by Gary Bradley and Donald McGilchrist
 
Long before men could articulate their ideas in written form they captured the divine experience, the mysterious, with art. Cave paintings, rituals, voice sounds, instrumental sounds and gestures were among the many attempts to convey the
abstract.
 
In “Art: A New History,” Paul Johnson writes, “The first point to grasp is the immense fecundity of humans producing objects of art.” It’s arguable that art predated not only writing but that it was closely associated with the ordering instinct which makes society possible, and therefore, that it has always been essential to human happiness.
“The artist was the first professional,” says Mr. Johnson.
 
It’s fascinating how God could have so trusted the spirit and ordering instinct of man to engage in His truth and convey the spirit of it to his neighbor. One wonders, “Why didn’t God invent structured writing ‘in the beginning’ so there would never be error about those mysterious eternal essences?” Somewhere in the human spirit there emerges a longing to express the divine artistically. Perhaps error was not God’s big concern with man.
 
What role did Christendom play in celebrating and/or crushing the iconographic urge?
For, to represent God in form through the arts seems to be inevitable, irresistible.
 
As I reflected upon the verses below, it thrilled me to see that God has entrusted the revelation of His being, though the ages, to the hands and hearts of those who longed to see Him.
 
“God, after He spoke long ago…in many ways…in these last days has spoken to us in His Son…through whom also He made the world…And [the Son] is the radiance of His glory and the exact representation of His nature, and upholds all things by the word of His power …” Hebrews 1:1-3
 
Apaugasma (a- pow’-gas-mah); Greek word that expresses the visual radiance from a source; or effulgence: brilliant light radiating from something.
 
This has helped me to see that through both the written word and art, and many other ways, the radiance of the Divine shines forth and is seen.
 
What has been the history of the church in lifting up the works of the artist to express  such radiance? But more importantly: What will our role be in this endeavor? Have we paid so dear a price in our pursuit of error free living that we have placed the artist at the rear of the room of truth?

Much of Emily Dickinson’s poetry was aroused by the very limited view she had of the garden from her bedroom window. She did not get out much. Yet she wandered more than most. In this case, she recounts a rather mystical encounter:

I’ve heard an Organ talk, sometimes
In a Cathedral Aisle,
And understood no word it said –
Yet held my breath, the while –

And risen up – and gone away,
A more Bernardine* Girl –
Yet – know not what was done to me
In that old Chapel Aisle.

I am not sure what I mean when I say, ‘mystical encounters,’ but I imagine that Dickinson is referring to one here. The voice of an incomprehensible organ spoke not to Dickinson’s understanding, but to that place inside of her where desire and commitment wrestle to make up their mind. The rather unsuspecting nature of an organ and an ‘old Chapel Aisle’ create an element of surprise and mystery. Why should a building and instrument cause Dickinson to claim that she had “risen up” and “know not what was done to me,” compelled in a new moral direction?

We often tell children stories of such mystical encounters. Great journeys are full of them. Frodo Baggins and The Lord of the Rings, the rabbits of Watership Down, The Chronicles of Narnia all depict stories of personal transformations that occur through rather mysterious adventures. That is not to mention more overtly religious transformations of Paul and the Damascus Road, Jonah and the whale, or Moses and the burning bush.

These more legendary mystical encounters may serve to overshadow the value of more subtle personal experiences like the one Dickinson’s poem brings to mind, but they also can serve to inspire a new perspective on the immediate world around us. Life is full of possibilities. For some, venturing outside to explore the complexities of a spring rain provides a place of inner reflection and renewal. Others go to the theater or enjoy a particular wine or food in order to escape the sometimes thoughtless routines of life. Others still, like Dickinson, seldom need to roam further than their own garden to be moved by life’s mysteries.

While the term ‘mystical encounter’ will no doubt be saved for just a few of life’s experiences, the expectation that any moment could offer such a soulful stirring may change the way in which we see the world around us.

*Bernardine is a reference to a particular monastic order otherwise called Cistercian.