Posted on 08/28/2015 2:30:17 PM PDT by NYer
I would not describe myself as a mystic, nor would I say that I am particularly attracted to mysticism. On the contrary, I tend to shy away from such things. I would even go so far as to say that I have a sneaking sympathy for Ronald Knox’s quip (or was it Newman’s) that mysticism begins in mist and ends in schism.
It’s not that I don’t respect mysticism—as long as it is grounded in orthodoxy. I have a great love for the mystical meanderings of St. John of the Cross, and who but a fool does not have profound respect for the feisty spiritual levitations of St. Teresa of Avila?
It’s just that I have always been more comfortable with the union of faith and reason to be found in Augustine or Aquinas than in the surrender of the sense and the senses to transcendental flights of selfless self-discovery.
There are exceptions. I can lose myself in the presence of beauty, be it the beauty of nature or the beauty of art, as Hopkins does, or as the great Romantics do: losing myself in the beauty so that I can discover God’s presence there, and, in so doing, find myself more deeply through the very losing of the self in the transport of delight.
In any event, this rather perambulating preamble serves to illustrate, I hope, that I am uncomfortable with any feeling that could be labeled as “mystical.” And yet, a few days ago, I had a near-death experience that can only be described as deeply mystical in a really life-changing way. Indeed, I will never be the same again.
It all began in the early evening as I was weeding kudzu from the woods on our property, a worthy but wearying endeavor that can be likened to the Long Defeat of which Tolkien writes. Suddenly I was aware of dozens of needles shooting searing pain into my body. I had disturbed a wasps’ nest. Somehow the vesperish hordes had managed to get inside my clothing and were venting their venomous spleen on my defenseless skin. Needless to say I beat a hasty retreat to my home and removed the items of clothing as expeditiously as possible.
The worst was now over—or so I thought.
I began to feel decidedly odd. Pins and needles washed over every inch of me, from the top of my head to the base of my feet and all points in between. I began to shiver uncontrollably. My face began to swell and blister. I began to feel dizzy and queasy.
My wife, Susannah, had seen enough. She ushered the children into the car, as I staggered, dazed, behind her. She wanted to get me to the emergency room as quickly as possible.
As we drove, things got much worse very fast. My vision faded so that all I could see were bright fuzzy shapes, much like the façade of Rouen Cathedral in Monet’s impressionistic depiction of it in full sunlight. I began to gasp for air and my heart pounded at an accelerated and accelerating rate. It was beating faster than it had ever beaten even after the most vigorous treadmill work out—much faster. I was now completely convinced that I was about to die. It was only a question of whether the cause of death would be the impending heart attack or whether it would be asphyxiation: a cardiac arrest or suffocation.
It was then that I had the mystical experience that will forever change my life. As I realized that I was on the point of death, a great sense of peace and resignation came over me. I was ready and, as Hamlet reminds us, the readiness is all. I would add, however, and very quickly and insistently, that it was not because of my own holiness but because I was being lifted up by supernatural hands. My rational self was very much aware that my wife was beside me, driving the car, and that my children were in the seats behind. My rational self would have screamed in panic at the thought of leaving them to fend for themselves without my protection as pater familias. How would they cope without me? Yet no such thoughts could assail the sense of being uplifted in supernatural hands, taken to a level of peace and acceptance that I had never theretofore known.
No, it's because it is clearly not the only rational explanation.
Perhaps your definition of "rational" does not encompass the real world the way it is, complete with Angels and devils, and supernatural phenomena. So what is rational? Is it defined solely as the blindness to not see all of reality? Just curious.
I’m very sorry about the loss of your son, I’ve been down that road also. We lost our 29 year old son 13 years ago. I also experienced that feeling of being held and completely covered, it enveloped me for several months afterward. Due to my being mute and calm, a person I know told me that I was being a stoic through that time. What they perceived as stoicism was faith. We know where our boys are an who they are with, Jesus.
Bless you, Ditter.
Thanks for the ping. Interesting testimony.
Look, this isn't that hard. Even if I accept your premise that supernatural phenomena is rational, it is obviously not the ONLY rational explanation. That was what the author claimed. That it was the ONLY rational explanation, therefore he believed it.
It's not me that's filtering out rational explanations, it's the author.
“That is because you do not know...”
No, it’s because it is clearly not the only rational explanation.
To an irrational person that would be true. Perhaps you also believe that I am not typing on this keyboard right now to post this response. Does your disbelief have any relevancy? No, it doesn’t matter one bit. It simply shows you do not understand or know.
My father, who seemed to be a recovering atheist in retirement and his last years, needed proof of God and unfortunately I was not the right person to show him that proof.
His life experience with christians had not been good and had left a beastly mark on his opinions. Mine, too, in some places.
His "Houdini promised to come back from death and never did" spoke to the nature of our discussions and I regret that I didn't have an answer to satisfy his inner need.
After he passed, I discovered the many books and stories written and told by those who have "died" and came back with a story to tell us.
I read as many as my curiosity needed, but the ones that hit me the hardest were of those who didn't up go to the Light, but took the escalator down.
Each book was like a link in a chain and each read was like pulling up the anchor of my skepticism holding me to cynicism one link at a time.
My Descent Into Death: A Second Chance At Life really got to me and that book eventually lead me to Heaven is Real, But So Is Hell and on to a new chapter of understanding and belief.
I tend to believe that the vast majority of these stories are true as described and that they fulfill prophecy and serve His Purpose to awaken the dead and open eyes to His Glory.
I regret that I didn't know of this material before Dad passed, but I've since come to believe Dad found the Truth for himself.
Whether NDEs are true or merely a simple dream by an untethered consciousness I don't know, but these stories made God real for me and at a level my rational can't reach nor touch and take away.
^^^Praise God!!!^^^
Pearce is a very interesting man. He grew up in the UK, where he was uneducated and became a professional racist. Served time in prison for his racist activities. There his studies converted him reluctantly to Catholicism. Somehow he has managed to become an authority on Shakespeare, Lewis, and Tolkien. He teaches at the university level and has written several successful books, all without a college degree (so far as I have heard). An impressive mind.
I regret that I didn't know of this material before Dad passed, but I've since come to believe Dad found the Truth for himself.
There is no guarantee that any or all of those books might have persuaded your dad's opinion. One gift you can continue to give him is the gift of daily prayer. The graces from those prayers will assist him on his journey, beyond the veil of this world.
From what I've read, I understand how that is true...without really understanding how that is true...if you know what I mean. lol
Fwiw, a few years ago, I would have smiled and nodded in a polite way if you had told me this in person.
But so much has changed in such a short time that I can't seem to be that person anymore.
My mom followed my dad last month after an abrupt, then long decline following his death. My sisters and I have spent these last few years making sure mom was never alone and that one of us always there with her.
I've had time and reasons to come to a different understanding and point of view thanks to life's stormy weather and the many endings of late and supplemented by the material I've been reading.
Now I tend to just believe what you wrote is true and do my best to follow that belief and advice.
(And thanks for the reminder! I'm still at a place where I need them.)
I’m irrational because I can think of other rational reasons for the story. Riiight.
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