Faces of Catholicism on St John's Day

Hans Kung describes the “mainstream” Catholic viewpoint of the 3^rd century - that is the view of Irenaeus of Lyons among others - had to make a stand in favor of the “simple” gospels, and “simple” faith (pistis), and therefore Kung suggests that this necessitated a rejection of the Hellenistic tendencies of Gnosticism, its syncretistic mythologization, and most of all its reliance on the apprehension of the divine through gnosis.[1]

It is not necessary, in my opinion, to view these currents in early Christianity as diametrically opposed at all, but the slippery slope of literalism on one hand, and the imperial and patriarchal emphasis of atonement theology has clearly had negative consequences for the life of the spirit among Christians ever since.

But the old ways, the prophets and cults of the saints and mystical leaders of early Christianity did not so easily disappear, and in some respects were not actively squelched out of reverence and common interest. Books of the New Testament were not exclusively chosen from the proto-orthodox, but included the works of the community of John, though heavily redacted.

Nevertheless, we can see now that many of the most vexing issues for Christian unity and improving the health of the Mystical Body of Christ must be addressed through these fundamental issues that were formulated and promulgated with specific intentions and imperial interests in mind. The Emperor Constantine’s calling of the Council of Nicaea in 325 is possibly the most definitive action in the history of the early Church.[2] And as ironic as it might seem, although Constantine called the Ecumenical Council and made his wishes and interests known, he was not baptized as a Christian until just before his death.

From Nicaea, we go to the Council of Constantinople and a further degeneration of ecumenism and of the Church truly catholic. It took another couple of hundred years for the orthodox to take away the threefold existence of humanity – body, soul (or mind) and spirit.

The trichotomy was attacked by the Council of Constantinople in 869. For humanity, the council stripped any reference to the trichotomy, principally abandoning the concept of the spirit as separate from the soul, leaving us with a two-dimensional creature of body-soul. We might call the soul the house of the self-conscious ego. The historical digression from the trichotomy, and the Holy Trinity for that matter, was the subject of intense debate beginning at the Council of Toledo in 589.
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In theological principle, the Western tradition known as the Filioque, asserted to the extreme frustration of the Eastern Church that the Holy Spirit proceeded from the Father and the Son. That is to say that the Son had been elevated in an unequal concept of the Trinity, and that the Spirit was somehow “demoted.” The Eastern bishops held, as they continue to this day, that the Spirit descended to earth through the Son, but not from him.

[4]

In lieu of taking a negative attitude towards the events that would form the history of Christianity after Nicaea and Constantinople, it might be of some use to see where great spiritual technologies converge between the esoteric and the orthodox paths. What is done is done, and the mystical side of Christianity is as strong today as it was during the formative years of the Church. The Tradition of the Saints John and St. Mary Magdalene informed generations of Christians and continue to inform us in the 21^st century.

If we were to follow the time table of the development of Christianity, there might be two ways to look at it. One would be by tracing the history of literalism, the growth of evermore tightly knit codes of interpretation: the rise of the Magisterium and of Protestant literal fundamentalism evidenced in the principle of sola scriptura. This is not, I believe, the path of the essence of Christianity, but the skeleton of its inevitable defects.

Looking back at the first century after Christ, we see in the stories of common folk in France, England and other European and Middle Eastern countries a use of myth, combined with legends and perhaps historical facts that gave rise to very early Christianity. Before creeds and the Bible, Greeks, Celts, Egyptians, Latins, Franks, Anglo-Saxons, and many other peoples embraced a radically different kind of Christ: one who was a representative of life, a vicar and a symbol of us all, in union with the feminine nature of our home, the earth. Very early Christianity from the Mediterranean to the Irish Sea was mystical, based on the cults of the saints, and very often led by exceptional women. The Desert Mothers of France are an excellent example of this phenomenon, as is Catherine of Alexandria.

But the traditions interwoven and planted deep within the spiritual fabric of the West in pre-Nicene Christianity did not cease with the codifications and canons of Imperial Rome. If anything, the most beautiful spiritual impulses of orthodoxy have been nourished by a hidden aristocracy of servants: Mary Magdalene, Odilia of Alsace, Mechthilde of Hakeborn, Hildegard of Bingen, Julian of Norwich, Francis of Assisi, Bernard of Clairvaux, Thomas Aquinas, Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, and hundreds of others.

But there are other servants, and still newer aristocracies that must be included in this long path to the Christian experience of today. In many ways, however, the spiritual history of the Church can never be told without bowing to the mystical, feminine movements which have spanned the length of Christian history.

The supple form of feminine devotion and ecstatic connection with the divine no doubt informed much of deep Christian expression before and during the Renaissance. The Beguines, for example, revered both the original “Desert Mothers” of Israel, Egypt, Syria and Anatolia, as well as the “Merovingian Desert Mothers”, who completed their tradition. By the 12th and 13th centuries, the Beguine movement, which consisted of religious women practicing charity and devotion free from the bonds of monastic life, had become very popular in northern France and the Low Countries. Copies of their medieval Psalters have been preserved. Their devotions were focused on the lives and examples of Mary Magdalene; Mary the Egyptian, Euphrosina, and Pelagia and give us an idea of the tradition stemming from the eastern Mediterranean. But the feminine litany did not stop with Egyptians and Jews, indeed local saints such as Odilia of Alsace (660-720 CE) feature prominently in their homespun liturgies.

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The tradition of the Merovingian Desert Mothers and of Frankish religious practice in general, was highly mystical in nature and relied heavily on personal, spiritual revelation through “visions and dreams.”[6]

The work and traditions of direct experience of the divine that was laid by the Beguines and their sisters and mothers before them no doubt influenced the theological ether of Northern Europe, birthplace of the Protestant Reformation. When Martin Luther tacked his 95 Theses on the proverbial door of the Church, although he was leading himself into a dead end of literalism on one side, he was feeling a shared spiritual impulse with the esoteric underground which the Desert Mothers had begun. Direct experience and knowledge of the divine – be it gnosis or a “personal relationship” with Christ, it has a very similar effect. This yearning for the ancient, simple, and experiential encounter/life in the spirit cried out. John Calvin’s Institutio Religionis Christiannae of 1555-59, and Luther’s legitimate criticism on the corruption of the Church’s system of indulgences both addressed key weaknesses of an assembly that had become a super-state in and of itself, but which was in need of a new life in the spirit.

Perhaps the most interesting feature of Luther’s work is the fact that he held the great mystic and patron of the Templars, Bernard of Clairvaux, in such high regard. Even Luther’s self styled symbol, the rose, has obvious mystical connotations having much to do with the sorely neglected feminine aspect of the divine.

But even through the most dogmatic of times, such as the Counter Reformation or the 16^th, 17^th and 18^th centuries, there have been numerous exponents of the very strong, existential spirituality. In the Luminous Mysteries of the Rosary, which were developed by the Mariologist St Louis de Montfort in the 18^th century (officially added to the other Mysteries by Pope John Paul II)[7] the fruit of the mystery is “openness to the Holy Spirit.” This is an incredibly beautiful expression of the inner meaning of the Baptism of Jesus – and of every one of us who is a conscious child of light.

It is certainly no accident that Johannite exegesis finds itself at a pivotal place between the mainstream Catholic traditions and the esoteric and mystical traditions of the early Gnostics, Neo-Platonists, Freemasons and Rosicrucians. This is the legacy of John, the disciple whom Jesus loved; the Apostle of Fraternal Love, protector of the two Saints Mary, and the receiver of revelation. It’s not easy to be in that very tight spot, largely because the outer and inner traditions mistrust each other for understandable reasons. Johannites are unique in the sense that we embrace Catholicism, Esotericism, Mysticism and Gnosticism, in the tradition of two Saints John and Valentinus.

This tradition is not merely a reinvention of what once existed, but a continuum from Apostolic times through the Middle Ages and into the modern era. The collective work of Catholic clergy, the great Christian mystics, and a cadre of the Poor Soldiers of Christ who brought knowledge of early Christianity back into the mainstream of Western scholarship. The person-to-person lessons and perspectives emphasized by the tradition of St. John the Baptist is the heritage that bridges the past and the future.

This is the human chain of exploration and self-realization that resulted in the Renaissance, the Enlightenment and the gifts that make a new era in both the spiritual and material celebration of the unity of life.

History in its totality has never occurred by happenstance or coincidence. The unique position of our communion invites a new dialogue and a more meaningful understanding of the purpose of the most profound meaning of Christianity, and a celebration of this great aristocracy of servants from whom we have inherited it.

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[1] Ibid. Kung:27

[2] Ibid. Kung: 36-37

[3] Bokenkotter, Thomas. A Concise History of the Catholic Church, Doubleday Books, New York, 1979: 145.

[4] Ibid, Bokenkotter, 1979: 145.

[5] Oliver, Judith, “Gothic Women and Merovingian Desert Mothers.” Gesta, Vol. 32, No. 2 (1993), pp. 124-134

[6] Moreira, Isabel, Dreams, Visions, and Spiritual Authority in Merovingian Gaul, Cornell University Press. 2000

[7] John Paul II. Apostolic Letter, Rosarium Virginis Mariae, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2002