This moved with the cadence of something ancient - Jacob’s limp, Moses in the cleft, but also the unmistakable tone of our time: the soul asking, trembling, laughing, enduring the strangeness of God’s nearness. I’ve come to believe, and try to trace through Desert and Fire, that every true mystical encounter is less about spectacle than surrender. That God, still today, comes not with wind or flame, but with something far riskier: gentleness.
What you’ve described here is what the mystics rarely speak of plainly but all seem to bear - the hidden wound that glows, not bleeds; the weight of divine presence that doesn’t always console, but remains. This is the heart of incarnational mysticism: that the sacred does not always arrive to lift us out of fear, but to sit beside us in it, to form us not despite our sadness but through it. And somehow, inexplicably, we are changed. Not like a vision changes, but like water shapes stone.
Thank you for trusting the sadness, and for naming the joy that came after - not instead of it, but braided with it. This is what I think Moses felt, walking down the mountain after seeing only God’s back: that holiness doesn’t always answer us - it simply marks us. And quietly, it stays.
Surrender is a grace bestowed as part of my encounters with God. A gentle assurance that I can trust the Mystery without understanding much all at once. Presence continues to unfold it's meaning. Also, thank you for that vision wounds that glow, not bleed... May all our wounds cry allelujah!
Thank you, Christiana, for these beautiful and challenging and vulnerable words. It sounds as if this retreat was exactly what was needed, and came at a time when you could receive it as a gift.
I always enjoy hearing how other people encounter God or sense God moving in their lives. You put words to your experience so beautifully, and it was wonderful to be reminded of how Jacob and Moses encountered God in their lives as I continue to seek God in my own.
This moved with the cadence of something ancient - Jacob’s limp, Moses in the cleft, but also the unmistakable tone of our time: the soul asking, trembling, laughing, enduring the strangeness of God’s nearness. I’ve come to believe, and try to trace through Desert and Fire, that every true mystical encounter is less about spectacle than surrender. That God, still today, comes not with wind or flame, but with something far riskier: gentleness.
What you’ve described here is what the mystics rarely speak of plainly but all seem to bear - the hidden wound that glows, not bleeds; the weight of divine presence that doesn’t always console, but remains. This is the heart of incarnational mysticism: that the sacred does not always arrive to lift us out of fear, but to sit beside us in it, to form us not despite our sadness but through it. And somehow, inexplicably, we are changed. Not like a vision changes, but like water shapes stone.
Thank you for trusting the sadness, and for naming the joy that came after - not instead of it, but braided with it. This is what I think Moses felt, walking down the mountain after seeing only God’s back: that holiness doesn’t always answer us - it simply marks us. And quietly, it stays.
Surrender is a grace bestowed as part of my encounters with God. A gentle assurance that I can trust the Mystery without understanding much all at once. Presence continues to unfold it's meaning. Also, thank you for that vision wounds that glow, not bleed... May all our wounds cry allelujah!
Amen and amen! Surrender is so so hard. I like that description of that surrender as a grace. An important way to see it anew. Thank you!
Wow, what a beautiful description, Steve. You captured well the experience! Thank you so much for your words.
Keep up the good work, Christiana.
Thank you, Christiana, for these beautiful and challenging and vulnerable words. It sounds as if this retreat was exactly what was needed, and came at a time when you could receive it as a gift.
Thank you, my friend! It was a gift indeed.
I always enjoy hearing how other people encounter God or sense God moving in their lives. You put words to your experience so beautifully, and it was wonderful to be reminded of how Jacob and Moses encountered God in their lives as I continue to seek God in my own.
Thank you, Sarah! I love hearing other people’s stories of meeting God too!