May

31

Divine Light

Christian mysticism / Mysticism / Reviews / theology

Divine Light: The Theology of Denys the Areopagite
By William Riordan
San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2008
Review by Carl McColman

To fully grasp the beauty and complexity (and some would say, the challenge) of Christian mysticism, sooner or later you will contend with the elusive sixth-century figure known variously as Denys, Dionysius, or Pseudo-Dionysius, the Areopagite. We don’t know his real name. In his own writings, he passes himself off as a figure briefly mentioned in the New Testament — a Greek from Athens, who became a follower of Christ after Paul’s sermon in that city (recounted in Acts 17). For many centuries, these writings were generally accepted to be by Dionysius, and therefore of New Testament-era provenance. But scholars in the fifteenth century began to question this when it became obvious that so-called Dionysius relied on heavily the ideas of Neoplatonic philosophers such as Proclus, who lived in the fifth century. Today, Pseudo-Dionysius is now generally thought to have been a Syrian priest or monk who lived and wrote sometime around the year 500 CE. But if for a thousand years his works were highly influential because of his alleged ties to the Apostle Paul, once his identity was questioned, his reputation plummeted, and through the modern era he was dismissed as, at worst, a forger and a fraud; at best, a crafty Neoplatonist attempting to import pagan ideas into Christianity by the clever use of a pseudonym.

William Riordan’s accessible introduction to the theology of this figure, whom he prefers to identify using the traditional name “Denys,” seeks to find an orthodox middle ground, seeing the Areopagite neither as a fraud nor as an opportunist, but simply as a theologian seeking to affirm a grand and glorious synthesis between the philosophy of Neoplatonism and the teaching of the church. Riordan carefully delineates the distinctions between Denys’ thought and pagan philosophy, showing how Denys consistently submits his Neoplatonic ideas to Christian doctrine.

After an introductory look at Denys’ historical background, his theological method, and his influence both in the east and the west, Riordan explains both the similarities and differences between Denys and Neoplatonism, and then concentrates on Denys as a teacher of divinization, both in terms of cosmology and individual spirituality. “Divinization is an initiation, and often an arduous one, into Divine Being,” notes Riordan, and he teases out how Deny’s understanding of what we now call “the great chain of being” (Denys himself speaks of heirarchies, a concept he himself developed and which has become contested in our time because of its association with the abuse of power) all serves the larger question of how human beings are initiated into the unfathomable mystery of God, in order to become partakers of the Divine Nature.

Denys’ influence on the course of Christian mystical theology cannot be overstated. And while ours is an age in which many people of faith seek to regain an authentically Jewish celebration of the goodness of creation — which implies moving away from an understanding of metaphysics or spirit as “higher” than matter — the insights of Denys, acknowledging God as transcendent other who both loves the creation but also challenges it to be transformed in him — remain relevant to anyone who finds value in contemplative practice or who seeks to integrate the visionary thought of even non-Christian thinkers like Ken Wilber into the quest for holiness in our time.

I particularly loved the appendix of this book, where Riordan examines Denys’ teachings in the light of Mircea Eliade’s studies of shamans and shamanic initiation. Needless to say, there are some real points of correlation and convergence, and Riordan’s explanation of the three-fold process of purgation, illumination and  union in terms of shamanic initiation is, to my mind, alone worth the price of the book.

This is a book heavy on theory rather than practice; in other words, reading it won’t provide you with tips on how to improve your discipline of contemplative prayer. But it might give you some insight into a way of approaching Christian thought that embraces, rather than dismisses, other wisdom traditions, and that underscores the many points of commonality between Christian mysticism and other transformational spiritualities.

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May

30

Quote for the Day

Quotations

Let all my world be silent in your presence, Lord, so that I may hear what the Lord God may say in my heart. Your words are so softly spoken that no one can hear them except in a deep silence. But to hear them lifts him who sits alone and in silence completely above his natural powers, because he who humbles himself will be lifted up. He who sits alone and listens will be raised above himself.

— Guigo II, The Ladder Monks

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May

29

A Recap of my Upcoming Events

Announcements

One of the fun things about having a book come out is that there will be a number of events coming up related to the book (i.e., concerning Christian mysticism). So, here’s a quick preview of events that are on the calendar, as well as a few that don’t have dates pinned down yet, but will probably be firmed up in the near future. Some of these events (like the Portland weekend) have already been announced, but I’m putting them all here for the sake of being comprehensive.

  • June 3-5: Writing Retreat at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. With Fr. James Behrens, OCSO. At this point there’s a waiting list for women retreatants but there might still be a room or two for men.
  • July 23-25: Christian Mysticism Retreat at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. With Fr. Tom Francis, OCSO. I think there’s still room for this one, but it will likely fill up fast.
  • August 22: Speaking on Ken Wilber’s Integral Theory at the Vedanta Center of Atlanta. Program begins at 10:30 with meditation; I speak during the 11 o’clock hour, with time for socializing afterward.
  • September 13-15: Live, Laugh, Love Retreat at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit. With Fr. Tom Francis. This retreat was originally scheduled to be conducted by someone else, but she had to cancel. I have no idea what I’ll be doing for this retreat, but it’s a fun topic and I suspect we’ll have a grand time.
  • September 23-October 21 (Five Thursday Evenings): Introduction to Christian Mysticism through Evening at Emory. Continuing education class on my favorite subject. Details and registration information to be announced.
  • October or November (exact dates and location TBD): Christian Mysticism program at a Church in Atlanta. Friday evening talk followed by a day-long event on Saturday combining teaching with contemplative practice.
  • October 28-31: Weekend in Portland, Oregon. Several events, including a Thursday evening booksigning or pub theology talk; Friday evening presentation; Saturday talk and contemplative practice event; and preaching at two different churches on Sunday.
  • Spring 2010: Several Events in the Planning Stages. These events may include speaking at several churches in the Atlanta area; a weekend in other cities such as San Francisco; St. Cloud, MN; and/or Orlando, FL; weekend events not only at the Monastery of the Holy Spirit but at other retreat centers in the Atlanta area and beyond. So many events are in the formative stages, I can’t say too much about them now, except for: stay tuned!

Would you like to see me come to your city? I would too! I’m looking for churches, colleges/universities, monasteries, and/or conference and retreat centers that could sponsor me for a weekend (or longer) in different regions around the country. I love to speak on a variety of subjects including Christian mysticism, Celtic spirituality, interfaith issues (particularly between Christians and Neopagans), Integral Theory, and establishing or deepening a contemplative practice. Please connect with me (go to my Contact page to send me a direct message) if you’re interested in helping to coordinate an event in your region.

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May

28

As Old as John of the Cross When He Died

Christian mysticism

Here’s a bit of useless information. Today, to the day, I am as old as John of the Cross was when he died.

I figured this out earlier this week. I was thinking about John, and realized he was 49 when he died, and I’m 49 now. So I looked at his dates, and figured his age at death (49 years, 5 months, 20 days) and compared it to me (today I’m 49 years, 5 months, 22 days, but the slight discrepancy is because I have a February in there). So to the day, I’m as old as he was when he died.

Aside from the fact that this proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have an obsessive-compulsive streak, I find this oddly humbling. Of course, John is one of my heroes, and I cannot in any meaningful way compare myself to him except to say that we are both writers concerned with questions concerned with faith and mystery. He had the good fortune of having Teresa of Avila for a mentor; he was a gifted poet and a profound theologian; and he suffered terribly for his beliefs, enduring imprisonment and regular beatings for some nine months, at the hands of his own Carmelite brothers. But of course, out of that affliction came some of the most psychologically astute mystical writing that the Christian tradition has yet to produce.

As for me? Well, let’s just say that I enjoy affluence and comfort that would have been unthinkable to John; as a writer and an amateur theologian, I mainly hope that my by comparison feeble talent might help others to find treasures such as the writings of John.

I suppose I am reminded that life, for so many of our ancestors, was nasty, brutish and short. John of the Cross was by no means the only great contemplative to have died relatively young. Thomas Aquinas and Richard Rolle both may have been only in their late 40s when they died; Catherine of Siena was 33; Simone Weil 34; and dear Thomas Merton only 53 when he was electrocuted in a freak accident.

Now, lest you think that mysticism is a hazardous line of work, we can point to Bede Griffiths, who lived to be 87; Matta el-Maskeen (also 87), George Macleod (96), or Raimon Panikkar, who as of this writing is 91 and still breathing. Historically, there was John Ruusbroec (88), Hildegard of Bingen (81), Thomas à Kempis (90), and St. Anthony of the Desert, reputed to live to be 105!

Christians of old used to talk about always remaining aware of one’s mortality. In our day, when the average life expectancy is perhaps double what it was 200 years ago, this seems like a less useful endeavor. It strikes us as morbid, or psychologically twisted. But I don’t think pretending death doesn’t exist help either. What does it mean to have a balanced and healthy friendship with one’s own mortality? I suspect that it means living life to the fullest each and every day (which probably includes not bothering to compare one’s length of life to those whom we admire but who died young). It also means finding, and living, the “peace that passes understanding,” so that when the day comes in which we do draw our final breath, we can do it with serenity — whether we are 49, 79 or 109 years old.

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May

27

Into the Region of Awe

Books / Christian mysticism / Mysticism / Mystics / Reviews

Into the Region of Awe: Mysticism in C. S. Lewis
By David C. Downing
Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 2005
Review by Carl McColman

In his last book, Letters to Malcolm, C. S. Lewis all but declares that he is not a mystic. Comparing mystics to those who climb mountains, Lewis tells Malcolm, “You and I are people of the foothills.” Of course, one of the paradoxes of mysticism is that the true mystic is humble, and a humble person is far less likely to think of himself or herself as a mystic. So, the less inclined a person is to think of himself or herself as a mystic, the more it is conceivable that he or she actually is one.

C. S. Lewis may well be the poster child for this line of thinking. Despite his protest to the contrary, much of Lewis’ writing — particularly his fictional works, such as The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Perelandra, and Till We Have Faces — positively shines with poetic descriptions of luminous, otherworldly beauty and the shimmering encounter with the Divine. Meanwhile, Lewis was known to be fond of many of the greatest visionaries and contemplatives of the Christian tradition, such as Julian of Norwich or Walter Hilton. Perhaps the most renowned author of popular Christian literature in English in the twentieth century really does deserve to be counted among the greatest of Christian mystics?

I think so. And I’ll tell you a little secret: I say as much in my forthcoming book. When I included Lewis in my listing of “the communion of mystics,” I thought I was going out on a limb. But that was before I discovered — and devoured — David Downing’s wonderful book about Lewis’ relationship with mysticism. Downing, a respected Lewis scholar, has put into words in this marvelously accessible book what I had merely intuited: that Lewis, beneath his natural shyness and humility, truly thought like, talked like, wrote like, and in all likelihood experienced spirituality like, a great Christian mystic.

Some readers may be wondering “What is mysticism, and why is this relevant to Lewis?” Downing does a splendid job at explaining mysticism and its uniquely Christian expression. Frankly, the first chapter, “The Mystique of Mysticism,” is alone worth the price of the book, so elegant and accessible is its treatment of this notoriously difficult subject. But from there, Downing goes on to consider the role that mysticism played in Lewis’ own spirituality, considering the mystics that Lewis read, his dealings with Evelyn Underhill (the greatest British authority on the subject during Lewis’ lifetime), and then, finally, the witness of his writings. Downing pays particular attention to Lewis’s speculative fiction, The Space Trilogy and The Chronicles of Narnia. In several characters in these novels, particular Ransom in the trilogy and Reepicheep in the Narniad, Lewis presents figures who experience the profound transformation that comes with a sustained contemplative spirituality.

Downing also devotes attention to Lewis’ criticism of mysticism, particularly the ersatz types already gaining currency in his day, including shallow forms of syncretism and narcissistic spiritualities of experience. He shows that Lewis’s concerns about mysticism really are consistent with the overall tradition, which has always had a clear understanding of the difference between authentically Christian and heterodox expressions of spirituality. In other words, when Lewis attacked mysticism, it generally was not Christian mysticism he critiqued, but one or another form of generic or secularised mysticism that for Lewis, as an orthodox Christian, simply was not good enough.

Like other figures of the recent past, Lewis ultimately stood for a kind of “democratic” mysticism that was available to all people, not just clergy or monastics, not just those who are educated or especially holy. Ordinary children as in the Narnia books, or an undistinguished layman as in the space trilogy, are fully capable of being ushered out of the ordinary confines of their lives “into the region of awe.” Lewis wrote beautifully and poetically of the ramifications of such a possibility, and our tradition is the richer for it. Then along comes David Downing, who has done a first-rate job at making Lewis’s mysticism plain for all to see.

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May

26

Mapping the Journey

Christian mysticism / Formation / Spirituality

A reader of this blog writes:

Do you assess yourself at what point you are on the mystical mountain.  Do the three stages and with them the two dark nights have any bearing on growth in love of man and God?  It seems at times that over self-analysis is like watching your feet while dancing.  The dancing becomes forced and clumsy. On the other hand, there might be a need for a ladder of ascent for novices.  Do most folks spend their life in the purgative stage with some moments in the unitive and illuminative phases?  This seems to be my lot.  I can’t tell which dark night I’m in or is it just depression.  Gerald May’s book Care of Mind, Care of Spirit offers some general categories which I don’t find that helpful.  Maybe this stuff eludes hard categories.  I know it’s OK to be in the purgative stage but at times it seems hopeless for any desire and will to progress unless God acts with the gift.  Anything we receive is a gift anyway.

Thanks for writing. I think you’ve largely answered your own question, but I’ll share a few of my own thoughts as well. Writers on the mystical life from Evelyn Underhill a century ago, to Robert Davis Hughes in our own time, emphasize again and again that the classic formula of purgation -> illumination -> union needs to be understood strictly as a map, and “the map is not the territory.” Origen, who first came up with the three-part sequence of the spiritual life, based it on his interpretation of three of the wisdom books in the Hebrew Scriptures: purgation corresponds with Proverbs, illumination with Ecclesiastes, and union with the Song of Songs. I think, while this has been an interesting map and many contemplatives have worked with it over the last 1800 years, we need to acknowledge that it is, fundamentally, artificial (and dare I say, contrived). It’s important also to remember that other folks have developed other, more intricate “mystical itineraries,” as Bernard McGinn calls them. Underhill (and Hughes) offer a five-stage model, Richard of St. Victor offers a four-degree model, Bonaventure speaks of six levels of contemplation, and Marguerite Porete develops a seven stage model! So, it’s important to hold all of these “lightly” and to refrain from using them to judge or evaluate our own perseverance. These various models might be useful as tools of discernment, but I would recommend this only in conversation with a trusted spiritual director or soul friend. Often others can see what’s going on in our spiritual lives better than we can see ourselves.

I’m not sure if novices need a “ladder of ascent” any more or less than anyone else. Really, we’re all novices, some of us have just been at it longer than others.

Hughes does suggest that we should think of the spiritual life in terms of tides washing up on the shore, rather than as discrete stages in single linear progression. Thus, it is possible to engage in purgative, illuminative and unitive dimensions of one’s relationship with God pretty much simultaneously. Certainly Benedictine/Cistercian spirituality, with its commitment to the conversion of manners, suggests that purgation is a lifelong process.

One key, I think — coming again from the monastic tradition — is the idea of joyful repentance, which suggests that even the purgative way can be a source of delight in God. Granted, surrendering sin and opening ourselves up to transformational healing can be hard, ego-threatening work, but I see no reason why it must be miserable work. It’s like the question of purgatory: I think Protestants rejected purgatory because it was seen so much as a hellish place. But many Catholics regard purgatory as a place of great wonder and excitement, a room in heaven rather than in hell. Once you enter purgatory, the exit door leads to the great banquet hall. You are there simply to get a manicure and take a lovely bubble bath before your intimate date with your beloved. I for one cannot think of anything more delightful than taking the extra effort to clean myself up before a special evening with my wife. S0 — even for Protestants who reject the idea of purgatory — I think we can all agree that the hard work of holiness and penitence in this life ought to be an occasion for joy, if entered into in the right spirit — a spirit of trust and hope and confidence in God’s love for us, and humble recognition that everything we do to improve ourselves is ultimately a gift of grace to begin with.

Somehow, I suspect that once we embrace the lifelong possibility of joyful purgation, questions of illumination and union will then begin to sort themselves out.

Finally, you do mention an important matter in the question of discerning the distinction between a dark night experience and depression. I think the key here is serenity. As bleak and as foreboding as a dark night experience might be, it is always directed by the Holy Spirit and so the soul truly willing to undergo this process will, it seems to be, enter it in a spirit of humility and trust. That doesn’t have to be perfect — part of what is stripped away in a dark night is our tendency not to trust — but I think it will be a discernible quality. Ultimately, though, I think discernment really is the key here, and if anyone suspects that they are struggling with depression, they owe it to themselves and to those they love to seek out help. Likewise, the challenges of a dark night experience ought not be faced alone. So either way, a person moving into such a shadow stage of their life journey will be wise to remain (or become) connected with a soul friend, priest or pastor, or therapist (hopefully, a therapist sensitive to the dynamics of the spiritual life, and thankfully this is true of more and more therapists). I believe that love is the best antidote for depression and the most reliable lifeline through a dark night experience. So we all need to be nurturing our relationships, even if they’re professional or therapeutic in nature.

I hope this is helpful. Thanks for writing!

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May

25

Three Dimensions of Prayer

Christian mysticism / Prayer

Consider this tasty morsel from The Cloud of Unknowing (Carmen Butcher translation):

Just as the meditations of those skilled in contemplation come suddenly and directly, so do their prayers. I mean their personal prayers, not the liturgical prayers used in worship at church. True contemplatives value these community prayers above all others and participate in them as ordained by the Church and its earliest holy fathers. A contemplative’s personal prayers, however, rise unrehearsed to God, with no go-betweens or specific ways of praying.

The Cloud author appears to be saying that both liturgical prayer (i.e., the Eucharist and the Daily Office) and “unrehearsed prayer” (which, the author goes on to say, is for contemplatives generally short — to the point of being only a single word) support the practice of contemplation. I see this in a trinitarian way. The practice of Christian contemplation includes:

  • Offering the words of our heart to God (unrehearsed prayer);
  • Offering the words of our community to God (liturgical prayer);
  • Offering the silence of our heart to God (contemplation).

Now, the Cloud author goes on to say,

Contemplatives seldom use words when they pray, but if they do, they choose only a few, and the fewer the better. They prefer a short one-syllable word over two syllables, because the spirit can best assimilate it. This one word keeps the person engaging in this spiritual exercise fit and at the top of their form, so to speak.

This, of course, is the passage in The Cloud of Unknowing seen as affirming the use of a prayer word, as it is called in the centering prayer community — basically, a Christianised mantra. But not exactly a mantra, for the idea in centering prayer is to repeat the prayer word only until one finds his or her place of contemplative rest, and then the prayer word can be gently laid aside — to be used again, whenever distractions begin to disturb the mind.

Critics of centering prayer dismiss it because of its historical affinity with transcendental meditation, and dismiss the prayer word as a foreign practice imported into Christianity. I think this is a legalistic and insular-minded perspective; if God can use anything to God’s glory, it seems to me that even a Christianised form of T.M. — and a Christian version of a mantra — cannot escape the splendor of his grace. Heaven knows that the Cloud author (and his predecessors, going all the way back to John Cassian among the desert fathers) never heard of mantras, and yet they encourage the use of short prayer as a way to focus the heart and mind on God. So I think such a practice makes all the sense in the world, and is fully acceptable as a dimension of Christian discipleship and spirituality.

However, just as we shouldn’t be legalistic about forbidding the use of a single prayer word, I think contemplatives should also avoid the temptation of requiring such a practice as well. I think it’s clear that the Cloud author is not forbidding longer prayer, even though he clearly thinks that the shorter an unrehearsed prayer is, the better. Liberty in prayer, it seems to me, is a beautiful thing, and would be a natural hallmark of a mature contemplative. Sometimes the heart may be stirred to share more with God than just a single word or phrase. This is not necessarily antithetical to silent prayer, but rather can be a complementary practice to “pure” contemplation. I think what’s beautiful about these three dimensions of prayer — liturgical prayer, silent prayer, and personal discursive prayer — is that, in proper proportions, they function as a sort of “balanced diet” of spiritual practice. Too much silence without the Daily Office and the sharing of one’s thoughts with God would, from the perspective of Christian contemplation, be out of balance — but so would a practice that only emphasized the liturgy, or only emphasized personal conversational prayer. The Christian life thrives best when it includes a healthy equilibrium of all three of these doorways into the presence of God.

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May

24

The Dharma of Time

Spirituality

Every day I want to do a number of things. I want to nurture my relationships with my family — and with God (and that means at least part of the Daily Office and contemplative prayer); I want to put in an honest day’s work at the store; I want to post to this blog; I want to work on whatever writing project I have going on at the time; I want to do at least some reading (my monastic gadfly doesn’t say I shouldn’t read at all, just not as much as I tend to), and of course, there are the little but important things like exercise, cleaning up around the house, and playing my bass.

Now, by my calculations I can do all of this, each and every day, but I do need to do a few things differently. I need to spend less time messing around online (my biggest time-waster, particularly when it comes to browsing books and articles related to my areas of interest, and occasionally succumbing to current but inconsequential news), and I need to be diligent and disciplined about getting to bed every night by 10 PM and up the following morning by 5 AM. Just two simple tasks: limit my internet “fun” time, and get to bed on time.

Time… I remember reading somewhere once that the monastic life is, essentially, all about time. So is, therefore, the life of a monastic lay associate. But when I look at my life, I see two primary nexus points of chaos: first, I tend to be a clutterbug (as anyone who has seen my house, especially my garage, or my desk at work can attest), and — more germane to the issue I’m working with now — I tend to clutter my time.

Sigh.

Living in the present — that’s what classic works like Abandonment to Divine Providence are all about. But here’s a mystical paradox: to most fully and mindfully live in the present, I need to manage my time, which means being mindful of the coming demands of the future — even if I’m just talking about the next few hours or days. Knowing and planning for my future, and then mindfully living in the present, seems to be an all-important key.

Especially when that means turning off the computer, and getting to bed on time.

So I can do all the other things I choose to do (but never seem to find the time for).

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May

23

My Schedule in Portland

Announcements / Celtic Christianity / Christian mysticism

For my friends on the west coast: here is the schedule for my trip to Portland, OR, the weekend of October 28-31, 2010.

Thursday, October 28:
Still to be determined; either an evening presentation/booksigning at an area bookstore, or a “beer & theology” event a local pub. I’ll post details here as soon as it’s worked out.

Friday, October 29:
7:00 PM: “The Underlying Stream of Mysticism in the Christian Tradition”
St David of Wales Episcopal Church, 2800 SE Harrison, Portland, OR 97214

Saturday, October 30:
9:30 AM – 4:00 PM: “Christian Mysticism and Contemplative Spirituality”
This day-long event will include a morning talk by me, with a response by a guest panel. After an optional group lunch, the afternoon will include time for group interaction and shared contemplative practice.
Sts. Peter & Paul Episcopal Church, 8147 SE Pine, Portland, OR 97215

Cost for the Friday evening presentation will by $15.00; for the Saturday event will be $40.00, or participate in both for $50.00. The optional lunch on Saturday is $7.50.

Sunday, October 31:
Morning: Homilist at Sts Peter & Paul Episcopal Church
8:00 AM Spoken Mass
9:00 AM Adult Forum
10:00 AM High Mass
12:00 noon Misa en Español (Spanish Mass)
Evening: Homilist at Spiritus Abbey, which meets at Sts Peter and Paul Episcopal Church, 8147 SE Pine, Portland, OR
5:00 PM Mass

I’m so excited about this trip: the opportunity to speak about Celtic Christianity and Christian mysticism on the weekend preceding the feast of All Saints (the traditional Celtic holy time of Samain). It’s going to be a splendid weekend, hope you can be there!

To register for the paid events, please contact the Institute for Progressive Spirituality at by visiting their website (www.instituteprogressivespirituality.org) or mailing your registration fee to:

Institute for Progressive Spirituality
1163 SW Chastain Drive
Gresham, OR 97080

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May

22

Lectio Divina and the English Mystics

Christian mysticism / Mysticism / Spirituality

I’ve been reading Carmen Butcher’s delightful new translation of The Cloud of Unknowing, and today I read chapter 35, which discusses the importance of lectio divina in the contemplative life:

The contemplative beginner must, however, engage in certain exercises. These are the lesson, the meditation, and the orison, better known as reading, reflecting, and praying. You can learn about these three activities in another book, where the author explains them better than I can, so I won’t go into great detail here.

In a footnote, Butcher suggests that the Cloud author here is speaking either of Guigo the Carthusian’s Ladder of Monks, which is the “classic” explication of lectio divina as a process of reading, reflection, praying, and contemplation; or else the Cloud author may be referring to another English mystic, Walter Hilton, who devotes a chapter of The Scale of Perfection to lectio:

There are three means most commonly used by people who devote themselves to contemplation: the reading of holy scripture and of holy teaching, spiritual meditation, and diligent prayer with devotion.

Meanwhile, Julia Bolton Holloway’s wonderful website on Julian of Norwich includes a page with an extensive chart of scriptural allusions in Julian’s text, suggesting, of course, that lectio was itself a major part of Julian’s spiritual practice, thus enabling her to draw on scripture so fully in her own writing. But perhaps of even more direct use to us today, Holloway suggests a contemplative reading of Julian and the Bible simultaneously, using her table of correspondence as an entry point:

It is suggested that these tables be printed out … then be compared with hard copies of the Julian of Norwich [text] … and the Bible, side by side. The experience will be that of lectio divina, especially where one savours these echoing texts, contemplating upon them, entering into eternity…

One might be tempted to see lectio as a peculiarly Benedictine/Cistercian/Carthusian practice, well-suited to the cloistered life but of little practical use beyond monastic walls. Granted, Julian and Hilton and The Cloud author all seem, likewise, to be writing from, or with intended readers in, monastic enclosures. But given the popularity that the English mystics are now enjoying among readers who are not cloistered, I think it is safe to say that anyone, monastic or not, who turns to the English mystics as spiritual guides, will find guides who commend the practice of lectio as the foundational exercise leading to contemplation.

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