This year marks the centennial of the publication of Evelyn Underhill's magnum opus Mysticism. It has held up remarkably well and Underhill's work remains the subject of much scholarly and popular interest. To honor the book's 100th birthday I have culled a few quotes on theosis (which she calls by its synonym deification) from chapter 10. Two striking things about this material are her use of metaphors drawn from alchemy to describe deification, and also the fact that almost all the mystics referred to are western Christians, proving that theosis is not some parochial notion limited to Eastern Orthodox monks.

The complete text of the book may be found here in an online version.

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The mystic, I think, would acquiesce in these [psychological] descriptions, so far as they go: but he would probably translate them into his own words and gloss them with an explanation which is beyond the power and province of psychology. He would say that his long-sought correspondence with Transcendental Reality, his union with God, has now been finally established: that his self, though intact, is wholly penetrated--as a sponge by the sea--by the Ocean of Life and Love to which he attained. "I live, yet not I but God in me". He is conscious that he is now at length cleansed of the last stains of separation, and has become, in a mysterious manner, "that which he beholds."

...In the image of the alchemists, the Fire of Love has done its work: the mystic Mercury of the Wise--that little hidden treasure, that scrap of reality within him--has utterly transmuted the salt and sulphur of his mind and his sense. Even the white stone of illumination, once so dearly cherished, he has resigned to the crucible. Now, the great work is accomplished, the last imperfection is gone, and he finds within himself the "Noble Tincture"--the gold of spiritual humanity.

We have said that the mystic of the impersonal type--the seeker of a Transcendent Absolute--tends to describe the consummation of his quest in the language of deification. The Unitive Life necessarily means for him, as for all who attain it, something which infinitely transcends the sum total of its symptoms: something which normal men cannot hope to understand. In it he declares that he "partakes directly of the Divine Nature", enjoys the fruition of reality. Since we "only behold that which we are", the doctrine of deification results naturally and logically from this claim.

...Whilst the more clear-sighted are careful to qualify it in a sense which excludes pantheistic interpretations, and rebuts the accusation that extreme mystics preach the annihilation of the self and regard themselves as co-equal with the Deity, they leave us in no doubt that it answers to a definite and normal experience of many souls who attain high levels of spiritual vitality. Its terms are chiefly used by those mystics by whom Reality is apprehended as a state or place rather than a Person: and who have adopted, in describing the earlier stages of their journey to God, such symbols as those of rebirth or transmutation.

...The first thing which emerges from these reports, and from the choice of symbols which we find in them, is that the great mystics are anxious above all things to establish and force on us the truth that by deification they intend no arrogant claim to identification with God, but as it were a transfusion of their selves by His Self: an entrance upon a new order of life, so high and so harmonious with Reality that it can only be called divine. Over and over again they assure us that personality is not lost, but made more real. "When," says St Augustine, "I shall cleave to Thee with all my being, then shall I in nothing have pain and labour; and my life shall be a real life, being wholly full of Thee". "My life shall be a real life" because it is "full of Thee". The achievement of reality, and deification, are then one and the same thing: necessarily so, since we know that only the divine is the real.

Lutheran theology rests mainly on the concept of justification by faith, with "justification" understood in juridical terms and "faith" conceptualized more as an act of the will rather than an experience of the mystical heart. Theosis, the notion of intimate union with God so characteristic of Eastern Christianity, is generally not the first thing that pops into one's head when hearing "A Mighty Fortress is Our God".

However, Lutheran scholars in Finland have over the past few decades reevaluated their theological corpus. Aided by an ongoing dialog with the Russian Orthodox Church--Finland was ruled by Russia for over a century and has its own indigenous Orthodox church--Lutheran theologians such as Tuomo Manermaa and Simo Puera have taken a fresh look at the former Augustinian monk and have uncovered consistent references to theosis in his voluminous writings. Their work is summarized by Jonathan Linman in an essay appearing in Partakers of the Divine Nature: the history and development of deification in the Christian traditions (eds Michael J Christensen and Jeffery A Wittung, Baker Academic 2007). The article (on pp 189-199) contains several quotes from Luther's writings which I reproduce below.

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Just as the word of God became flesh, so it is certainly also necessary that the flesh may become word. In other words: God becomes man so that man may become God. Thus power becomes powerless so that weakness may become powerful. [1514 Christmas sermon]

We should not doubt at all that whenever one is being baptized the heavens are assuredly open and the entire Trinity is present and through its own presence sanctifies and blesses the person being baptized. [The Freedom of a Christian]

Christ appointed these two forms of bread and wine, rather than any other, as a further indication of the very union and fellowship which is in this sacrament. For there is no more intimate, deep, and indivisible union than the union of the food with him who is fed. For the food enters into and is assimilated by his very nature and becomes one substance with the person who is fed. Other unions, achieved by such things as nails, glue, cords, and the like, do not make one indivisible substance of the objects joined together. Thus in the sacrament we become united with Christ, and are made one body with all the saints, so that Christ cares for us and acts on our behalf.

Around this time of year many Episcopal parishes, my own included, are having their annual meetings. Vestries are elected, budgets are adopted, committee reports are submitted. There is a great and probably unavoidable preoccupation with numbers--average Sunday attendance, baptisms, the size of the budget (and whether it is bigger or smaller than last year's).

Weighing in with a different view on this whole process is Fr Michael Marsh, the rector of St Philip's Episcopal church in Uvalde, Texas. In this post on his always-interesting blog Interrupting the Silence, he argues that, while numbers are not trivial, they must take second place to the community's spiritual growth.

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...The business model of profit and loss has in many ways infiltrated the church...Sometimes the gospel truth is spoken softly, if at all, to avoid angering parishioners and losing attendance or pledges. The reality is, numbers matter. While most priests and bishops would probably agree that numbers do not tell the complete story, the underlying and often unspoken assumption is that the larger the numbers, the more successful the ministry. The numbers may be growing but are the people growing? Isn't that the real question? Perhaps we should be asking what theosis, union with Christ, looks like in the parish and how is it manifested in the lives of our parishioners? ...Simple numerical analysis of Sunday attendance and giving, though significant, is not the ultimate indicator of growth. The critical question is not how much money was collected or how many people showed up, but rather, how effectively did we transform and effect lives...Such evidence might be found in asking the following:

• How is your life of prayer? What is it like today? How has it changed over the last year, five years?
• What is your participation in the sacraments and worship, both quantitatively and qualitatively? Is your experience different now than it was three years ago? How?
• Describe your study of scripture, theology, spirituality. What are you reading? What are you learning?...
• How are you involved in outreach and social justice ministries? How has this changed? Where and how is compassion being expressed and manifested?...
• Where in your life is reconciliation taking place?
  

The Baptism of Jesus, which is liturgically commemorated today in the Western churches, can be interpreted in several ways: as a theophany, or manifestation of God (and a fully Trinitarian manifestation at that); as Jesus' institution of the sacrament of Baptism; as Jesus setting a good example for his followers; as proof that Jesus started out as a disciple of John the Baptist (this latter sometimes gets overblown by liberal theologians).

Another interpretation of the baptism is that it was an act of divine kenosis, or self-emptying. Fr Mariusz Majewski, a Roman Catholic priest serving in the diocese of Boise, Idaho, takes this tack in a post on his blog Talks about God.

Kenosis is the general idea that God accepts some limitations on his divine powers and attributes in order to more fully unite in love with his creation. It is a recurring theme in Anglican theology, closely linked to interpretations of the incarnation of God in Jesus, his resurrection from the dead, and his atonement for sin.

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In the mystery of the Incarnation, of God becoming flesh, one of us in all things but sin, we touch and experience the very mystery of God. St Paul, speaking about that in his letter to the Philippians, says that Jesus "though he was in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness...he humbled himself (Philippians 2:6-8). God's humility...Paul speaks here of the "kenosis" of God, of the humbling of God, who for our sake was willing to come down to our dirt, to become flesh in order to save us from the power of death. In another place St Paul says that Christ became "sin" for us. God comes down in Jesus Christ and lowers himself to the point of accepting our human nature in order to heal it.

...The first public deed of Jesus' ministry is not some magnificent deed, some miraculous deed, but a simple baptism! Jesus does that in order to show us that his mission was to take upon himself all of our sins in order to save us from them.

This is precisely the irony, the surprise of the story--that the first move, the first public deed of the sinless Son of God is to stand shoulder to shoulder with us who are sinners. This is the core of the revolutionary message of Christianity--that God comes down to us to be with us, that God is Emmanuel. God, the creator of heaven and earth, the supreme God, the most holy God, the powerful deity, is a God of love, a God who is interested in the lot of his creatures, a God who is willing to go to the extreme in order to save what he had created.

The Baptism of Jesus is the very first act of the drama of Jesus' public ministry. The drama that will end with the Pascal Mystery--the death and resurrection of Jesus. It is indeed surprising because God is surprising. It is indeed shocking, but isn't the Incarnation shocking as well? Isn't Jesus on the cross shocking? God identifies with us so much that he "appears" among us as a sinner in the person of Jesus. The Sinless One takes upon himself human sin. If this isn't shocking, I don't know what is!

A highly recommended overview of mysticism is Carl McColman's The Big Book of Christian Mysticism (Hampton Roads Publishing Co, 2010), which will benefit both spiritual novices and folks with a more deeply established contemplative practice. One of many gems is his comparison of mysticism to tofu. Tofu absorbs the flavor of whatever is cooked with it; by itself it is quite bland and uninteresting. So we really never have "pure" mysticism, but mysticism flavored by whatever religious tradition happens to be nurturing it. This is a good corrective to the hackneyed--and thoroughly erroneous--notion of "spiritual but not religious".

The excerpt is found on pp 60-61 of the book. Also recommended is McColman's site Anamchara which is blogrolled on this site.

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Mysticism is, in fact, like tofu. When you cook with tofu, it has a fascinating tendency to adopt the flavor of whatever you cook with it. Scrambled tofu, tofu curry, even barbecued tofu (yes, I'm from the South) all taste more like scrambled eggs or curry or barbecue than like tofu. Likewise, mysticism thoroughly and completely adopts the flavor and identity of whatever wisdom tradition it inhabits. Thus, Christian mysticism has an entirely different cultural and religious identity from, say, Vedanta or Zen.

Granted, tofu is tofu, regardless of the recipe you use it in. Mysticism is mysticism, regardless of the religious or cultural context. So in that sense, there really is an important unity of mystical wisdom that crosses religious boundaries. But if you've ever eaten plain, uncooked tofu, you'll notice that it is rather bland. If tofu's strength lies in its ability to adapt to whatever is it's cooked in, its weakness lies in its lack of defining taste or texture of its own. Likewise, a "pure" mysticism might sound nice in theory--an experience of unity or ecstasy, unencumbered by religious dogma--but in practice, the beauty of mysticism rests in how it manifests unity in a distinct, particular way.

So Christian mysticism is more than just pure mysticism with a little bit of Jesus mixed in. It is actually a unique, distinctive, and beautiful expression of God's love and truth. Conservative Christians believe it is the only expression of such truth, and even more liberal Christians might insist that they think it is the best possible way to God. But even if you do not see Christianity as any better (or worse) than any other wisdom tradition, I hope you'll recognize that Christian mysticism cannot just be reduced to other kinds of mysticism. There are important ways in which the Christian mystery is unique among world religions.

This is why any serious exploration of of Christian mysticism has to look at the nuts and bolts of the Christian religion in order to do justice to the topic. Indeed, immersing yourself in the world of Christian mysticism means something far beyond just learning to meditate: Christian mysticism explores meditation through a relationship with the Holy Trinity. This doesn't mean that it is all about thinking Christian thoughts, however. Rather, it means exploring a way of life that is shaped by the love and wisdom of Christ and Christ's followers, who Christian mystics understand to be literally part of Christ.

Take the Trinity and the Incarnation, for example--central teachings of Christianity that remain mysteries, which means they transcend and defy logical comprehension. No one can truly explore the splendor of Christian mysticism without embracing these great Christian mysteries. There's no way to avoid it. The mystery of a God who became flesh, or of a God whose very nature consists of loving relationships, is at the heart of what is distinctive about the Christian path.

For today's feast of the Nativity I turn to a recent striking sermon by Fr Michael Marsh of Interrupting the Silence. It deals with Joseph, one of the more overlooked figures in the New Testament (and my patron saint).

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Joseph's daytime resolution to quietly dismiss Mary has given way to a night of dreaming, pondering, and wrestling. Joseph's view of Mary, her pregnancy, even himself has been enlarged and opened. He ha begun to see this situation, this scandalous pregnancy, through the eyes of faith rather than the stares of the villagers. Mary's story and the angel's words now speak louder than the villagers' voices...

So Joseph awoke in the morning and did what he had to do. He began emptying himself. He let go of fear. He let go of the villagers' voices and stares. He let go of his doubts and questions. He let go of his own reputation and standing in the community. He let go of his ideas and hopes for what his marriage to Mary could have been. He let go of the law and punishment. With each letting go Joseph emptied himself so that, by God's graces and mercy, he might become the womb that would protect, nourish, and provide security to Mary and her child.

He would be the womb that sheltered Mary and Jesus from Herod's rage and the slaughter of the innocents. He would be the womb that safely took Mary and Jesus to Egypt. He would be the womb that sustained their lives in that land. He would be the womb that brought them back to Nazareth when the time was right.

Starting today and continuing through December 23, many Western churches use special seasonal antiphons for the Magnificat at celebrations of Vespers/Evening Prayer/Evensong. Known as the Great O Antiphons, they are drawn from passages in the Hebrew Scriptures traditionally interpreted by the Church as referring to the coming of the Messiah. They occur in liturgical texts as early as the ninth century and became solidly entrenched in monastic and parish worship during the middle ages.

A good reference to the Antiphons may be found here on the excellent Chantblog site, which includes links to recordings. (To avoid confusion, in England and some other places the Great O's begin on December 16, with the extra O Virgo Virginum used on December 23. I follow the practice of the American Episcopal Church).

The English text below comes from the sadly out-of-print The Prayer Book Office (Seabury Press 1988), an augmented version of the 1979 Book of Common Prayer which I have long used for my personal recitation of the Office. The antiphons are found on pp 131-132.

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December 17. O Sapientia

O Wisdom, you came forth from the mouth of the Most High, and reach from one end of the earth to another, mightily and sweetly ordering all things: Come and teach us the way of prudence.

December 18. O Adonai

O Adonai, and Leader of the house of Israel, you appeared in the bush to Moses in a flame of fire, and gave him the law on Sinai: Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.

December 19. O Radix Jesse

O Root of Jesse, you stand as an ensign to the peoples; before you kings will shut their mouths, and nations bow in worship: Come and deliver us, and tarry not.

December 20. O Clavis David

O Key of David, and Scepter of the house of Israel, you open and no one can shut, you shut and no one can open: Come and bring the captives out of the prison house, those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.

December 21. O Oriens

O Dayspring, Brightness of the Light Eternal, and Sun of Righteousness: Come and enlighten those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.

December 22. O Rex Gentium

O King of the nations, and their Desire, you are the cornerstone who makes us both one: Come and save the creature whom you fashioned from clay.

December 23. O Emmanuel

O Emmanuel, our King and Lawgiver, the Desire of all nations and their Salvation: Come and save us, O Lord our God.