A Sensory Experience

When the Presence of God entered into Morton's cell that night, there was no theology, no doctrine -- in fact, there were no words at all.  The whole description is reminiscent of Moses' fiery-bush apparition in the desert.  What "possessed" Morton that evening was a sensory experience which embraced his soul through the senses of his body.  He heard the roar of a mighty wind or of rushing waters; he saw a brilliant golden light unlike anything he had ever experienced; he felt as if he were floating above his bunk -- and his soul was filled with peace.

Was this not what the disciples of Jesus experienced in His Presence?  That sensory experience obviously does not remain with us --- after experiencing the Transfiguration, Peter, James, and John were told not to reveal their experience until after the Resurrection (and they did not even know what "resurrection" meant).  They still had to face the Crucifixion, but though their minds shut down in horror, their bodies and souls could not deny their experience of Jesus Christ.   Morton could no more conjure up his experience during his remaining years in prison than could the apostles re-create their experience on Mt. Tabor.  And yet....the peace of God remained with Morton throughout all the days to come.

Our theology or doctrine is our attempt to explain and to codify what we have experienced of the Holy.  When a number of people (as for example, Peter, James, and John) all experience the same thing, and when they recall and try to articulate what they have experienced, we find patterns emerging.  As Morton said, discovering the Christian mystics and their experiences comforted him greatly -- he was not insane; he was blessed.  This is why people love the Bible so much -- they find within its pages their own story, and they feel confirmed in their own experience.

Unfortunately, most of us are hesitant to trust our experiences -- or even to open ourselves to the experience of God in the first place.  We would rather rely on ourselves, on our own resources, than to cry out to God.  And once He enters our lives, very often through a "spiritual encounter," we are reluctant to trust the experience.  As Morton, we try to find other explanations -- what did we eat?  what did we do to bring on that phenomenon?  Certainly, we don't want to tell anyone else what we have experienced, for fear of being seen as off-balance, not entirely rational and in control.

And yet, God still wants to reveal Himself to us, not as a doctrine to be believed, but as a Love to be embraced, "consumed" by us body, mind, and spirit.  He wants to satisfy all our hungers fully.  He is the Bread of Life, the Wine of Salvation, the Light of the World, the Good Shepherd of our souls.  He would have us feed on Him in the wilderness, walk with Him beside still waters, and be comforted by Him in times of evil.  Still, we refuse Him entrance for fear of delusion and confusion.

We fill our homes with sensory experiences --- pleasant scents, beauty to delight the eyes, soft music (I would hope) to comfort the ear and soul, rich textures to fill the eye and the sense of touch, and soft cushions to relax the body.  We want our homes to provide a safe refuge and a rich experience of life, and yet we are so afraid to really experience the spiritual life.

Growing up in the Catholic church was a rich sensory experience, especially during the "high Mass."  There was incense, rich and powerful music, lighted candles, stained glass windows, beauty at every turn -- Mass was an operatic experience.  Even the language of the Mass was beyond our rational thought -- it was exotic, captivating in a strange way.   Supposedly, we changed the experience so that people would better understand what was going on.  However, "understanding" brings familiarity, and familiarity, often boredom and disinterest.

God did not ask the Israelite nation to embrace the Ten Commandments until He had lifted the burden from their shoulders and removed the rod from their backs; until He had fed them in the wilderness and given them water from the rock; until He had provided for them a cloud by day to shelter them from the heat and a pillar of fire by night to give warmth in the cold.  Only after all these sensory experiences, caring for them as a mother for an infant, did He give them the "Law of Moses."   "Walk in My Ways," He said, "and I will be your God and you shall be My people." 

Why are we so afraid to allow Him to fill us with the "finest of wheat" and the water of life?  Why are we so determined not to open our eyes and behold the lilies of the field, clothed in beauty beyond that of Solomon?  Why do we not want to drink from the Spring welling up to eternal life?  The Christian Life should ultimately be a response to all that we have experienced of God, as it was for the apostles.  It should not be a burden that we carry out of duty, but an on-going rich conversation with both God and man about what we have seen and heard, what our ears have heard and our hands have touched, in the words of St. John (first letter).