I gather words like a crow gathers shiny things, and I found another word this past week I want to live into more: mystagogy.
The word comes from the Greek mystagogos, which is that time when a person discovers what it means to participate in the mysteries of faith.
But what does that mean, especially for anyone who has been burned by a faith tradition?
For me, it means saying yes to a Greater Than. We don’t have to be able to explain it or even name it (but if it ever makes us feel ashamed or afraid, then we can be sure—that is not the Greater Than).
This Wild Mystery longs for an affirmation from us, a Yes, however timid or resounding it may be. Yes, I will rise up and lean in. Yes, I believe there is this Bigger Energy at work, and I’m willing to participate in the Story of what will be.
Mystagogy means when we say yes to that invitation, we open ourselves up to receiving the baffling gift of grace that was ours all along, and what is grace but love, love for who we are as we are. Period.
Can you imagine living into that mystery—of being loved, of knowing you are okay, no matter what? Because that is another mystery—how are we supposed to do that in a world designed to tear us apart at every turn?
Maybe the mystery is how to awaken to what is already inside: this dancing and burning brightness that is ours and ours alone.
What if we drop into our hearts and let ourselves be in awe—of our selves? Of being alive? What if that is enough? What if we trust we are enough?
What if we dwell in that innermost space—deeper than any “flaws” we might have—and surrender to the gentle and fierce Love burning at our core?
I’ll admit. I’m shocked at myself, writing this. Like many, I’ve been burned by faith before. Plus, it’s easier to say no than yes. Have you ever noticed that? And for almost my entire life, I’ve struggled with how can I be both smart and faithful?
I don’t have an answer, or maybe I do. Time and again, I can feel the Truth of This. The Hope of Yes.
It happened again a couple of weeks ago, when I visited a sacred place. I was alone as the wild wind whipped around me, and I was pulled as if by some powerful force to reach out my hand and touch a small puddle in a rock. As soon as I did, it felt like I was plugging my hand into an outlet in the wall. I could literally feel the life force flowing up my right arm.
The water was Soft. Alive.
I can’t explain that mystery, nor do I want to. What I want to do is to practice mystagogy, to practice my yes and put myself out there every single day. I want to meet the wild spaces and feel the difference, where I can be small and huge, loved and okay no matter what.
And if that is the mystery of life, why, I hope I never solve it.