This is part three of a 7-part series. You can start
with the Introduction here.
So far in this series, I have argued that “occult” is a more
complicated word than popular usage often suggests. Historically, it refers to
what is hidden or concealed, not automatically to what is evil. I have also
suggested that Christianity itself contains a deep engagement with mystery,
unseen reality, ritual, and mystical experience.
The question therefore becomes not simply what is “occult,”
but how we discern among spiritual claims, practices, and experiences.
My own approach begins with my Christian formation. My
foundational Christian teaching from childhood was Methodist, the Wesleyan
expression of the Anglican tradition. That formation remains an important part
of me, even as my spiritual life has expanded into other areas of study and
experience. Methodism gave me a Christianity concerned not only with what one
believes, but with how faith is lived.
During my childhood, I learned that believing about God
is different from believing in God. As an adult returning to church for
a while after decades studying other traditions, I came to understand more
fully that grace matters. Transformation, compassion, and community matter. As
a spiritual individual, I know that the fruits of spiritual life matter.
My understanding of Jesus' teachings is broad and
progressive. I find value in an approach that brings scripture, tradition,
reason, and experience into conversation with one another. I do not see these
as four simple boxes to check, nor do I imagine that they always agree.
Scripture matters, but scripture must be interpreted. We
encounter it through language, history, culture, translation, and our own
assumptions. I can speak of the scriptures of Christianity, but as Paul
referenced in Acts 17:28 and later Christian philosophers built upon, there are
universal truths to be found in the scriptures of many traditions.
Tradition carries accumulated wisdom. It gives us the voices
of those who have wrestled with questions of faith before us. But tradition
also bears the limitations of history. It can preserve profound insight and
prejudice, as well as structures of power.
Reason allows us to question, examine, compare, and remain
intellectually responsible. A spiritual claim does not become true merely
because someone experiences it intensely or attributes it to God.
Experience also matters. Faith is not merely a set of
propositions inherited from others. It is lived. It is encountered in bodies,
relationships, communities, suffering, beauty, nature, ritual, prayer, and
moments that may resist easy explanation. Experience, however, must also be
interpreted. A profound experience may be real without our first explanation of
it being correct.
That principle applies equally to visions, mystical
experiences, charismatic phenomena, dreams, channeling, divination, intuition,
and encounters described in other spiritual traditions. For me, this creates a
framework of discernment rather than a system of automatic answers.
I can ask what Scripture contributes to a question without
pretending that a verse ends every discussion. I can listen to tradition
without assuming that every inherited judgment is beyond reconsideration. I can
use reason without reducing all reality to what can presently be measured. I
can honor experience without making every subjective impression
self-authenticating. This approach gives me room to remain rooted in the
teachings of Jesus while also being open to mystery.
Jesus remains central to my spiritual discernment. I
encounter in his life and teachings a call to radical love, compassion,
healing, justice, liberation, inclusion, and awareness of God's presence. For
me, following Jesus does not require fear of every spiritual vocabulary that
developed outside Christianity. It does require discernment.
This is likely where my Wesleyan formation continues to
speak most clearly: What are the fruits? What kind of person am I
becoming? What kind of community does a specific spiritual practice create? Does
it deepen compassion? Does it encourage justice? Does it enlarge love? Does it
foster humility? Does it free people, or make them dependent? Does it help us
become more attentive to the sacredness of others?
These questions do not solve every theological problem. But
they prevent spiritual discernment from becoming merely an exercise in
labeling. My own use of this framework eventually led me toward a larger
question.
What if all creation exists within the presence of God? In
the aforementioned scripture, Acts 17, Paul quotes pagan philosophers Epimenides
(For in him we live and move and have our being) and Aratus (For we
are indeed his offspring).
What if God is not simply present at particular times, in
particular buildings, or through particular religious traditions? That question
led me toward panentheism.
Next in the series
My Wesleyan roots and Anglican framework give me a way to
remain grounded while continuing to explore. But my understanding of God has
increasingly become panentheistic: everything exists within God, while God
remains infinitely more than everything that exists.
In Part Four, I will explore what that means for creation,
nature, embodiment, and the possibility of encountering the sacred beyond
conventional religious boundaries.
