Easter Theophany, Part 1 of 3: Eucharist

     I have always resisted studying theology. I've always had a very strong and direct experience of the presence and love of God, and it has seemed kind of offensive to the nature of the relationship to treat God as an academic subject. As if we could "know" our Creator intellectually. As if we could definitively "know" anything about the Beloved, or one another, or even ourselves. So I haven't studied theology in any systematic way, and I'm not going back to read the relevant parts of the catechism before posting this, either. 

    That said, I'm going to invite readers to share their theological reflections on this blog post and the next two, about different aspects of a beautiful mystical experience I had in church on Easter Sunday morning. I want to explore more deeply some of the theological implications of the Easter Sunday "theophany," as well as themes that run through my whole life with God. I would love to hear your thoughts, either in the comments or using the contact form.

    Note: although I talk about "visions" for want of a better word (feel free to suggest one!), they're never really visual, or they are barely so. At most, I might see a difference in the quality of the light, or a movement of light. I'm not seeing Christ seated on his throne with little baby cherubs flying around! That's not how my brain works, I have very little visual imagination even in ordinary life. In a mystical "vision" I often feel touch or movement, but I'm not seeing pictures, at least not with my bodily sight. Emotion yes, definitely: bliss, love, awe, gratitude. And often, words, or a definite concept, some insight, with a phrase that encapsulates it for me, with which I can bring it back to my memory with all the sensory and emotional qualities of it. Such as, this past Easter Sunday, "the church is full of God." The main thing is the absolute conviction these "visions" bring. It's like the conviction you feel during a dream, about the craziest things, except that in mystical vision the conviction stays just as strong after the experience is over. My first "parting-of-the-veil" happened when I was 18 years old, and my conviction about it has never diminished.

❇⚜❇⚜❇⚜❇⚜❇⚜❇

    So. On Easter Sunday, the monastery church was full of God.

Veneration of the Cross?

    Yesterday was Good Friday, when we again heard the recitation of the story of the Passion of Christ. That same service also includes the Veneration of the Cross, in which the whole congregation advances one by one to kiss or otherwise reverence a large wooden cross, representing the one on which Jesus was crucified. 

    This is one of those Catholic customs with which I have not yet become reconciled. It seems grotesque to me, all wrong. Jesus said about Judas in last Sunday's gospel (Mark 14:21), "the Son of Man is going to his fate, as the scriptures say he will, but alas for that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! Better for that man if he had never been born!" So, why is the weapon that killed Jesus not also cursed? How can we talk about the "glorious Cross," as if it were this grim instrument of torture, rather than God's overflowing love for us, that defined the act of our salvation? 

In the midst of death, we are in life

    There is a Gregorian chant for the Office of the Dead that starts out "media vita, in morte sumus" (or, "in the midst of life, we are in death"). Very often, walking in the woods in Winter, the opposite line pops into my head. In the midst of death, we are in life. 

    The other day I was walking along, in a bit of a pissy mood, when I was struck by the sight of a dead tree trunk covered with multi-colored lichens, mushrooms, mosses, and no doubt hosting legions of bugs and microbes, and I thought, "there is so much life in decay!" 

    And at that, trees are very hard to kill! If you love the woods like I do, you will often have seen a tree broken in half, struck by lightning, or even cut down with a chainsaw -- and fiercely sprouting new branches, covered with fresh leaves, full of unquenchable life. And the healthy trees, the ones that appear at a glance to be dead in Winter when their leaves are gone, have twigs full of swelling buds, while out of sight their roots take advantage of the slow season to spread and deepen.

Beech stump, fully alive

Existential Solitude

     The vows I took as a hermit are Solitude, Silence, and Simplicity. They are traditional; I didn't come up with them myself. I knew that my understanding of them was patchy and uneven, and trusted that I would grow into them over time. And so it has been, a little here and a little there. I've only been a hermit for 4½ years, and I know I still have a long, long way to go before I ever really understand what I've gotten myself into. 

    This past week, I think I have gained a new and deeper insight into the power of Solitude. I wonder how much it is relatable to people who are not hermits, the rest of you out in the world? I'd guess there is value in it for many of you as well, in a world where we are told there is now an "epidemic of loneliness." I would be glad to hear from any readers who want to share your perspective, either in a comment on this post or by using the contact form on the right sidebar.

Sacred Heart

     Today is the feast day of Saint Margaret Mary Alacoque, who had visions of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, symbol of the great love of God for humanity.

    And I just wanted to echo her message, and the message of Dame Julian (in this blog header) and of so many other mystics, and of St. John the Evangelist: GOD IS LOVE. 

    That's all. God is Love, infinite, unbounded, deep, penetrating, indescribable, inalienable, unconditional Love. God IS Love. God could not stop loving you, or me or any of [His] creatures, even if [He] wanted to, because God IS Love, Love is God's nature. There is nothing that can separate us from God's love. 

Queer Theology

    I've just finished reading Queer Theology: Beyond Apologetics, by Linn Marie Tonstad. It's very highly rated, with lots of rave reviews, so you may take my opinion with a grain of salt against the rest. But I found it very unsatisfying! It is a dense, academic book with depth and breadth on queer theory, defining "queer" very broadly (beyond personal sexual and gender diversity). It has some interesting things to say from philosophical, anthropological, sociological, political-economic, human perspectives. Where I find it wanting is in the theo part of theology. Where is God in all this, for her? The whole text, to me, is passionately and complexly theoretical, with only few and vague glances to the theological. It's all very intellectual, with passion around "queering" (challenging heteronormativity) but no evident passion around God.

The Turning Stone

     My new local monastery is called the Abbaye Sainte-Marie de la Pierre qui Vire. The "Pierre" in the name has nothing to do with St. Peter, it's a literal stone at the site of the monastery. It's a boulder balanced on top of another boulder in such a way that it can be turned around by hand ("pierre qui vire" means "turning stone"). That's the old story, anyway. Such instability made the first monks there so uncomfortable that the turning stone was cemented to the boulder beneath, and a statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary fixed firmly on top. They kept the name, though, even when the stone no longer turned. 

    There is something in common with St. Peter after all. Jesus gave him the name, which means "rock," as related in Matthew's gospel: