able to stay in the good graces of the church. I’m thinking of folks like John of the Cross, Teresa of Avila, Catherine of Siena, and Julian of Norwich. These are heroes of mine. There have been some which the establishment has felt had gone too far and had condemned as heretics, such as Madam Guyon, Miguel de Molinos, and Margaret Porete. These are also heroes of mine.

In this piece, “Mystical Theology” I portray my stance of remaining within the fold of Christianity and yet exploring the boundaries of contemplative practice.  At first glance it is a nice Celtic cross. Somewhat. The style of the cross is Celtic, but the knotwork breaks the rules of Celtic design. It breaks the rules yet stays within the borders.

And a rose at the centre of the cross? That breaks the rules of Celtic design. There should be a tight little knot in the centre. But here I have a white rose, which is a symbol of holiness. A white rose is associated with the Virgin Mary, and it is associated with saints.  A red rose is romantic love; a white rose is spiritual love.  And it is not a tame garden rose; it is a wild rose. A wild rose is not contained. The rose on this piece is not in a tight little Celtic circle but pushes beyond boundaries.

The background is an old shipping pallet. This is not a cross in a well-contained, proper holy space. This is not an establishment cross; it is a cross that is embedded in everyday life.

Therefore, I am a Christian, and I engage in Christian spiritual practices, but I question authority and push back when I feel that their rules obscure the love of Christ.

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There is an irony associated with this piece. I once presented it at an art exhibit sponsored by the Catholic Archdiocese. It made the exhibit coordinators a bit anxious. They requested that I remove the rose. It was their fear that it would alarm some local priests who would see the rose, note the title “Mystical Theology”, and condemn the art exhibit as promoting heresy. (I didn’t quite follow their argument.)  I refused because the rose is integral to what I intended to express. We resolved the issue by entitling the piece “Cross”.

Sigh.