In the year 922 BCE, the sanctuary at Dan is located in the northernmost region of Palestine in the foothills beneath snow-covered Mount Hermon. King Jeroboam establishes this place of worship when the Northern Kingdom, Israel, breaks from its neighbors in the south.

Instead of going to Jerusalem in the Southern Kingdom to offer sacrifice, the Israelites make pilgrimage to the shrines at either Bethel or Dan. Our psalmist longs to make this journey. But, for some unexplained reason, he is unable to travel. This loss is grievous to him. “My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.”

Near the sanctuary at Dan, he remembers how the head waters of the Jordan River spring like a fountain from deep within the mountain, flowing in torrents down the slopes to the sea. “Deep calls to deep”, he sighs. His soul hungers for God’s presence, just as the Jordan river longs for the sea.

A story tells of an old peasant who, every day at noon, goes into the village church and kneels in prayer. One day the priest speaks to him. “My son, may I ask whether something is troubling you?” “Oh no, Father, everything is fine,” the man replies. The priest continues to stand there. The peasant, feeling that more explanation is needed, says, “I just look at God and God looks at me.”

“Deep calls to deep”, as the psalmist reflects.

I spend a week in a convent one day. Sacred Heart Benedictine Convent in Sedalia, Colorado operates a retreat center for Christians seeking silence and solitude. “Listen” is the first word of St. Benedict’s rule of life. Of course, it is silence that makes listening possible.

When I register, the receptionist reminds me that she is the only one to whom I can speak if I need anything during my stay. I am not to disturb the other guests or the Sisters. I can participate in any or all of the five prayer services throughout the day.

I go upstairs to my room. The furnishings are simple – a single bed and desk. I experience immediate withdrawal for lack of television and telephone.

I decide to go to Sacred Heart because I am in spiritual crisis. I have been working so hard at the job that I loose my connection with God. I feel dry, empty, tired, and alone.

As a pastor rooted in #1 head spirituality, I know that the opposite quadrant on the Spirituality Wheel, mystic spirituality #3, will give me the greatest place for growth because it will cause me the most discomfort.

So when a friend recommends a contemplative retreat, I take her advice. I am to practice “spiritual attentiveness”, seeking in prayer to hear from God. By surrendering my voice, emptying myself of talk-talk-talk, I can give in to the Mystery, the silence that is so disarming to me.

My friend coaches me in the experience of solitude. She gives me a journal for writing my reflections. She teaches me to use breath prayer for meditation, giving me the words to the ancient Jesus Prayer, “Lord Jesus Christ (inhale), have mercy on me” (exhale).

“The grounds of the Convent have lovely gardens and pathways”, she says, handing me a sketchbook and colored pencils. Finally, she shares this prayer.

O God,
I hope each day
to offer less to you.

Each day,
by your great love to be
diminished,
until at last I am
so decreased by your hand
and you so grown in me
that my whole offering
is just an emptiness
for you to fill
or not,
according to your will.

So, in patient obedience, I listen. After my anxiety calms, when I begin to enjoy the vacation from speech, my heart opens. I begin to hear the whispers of God that are waiting for me if I only stop to listen.

When meditating on the Lord’s Prayer, Martin Luther finds himself in such a richness of thought that he goes no further with the words and listens. He says, “For the Holy Spirit preaches there, in the silence, and one word of its sermon is far better than a thousand of my prayers.”

Luther writes of the Holy Spirit’s preaching, but I venture to say that he doesn’t mean that the Spirit speaks in human words. Sometimes, we do hear actual words in our minds and hearts when we engage in the work of contemplation, but often the communication is wordless and yet, somehow, still communication.

After several visits to Sacred Heart, I begin to hear the word that comes to me in silence from the Holy One who is Mystery, yet dwells at the center of my life.

And God says to me:

My pleasure is to know you and to be with you and to enjoy you. The time you spend with me is not about achieving something. Instead, it is a time to become more aware of me. The light will shine and there will be a radiance beyond your imagining. When or how it will come is not for you to know. But the riches yet to be revealed are splendorous and inexhaustible.

People attracted to mystic spirituality are often by nature contemplative, introspective, intuitive, and focused on an inner world. The gift of mystic spirituality is the ability to move past what is physically seen and heard, and to engage in a “deeper sort of knowing”. Being is more important than doing. When you meet a mystic whose spirituality is well developed, you may feel as if you are resting in the eye of the storm of life where all is calm.

James Sewell is a colleague on the staff of West End United Methodist Church when I take my first church position as Director of Ministries with Children and Their Families. My first task is to gather the leaders of our day camp for training. We own property on a Tennessee lake and practice primitive camping with children. The groups create a home-in-the-woods, lashing together tripods for campfire cooking, tables for studying, and log pews for worship. James’ role in the training is to help us learn to lead the children to worship God in the out-of-doors. As a mystic, he is quiet and observant with a dry sense of humor. When he looks at me, I am sure that he can see my soul.

He begins his time of training by walking us deep into the woods. We sit down on the ground, slightly apart from one another. His only words are, “Wait and watch”.

After several minutes, my patience begins to wear thin. I think, “He doesn’t have a lesson plan! He’s going to wing it, at the expense of my training session!” And, as if cued to my thoughts, a large yellow Monarch butterfly descends from the tree above James’ head, coming to light on his finger as he rests his hands on a tree stump. We are spell bound. Sometime in the next moments, James begins to speak to the butterfly about transformation and new life. It is one of the purest moments of worship I have ever experienced.

May God who is both Mystery and Majesty guide us to silent places – maybe the canyons of Rocksborough, or the backyard deck, or the flicker of firelight, or the breaking dawn - that we might be still and know.