Meditations on the Mystics | Catherine of Siena | Dialogue 1
They are another me; for they have lost and drowned their own will and have clothed themselves and united themselves and conformed themselves with mine.
CATHERINE OF SIENA, The Dialogue, 1
This post commences a series of meditations on excerpts from the mystics. I have come to appreciate the insights and imagery of the late medieval European mystics (1300-1550) over the years–particularly those of Germanic, Italian, and Dutch descent (e.g. Henry Suso, Catherine of Siena, and John Ruusbroec). I wish more Protestants read them.
The medieval mystics have some of the best political theology, poetic expressions, and convicted sayings I’ve ever read. As much as they talk about the spiritual, it’s always about the material. As much as they advocate for drawing near to God, it’s about loving your neighbor. As much as they mention feeling and emotion, it’s about getting their lives in order.
Catherine of Siena does this better than any of them. Uneducated, yet a Doctor of the Church in the Catholic tradition, she astutely apprehends Christian concepts and principles but she has a brilliant and unique way of communicating them colloquially and in the vernacular. How she employs references to bread, blood, wine, cross, trees, pus, tears, and breasts is worth the price of reading her.
Another me. What is a “Me?” A “Me” is not as abstract as an “I.” But what is it? My mind immediately goes to Augustine and David Hume. Is it my memory that makes me a Me (à la Hume)? Is it founded in the fact that I remember that I am what I have been over the years? Or is it a presence of the Almighty that tells me who I am (à la Augustine)? Is my relation to God my reference point for determining my identity?
The creature cannot become the Creator. He can become a creator, as he has been created in the Creator’s image. But he cannot become a Creator. He cannot take on the “me-ness” of a God. Yet he can be united to God’s nature. He can be so close that his nature and purpose comes from Him. He cannot become God, but he can be in God. In Christ. So that even God doesn’t see him, but sees Christ. The Original and Ultimate “Me” sees “Me” as His own “Me.”
Union or even communion isn’t fusion, though. Deification isn’t identification. Becoming one with something doesn’t entail becoming that something. It means you come alongside it, under it, in it. Now that might mean that others can’t see you differentiated from it. They look, and they don’t see you. They see “it.” But that’s the point. You are not it, but you have become united with it. Your “Me” becomes His “Me.”
Lost and drowned a will. You can only lose something if you have it. If you own it. If it’s in your possession and you hold it tight. Losing it can mean that you have ceased paying attention to it. Or, you were keeping tabs on it but you have allowed it to run around and hide behind things that are taking more of your attention than it. You took your eyes off of it, and now you don’t see it. It was once a focus of yours, yet you took it for granted. Now it has become your focus in a different mode.
To drown something presupposes that you take hold of it. That you put your hands around it and that you have hold it down under water. Not just for a moment, but for an extended period of time. And not just for the goal of holding it down, but to end its life. To kill it. To suffocate it. To fill its body with water instead of air. Instead of using water to refresh and cleanse, you use it to kill and destroy. Water becomes a weapon.
We drown our wills when we are baptized in the Holy Spirit. We come under the hands of Christ and go under grace in order to die. That water is a grave. And in going into that grave, we are raised up in newness and refreshment. We lay ourselves down in order to be raised up. But we can't go up if we don’t first go down. The wills that we worship must first be killed in order to worship the Giver of the will.
But know that it will fight to stay alive. To stay above water. With its last, gasping breath, the will will say, “But I’m harmless! I’m neutral! All you have to do is put me to good use! Tell me what to do and I will do it. I can help you!” But you have to understand that it’s lying through its every utterance. It’s a ravenous dragon posing as a cute midget. Mind the butter knife behind its back.
We don’t drown from the water that comes from above. No one ever drowned from heavy rain. Their house may have collapsed or they got into a car accident, but they didn’t drown. Drowning comes from going into the deep waters. The waters that rise up above your head. The waters that are unrelenting. Not the waters that fall upon you, but the waters that overtake you. Not water coming down, but water consuming you.
Clothed themselves in my blood. The union is not merely one of flesh. It’s not just a body that becomes part of a Body. The believer doesn’t merely become one with Christ. He doesn’t simply become one flesh with his Savior. He takes on his Lord’s clothing. He drapes himself with his Lord’s garb–His blood. His blood is His clothing. It is how He appears. When you look at the face of Jesus, you cannot but see His blood.
When we are united to Christ, when we take on Jesus, we wipe His blood all over us. We become stained. Stained in a different way than the child who jumps into the mud puddle. The latter is dirty and gross. The former is beautiful and intriguing. Yet it is striking. To be covered in blood will draw attention. “Did he murder someone?” “What happened to him?” We don’t expect people to be covered in blood. We expect blood to stay on the inside–to be covered by skin, not cover skin.
He offers the blood, but we must put the blood on ourselves. He has shed it, but we must drape ourselves in it. There it is and we must do something with it. We must apply it to our chests as a shirt. We must rub it on our legs as a pair of pants. We must lift it up and put it tightly over our feet and ankles as socks. And if it’s cold outside, we must apply it over our chest twice as a coat. We might even drip it on our heads as a hat. His blood must cover every square inch of our skin.
United and conformed to his will. To unite to something presupposes that something is not attached to another thing. They are at least separated, if not in opposition. And they are being brought together. And once they are brought together, they have to coalesce in order to be united. They have to meld into something. They can’t just be connected or hitched together. They have to come together. They have to be formed together. This is what conformed means.
Though we annihilate our wills, as mentioned above, we do not cease to have wants, dreams, and longings. Our wills are emptied of their selfish ambitions, but they are not discarded. They are no longer filled with our wants, dreams, and longings, but His. Selfishness is replaced with sacrifice. Consumerism is substituted for compassion. White picket fences are swapped for a wedding with the King. Our wills and its wants, dreams, and longings get bigger.
