In puris naturalibus

Out of Egypt

2009-10-23T08:39:00.001-04:00

Rest on the Flight into Egypt
Luc Olivier Merson, French, 1846–1920
Museum of Fine Arts, Boston

When the Johannite Church, then called the “Primitive Catholic Christians” literally came out of the ecclesiastical closet over 200 years ago under the leadership of +Bernard-Raymond Fabré Palaprat in 1804 (1), one of the definitive statements of its tradition was quite simple and remains in our Liturgy: “The Son of God afterwards appeared on the scene of the world. Imbued with a spirit wholly divine, endowed with the most astounding qualities, he was able to reach all the degrees of Egyptian initiation.”(2) And with that rather matter-of-fact sentence, 2,000 years of Johannite secrecy was blown wide open in the spirit of the French egalitarianism which swept the continent.

But the link between Christianity and Egyptian religion was not news in those days; far from it. It is generally accepted that the re-introduction of Hermetic ideas into the European context took place as a result of the translation of the Corpus Hermeticum into Latin from Greek by Fr. Marcilio Ficino for Cosimo de Medici. The Corpus itself is a collection of a far greater volume of work patched together most notably by Ficino. There were eight editions of the Corpus before 1500.(3) I have had the good fortune of seeing one fine example of the Corpus published by Lucas Dominici, Venice (1481), in the Special Collections at Brandeis University here in the Boston area. The provenance of the rare edition that I have seen indicates that it was owned by a Jewish physician by the name of Georgius Kloss. Although the work of Ficino, a gay, Roman Catholic priest was important, it should be noted that the last three tractates of the Corpus as it appears now were not in his translation. These include: (XVI.) The Definitions of Asclepius unto King Ammon; (XVII.) Of Asclepius to the King, and (XVIII.) The Encomium of Kings.

A portion of the Corpus, The Divine Pymander in XVII books (London 1650) was translated by John Everard into English for the first time from the Ficino Latin translation. You can access this edition at my friend Adam McClean’s excellent Alchemy Web Site. The best source of historical information in the world on Hermeticism is doubtless housed in the 20,000-volume Bibliotheca Philosophica Hermetica, in Amsterdam.

Hermeticism’s very close relationship with Christianity can be seen in many historical records, not the least of which is Augustine of Hippo’s criticism of it in his City of God vii.23–26. Giordano Bruno’s De Umbris Idearum (1548) is a reiteration of Hermetic, and therefore Egyptian, memory magic (ars memoria), which is nothing less than the art of maintaining one’s identity after death – in Christian terms, salvation and eternal life. (4)

The compatibility of Christian and traditional Egyptian beliefs was noted in a regrettably degrading way by British Museum archeologist Sir Ernest Alfred Thompson Wallis Budge in his introduction to the 1895 translation of the Book of the Dead.

We can gently forgive Sir Ernest’s ticklish terminology and find much that is useful in his analysis that throughout the centuries there is a noticeable coherence between the two religions.

The chief features of the Egyptian religion remained unchanged from the Vth and VIth dynasties down to the period when the Egyptians embraced Christianity, after the preaching of St. Mark the Apostle in Alexandria, A.D. 69, so firmly had the early beliefs taken possession of the Egyptian mind; and the Christians in Egypt, or Copts as they are commonly called, the racial descendants of the ancient Egyptians, seem never to have succeeded in divesting themselves of the superstitious and weird mythological conceptions which they inherited from their heathen ancestors.

St. John the Baptist and St. John the Beloved, Evangelist and Apostle, are the namesakes of the Johannite Church. It therefore comes as no surprise that the Hermetic knowledge of the “all the degrees of Egyptian initiation” is well represented by the tradition of the two Saints John. According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, “…on 27 May, 395 A.D., the relics of St. John the Baptist were laid in the gorgeous basilica just dedicated to the Precursor on the site of the once famous temple of Serapis.” (5)

The cult of Serapis is of course the foundation of Hermeticism and the Egyptian religion. This is not to say that the followers of the Christ have been these two millennia duped, but that the dogma and doctrine of Christianity incubated in not only the beliefs of the Hebrews, but in the mysteries of what has been called Hermeticism - the religion of Egypt. We need only to look at the etymology of that word to understand its meaning:

Hermetic: 1605 (implied in hermetically), "completely sealed," also (1637) "dealing with occult science or alchemy," from L. hermeticus, from Gk. Hermes, god of science and art, among other things, identified by Neoplatonists, mystics, and alchemists with the Egyptian god Thoth as Hermes Trismegistos "Thrice-Great Hermes," who supposedly invented the process of making a glass tube airtight (a process in alchemy) using a secret seal. (6)

The parallels between the Gospel of John and Hermeticism are, in a word, astounding. But that must be left for another post.

***

Notes:

(1) The Freemason's Monthly Magazine, Volume 1 edited by Charles Whitlock Moore, London, 1848, p. 170

(2) The Johannite Liturgy: The Graal of Undefiled Wisdom, Calgary, revised 2008

(3) Noted by George Sarton, the historian of science, in reviewing Walter Scott, Hermetica, in Isis 8.2 (May 1926:343-346) p. 345

(4) Hegel and the Hermetic Tradition by Glenn Alexander Magee

(5) Souvay, Charles. "St. John the Baptist." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 8. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1910. 22 Oct. 2009 . Nihil Obstat. October 1, 1910. Remy Lafort, S.T.D., Censor. Imprimatur. +John Cardinal Farley, Archbishop of New York.

(6) Online Etymology Dictionary, November 2001 Douglas Harper

Saint Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1179)

2009-09-09T16:12:00.002-04:00

In the Johannite tradition and that of several other communions, Hildegard von Bingen’s feast is celebrated on 17 September. Although Hildegard is a saint according to our Liturgy, in the Roman Catholic communion to which she adhered, she has been beatified but never officially canonized. Notwithstanding this canonical difference, she has been called “Saint Hildegard” for centuries, even within the Roman jurisdiction.[1] (See the Catholic Encyclopedia entry “St. Hildegard”)

However we choose to style her, Hildegard remains a singularly outstanding example of the ideals, practices, hope and values that form the foundations of the mystical, catholic path towards understanding, celebrating and living the divine. All of this we know not from some martyrology or hagiography, but from Hildegard’s own words, actions and visions – many of which were corroborated by contemporaries as illustrious as St. Bernard of Clairvaux, the Roman Pontiffs Eugenius III, Anastasius IV, Adrian IV, and Alexander III, the Holy Roman Emperor Fredrick I, Archbishop Heinrich of Mainz, Archbishop Eberhard of Salzburg and Abbot Ludwig of St. Eucharius at Trier, and St. Elizabeth of Schönau, who was a very close friend to Hildegard.[2]

These facts alone would make Hildegard exceptional, but it was her life and work that still remains the standard – she was a visionary, which is now attributed to the possibility that she suffered from a complication of severe migraines, scintillating scotomata, and resulting intense perception of light and temporary blindness.[3] She was prolific not only as a writer, seer and giver of spiritual counsel to bishops, kings and other saints, but an innovator in music and the arts, and a specialist in healing, anatomy and herbology, showing an intimate knowledge and appreciation of nature and Greek cosmology. As such, Hildegard was perhaps one of the first women in Western culture to openly discuss feminine sexuality as a positive force, and many historians cite her as the first European woman to describe the physical and spiritual joy of the female orgasm.

When she was 42 years of age, St. Hildegard experienced what we in the Johannite community would describe as “gnosis”: the direct, experiential knowledge and communion with the divine. From that point in her life, she was compelled to share her experiences with others, having been practically commanded to write about her divine encounters by Pope Eugenius III. What Hildegard wrote was incredible:

…the heavens were opened and a blinding light of exceptional brilliance flowed through my entire brain. And so it kindled my whole heart and breast like a flame, not burning but warming... and suddenly I understood of the meaning of expositions of the books...

Hildegard’s fame in so many areas of life never deterred her from speaking truth to power. She was a strident champion of the oppressed, the poor of her community; even jeopardizing her own brilliant position in the religious constellation by demanding the proper burial of a man who had been excommunicated. She prevailed within the system, and died shortly thereafter as a “Holy Woman” in the eyes of her people and of the Church authorities of Rome.

Precious few saints exemplify all of the qualities so dear to the teachings and spiritual traditions of the Johannite family. Saint Hildegard of Bingen is undoubtedly one of those precious few.

[1] Lerman, C. The Life and Works of Hildegard von Bingen (1098-1179), Fordham University, 1995. http://www.fordham.edu/halsall/med/hildegarde.html

[2] Mershman, F. (1910). St. Hildegard. In The Catholic Encyclopedia. New York: Robert Appleton Company.

Retrieved September 9, 2009 from New Advent: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07351a.htm

[3] Ibid. Lernman 1995.

The Whore and the Holy One

2009-07-21T20:36:00.004-04:00

Maria Maddalena by Daniela Dente

For I am the first and the last.
I am the honored one and the scorned one.
I am the whore and the holy one.
I am the wife and the virgin.
I am the mother and the daughter.

- Thunder, Perfect Mind (Nag Hammadi Library)

It seems fitting to pay a special tribute to the hundreds of millions of women who have been and continue to be subjugated by the culture of misogyny and ignorance, and to transform that pain and injustice into a celebration of the feminine in the Divine, and the Divine in the feminine.

Whether we believe that Holy Mary of Magdala was the counterpart of Christ and the incarnation of Holy Sophia, or if we see her as a true companion and Apostle to the Apostles, the endurance of her spiritual heritage is with us on this eve of her great feast.

A most blessed Feast of St Mary Magdalene to you and yours.

A Prayer to the Black Madonna

2009-07-14T18:58:00.003-04:00

DARK MOTHER OF MY SOUL
Come to me as you have never left me.
From you I am, in you I am;
Through you I see the husbandman.

With the eyes of forgotten antiquity,
In pools of another place you saw me;
You touched me,
You raised me a little higher than the angels.

Mysteries melt away in your arms,
And life begins with your cup.
Let me drink from your knowledge so that I may know myself.
Mother, virgin, whore, font of wisdom
Who is clarity in obscurity.

In your darkness we begin to see light.
Never ending Mother, unknowable and yet known to all.
Sister of the rising sea foam,
Star of the Sea,
Queen of Heaven,
Reign quietly as I remember who I am.

Reign quietly, my Lady, heart of my being.
Reign quietly, I pray.

(Written for the Feast of St. Mary Magdalene, 2009
by The Rev. Deacon Donald Donato)

Faces of Catholicism on St John's Day

2009-06-24T16:48:00.010-04:00

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.
[3]

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.

[5]

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.

[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

Consciousness, Light and Inspiration: The Holy Trinity

2009-06-08T10:44:00.005-04:00

The Trinity by Salvador Dali, Vatican Museum

There are three who give testimony in heaven, the Father, the Word, and the Holy Spirit. And these three are one. And there are three that give testimony on earth: the spirit, and the water, and the blood: and these three are one. 1 John 5:7-8

Yesterday was Trinity Sunday on the liturgical calendar. We move into the long swath of "Ordinary Time" that takes a journey through the summer all the way until Advent. The vestments are green as is the earth. For the eastern Church, the Trinity is celebrated along with Pentecost. Trinity Sunday does not appear as a regular feast in many lectionaries until the 9th century CE, and it was not ordered for the entire Roman Church until the pontificate of John XXII in the 14th century. (To read more on the history of Trinity Sunday click here>>>)

The Trinity is woven into the fabric of Christian thought and practice from the liturgical Sign of the Cross, normally done with three fingers, to the Trinitarian Forumula “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit”, taken directly from the “Great Commission”: “Going therefore, teach ye all nations; baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”(Matt. 28:19) In the kabbalistic Tree of Life (Genesis 2:9) and the Celestial World of the Aeons (Valentinus) the Trinity appears to head the lower forms and planes of existence. It is the triangle, the three, the strongest form in the cosmos, Thrice Greatest, the union of opposites atop the Ground of All Being.

While the origin of the idea of the Trinity may be as old as the first human thought of the divine, evidenced in the most ancient religious texts known to us from the Indus Valley, it was not elaborated on by the early Christians without heated controversy. Fitting the concept of the Christ as Incarnation and eternal Logos has its pitfalls. The rifts created by the clashing descriptions of the Nestorians and Monophysites, each claiming to depict the nature of Christ, tended to focus on the person of Jesus and his spiritual role without taking into consideration the possibility that the dynamic that unpinned the existence of Christ was itself the most profound reflection of human potential.

No doubt many an early Christian pulled quite a lot of hair out over the relationship between Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. From my viewpoint, I side with neither the Monophysites, who held that Christ had but one nature which developed from human toward the divine; nor the Chaldcedonians (most mainstream Christians today) who see Jesus of Nazareth in terms of having a nature which is dualistic: fully human and fully divine. I do not disagree with the basic premise here, but I think it overlooks some important contingency thinking that I believe is necessary to fully appreciate self awareness. The way in which each one of us relates to the hypostatic union of the Holy Trinity may necessarily need a unique spiritual interpretation as a personal means of filling metaphysical gaps in one’s own mystical experience.

I neither confirm nor deny the many theories presented in the discussion of the Trinity and Christology. I therefore introduce to you the framework put forward by the Oriental Orthodox communions known as Miaphysitism (a.k.a. henophysitism) which basically does a Hail Mary punt and leaves us with the notion that holds that in the one person of Jesus Christ, divinity and humanity are united in one "nature" (physis), they are one. How to interpret that is likely outside the boundaries of rationality.

These are attempts to describe spiritual impulses and realities that, although encompassing our universe, are not limited by it. From my vantage, spending too much time on these things is tantamount to standing on top of a high mountain and trying to draw an accurate map of the entire world – it just doesn’t work that way.

Beyond faith there is another, more human way to make the connections to understand and feel the presence of the Trinity. When we look at the names of the Trinity in Greek, it’s abundantly clear that what is being described is both mystical and practical. The Father is called the “Thought” (Nous); the Son is the Logos which is really more than just a “word”, it is more akin to “reason.” Finally, the Holy Spirit - Pneuma Hagion, sometimes referred to as the primal Queen of Heaven, Sophia – that which binds us all together, and inspires us – the honey that binds our existence in both spiritual and sensual realms.

The Trinity for me is the Nous that gives me consciousness, the Logos, the light to use it; and Sophia, the wisdom of divine inspiration to truly live it.

From Hell to Heaven with Dante

2009-05-14T11:28:00.004-04:00

Dante and Virgil in Hell by William-Adolphe Bouguereau

When Dante Alighieri was born 688 years ago today, the newborn suckled his mother’s breast in a beautiful and yet extremely violent world. As he grew to maturity, Dante lived in a time of incredible genius and dastardly wickedness; not very different from any other time in history except that the geniuses were particularly ingenious, and the villains particularly villainous. His contemporaries were people like da Vinci, Machiavelli, and Michelangelo - and the not-so-fondly remembered folks who paid their salaries - the infamous Borgia Pope Alexander IV, and his son, the brilliant but rather homicidal Cesare Borgia.

The Divine Comedy is Dante’s best known and best loved work, probably because it can be read as superficially or as esoterically as you’d like. Very much like life itself, in the end you will be entertained and inspired regardless of your tack.

Dante and his wealthy Florentine family were members of the Papal supporters known as the Guelph party, and for that reason he spent quite a long time exiled from his home city when it was under the control of the Ghibellines, who supported the Holy Roman Emperor. Scholars and historians have often theorized that Dante’s exile pushed his limits, and through that adversity he began to discover the value of inner work.

Although little is known about the details of why Dante chose the symbols and numbers that make up the bones of his magnum opus, the parallels with the Christian kabala are just too uncanny to be accidents. In Inferno, for example, there are nine Circles of Hell, and the Well of Giants; (9 + 1) representing the 10 Sephiroth of the kabalistic Tree of Life. In Purgatory there are seven Ledges, and Dante falls asleep three times, so that each Ledge reveals three numbers (3,1 and 3 again) that add up to seven. This formula suggests that Dante was well acquainted with the Western Mystery Tradition, and that he also knew of The Book of Creation, known in Hebrew as Sefer Yetzirah, which bears exactly the same combination in the path of Initiation. Once Dante has proceeded through 33 cantos, he arrives at the Terrestrial Heaven; again pointing to the kabalistic 32 inner paths + 1 external path on the Tree of Life = 33, the number of years from the Incarnation to the Resurrection of Christ. Coincidence? Hardly.

When Dante is brought safely to the Terrestrial Heaven by Virgil, he is then given to the protection of Beatrice, who in my opinion is clearly representative of the Queen of Heaven – the divine feminine who leads us to the Temple of Mysteries.

If you haven’t read The Divine Comedy, why not celebrate Dante’s 688th birthday and treat yourself to a copy of your very own? It might be a good book to tuck into that bag for all of you Johannites who will be traveling to Conclave in Boston next week...

The Mystery of Golgotha

2009-04-10T10:08:00.005-04:00

Christ flanked by St. Mary and St. John

Golgotha, Jerusalem

This Good Friday I looked over the fragments of the Apocryphal Acts of John (c. 150-200) C.E., widely considered to be some of the oldest texts of the New Testament Apocrypha. There are many parallels with the Gospel of Thomas, and therefore the Acts were attacked by some quarters of the Church, and the background and history of the book is filled with inconsistencies.

From the Johannite perspective, it is not altogether difficult to understand why this book of acts was commonly attributed to St. John’s disciple Leucius Charinus, who might later have been a follower of the teachings of Mani. While some of its detractors claim that the Acts’ openly Gnostic theology may have been added (in verses 94-102 and 109)[1], it is odd that the consensus on its authorship remains with Leucius Charinus, who would have been perfectly well at ease with the esoteric message contained within it. If changes to the fragments left in Greek and Latin have been made, it is much more likely that those changes would have been by later redactors to mitigate the importance of the Gnostic Catholic tradition of St. John’s community in Asia Minor.

The reason that this book caused such a stir among some Church Fathers is because Christ meets with John on a mountain overlooking Jerusalem at the very time of his crucifixion.[2] Christ tells John that even as they look on the body of Jesus on the cross, this is nothing but a symbol, and that “it is needful that one should hear these things from me, for I have need of one that will hear.” (98) John then sees a cross of light, which the Master explains:

..Is sometimes called the word by me for your sakes, sometimes mind, sometimes Jesus, sometimes Christ, sometimes door, sometimes a way, sometimes bread, sometimes seed, sometimes resurrection, sometimes Son, sometimes Father, sometimes Spirit, sometimes life, sometimes truth, sometimes faith, sometimes grace. And by these names it is called as toward men: but that which it is in truth, as conceived of in itself and as spoken of unto you, it is the marking-off of all things, and the firm uplifting of things fixed out of things unstable, and the harmony of wisdom, and indeed wisdom in harmony. There are of the right hand and the left, powers also, authorities, lordships and demons, workings, threatenings, wraths, devils, Satan, and the lower root whence the nature of the things that come into being proceeded.

Jesus then shares with John the Mystery of Golgotha:

Thou hearest that I suffered, yet did I not suffer; that I suffered not, yet did I suffer; that I was pierced, yet I was not smitten; hanged, and I was not hanged; that blood flowed from me, and it flowed not; and, in a word, what they say of me, that befell me not, but what they say not, that did I suffer. Now what those things are I signify unto thee, for I know that thou wilt understand. Perceive thou therefore in me the praising of the Word (Logos), the piercing of the Word, the blood of the Word, the wound of the Word, the hanging up of the Word, the suffering of the Word, the nailing of the Word, the death of the Word. And so speak I, separating off the manhood. Perceive thou therefore in the first place of the Word; then shalt thou perceive the Lord, and in the third place the man, and what he hath suffered.

So there are two apparitions of Christ at the same time, in the same city. One which explains the meaning of the Cross of Light, the Tree of Life; and in “the third place the man”, the living water and living bread; the symbol of the unity of spirit and matter within every human being.

St. John is recorded by these Acts as having gone back down the mountain, and “laughed them all to scorn, inasmuch as he had told me the things which they have said concerning him; holding fast this one thing in myself, that the Lord contrived all things symbolically and by a dispensation toward men, for their conversion and salvation.”

This symbolic dispensation is remembered in the Eucharist, which is an outer sign of an inner grace: the Way of Initiation; the Mystery of Golgotha.

Notes:

[1] Geoff Towbridge’s Introduction to the Acts of John, Early Christian Writings

[2] The Acts of John: 97. From "The Apocryphal New Testament", M.R. James-Translation and Notes. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1924

The Quadrigas of Aminadab

2009-04-02T12:18:00.005-04:00

The Quadrigas of Aminadab, Abbey Church of Saint-Denis, Paris

This Sunday we commemorate the triumphant entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem, the city and the eternal symbol of humanity at is best and its worst. According to legends and scriptures, St. Mary Magdalene (some insist that Mary of Bethany is a different Mary; I for one do not) had marshaled enormous resources to anoint the Master with spikenard, the cost of which was literally a fortune. St. Mary supplied a train of helpers, pack animals; acting quite literally as paymaster of the first apostolate. Among the apostolic entourage were not only Mary of Magdala, but Mary, Mother of God. Is it a historical fact? I haven’t the foggiest notion. Does it hold profound meaning? Yes, and in the most human of ways. The events leading up to Holy Week and finally Easter repeat their inner meaning right here, right now, where you are sitting. These are not so much events as vehicles for us to ride along the road to the knowledge and experience of the divine within us.

In the language of antiquity the Blessed Virgin Mary was often referred to as the “vehicle” of grace being the mother of Jesus. At first this term seems a bit dismissive until we examine exactly which vehicle is being described. The Abbey Church of St. Denis in Paris, portions of which date from the 5th century, contains a window (above) depicting the Quadrigas of Aminadab, a vehicle rich with meaning. The crucifix is planted in the Ark of the Covenant, which is in turn the chassis of the Chariot of Aminadab mentioned in Solomon’s Song of Songs. Some Catholics might remember that in an alphabetical list of devotional titles of Our Lady, the very first is “Ark of the Covenant.”

The Quadrigas is a four-horsed chariot which was often used as an esoteric symbol of divinity. The mosaic of Christ as Sol Invictus in the crypt of St. Peter’s in Rome is one such example. The etymology of the word is quite simple, coming from two Latin words for the number “four” and “harness”, derived from the verb jungere; literally, "to yoke." Devotion to Our Lady as the vehicle of grace was described by St. Bernard of Clairvaux, founding patron of the Templars, who wrote that Christ “is thy brother and thy flesh…Mary gave him to thee to be thy brother.” If we have difficulty approaching Christ directly, then Bernard wrote: “Have recourse to Mary. In truth there is pure humanity in Mary.”[1]

As I struggled to spiritually perceive the meaning of the number 4, and the often convoluted meanings of the two Saints Mary, it suddenly occurred to me this morning as I looked out into the foggy dawn that this passage in the Song of Songs may hold the key. We have two pairs of spiritual horses pulling our chariot. We, as humans are not the objects of power to be played as pawns in the chess match of some Olympian cosmos. We, as Michel Foucault wrote “are the vehicles of power, not its points of application."[2] Four leading principles, four directions of Classical science; four horsemen of the Apocalypse; four arms of the Cross; and four very special representatives of spiritual meaning in Christianity. Jesus, as the Logos Incarnate; John the Baptist, his precursor and priestly initiator; the Holy Mother, and Holy Sophia, represented by the two Saints Mary. There is something unique about each of these four: traditionally they are not seen as numbering among the Twelve, although Mary of Magdala is called Apostle to the Apostles, still she is not counted among them.

I have to admit getting chills when I read this passage in Solomon’s Canticles:

One is my dove, my perfect one is but one, she is the only one of her mother, the chosen of her that bore her. The daughters saw her, and declared her most blessed: the queens and concubines, and they praised her. Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in array? I went down into the garden of nuts, to see the fruits of the valleys, and to look if the vineyard had flourished, and the pomegranates budded. I knew not: my soul troubled me for the chariots of Aminadab. (Douay-Rheims)[3]

The vehicle is a force of unified nature; the vehicle is us. I read it again and asked myself “Who is she that cometh forth as the morning rising, fair as the moon, bright as the sun, terrible as an army set in array?”

I think the answer is within us all.

Notes:

Here are some other translations of the reference to the Chariots of Aminadab:

Young’s Literal Translation: I knew not my soul, It made me -- chariots of my people Nadib.”

King James Version: Or ever I was aware, my soul made me like the chariots of Amminadib.

American Standard Version: Before I was aware, my soul set me Among the chariots of my princely people.

New International Version: Before I realised it, my desire set me among the royal chariots of my people.

[1] Bernard of Clairvaux, Sermo de Duodecim prerogatives B.V.M., I. ii.

[2] Foucault, Michel. The History of Sexuality Vol. 1: An Introduction. Trans. Robert Hurley. New York, Vintage Books: 1978, p. 98

[3] Song of Songs 6:8-10

Taking the Minor Orders

2009-03-30T10:31:00.007-04:00

Bishop Thomas Langley (Left) ordains me into the

Subdeaconate at the Johannite Parish of St Sarah the Egyptian, Boston

This past Saturday I entered the Minor Orders to prepare for my ordination into the Holy Diaconate at the end of May. A few people have asked me about the meaning of the Minor Orders including the Subdeaconate, so let me take a short stab at it here. As far as I am aware, the first mention of a subdeacon was by Cornelius, the bishop of Rome, in a letter to Fabius in the year 255. Given that there were seven subdeacons in the city of Rome, it seems likely that the functional order was present throughout the Church for some time before the third century.

In the Johannite, Alexandrian Gnostic and Eastern Orthodox Churches, the subdeacon is the highest of the Minor Orders, just below the Deaconate. For Johannites the Minor Orders are: Cleric, Porter, Reader, Exorcist, Acolyte and Subdeacon. The esoteric meaning behind this number is significant given that when added to the Major Orders and functions of Deacon, Priest, Bishop and Pontiff, we have the very kabalistic number 10, which reflects the 10 Sephiroth of the Tree of Life. In the Roman Catholic world, subdeacons, along with the other Minors have been largely unused since Vatican II, along with the introduction of lay people as Eucharistic Ministers. In the Roman tradition, subdeacons are part of the Major Orders, which include subdeacons, deacons, priests and bishops. Some traditionalist seminaries retain the Minor Orders through a special pontifical permission, known as an indult.

Whether Minor or Major, the Subdeaconate is a threshold on greater service and commitment. The rite itself gave me a feeling that is perhaps illogical and irrational, but nonetheless different from operating as a lay person. There is a feeling of uneasy serenity that comes with taking Orders which I think underscores the actual work that we commit to do on behalf of the Church. But it’s not all about tending to chalices and kissing the altar after the Liturgy.

Minor Orders ask the ordinand to put him or herself aside to give service to others in the community and to the Church universal. The tension between self fulfillment and service is slowly reconciled through inner work. Each step, from Cleric to Reader, Exorcist to Acolyte, and finally Subdeacon, offers a new perspective on one’s self and on the balance that we must strike between service and selfhood. For me the Orders are a dance which celebrate that balancing act, posing an evermore cohesive relationship between us and service to others. In its purest spiritual meaning, the ecclesiastical hierarchy is not a class system; it is a reflection of the profundity that each is called to serve both himself and the Church. Dionysius the Areopagite called the steps up the hierarchy the “God-becoming beauty which imparts its own proper light to each according to their fitness, and perfects in most divine initiation, as becomes the undeviating moulding of those who are being initiated harmoniously to itself.”

I don’t know how, but through work and ritual I feel that moulding, that harmonious initiation. It is an uneasy sensation, but one that gives great purpose to me as I continue the road towards the stole.

Notes

1. Chapman, John. "Pope Cornelius." The Catholic Encyclopedia. Vol. 4. New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1908. 7 Dec. 2008 .

2. Dionysius the Areopagite, The Heavenly Hierarchy, III., 1

Titivillus: The Scribe's Devil

2009-03-21T10:31:00.003-04:00

Writers, editors, researchers and scholars of all kinds have to deal with a missing word, a left out phrase, a misspelling; a mistranslation. It happens.

The prettier the manuscript, the more likely there will be a glaring typographical error. Over the years, I have worked on hundreds – maybe thousands – of reports, articles, books, papers, you name it. Not one was perfect. The more expensive and important the document tends to be, the more chance for a goof-up.

According to medieval folklore, there’s a reason for all those little mistakes, and the naughty little gargoyle’s name is Titivillus. The medievalist Marc Drogin, author of Medieval Calligraphy, Its History and Technique and Biblioclasm: the mythical origins, magic powers, and perishability of the written word, the Oxford English Dictionary made an incorrect reference to Titivillus in its own footnotes in every edition for the past 50 years. Talk about ironic.

So if Titivillus has been hanging around since at least the dawn of the written word, he needs to be soundly spanked today - deep in the age of information. When I Google “Johannite” for example, I get a mishmash of conspiracies and bad information. The “definition” of Johannite in one large dictionary pins us up as being deniers of Christ…oy…not those Johannites, Titivillus! Do your homework!

The Pope, Sex and the Book of Baruch

2009-02-18T10:32:00.006-05:00

A fourth-century Sicilian tombstone records the burial of ‘Guilia Runa, woman priest’

(courtesy of Womenpriests.org)

In early Christianity and the formation of the core Catholic traditions, women held extremely important roles which were later systematically subdued, largely beginning in the 4th century CE. Roman records tell us that in the late 300’s pope Damasus personally undertook a campaign to discredit the influence of women, and consolidate his “apostolic authority” through bloodshed.[1] It should be noted that St. Jerome, a leading proponent of "orthodoxy" and the exclusion of women, was literally on the payroll of Damasus.

Successive Roman bishops attacked the role of women, up to and including St. Mary Magdalene, who was revered at the “Apostle to the Apostles.” It was Pope Gregory “the Great” who slandered St. Mary and placed her in the subservient niche as a repentant prostitute in his temple of misinformation.

But perhaps the fiercest hater of powerful women in the Church was the theologian and Roman “Church Father”, Tertullian, who wrote to Roman Christian women “You are the devil’s gateway, the unsealer of that forbidden tree…”[2] It is a sad and repugnant history which unfortunately relied and redacted all sources of scriptural evidence to ensure that women would be seen as the root of evil. This is not simply a question of the sexism of one pope or one or two theologians. In the Pastoral Epistles dubiously attributed to St. Paul (Timothy 3:6-7) women were already being portrayed as good enough to bankroll the ministries of the Church, but too "gullible" to be trusted with original opinions of their own spirituality. Not merely a theological disagreement among Christians, in 385 CE we see the first martydom of Christians by Christians when the woman patron of the Donatist exponent Pricillian was executed along with him in Spain.

Perhaps this is why Hippolytus spent so much time criticizing the Gnostic Christian Justin’s account of the Hellenistic Jewish text known as the Book of Baruch. Thankfully, Hippolytus copied the text into his heresiological work entitled Refutatio, thus preserving the knowledge that he despised. As the Spanish say, “No hay mal que por bien no venga”, literally “There is no evil from which good doesn’t come.” It has therefore been known to Gnostic Christians and Gnostic Jews throughout history. Baruch was not one of the findings contained in the Nag Hammadi codices unearthed in 1945.[3]

Baruch is a Gnostic myth of creation and of first things, the origins of good and evil. It combines Judaic, Greek and Christian myths and terminology, and is therefore a superlative example of syncretism and the transfer of spiritual knowledge using many cultural and religious “languages.”

The myth describes that from the beginning there were three unbegotten principles of the universe; in every sense, the Trinity. There is no fall of the divine or of humanity. The universe, humanity and human sexuality are therefore not the subject of any sinful origins in need of redemption. Indeed, Justin likens the Good (the One) to the Hellenistic fertility god Priapus.[4]
The serpent, an angel called Naas, is a symbol of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The origin of evil is seen to be the result of the abandonment of Eden (Feminine) by Father Elohim, and not by an error of the female. Father Elohim does, however give a piece of the divine spirit to humankind. This is an allegory for transcending the false impression that there is a division between spirit and matter.

The terms of feminine and masculine are meant to describe the soul (feminine) and the spirit (masculine). Liberation, or ascending to the Good is the path away from the perceived conflict between good and evil. The ascent of Elohim to the lofty realm of light makes him want to destroy the material universe, but he is not allowed to return, instead the feminine Eden is left with its charge.

In a superficial way, Elohim and Eden are symbols of a mystical union and of earthly love between man and woman, but more importantly their love is the union of the feminine and masculine (soul and spirit) within us all as microcosms of the divine, within the divine.

If we are to learn anything from the message contained in the Book of Baruch, it would be that through initiation, the soul and spirit can transcend the dualistic perceptions of this world and unite with the Good. I’m sorry to say that Tertullian, Damasus and Jerome and their legacy of misogyny is still the stronger of the currents within Christianity, but there is always hope that through learning and gnosis, new generations will come to understand the importance of transcending the separation. There is always an opportunity for us to treat all people with the dignity they deserve as sparks of the divine.

Notes:

[1] Denzey, Nicola. The Bone Gatherers: The Lost Worlds of Early Christian Women, Beacon Press, Boston: 2007: p. 178.
[2] Tertullian, De Cultu Feminarum, 1.1
[3] King, Karen L. Images of the Feminine in Gnosticism, First Trinity Press International, (Ron Cameron’s Essay “Response to Female Figures in the Gnostic Sondergut in Hippolytus’s Refutatio by Luise Abramovski”) Harrisburg, PA, 2000, p. 154
[4] Dictionary of the History of Ideas, Vol 2, p. 327-328

The Primal Will: St. Scholastica

2009-02-10T14:12:00.003-05:00

Today is the Feast of Saint Scholastica (480-547), twin sister of Saint Benedict of Nursia, founder of the western monastic Rule named for him.

The hagiography of St. Scholastica is interesting because in many versions she was not only a person in tune with the Spirit, but actually the senior of the two siblings for her early grasp of the current of the flow of life that she reportedly experienced.

According to her hagiography, Scholastica dined with her brother Benedict at her convent. After supper, Benedict insisted on returning to his monastery in Monte Cassino, but his sister begged that he stay and discuss more with her. As he left, a terrible storm came up, and Benedict immediately asked her what she had done, to which she is supposed to have answered “I asked you and you would not listen; so I asked my God and he did listen. So now go off, if you can, leave me and return to your monastery.”[1]

Not only was this a “Godly” woman, leader of a community of nuns, her story underscores her spiritual receptivity and her legendary use of the burning body of the Spirit to direct a physical phenomenon – in this case, a storm. Three days later (an obviously meaningful number) St. Benedict is reported to have seen the spirit of his sister rising up from her body in the shape of …you guessed it…a white dove.

This of course may be purely fiction, but the symbolism is as relevant to me as it is powerful. The Radiant Darkness that constitutes the all-encompassing and transcendent One flows in our veins, we are composed of its mysterious light; and through discipline and openness we can be the grail into which the wine of divine knowledge and power is poured.

Could it be that St. Scholastica mastered the Great Work, uttering words, creating mental images that translated into physical changes in the world around her? Maybe yes, maybe no; I think the fun part of reading such stories is the consistency with which human beings are willing to admit that we live in a world of patterns, thoughts and images that are our own creation…and that we can know, will, dare…and be silent.

[1] Saint Scholastica, Virgin and Religious Founder, Order of St. Benedict

The Red Alchemy of St. Thomas Aquinas

2009-02-08T11:39:00.004-05:00

Over the past 20 years I have studied the works of St. Thomas Aquinas. He formed the basis of my undergraduate readings in Philosophy; he returned as a champion of scholasticism in my extra-curricular jaunts in medieval thought and history; and his insights, although overtly orthodox, run from a spiritual stream so deep and ancient that its source must lie in the primordial mystery of Gnosis.

When the time is right, and we learn not to look for a magic divinity to judge or save us from itself, when we can quietly admit the bankruptcy of atonement theology and the moral theology of the devil (whether we call it Satan or the Demiurge), I believe that we might have reached a place where little actions can deliver us to awareness and self-learning. These little daily things are known as praxis, and they are not so easy to keep amid the whirlwind of apparently important things that distract our attention. Prayer, meditation, the Sacraments…and yes…Alchemy, are among the things that help us to further reveal our True Self.

Aquinas wrote:

No one can say that he is unable to grasp the teaching of heavenly wisdom; what the Word taught at great length, although clearly, throughout the various volumes of Sacred Scripture for those who have leisure to study, He has reduced to brief compass for the sake of those whose time is taken up with the cares of daily life.[1]

This great Dominican scholastic was heavily influenced by the mystics of the Byzantine world, the Neo-Platonists such as Dionysius the Areopagite and St. Maximus the Confessor. These great theologians believed in the inner divinity of humanity, and of the necessary route of revealing that divinity to a fuller extent through praxis. This process is known as Theosis. St. Maximus had his tongue cut out and his hand chopped off by the authorities of the Imperial Church for consistently refusing to endorse that Christ had only the will of God and not the will of a human. He was later vindicated and remains an important saint in the Orthodox, Roman and Anglican communions. It’s not difficult to see how this idea is the fulcrum of Aquinas’ assertion that “the humanity of Christ is the way by which we come to the divinity.”[2] In the great Greek work Philokalia, Maximus recorded that “A sure warrant for looking forward with hope to deification of human nature is provided by the incarnation of God, which makes man god to the same degree as God himself became man.”

When atonement, human sacrifice and Original Sin are seen for what they are – impossibilities within the context of grace – the humanity of the Christ takes on a much more radical and meaningful dimension. Filling the hole in ourselves; pointing to the metaphorical experiences of the Christ as a model for every child of the Spirit incarnated. The cross becomes the Tree of Life; the greatest sin is the one we commit against ourselves. In lieu of the blood of a sacrificial lamb, red symbolizes vitality, progress, and lasting transformation in our lives.

[1] St. Thomas Aquinas, Compendium Theologiae, 2.

[2] Ibid., Compendium Theologiae, 1-2.

Not the Groundhog..The Sexy Irish Goddess, Please..kthanx

2009-02-02T15:57:00.005-05:00

Today is a Quarter Day and Candlemas in the Catholic world, Imbolc for the Celts, a day that falls within the ancient feast for St. Brigid and is also important to Holy Mary, Mother of God. Coincidence? Hardly. Oh, I forgot Groundhog's Day...a perfectly useless tradition from Pennsylvania that just proves that any and all stupid animal tricks can get you press if you do them long enough.

Candlemas is the day we remember several interesting rituals. For me, and most people who grew up as Catholics or Anglicans, it's the day the candles for the entire year are blessed. But the ritual of purification comes from the cleansing of Our Lady 40 days after the birth of the infant Jesus, and his presentation at the Temple. For this reason, Candlemas is also known as the Feast of the Purification.

Imbolc is of course older than the Christian St. Brigid, whose feast was yesterday, but it was celebrated for the same spiritual concept, also called Brigid...although that Brigid was far from being a virgin. Brigid could be translated to mean the "exhalted one", Queen and Mother Goddess. Take your pick. Her name is an occupation; it's so old it probably comes from Indo-European root word meaning ...Bride. Well, I've always thought that virginity was highly overrated, and there you have it. No self-respecting ancient person would be daffy enough to start worshipping virgins until the Romans, and having some of that ancestry, I can vouch for the eloquent but frequent splurges of Latin folk in the overwrought for no particular reason, and for constantly indulging in E.R.O. That is, the endless reiteration of the obvious. But I digress yet again.

In the Wheel of the Celtic year, Imbolc is the beginning; the first day of spring. Thus the focus on Mama Goddess with the very nice figure. Clearly the imperial Roman religion after it had adopted Christianity, had problems with women. There is a lesson in the seachange between Brigid, the Queen and Mother and the necessity for some old men to make up ideas about who is clean and who isn't. I tend to have more respect for my Mother than that. Thankfully, that's their problem and not mine. I'll stick with the archtype of Brigid, the sexy Irish Goddess, and give her the respect she deserves as Holy Mary, Mother of God...and therefore of us all, the ultimate bride.

A Tradition of Discovery

2009-01-24T10:05:00.006-05:00

Fresco of a female figure holding a chalice at an early Christian Agape feast. Catacomb of Saints Marcellinus and Peter, Via Labicana, Rome

It is true to say that for me sanctity consists in being myself and for you sanctity consists in being yourself and that, in the last analysis, your sanctity will never be mine and mine will never be yours, except in the communism of charity and grace. For me to be a saint means to be myself. Therefore the problem of sanctity and salvation is in fact the problem of finding out who I am and of discovering my true self. --Thomas Merton*

If sanctity and liberation lie in self discovery that would mean that I have to face spiritual growth from an experiential platform, and not someone or something else’s. But this idea presupposes that we can all indeed know ourselves and act on that knowledge.

Selfhood is undoubtedly the key to being human and for those who suffer psychological problems stemming from abuse or physiological conditions, the journey is all the more difficult. In my own life, I have been trying to cope with a relationship with someone who suffers from just such a condition as a result of a lifetime of abuse; first as a child, then through nearly 20 years of abusive marriage. In the end, only she can release herself, or at least open herself up to liberation.

I tend to believe that the nature of the true self is a facet of a much greater being. That being, or fullness, is the indescribable essence of the divine that is all, and yet transcends all that we can experience. This experience and awareness in Western spiritualism and in the Catholic tradition is permeated with references to the work of the Holy Spirit, which some mystical and esoteric seekers like me see as embodied in divine wisdom, Holy Sophia.

In the Luminous Mysteries of the Rosary, which were developed by the Mariologist St. Louis de Montfort in the 18th century, the fruit of the mystery is “openness to the Holy Spirit.”** This is a beautiful expression of the inner meaning of the descent of the Holy Spirit at the Baptism of Jesus – and of every one of us who is a conscious child of light.

If this “openness” is the fruit of a Luminous Mystery, then in my own case I would have to say that gnosis –the knowledge/apprehension/awareness of being-in-the-divine, is what is channeled through that aperture. When opened wide enough, this conduit can literally alter material existence as an extension of the Spirit. This is what is called transmutation, and the paths to achieve it are many. When the energies of the body and mind are transformed through creativity, imagination and self understanding, spiritual awakening can and does happen.

In the Church for centuries the celebration of the Eucharist has long reminded us of the transformative power of the Spirit. For the Alchemists, one test of this ability was to transmute lead into gold, a symbolic parallel to the body and the spirit. Still other adepts have followed sacred sexual practices, mediation, the hesychast techniques contained in the Philiokalia, and many other rituals.

Although hierarchy and tradition do not have to be dogmatic or rigid as in the case of my own communion, unfortunately some communities within the Church have developed in such a way that often ridicules, forbids or condemns these various paths to inner knowledge. This is not only true of mainstream orthodoxy, but also in within Gnostic Christianity.

I recognize that sometimes seekers and clergy need to place limits on whom or what they choose to believe. No one way of discovering the true self could possibly be most effective for the billions of different people on the earth. My only concern is that we learn from the mistakes of the past – the witch hunts, the Albigensian ‘Crusade’, the Inquisition and condemnations of various groups within the Church and outside of our tradition.

I may not understand or agree with many paths to the Spirit and to the true self, but I am able to comprehend that my experiences are different from those of everyone else.

Notes:

* Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, New Directions, 2007, pp. 31

**Rosarium Virginis Mariae, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 2002

A Sophian Canticle

2009-01-22T05:01:00.004-05:00

O blessed, still one, who speaks everywhere!

We do not hear the soft voice, the gentle voice, the merciful

and feminine.

We do not hear mercy, or yielding love, or non-resistance,

or non-reprisal.

In her there are no reasons and no answers.

Yet she is the candor of God's light, the expression of His

simplicity.

We do not hear the uncomplaining pardon that bows down

the innocent visages of flowers to the dewy earth.

We do not see the Child who is prisoner in all the people,

and who says nothing.

She smiles, for though they have bound her,

she cannot be a prisoner.

Not that she is strong, or clever,

but simply that she does not understand imprisonment.

The helpless one, abandoned to sweet sleep, the gentle one

will awake: Sophia.

All that is sweet in her tenderness will speak to him on all

sides in everything, without ceasing.

and he will never be the same again.

He will have awakened not to conquest and dark pleasure,

but to the impeccable pure simplicity of One

consciousness

in all and through all:

one Wisdom, one Child, one Meaning, one Sister.

--Thomas Merton

A New Johannite Community

2009-01-19T17:52:00.005-05:00

Every time I see a new group of my own Johannite communion sprout up, it reminds me of how much love, sweat...and sometimes tears...and lots of personal investment...is involved in being the biggest little esoteric catholic church on three continents.

Our clergy, including the episcopacy, work out of love. Seminarians and parish wardens like me try to help where we can. None of us is paid for what we see as our priority and calling. All of this is done just as it has been over many centuries - by people seeking to know and experience the divine within themselves.

You can see action photos of our own, very buff, outback priest, Father Tim Mansfield welcoming the new narthex (study group) of St. Teresa of Avila in Brisbane, Australia.

All my hugs to you, dearest sisters and brothers. I look forward to hearing your news and sharing the months and years to come with you. It's always good to know that the door is open, and the candles are lit in yet another corner of the globe.

Divine Disclosure

2009-01-05T12:43:00.003-05:00

6th-century mosaic from Sant'Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna

In very old liturgies, January 6 was the day of Illuminatio, Manifestatio, Declaratio. "Little Christmas", Epiphany, known to our eastern cousins as Theophany, is the last of the 12 days of Christmas, and the day before which we, in my family, take down the tree.

Traditionally this day serves to remind us of the visitation of the three wizard kings of the east who paid homage to the infant Jesus. Whether we call them the Magi, the Three Kings or Persian priests, for some reason the date of their encounter with the Holy Mother and Child celebrates the Incarnation.

We also know that January 6th was an important date in Mithraism, the worship of the Phrygian-capped sun god popular throughout the Roman Empire, right around the turn of the Common Era. Not very ironically, the Three Wise Men known to legend as Balthasar, Melchior, and Gaspar, are depicted wearing these red caps, which later came to connote liberty. Much later, the caps were donned by French revolutionaries and adorn statues of Lady Liberty.

Beyond the lesson in the fashion trends of 2000 year-old warlocks, there is the omnipresent realization that these things are symbols of an underlying reality. The Illuminatio, Manifestatio, Declaratio, and the freedom that they signify are the essence of our being. This is the celebration not only of the divine manifestation, but of the divine presence in each of us. Epiphany is not only a day to recall God shining forth, but the divine disclosure within.

The Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God

2009-01-01T15:07:00.005-05:00

We turn to you for protection, Holy Mother of God.

Listen to our prayersand help us in our needs.

Save us from every danger, glorious and blessed Virgin.

--This is one of the oldest known prayers to the Queen of Heaven from a Greek papyrus from the year 300.

Archaic, strange, out of place

2008-12-15T14:15:00.006-05:00

Photo from Faces of the Homeless

Spending two hours at Newark’s Pennsylvania Station ought to be a mandatory applied seminary course. Maybe not just Newark, probably lots of other rusting, down-trodden urban relics of the industrial past might do nicely too.

Perhaps it was also the right time and the right place in my mind and experience, but as I returned from a few stolen days with my sweet pea, I had a minor epiphany, if we must call it that. I’d like to think that it’s one of those brief glimpses into what it truly means to be human.

Admittedly I was in an emotional state. Farewells are never easy when they must be said between people who would rather be together. Of course we’re always in an emotional state of some vintage or another. Some vineyards and seasons bring out strong flavors; others are weak or subtle like the drops of too much rainfall on the fruit.

There must be a score, maybe two, of homeless men and women who frequent that station, hoping for something – anything. A cigarette, a few dollars for a drink; a hot burger with lots of ketchup and mustard – anything.

Standing outside in the cool afternoon breeze, I was adjusting the shoulder strap of my satchel to be able to turn up the collar of my P-coat when a middle-aged man approached me muttering under his breath. His eyes were bloodshot, the color of steel. He told me that he was a veteran and asked me for a some change. I didn't have any. He pressed closer and showed me his hand, which was bandaged and in need of surgery. He needed money – for what I do not know, and it doesn’t really matter.

We looked at each other straight in the eyes. I do not know why, but I said “peace be with you.” Not to get rid of him, it just seemed like the right thing to say. As we stood in the bustle of the station entrance, my words rang out in my ears; they seemed so archaic, strange and out of place; so irrelevant to the goings-on of a 21st century metropolis.

As if in slow motion, the homeless man dropped his bag, came to me and hugged me as if he had never been embraced before. I held him for a moment. As we parted, I spoke to him…I said “remember who you are”. He smiled and walked away. I climbed the stairs to an empty platform to catch my train to Boston. In that darkness I found peace for a moment, my face drenched in tears.

It’s good to be human. If you’d like to try it, I highly recommend Newark Penn Station.

The Gospel According to Newfoundland

2008-12-05T18:59:00.005-05:00

As many of you know, scripture is a thing that is supposed to inspire. I take that to mean that we must understand its limitations; harvest the catch that nourishes and leave the prejudices, xenophobia, sexism, slavery...and homophobia contained within some passages where they belong, which is clearly in the past.

Compassion might be a kind of technology. I say that because it has developed along with our own understanding that all human rights are for all people - always. And so we have seen a demonstrable increase in the universal recognition of human rights, beginning with civil and political rights and now moving into the economic, social and cultural dimension.

As a matter of personal, spiritual development however, there are often writings that have nothing to do with apostles or disciples, orthodox or gnostic, which shed moments of light on my conception of being a human. Some might disagree or fail to see the inspiration, which merely illustrates how different each one of us is. If snowflakes and flames of a fire are each unique, I see no reason why we shouldn't be.

On the boat that I take to work every day, I have some time to read. It's a special time for me, in the early morning and just after dusk, when I can dive into a different context and see with another set of eyes. Right now I'm reading The Iambics of Newfoundland, which turns out to be a magnificent journey through the fisheries, life and times of that island as described by New England writer Robert Finch.

This evening I came across a paragraph or two that I found to be every bit as inspiring as the gospels, precisely because it deals with the here-and-now...with me, and with anyone who lives in this time of technology and change. As he describes the reflections of a New York writer who spent time in Newfoundland, Finch portrays much of the human experience.

No, he said, our modern neuroses have nothing to do with pollution or crowding or the supposed isolation and hectic pace of urban life, but rather with the very fact that technology has made our lives so easy. Our dilemma is that we are constitutionally unable to take satisfaction in that, yet also unable to give up those amenities and conveniences that make true satisfaction impossible. We are, in a profoundly metaphorical sense, caught between a rock and a soft place.

After he (the NY writer) left Newfoundland he travelled all over the world seeking to repeat the experience he had found there. He wrote numerous books about the relationship between animals and human beings, some of which won prizes and became quite well known, but he never found anything else 'so well wrought,' as he put it, to write about as Newfoundland. Nevertheless, his experience there had somehow allowed him to accept his fate and his own death. There he had seen life reduced to its most basic terms, didn't particularly like what he saw, but found a measure of peace in knowing the truth of it. Few of us manage to do as much. (p.170-171)

I think Mr. Finch sums it up nicely. I suppose that is the gospel according to Newfoundland, and of us all in some way or another.

Some Thoughts for Advent

2008-12-02T19:18:00.006-05:00

St. Nick having a snooze in Valhalla

It's much too easy to whip out some clichés for the weeks leading up to Christmas that are important, but not particularly useful to wrapping our heads around the amazing disparity between what is truly important and that which passes itself off as such.

So I'm thinking about what it means to celebrate the Incarnation.

The party in the darkest part of the year that dances the jig of light. The metaphorical origins of each one of us as half-dark-half light babies of an enigmatic mother-father; the confrontation and learning experience of being both animal and spirit.

It's a disconcertingly trippy time of the year that begs us to see something so pure and so light, it requires quite a bit of darkness to appreciate properly. If you're looking for answers here, I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place.

Permit me to bask in that chilly, dark corner with a warm cat on my belly, a good book or two at hand, and the presence of wonder that fills my senses like that first night when the snow hushes the streets and reminds us of silence.

There's a lot of conflict, torment, suffering and misery going on right now. Some of it is very close to me, some is within me. Advent reminds me that in order to overcome the petty angst of conditioned thought, there is nothing so great or powerful than the surrender to the common mind and action that some call love.

The Bull of Toulouse

2008-11-29T12:31:00.006-05:00

For anyone interested in all the syncretism to be found in ancient Catholic tradition, and in the cult of the saints in particular, today's stellar example is St. Saturnin. This Greek-born first bishop of Toulouse legend tells us that he was among the 72 original disciples of Christ; present at the Last Supper, concecrated a bishop by St. Peter himself, and sent to southwestern France.

St. Saturnin's martyrology describes him being ritually killed by a bull, dying at the Matabiau, or the place of the killing of the bull venerated by the Roman mystery religion of Mithras, later identified with Sol Invictus - the unconquerable Sun. Many centuries later, under St. Peter's Basilica in Rome, an image of Christ beautifully depicted the Master riding the chariot of Mithras, a religion thought to have originated in Persia, possibly by Zoroaster. There is evidently a close connection between the early Church, it's relations with pre-Christian symbolism, and Tradition. Strong archetypes are useful, particularly when there was no Bible to throw at each other...or to literally interpret.

In any event, there were similar stories of later saints being killed by bulls, including St. Saturnin's own companion, St. Fermin. For those interested in the rich and meaningful history of these ideas embodied through the lives of people and their stories, St. Saturnin is worth further study. He is still remembered in Toulouse with a cathedral and an annual feast which takes place today.

No bull.

Giving Thanks to Our Lady

2008-11-27T11:35:00.005-05:00

Some big things have happened in the past few days for which I am most thankful. Today is not only Thanksgiving in the US, it is also the Feast of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. (Above.)

This tradition was begun by St. Catherine Labouré, a Burgundian lady who had a vision of the Blessed Virgin Mary on November 27th, 1830 at 140 rue du Bac in Paris. She saw the twelve stars revolving around Our Lady, standing on the globe over the images of her own heart and that of her son.

The vision is interesting because Catherine is said to have seen many rings on the Queen of Heaven's fingers, some illuminated and some dim. When asked, the Blessed Virgin responded that those dim rings were "graces for which people forget to ask.”

If there is one lesson that has come to me the hard way, it's simply that. To remember that when the books and plans or vision fail, sometimes I just need to ask. I cannot tell you how much that I have received through that simple act.

Happy Thanksgiving and a blessed Feast of Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal.