There is a big danger in being a highly religious person. I mean, there's a big danger in being a person, period, but there's a special kind of deception that can trip up people who engage in religious disciplines, and it enters through self-referentialness. If we purport to serve the God of the universe, the Almighty, the All-Wise, then we are signing up for a life where we are not Masters. We are not The Teachers. We don't stand in self-made security; slick, triumphant, neatly-packaged ease, if there is any reality in it at all, is on the flip side of a broken, humble heart that is the first to acknowledge the good of "the other," the first to bow before mystery, the first to cry "help my unbelief," the first to know that to be held in love by the Almighty is our rightful place.
Human dignity upheld, regardless of whose it is.
Certainty of divine revelation and security only in it.
Humility of heart and freedom to bend between heaven and earth.
These are somehow the hallmarks that I saw among Catholics in my early days in the Church that struck me with their subtle witness to truth and reality. I used to believe that Catholics were the epitome of those "caught up in religion," that is, those who practiced meaningless ceremony and recited empty formulae and relied on their own righteousness to stand before God. I was taught to believe that this is the foundation of Catholicism. Rather, I think that this is the foundation of humanity and "natural religion." I think it is probably where we all start, because we have to start somewhere. In the Old Testament, God certainly instructed Israel in all sorts of sacrifice ceremonies, and I highly doubt that at the time they enjoyed the pinnicle of mystical involvment in their interior meaning. God was teaching them. And just as children can listen to a story at ages 3, 6, 9, 12 and 17 and exercise completely different abilities, so as time went on, what Israel experienced in these sacrificial commands was different, I suspect.
But isn't this just the thing: We can get stuck with what we exercise at the six-year point, and not move on to what the 12-year point calls forth from us. We are ready to build our monuments to truth-mastery and settle into being Masters and Teachers, because we have this one really figured out. Or we can forget, and get reminded of six-year-point truth, and feel happy that we have found our true home again, and vow never to leave.
Somewhere along the line, Christians can fail to register that we are called to union with the God of the universe, the Almighty, the All-Wise. Rather than yearning with openness to the Infinite, we celebrate learning to stand on a small, finite plot of solid earth under our two feet, and call it a day.
Standing on solid ground is good, but we are called to more. We are always called to more. God is Love; Love is infinite, He does not wish to stop until the flame of His heart enkindles the dried wood of our own hearts and we burn as one. We can't make that happen, but God can. This is the story of the interior mansions: God draws us where we cannot go. There is always somewhere to go. This is such a word of hope for me! There is always somewhere to go. At some stage, moving forward means allowing the breaking up what we have all figured out. It means holding our hearts upwards to the God we cannot see, cannot feel, and whose existence we perhaps question.
If God is Love (and He is), then God is the one who is waiting to in-fill us. This is the witness of the Carmelite saints. This is our experience. When all is lost, God is, and He in-fills us, and we are brought beyond our sins, beyond our wounds, beyond our limitations, our efforts, our abilities. This is who God is. This is what God does.
This is not the tame, manageable God that we so easily mistake for ourselves and then begin to inflict on others to bend them to us. This is Reality before whom every knee will bow. This is the God who heals and transforms by His presence, from the interior.
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