Nameless.
What else does this craving, and this helplessness, proclaim but that there was once in [humans] a true happiness, of which all that now remains is the empty print and trace? This [we try] in vain to fill with everything around [us], seeking in things that are not there the help [we] cannot find…. This infinite abyss can be filled only… by God himself.
~ Blaise Pascal, Pensees
advent, 1 - hope.
December is Dark. Cold. Mysterious. (At least in the northern hemisphere.) It’s no accident that the mystery of Advent is enshrouded in this mystical space. After all, Advent itself is shadowed in mysterious circumstance: cryptic prophecies, ancient longings, restless stirrings. How does the ineffable and unknowable make itself known?
Right at the heart of the problem with institutional Christianity is the absence of mystery and mysticism. But Advent beckons our return to the wonder of what is cognitively unknowable yet experientially intimate.
Advent. Emergence. Unveiling. Manifestation. Yes, the advent of Christ was a revelation… in the same way that the crescent moon hints of the glimmer of sun it reflects. The beauty is palpable, the effect entrancing, yet it hides more than it reveals. By design.
What would it have been like to look at the physical face of the newly born Jesus? I don’t know, but I have seen the faces of other newborns, and each one is a profound mystery. At once familiar and alien. Heart-warming and yet utterly occult (in the essential meaning of that word as “hidden” or “secret”). How can that pink, wrinkled face betray the fullness of its nascent soul?
As we enter into the four weeks of Advent, may I invite you to become like a child yourself? Yes, rid yourself of everything you think you know about the Christmas story and be born afresh into its wonder!
There’s a reason that the “SOUL” in our Journeys is short for the “school of un-learning.” There’s a reason that a 14th century devotional classic is called The Cloud of Unknowing. And there’s a reason that Jesus himself said, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” We have a lot of mental religious files that need to be deleted before we can begin to taste the magic of Advent.
I’m calling this year’s blog series “Mystic Christmas.” What is it to be mystic? In this context, it mirrors the four traditional Advent movements of hope, peace, joy, and love. I’ll call them nameless longing, effortless action, irrational optimism, and intimate oneness. What is it to be mystic? It’s to be a holy fool.
The soul of the mystic burns with a nameless longing… an unquenchable desire for something it cannot fully name or grasp. But this longing is no torment; rather, it’s a yearning that both directs and salves our quest for the transcendent. It keeps us from being satiated by the mundane, from being anesthetized by shallow diversions. It keeps us hungry for the truly Real. This is the caliber of longing that brings us—childlike, eager, and open hearted—to the mystery of Advent.
Yes, we hope! We hope that our souls can yet emerge from the divine womb healthy and whole. We hope that our God-shaped hole actually finds what is good and sacred to fill it. We hope that all the grief and pain in this world might be eased by a loving Grace.
This is why Advent speaks to and stirs the deepest parts of us, but only when we become like a child. Only when we become a mystic.
growing your soul
Instead of “What do you want for Christmas?” ask yourself what it is you most deeply long for… and how Christ himself longs to meet you there.
serving our world
Despite our best intentions, our longings leak out in unexpected ways. What longings do you see peeking out around you… and how might you mystically embody God’s heart for them today?
takeaway
Listen to your Longing.