I grew up rolling my eyes at the mystical side of faith. Or, to be honest, I spent most of my young years ignoring all aspects of faith, but when I started to pay attention I realized my tendency to balk at any hints of mysticism.
Recently all that changed.
No, I didn’t witness a mass healing or have a dream where Jesus floated above me like Obe-Wan Kenobi. Like most movements in my story this change was a process. These processes are always similar and the best I can explain them is with a corny metaphorical picture. It is as if God is walking me through a gallery. His hand on my back as I am lead with some abstract yet perfect purpose from picture to picture. I look. I am confused. I am sorrowful. I am joyful. I am angry. I move on.
These walks are never easy and never short. Actually they are never “over”. She has a great deal to show me I have found. But there are moments of change. Culminating moments when I know I won’t ever think or feel the same way about something.
Today is Easter. I spent the morning worshipping with my congregation and repeating over and over “He has risen. He has risen indeed”. And we are talking about Jesus. Jesus was wholly man and wholly God. He performed miracles like restoring vision with spit and mud, silencing storms with words, and screwing ears back on people’s heads. And if that weren’t strange enough, he died on a cross but didn’t stay dead like a person does. He rose, and now–today–not only dwells among us but within us.
And this is all very strange, but I believe it. In fact, this is the cornerstone of my faith–it is my life–so how could I say those words “He is risen” then walk away with any reaction towards mysticism other than an open mind? It doesn’t make sense.
But there is good reason to be cynical. Recently I watched a Youtube video of a minister “laying hands” on the members of his congregation. It seemed as though he was summoning the spirit of Elvis as he downed person after person with swift flails of his arms. The editor of the video dubbed in Mortal Kombat sound effects and added text awarding point values to each finishing blow.
And it’s easy to laugh and shake my head at that. But what if, amongst all the contrived and forced “stuff” that was going on in that service, there was one lady. She came because she had nowhere else to go. She came, not to witness “Kung-Fu Pastor”, but to come in contact with Jesus. And somewhere amidst the craziness it happened.
She came sick and left healed.
Then, all of a sudden, it’s not so funny. And I am left to ponder if every flail of the arm or over-dramatic chant isn’t justified by that one moment of authentic healing. I would have to say that it is. Yet, I still would never endorse such antics as wholly good or even wholly sane.
This makes me believe that there must be some “middle place” to exist in my thinking. A place where I am free to awe at The Spirit’s mysterious movements amongst creation, while still holding tight to what is true, genuine, and good inside of this human experience.
And, of course, this would not be limited to my thoughts on mysticism, or even my thoughts in general. This way of being would sound over every part of my daily rhythm. It would change everything; both my demeanor in times of God’s undeniable presence as well as times of His staggering silence.
This “middle place” is radical in its immovable nature. Not apathetic or lacking in human emotion, but rather tethering these essential things to something deeper.
I realize this idea of “the radical middle” seems vague and that is because I am still wrestling with it. At first glance it may even seem unoriginal, stealing directly from the ordinary radicals of whom I won’t pretend to know a whole lot about. In my next post I will explain with stories because that is how I learn and it may help the conversation.
But as I have struggled with “the radical middle” I have become fascinated by it’s bottomlessness–what it could mean in areas of fear, worry, loss, success, chaos, peace, and on and on. My fascination only increases when I hear the words of Jesus, and wonder if he wasn’t calling us to something different than the roller-coaster lives we tend to lead–something more steady, and yet somehow wild.
Something solid and yet never tame.
To be continued…
jason sivewright's blog 