The third heaven

I heard quite a good sermon this morning, which contained references to how many people have a sense of having had unusual, deeply spiritual experiences. The priest mentioned how Paul speaks of having been in 'the third heaven' (look out, Elizabeth... between this and Ezekiel, you may jump into Jewish mysticism before you've mastered the Christian... and recall you've studied the latter for over 30 years.) He spoke of how he has often wondered just what Paul heard - what God might tell one in such a state - what we would hope God would tell us.

Please don't read this paragraph if there is diabetes in the family, or it may throw you into insulin shock. I sadly am not totally immune to the excessively anthropomorphic. I therefore shall confess that what I should like God to say is "I love you. I love who you are - and not because it is my nature to love, or because I am Love, or because John Duns Scotus defines love as sanctifying grace, or because I love all of creation and created the damned bunch of you in the first place because the Trinity was relational..." Such are the wages of being overly intellectual. Were I someone with true simplicity - Francis of Assisi, for example, or Thérèse, even if the latter's expression tended towards the syrupy - I would say that God is 'saying' that eternally. I can be most unsatisfactory a good deal of the time.

Now, back to the third heaven or thereabouts. I have not been there - in fact, I have at no time in my life had any extraordinary experiences such as visions, locutions, and the like. (That, in my case, is a blessing. Those who did have them, such as Teresa of Avila, seemed to find them more a distraction than anything, and I would imagine one is just spent afterward. My practical side also tells me that, were I to soar to such a state - in this life - I either would not be able to return or would be upset when I did.) Paul clearly was a 'tough guy' - argumentative, always in trouble with someone or other, and so forth. I dare say that, with so hard a nut to crack, the Almighty had to knock him off horses to get his attention.

Now and then, I receive rather interesting e-mail. [By which I do not mean the fifteen messages in today's inbox informing me I was a millionaire - or those informing my cat that she is eligible for a US green card (why would one who already is a queen want that?) or that her bed and breakfast site was receiving insufficient exposure.] It is not unusual for those who read my essays about mystics to write me that they'd never thought of mysticism as being Christian. (Well, one question is answered for me... no wonder I spent some years teaching... computing.) Others seem to have an idea that the mystics - who must have been floating about the ceiling most of the time, or otherwise transported in ecstasy - had no use for Church, word, or sacrament.

Dear ones, the writings directed towards or composed by Christian mystics (especially of the era I treat) did not have to mention the importance of Church, word and sacrament. It would have been such a part of their lives that to mention the same would be like instructing someone to make sure she breathes.

But back to my inbox. Recently, I received a note from a young woman who told me that both she and a friend were mystics. (I perked up for a moment... if they really were, perhaps they could teach me a great deal... I can write and speak of mysticism, but living it is rather eluding me.) She'd asked me what to do to cultivate the mysticism. My reply was that I am purely a teacher - that is, about topics, not an Amma qualified to direct others in the spiritual life - and she would need solid direction. In the interim, I suggested that, considering liturgical prayer was the centre of life for all of my mystic friends (in heaven), they might want to accustom themselves to saying the daily Offices. I have a feeling that was not the expected response...

Of course, getting back to 'religious experiences,' I have had many times in my life when I believe divine grace was especially at work - and these times often were when I had the Good Shepherd come after me without even being aware that I was lost. There are times in my life which, with hindsight, nearly bring me to tears of gratitude with the memory. Yet all He ever 'tells' me is to repent. In fact, when I am praying in the Presence of the Sacrament, my interior eye sees the tabernacle or pyx open, and I inwardly hear the distinct words "Elizabeth, what have you done?" (He speaks to me in Italian dialect at those times, and it admittedly loses something in the translation.)

No, my life has not been that of any highwayman or otherwise picturesque sinner. :) The fact is that our spiritual lives are about 95% repentance (in the sense of constant calls to conversion), and the other 5% is (fledgling mystics may ignore this part for now) banal. It is not romantic (I blush to admit, since I wish it were) - there is no glamour - it rarely if ever is emotionally comforting (which is why I have to push myself to get out the Prayer Book, every time... I'd rather it be so.) And there always is doubt in a sense: are you really there? Did you really call me to be your own? Has anything I've done, trying to live the gospel, really been a manifestation of Love? Am I a sham? What if I'm talking to No-one?

There are many days when I am not even sure there is a God - but perfectly sure I just received His Body and Blood.

Would it be easier had I been transported to the third heaven? (It just occurred to me that another reason that would work with Paul, tough guy that he was, was that I doubt he'd have believed in a leprechaun had it perched on the end of his nose. If I had visions, I'd be behaving like a half-wit.) I doubt this. It would only give most of us doubt and confusion - or lead us to Gnosticism and self-absorption, as it did with the very Corinthians whom Paul was addressing. Paul, who'd really been there, 'returned' knowing he could boast only in weakness. For most of us, unusual experiences would give us a sense of power - and probably a desire to harness this. We'd be led more into error than faith.

The Book of Common Prayer, however 'banal,' is probably a safer alternative. :) But I do hope to meet all of you in the third heaven... after my ashes have been scattered in St James's Park, of course. Pax et Bonum, mysticlets - and much love.