Mystic traditions and modern psychology

When I was in seminary, one of my favorite classes was Mysticism. I didn’t think I would like it. I was 24 and a starving student, arriving late to class in jeans and a t-shirt, juggling four jobs in order to keep my student loan debts down, while killing myself to keep my grades up. I was in a constant state of exhaustion. When I settled in my seat with my brain buzzing, I looked around at my classmates.

The women were at least thirty years older than me. The age difference didn’t bother me, but the fact that they occupied a different space in life did. They seemed so financially and physically comfortable, like they had “arrived.” Everything was settled (at least, that’s what it seemed from the outside)—their kids were grown, their mortgage was paid off, and they were looking forward to their spouse’s retirement. They wore Stevie Nixish flowing skirts, lived with their husbands’ ample salaries, and took seminary courses as a hobby. They spent time between class comparing the amenities at different monasteries—the food, the view, the wine tours, and the liturgy. I had no idea that this world of retreat-tourism existed until then. And yet, they had first-class seats as they participated in other people’s asceticism, which made me feel queasy and jealous all at the same time.  

Then we studied the texts. The professor encouraged us to pick one particular mystic and spend the most time with him or her, as we surveyed the others. I chose Meister Eckhart with Dr. Ellen Babinsky’s encouragement, because she knew me well and she was a genius when it came to mystic match-making. Babinsky said that our mystic would become foundational to our thought and that we would end up reading and rereading them for the rest of our lives. It was true. Two decades later, my textbook is worn and dog-eared, with years of underlining, highlighting, and marginalia. And my passions for Eckhart has expanded to an appreciation for mysticism in general.