The Tearing of the Veil

"And Jesus cried out again with a loud voice, and yielded up His spirit

And behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom;

and the earth shook and the rocks were split.

The tombs were opened,

and many bodies of the saints who had fall asleep were raised."

(Matthew 27:50-52; NAS)

The Mystery of the rented veil is sufficiently astonishing that perhaps it matters not how many times we’ve heard about it, discussed it, reflected upon it, and prayed for its essence into our lives.  At each new moment we reflect upon this Mystery, new blessings come forth. We notice Matthew recording the event in phases: Christ’s spirit is yielded, then the veil is torn, then the earth shakes, then the sleeping rise.  Awake!

As mystics, we see this mystery in the microcosm, the renting of the veil for each of us individually.  But we also yearn for the mystery in the macrocosm, as many come to see anew, as the blindfolds of an entire society are shed.  Jesus began this story, and ever since, many have followed to carry it on.  Reformers like Martin Luther, artists like Da Vinci, authors like Harriet Beecher Stowe, activists like Gandhi, leaders like Nelson Mandela and prophets of our like Martin Luther King have each, in their own ways, slashed tears in the veil.  As the veil is torn, separation is replaced with liberation, which we'll glean in a few ways.  It is in this macrocosmic way that I pray for many veils to be tearing in our culture and our world.

In pondering this mystery, it seems fitting to highlight the gospel that most complements the metaphor of the veil, both in its message and in its life -- a gospel veiled behind the canonical Bible, apparently deemed too radical for inclusion, the Gospel of Thomas.

Religion is replaced with spirituality

“I shall give you what no eye has seen,
what no ear has heard,
what no hand has touched,
what has never arisen in a human heart”
(Thomas 17)

Behind the veil, the high priest entered the Holy of Holies, where he could directly encounter the Presence of God.  This Holy place was so sacred only the holy priest could enter, and even he only he once a year, and with blood (Hebrews 9:7).

That the veil was torn from top to bottom suggests a confirmation of Jesus’ prayer, “thy kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven.”  As Above, so Below.  It is done.

As the veil separated the people from the Holy of Holies, its renting expresses mysteries of great depth – mysteries the churches teach, but may not wish us to know.  For if we understood and entered into them, we may no longer need the churches as they are currently functioning.  We would continue to come together, but we may also leave some of our leaders unemployed.  In the microcosm, the torn veil brings the Great Mystery: “Christ in you” (Col 1:27).

Duality is replaced with unity

“Jesus said to her, ‘I am the one who comes from what is undivided.
I was granted from the things of my Father. . . .
For this reason I say, whoever is undivided will be full of light,
but whoever is divided will be full of darkness”
(Thomas 61)

We see in Exodus 40:21 a description of the veil: “And he brought the ark into the tabernacle, and set up the veil of the covering, and covered the ark of the testimony; as the LORD commanded Moses.”  Its function is described in Exodus 26:33: ”And you shall hang up the veil from the clasps, that you may bring in there within the veil the ark of the testimony: and the veil shall divide unto you between the holy place and the most holy.”

The veil, then, covers and divides.  The torn veil, therefore, reveals and unifies.  Like all significant biblical metaphors, the veil brings us all the way back to the metaphor of the First Couple.  Given that the Tree of Knowledge is knowledge of “good and evil,” I have been calling it the “Tree of Duality,” as noted in essay form and hinted at in metaphor.

When the First Couple opened their eyes to see duality, the duality formed a veil; their eyes were covered, as in a veil, such that their eyes were no longer “naked,” but “veiled” in duality.  When the veil is torn, their eyes can see fresh into the Tree of Life, into Unity.

Illusion is replaced with truth

"Let him who seeks continue seeking until he finds.
When he finds, he will become troubled.
When he becomes troubled,
he will be astonished, and he will rule over the All."
(Thomas 2)

Other traditions speak of “maya,” cosmic delusion that covers the eyes of those of us on earth.  Our culture’s own proverb expresses this notion as “things are not as they seem.” 

Veils remain because we perceive our safety behind them.  A ripped veil terrifies us; for once we can see, we are disturbed.  Two other Thomas sayings hint as to why: we find a corpse.  According to twin sayings 56 and 80, “Whoever has come to understand the world has found a corpse, and whoever has found a corpse is superior to the world” (56).  So when the veil is torn, we are dumbstruck, shocked, grieved, and angry.  Somewhere deep within us, we know we’ll be disturbed if the veil is torn, so we “protect” ourselves by maintaining its covering.  Little do we realize how unprotected we actually are while the veil remains.  Towers fall and confusion reigns.

If we permit the veil to be torn, we are then disturbed, or as Matthew described it, our earth shakes.  We see everything with new eyes so that our whole world is disturbed. Though Thomas never admits this, the majority of those who find the corpse remain there: stunned and disturbed by it.  Some are angry, some are cynical, some drug themselves, and some are medicated by their doctors who ignorantly aim to drug them back into illusion.

But if we come to terms with the corpse, as expressed in Thomas, we are “astonished."  We have permitted our earth to shake and now our tombs are opened. Then Matthew describes the final phase: the sleeping rise.  We are awakened.  Thomas’s less politically correct text expresses this final phase as being superior or ruling.  I prefer Matthew’s expression of this final phase and see it as the awakened person who is no longer ruled by the world, but instead by Christ within.  This is the person for whom the truth has set free.

If many of us permit the veil to be torn in the microcosm, then our collective microcosms will tear the veil in the macrocosm.  Once our collective veil is torn, we will be stunned, disturbed and grieved, but then we will be set free.  Our permission for the veil to be torn from top to bottom will be more than worth its cost in our liberation.

"Recognize what is before your eyes,

and the mysteries will be revealed to you.
For there is nothing hidden that will not be revealed.”
(Thomas 5)

  © 2013 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use only with permission from the author..

The Evangelical and the Mystic

Once upon a time lived an Evangelical.  Having been ostracized, lonely, and confused, she was warmly welcomed and loved into a church that explained Jesus was the reason they had so much love.  If that’s what makes them so special, she thought, then I want Jesus too.

She grew in love and wisdom and was entrusted to guide others in the ways of her church.  She was taught the Bible was the inerrant Word of God, and she studied it passionately.  She was drawn into the gospels, especially the stories of Jesus standing up for the poor and putting the religious authorities in their place.  She prayed for the beatitudes to be lived out within her.

On a personal level, the God she prayed to and the Jesus within her transformed her life in miraculous ways.  The isolated and angry former self gave way to one of peace and love.  She resonated with St. Paul’s description of the “new man” and she knew that it was “no longer I who live, but Christ living in me” (Gal 2:20).

Having studied the books in the New Testament, she embarked on a study of the Old Testament.  Often, she was confronted between what she was reading and her church’s teaching on the Bible.  Why would God care so fervently about food preparation?  Why would He harden a king’s heart?  Why would He tell his leaders to kill every man, woman, and child?  Why, she demanded, would He command genocide?

It wasn’t merely the command of genocide that bothered her.  Her church had also taught that people who had a different belief system would spend an eternity in a fiery place of torment.  If they didn’t happen to hold a paradigm that a historical person named Jesus had died on a cross and risen from the dead for their sins, and if they hadn’t asked this person to save them, then they would face the rest of eternity in a place of torment.  She was bothered by this God who could be that cruel and wondered whether she could keep following Him.  She gave this God that her church had taught her an ultimatum: prove to me you’re not cruel or I can’t keep following you.

The God who responded to her reassured her that He was the one who had worked the miracles within her and that she could trust Him.  But proof, He said, He would not give.  He merely called upon her to trust Him.  Frustrated but willing, she agreed.

* * * * *

Once upon a time there also lived a mystic.  The mystic was an only child of two busy parents, who lived in economic and cultural extremes.  When she was a year old, her parents moved to a large city in South America, across the street from shanty homes.  Though she didn’t know it, her own home was paltry by the standards of her later culture, for it had no clean water, no telephone, and no working oven.  But it kept her safe and warm.  That wasn’t the case for the children across the street.  Without shoes, they played outside, where their mother cooked.  Their dwelling was made of miscellaneous boards of wood nailed together in a disorganized fashion that kept them from being protected in the rain.  As a preschooler, the mystic often worried for them and wondered why they couldn’t live in a house like hers.  As an only child, she looked to the heavens for answers and for connection.

Only a few years later, the mystic’s parents moved the family to the heart of Silicon Valley, where her dad earned a high salary as a computer engineer.  This time, she lived in a very big house, across the street from other wealthy neighbors, and down the street from some of the wealthiest in her city.  Confused, out of place, and in culture shock, she struggled to make friends.  Schoolmates perceived her as a different and ostracized her.  Here again, as an only child, she looked to the heavens for answers and for connection.

* * * * *

                After many years of trusting the God she knew, in spite of the God she was taught, the Evangelical woke up one day.  The God she knew poured out a series of miracles that astonished her.  No human could explain these miracles as “coincidence.”  They were too dramatic, too powerful, too personal, and too life-changing.  Mysticism was happening to her.

                Among the miracles were whispers of mystery, divine utterances of mysteries known by the heart, but not by the mind.  In complement to the whispers of mystery came biblical passages of confirmation.  Sometimes, the Evangelical would read these passages within hours of the whispers, sometimes days, weeks or even months, but, regularly, she would be stopped while reading by a passage that confirmed and clarified a recent whisper.

                Among the miracles was also an encounter with the mystic.  The God she knew called her to a mission trip, where He recreated her early childhood and showed her who she is and who He had created her to be.  She met the mystic in South America.

                And then, looking into the mirror, she saw the mystic in her own reflection.  She struggled with the mystic.  Would she reveal the mystic to her friends?  Would she hide her?  How?  How was she to live as the Evangelical and the mystic together in one person?

* * * * *

                Both the Evangelical and the mystic struggled with one another.  Each was pained to love her sister as herself.  Each was especially pained to love her sister within herself!  The mystic pleaded with the Evangelical to quit going to church.  But they kept going, and the Evangelical kept hushing the mystic while they were there.  Still, they shared something very important in common: a commitment to Christ and a promise to follow Him.

                The Evangelical and the mystic have never stopped struggling with one another.  But, each one has been learning, bit by bit, how to love her sister as herself, even within herself.  One day, they trust they will live together happily ever after.

* * * * *

                Postscript: The story above was written with a special audience in mind, one that has become very dear to me and for whom this story was especially timely and relevant.  The close to the story for this community is as follows: 

                   Anyone who has frequented this site with any degree of regularity has been reading between the lines from the start.  Yes, both are me.  But, to some degree, both are all of us here at ChristianMystics.com.  Some here don’t come from Evangelical backgrounds, and some don’t claim to be mystics.  But I see the stories of both the Evangelical and the mystic in each one of us who regularly participates in our community.

                The struggle of the Evangelical who meets the mystic in the mirror or of the mystic who meets the Evangelical in the mirror is the same struggle each of us has in coming to terms with our spiritual identity, our understanding of God, our relationship with Christ, and our communication with one another.  We are each on a journey of learning how to love our brother and sister as ourselves, within ourselves, and with one another.  Blessings to all of us in our corporate journey!

  © 2013 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use only with permission from the author.

Prayer for 2013

For 2013:
May tragedies cease and truth commence;

all over the world, may our eyes and hearts be opened;
may the power of the violent be removed,
and may that of the compassionate be uplifted.
Amen.

Overall prayer, expressed in the order it must occur:
May our eyes be opened,
may truth be revealed,
and may we be transformed into a planet of compassion.
Amen.

Blessings for the New Year to all!

© 2012 by Karina Jacobson.  All rights reserved.  Please use only with permission from the author.

Little Miracles

       It was the post-post-post Katrina relief work my family did with a Christian relief agency over a year after the hurricane that drew me to the Red Cross.  I had caught the relief work bug and teased I didn’t mind being the tenth responder but really wanted to get there right away.  My husband and I had both taken leaves of absence from our jobs to do Katrina relief.  Before we left, several predicted we’d never return.  It was tempting to stay or find a similar project, but we knew it was right to come home.  Among other reasons, my dad's health had hit a moment of crisis.  He was in “Middle Alzheimer's,” the hardest stage.  Those in the early stage are confused, frustrated and need their loved ones to help keep them on track, but they can still enjoy a genuine quality of life.  Those in the late stage, as my dad is now, are too absent to grasp the depth of their suffering.  But those in the middle stage are deeply disturbed that they are “not in the right place” (all meanings intended).  Even though we lived 800 miles from my parents, I could still come when needed.

                My dad's perseverance in this life has astonished us all.  He's had several “this is it” moments when we thought he was facing his last few weeks.  Remarkably, he's pulled through them all.  Still, I know he understands enough to be aching for his true Home.  Much of my reading this year has been of those who have experienced near death experiences (NDEs) or other out-of-body visions of the next place of light.  The books have also described that thin veil between this life and the next, in which those near to death are already glimpsing the glory of what comes next.  I've been yearning and praying for this place for him.

                My family planned a trip to visit him and my mom and I was praying I could pray him into this heavenly realm, even as his body remains here.  Since it hasn't been safe for quite a few years for Mom to care for him, he's been in a special home a little over an hour from where she lives.  We arrived at Mom's and had made arrangements to visit Dad the next day, including with a private time and place for me with him. 



One of the first photographs I saw on my Facebook news page and the one I reposted,
taken about 10-15 miles from my home

After sharing a special evening with Mom, I logged onto Facebook and saw the news and pictures from my local friends. My hometown was on fire.

I checked my cell phone and, sure enough, there was an urgent message from my Red Cross director for my assistance.  I contacted her and other Red Cross friends and they all said they were handling it, that I needed to stay, and they’d have plenty for me to do upon my return.  I then checked other media outlets and saw us in the national news.  That was a tough night.  My heart was aching for my dad, worried about my community, and angry with God for double-booking my calendar!

                Since I couldn't sleep anyway, I got up with the sun and took an extended prayer walk.  I prayed for Dad and my hometown, but also released my confused anger as to why I was away when my own community was suffering in the very way I had been training to help.  The Lord took my anger well and calmed me down.  I also prayed I could be all there with Dad and that my time with him could carry him into the places of light.

                God answered that prayer in a big way.  I prayed Dad into the places of light, describing the images I had read about by those who've had NDEs.  I saw his face relaxing, his eyes seeing it, his eyes welling up, and his whole body soaking it in.  After my prayer, I kissed him, which is usually a one-way kiss of me to him, as he barely moves.  Not this time.  He leaned over and planted a big, full kiss on my cheek.  I knew Dad had just seen heaven.  I also knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Watching Dad glimpsing heaven was the first little miracle of these intense weeks.  I've since been praying that he is spending more conscious time there than here. We spent our fully planned time with my family.  Upon my return, the fire was still raging, much help was needed, and I was given plenty to do.  Meeting with clients in the fire zone, seeing my own beautiful community charred in black for miles upon miles, and breathing in its smoke felt heavy and surrealistic.  But I resonated with what one of my Red Cross friends noticed: “In the midst of all this destruction are all these little miracles.”

Some of the “little miracles” were small, like the heavy envelop filled with change a volunteer firefighter brought to the Red Cross filled with “widow’s mites” of grateful locals of little means, or the provision of yard tools to a couple who managed properties for multiple tenants of lost and destroyed homes. While I was helping to close a shelter, we were deciding where to bring the many donations that had poured in and we had places for most of them, but not for the rakes, shovels, and other yard equipment.  Three hours before closing, the couple managing properties came in, needing these yard tools in the quantities we had, and they gratefully took away most of the materials we had no space for.

Some of the “little miracles” were not so little, like the lives and the home of the couple living deep in the fire zone and a far distance from town.  The couple had tried to evacuate, but never made it out of the fire zone, as the fire was surrounding them.  They waited in their truck for a couple of hours, seeking an opening, but as the fire was coming toward them, they saw that it was also retreating from where they lived.  They decided to return, hoping to save their own lives, but expecting to find their home destroyed.  With blackness all around them, and all around their property from 10-30 yards, their home was in tact. The couple had used basic fire repellent from a local hardware store; it was hardly professional grade and certainly not meant to ward off a raging wildfire.  But, along with divine grace, it worked.  It seemed to me as if God had looked down and said, “I see you’re doing what you can and I’ll take it the rest of the way by My Grace.”

Other “little miracles” touched me personally, like the assistance I was able to give to one particular client.  A local organization had put up a communications website for the fire so that those who had need could connect with those who wished to help and vice versa. The cry for help by one woman whose home had been destroyed moved me into special prayer for her.  I had not remembered her name, but knew God did, and kept praying the Lord would provide for her.  That evening, I was working through a list I had been given of clients to call to arrange meetings with us.   I spoke with one woman who was staying with some friends, but needed some privacy and felt the friends did too.  I arranged to have her come to one of our shelters and I met her there the next day.  My partner and I also provided her with some basic necessities and small funds for more. Two days later, I checked the website again and looked for an update on the woman who I had been praying for.  She was the same one I had had the chance to help.

                In those two weeks, I saw suffering but I also saw little miracles.  It seems when we step outside of normal, everyday living, we put on new eyes and we see what the Father is doing at all times. For years, I’ve posted the following as my “favorite quotation” and it fits perfectly.  It comes from “The Lost Years of Jesus,” when Jesus, as he so often was, was being tested by religious authorities to produce a “miracle.”  Too bad the canonical texts missed his response on this particular occasion: “Miracles happen every day and et every moment.  He who sees them not is deprived of one of the fairest gifts of life.”

© 2012 by Karina Jacobson.  All rights reserved.  Please use only with permission from the author.

The Meditation of Champions

As I watch the Olympics, I’m struck by the paradox of desire.  The Buddhists teach the notion of “non-attachment,” which Jesus reaffirms in the shortest of his sayings, “Be passersby” (Gospel of Thomas 42).  The take-away lesson is often that too much desire can lead to our demise.  Of course, so can too little.  A few years ago, the following whisper came to me on how to handle desire: Hold anything you cherish like sand in the palm of your hand.  If you grasp it too tight, you’ll squeeze it out, but if you hold it too loose, it will fall through your fingers.  So cusp it gently and lovingly.  Let the sand that wishes to blow away.  That way, the remainder will stay true to you.

Great desire grasps too tightly.  But great desire also builds the champion.  No Olympian could be a “passerby” and no athlete could make it to the Olympics without exceptional desire, even intense passion.  It must be a feverish sort of passion that leads to outstanding highs or devastating loss.  I was especially struck by the depth of passion as I watched the despair of the Russian women gymnasts when they knew they were destined for the silver.  “To receive a silver medal at the Olympics,” I thought, “Wow!  How amazing!  Ought they not be ecstatic?  Elated?”

Admittedly, most silver medalists are elated and even as early as now, I imagine the Russian gymnasts are too.  Much of their despair was due more simply to knowing they hadn’t reached their own personal best.  In countless rehearsals, they had nailed every step, every turn, every flip, every jump, and every landing.  Then at the event that really mattered, they nailed all of it but the landing.  While the Americans were hitting every move, the Russians were in a tragic script that kept replaying itself, indicting gymnast after gymnast: a brilliant, daring, remarkable performance followed by a bad landing.

These gymnasts were shown with faces swollen in tears, absolutely devastated. To be so very devastated when so great an accomplishment had been achieved can only be the mark of tremendous passion.  Those of us with average passion would not despair over a silver.  Nor would we achieve such greatness.  Only intense passion can bring one to break a body into impossible feats and break a mind of the universal human fears gymnasts must overcome.  I’m mesmerized by the gymnasts (and high divers) not just by the execution of their glorious stunts, but also by their willingness to even try them and train for them.  At 10, I quit gymnastics and joined the swim team just after graduating into Level 3 – that level when the gymnast moves from walk-overs to flips.  This is the moment when the gymnast faces fear.  With my closest friends on the swim team, swimming provided a nice out from facing that terrifying moment when the coach would move away from his spotting position and say to me, as he already had for some of the others, “OK, now do the same flip on your own.”  Part of me eagerly wanted to prove I could do a flip all by myself and the other part of me – the stronger part, I regret to say – was terrified to try.

Much of what makes a great athlete great is that desire trumps fear.  When the athletes are interviewed about how they manage to overcome fear – or blood, sweat, tears and all else – they nearly all reply with an answer like focused meditation.  They enter their own meditative space and focus hard.  That’s what 2011 world champion gymnast Jordyn Wieber did on Sunday.  While the announcers spent an inordinate amount of time rehashing Jordyn’s distress at missing the qualification for the coveted individual all-around competition, they ought to have been focusing on how she overcame it.  Finally, one of them noted how she did: she said she “went in to a personal bubble” and then emerged ready to compete in the team competition.  Had she lacked the capacity to master her disappointment, she may have lost the US the gold for the team competition.  Such an inability is often due to grasping the sand too tight.  In other words, Jordyn had to have extraordinary desire to win the gold, but she also had to have the capacity to temper her desire in order to avoid losing the gold.  Her “personal bubble” of meditation served that purpose.  It tempered her desire, giving her just enough to compete at her best, but not so much that her loss would hold her back. Sure enough, she emerged from her bubble a true champion and went on to flawlessly execute all three of her team events to help the US take the gold.

Jordyn’s “bubble” and similar methods described by other athletes sound akin to mystic methods of meditation.  I’ve been struck by this, as meditation often leads to the decline of intense passion, at least the form of intense passion usually associated with champions: the passion to achieve greatness.  But Jordyn’s bubble teaches us that perhaps what meditation does for us all is to temper desire.  Meditation trains us all to cusp sand in the palm of our hand.  Some of it will blow away, as did Jordan’s disqualification from the event she most cherished.  But if we permit the sand that wishes to blow away to do so, then the remainder will stay true to us.  For both the mystic and the champion, the meditative bubble permits us to face our fears, persevere in trials, beat disappointment, and strike the perfect balance to achieve our dreams.

© 2012 by Karina Jacobson.  All rights reserved.  Please use only with permission from the author.

Fruit of Paradox

The mysteries of the kingdom are hidden in layers of paradox. They are like a labyrinthine maze that cannot be compared with anything we humans can grasp. Perhaps the Universe itself provides the best analogy in nature, but the purpose of an analogy is to minimize big abstract mysteries into some small, tangible object we can comprehend. The Universe simply will not do!

The Kingdom’s Fruit of Paradox

Let's imagine instead a fruit that we'll call the "Fruit of Paradox" layered like an onion, but designed with each layer unique: each with a different taste, texture, and color. Some layers are delightful, others bitter. Some layers bring awe, others terror; some joy, others grief; some bring laughter, others tears; some bring dancing, others mourning. Only after eating from a layer of suffering may we later eat from one of rest. Having eaten a layer of poverty, we may later be surprised with a layer of abundance.

The sweet taste of wonder, awe, and rest reside in the very core of the Kingdom’s Fruit of Paradox. On occasion, the Lord may bless us with the gift of a glimpse, a quick little taste of the core to encourage us onward. Consider the mystery of “abundant life”: we may catch a glimpse of this mystery from the very first layer of the Kingdom’s Fruit of Paradox. That mystery draws us into deeper layers. These layers often call for sacrifice. Eventually, we will arrive at the Layer of Death. If we are willing eat and digest this most bitter layer, then we discover a deeper layer that returns to the mystery of abundant life.

Perhaps even more challenging than the Layer of Death is the Layer of the Sword (Gen 3:24). The Bible abounds with stories of those encountering the Layer of the Sword: Abraham tested with the sacrifice of Isaac; Jacob wrestling with God; the Israelites crossing into the Promised Land; David on the run from Saul; Daniel in the lion’s den; Paul receiving 39 lashes, and finally, the ultimate story of the Layer of the Sword: the Cross.

Differing Mysteries at each Level

Each layer of the Fruit of Paradox not only has its own taste, texture, color and feeling, but it also contains its own set of mysteries. Sometimes the mysteries in one layer appear to contradict the mysteries in another. But they all belong to the same Fruit of Paradox, maintaining itself as a harmonious whole.

Paradox abounds: God is full of love, but also judgment. We humans fall short of God’s glory, and yet, we are made in His image. Only God alone is good, yet we are commanded to be “perfect, even as our Heavenly Father is perfect.” We are given free-will, but we are also chosen before birth. Were we to attempt to compile a list, we would find an endless series of mind-boggling puzzles. The believer claims the scriptures can be comprehended if only one uses the right method of “hermeneutics.” The cynic throws in the towel, calls the scriptures “contradictory,” and walks away. But a genuine and deep-level kingdom seeker not only acknowledges the Lord’s multiplicity of paradox, but is also awed by it.

In its own way, each layer is called into the core. It is like the core sings to each layer, calling the seeker there to draw deeper, to come closer. Will we continue?

Tendencies toward certain Layers

Our unique personalities, temperaments, fortes, and hang-ups help determine not only how quickly we will move through the layers of the Fruit of Paradox, but also which layers we may choose as almost permanent stomping grounds. We humans tend to be of a stubborn stock, and few pilgrims move quickly through the layers. Some are content to stay put. They’ve found a layer that’s comfortable, that suits them just right – not too bitter, not too sweet, but just right – and, by gosh, they’re going to stay right there. Meanwhile, some of their friends are leaving! How dare they! “Wait a minute!” wail the layer-sitters, “God says, ‘Love your neighbor’ and you’re taking off, abandoning us!” “Well then, come along! Join us!” call the friends seeking deeper ground. But the layer-sitters tremble and remain.

Most like the sweet layers and do all they can to stay there. When their layer becomes dull of fresh sweetness, they seek further into the Fruit of Paradox, hoping the next layer will have a new delicious taste. But sometimes the next layer is bitter. Now the pilgrim is faced with a new dilemma: go back where it’s messy, go forward where it’s bitter, or stay stuck in the mud. The best path is the bitter one, though few take it. Many opt for the mud. Peddling hard on a stationary bicycle, they exert much energy, go nowhere, and react to everything around them. Stuck, they have no control over anything and are filled with frustration.

Others turn around, only to discover their previous layer – which had been sweet – has turned rotten. The sugar is no longer tasty, but gooey, sticky and messy. Still others return with a vow: to clean house back there. “I’ve gone a few paces forward,” they reason, “With my new insights, I can help clean up.” Little do these folks realize the “few extra paces” they have is like the teenager with a driver’s permit, insisting he can drive his friends on his own. Both he and his friends may be in for a dangerous ride. Likewise, the “few extra paces” pilgrim may be wise to first walk a few more paces.

Finally, some pilgrims – obscure in the minds of most of us – will accept the bitter layers and reject the sweet ones! Perhaps it is pride that prompts this odd rejection of joy. Perhaps it is skepticism. Perhaps it is fear: sweet layers can be spontaneous and require a loss of control. Whatever it is, these most miserable of all pilgrims endure suffering after suffering.

Conflicts between Those of Differing Layers

The contrasts of competing mysteries at differing layers often put us at odds with one another. A pilgrim eating a bitter layer may think the happy pilgrims aren’t genuine in their faith. A pilgrim who has spent much time in a layer of joy may think that the next layer of suffering is a sign that enemy is attacking him. As humans, we don’t like paradox. We like to be in control and to have a firm grasp on “truth.” Paradox ruffles our feathers, requires humility, and asks us to remain ever learning and growing. So rather than embrace paradox and accept the possibility that our neighbors could be discovering a different element of truth, we find it much easier to call them “heretics,” “infidels,” “deceived,” or “led astray.”

If we take any conflict too far, we may harm, injure, or even kill one another over what may in the end prove itself to be an inconsequential difference of opinion that stems from two different layers in the Fruit of Paradox. Ironically, when we do that, we violate the one everlasting truth that exists at every layer in the Kingdom: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”

After one young man summarized the Law and the Prophets’ message of eternal life with these two commands, Jesus said to him, “You have answered correctly. Do this and you will live” (Luke 10:25-28). All pilgrims at all layers of the Fruit of Paradox will agree with the centrality of our purpose to love God and love our neighbor as ourselves. When we engage in bitter conflict over theological matters, we not only fail to “love our neighbor,” but we also fail to love God. If God truly is a God of Paradox, then do we not limit God Himself by claiming that we grasp His truth well enough to proclaim another a “heretic”?

Regarding those mysteries that we deem to be necessary for the soul, have we not ways to proclaim them lovingly? Can we live our understanding of truth, such that others will be willing to hear our understanding too? As we move into deeper layers of mystery, may we humbly call upon the Lord to help us love Him and our neighbor. The mysteries are great, but our purpose is simple. Achieving it is not. Let us submit ourselves to the Lord for assistance and, in doing so, soak in the awe of the mysteries.

  © 2012 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use only with permission from the the author.

Love is Harmony and Harmony is Love

“Love is harmony and harmony is love”

The whisper was hardly a novel message.  We’ve heard the cliché “Peace, love and harmony” and we’ve seen the image that came to mind to represent the message: that iconic picture of children of all lands holding hands around the earth. Even still, the message caught my attention.  It came as many do, when my mind was on nothing related to it, but in one of those rare moments for a mom juggling work and kids -- a moment of stillness. 

Cliché or not, the whisper struck me as both intuitively true and not at all understood.  More than anything, love is limited by separation, division – that painfully human tendency to adopt an “us and them” mentality.  It is Love that helps us drop this mentality and enter instead into harmony.  We think of those totally in love and we see them to be as one, a unit; we cannot imagine them separate.  Their names and identities blend together as a single, harmonious unit.  At times, those of us on the outside of this harmonious little couple can be indignant toward their harmony, but that is because we are on the outside of it.  If we can imagine the little couple growing to a family, a community, and an entire society, while maintaining that initial harmony of the couple, then we could perhaps catch a glimmer of Love.

A whisper is pondered and then set aside until support arrives through more natural means.  This time, it came about a month later while I was perusing through the Jewish mysticism section in Portland’s staggering bookstore, Powell’s – a must for any booklover coming to the NW.  One of the books there struck me with confirmation of the recent whisper.

But first, a background: Jewish mystics are known to glean mysteries by peering into the Hebrew letters of words.  Hebrew is a remarkably powerful language; to each letter is assigned not only a sound, but a word, a picture, and a number.  The Hebrew word for “letter” also means “sign,” even wonder.  To the Jewish mystics, then, even a single Hebrew letter holds a treasure of mysteries.  (My favorite introduction to this subject is  Rabbi Michael L. Munk's The Wisdom of the Hebrew Alphabet.)  Within this system, the specific study of the numerical values of words is called Gematria.  The one many may be most familiar with is the divine name, YHVH, with a value of 26, deriving from the Yod (10), the Hei (5), the Vav (6), and the final Hei (5).  Once the Jewish mystic has determined the value of a word or name, he enters an adventurous quest into innumerable mysteries. 

Returning to the bookstore perusal, one of the books I was looking through was explaining this very concept of Gematria by introducing these two words: unity and love.  Both hold the same value of 13.  In Hebrew, unity is achad (AChD) and love is ahebah (AHBH)  Achad is made up of Aleph (1), Ches (8), and Dalet (4) and ahebah is made of Aleph (1), Hei (5), Bet (2), and Hei (5).  From this, we see that love, unity, and the number 13 all hold something in common and that the meaning of one speaks to the meaning of the other. 

Having not purchased the book I was perusing, I consulted other sources for further information.  One quoted Rabbi Meir Ibn Gabbi of the fifteenth century:

“For the perfect adoration worship demanded of the true worshipper

is the service of Unity, that is, the unification of the glorious and Only Name.

But the essence of Love is the true Unity,

and the true Unity is what is termed Love.”

Several sources noted that “achad” (spelled by some as “echad”) is also the word for “one” and, in fact, the very word used to describe God in the foundational Jewish prayer, the Shema:  “Hear O Israel the Lord they God, the Lord is One” (Deut 6:4).  “Oneness,” then, may be the more appropriate word to connect with love than either “unity” or “harmony.”  The very next verse is just as foundational for us Christians: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength” (Deut 6:5).  While these verses are often heard separate, they belong together.  The first expresses Oneness and the second expresses Love.

To continue contemplating the meaning of oneness and love, one can also consider the value of each, 13, which has a bad rap in our culture.  Could it deserve its reputation?  Most likely, Jewish sages would say “no,” pointing to its special quality as half the value of the Divine Name (26 = 13 x 2).  We also see here that Oneness + Love = the Divine Name.  While Christians rarely consider this, 13 ought to be sacred for us too, as it is the number of Jesus with his disciples.  Finally, the most sacred symbol in the Jewish tradition, the Star of David, is also made up of 13 units.  As two perfect equilateral triangles joined together, one pointing upward and the other downward, the Star suggests the unification of God and Man, Heaven and Earth, “As Above, So Below,” or as Jesus expressed it, “Thy kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.”

Jesus also called for a kinship of Oneness and Love within humanity by calling us to love our brother as ourselves, who he then defined as our enemies (Luke 10:27-29& 36-37).  Hence, more than merely saying, “Love your enemy,” he was saying “love the one you consider your enemy as yourself.”  To completely follow Jesus’ command, then, we should release ourselves from considering anyone an “enemy” at all; all are “brothers” who we love “as ourselves.”  Such oneness is genuine love.

Within Jesus’ paradigm, however, love and unity must go beyond the cliché of “peace, love and harmony,” for this same Master also said, “I came not to bring peace, but a sword . . .” (Matt 10:34).  We would expect a sword to represent not oneness, but division, which Jesus further notes by his added words that he has come to divide, set against, or set at variance man and son and mother and daughter (Matt 10:35 )  If God is One and Jesus came to preach Love, then how could he have also come to bring a sword?

Within Jesus’ paradigm, however, love and unity must go beyond the more cliché of “peace, love and harmony,” for this same Master also said, “I came not to bring peace, but a sword . . .” (Matt 10:34).  We would expect a sword to represent not oneness, but division, which Jesus further notes by his added words that he has come to divide, set against, or set at variance man and son and mother and daughter (Matt 10:35)  If God is One and Jesus came to preach Love, then how could he have also come to bring a sword?

I wonder if, ironically, the sword helps lead the way to Oneness.  The fusion of Above with Below ought to be expected to be traumatic and temporarily painful.  In that moment when Man meets God, he turns his face.  Should he look or hear God’s voice directly, man says he will die (Ex. 20:19).  Perhaps he is meeting Cherubim with swords and fire before the Tree of Life (Gen 3:24).  So when Jesus says he came to bring not peace but a sword, perhaps he was referring to the sword of the Cherubim, the very sword that leads to the Tree of Life – but only through the confrontation with mighty angels waving fiery swords.  This sword can be seen as that painful moment when Heaven and Earth meet.  In the sacred geometry of the Star of David, one could imagine it as that moment when the upper and the lower triangles fuse together to form the glorious Star Tetrahedron. 

The idea in this single paragraph above is, I know, the subject of what could be a very extensive and controversial book.  I've begun to explore this theme elsewhere, such as the final part of my “In the Beginning” series and Colors of Harmony and Duality.  But it comes here as a way to explore not only the unification of Oneness and Love, but also to investigate what seems to be the very opposite of oneness, the sword, and to peruse how they can all come together.  It may be that the Star of David, with its own value of 13, may start to hold a clue.  But these are merely initial considerations.  In any case, even if the whisper feels like a cliche, I sense that it is profound beyond our comprehension.

 © 2012 by karina.  All rights reserved.  Please use only with permission from the author.