“And then she told me, ‘Your father, your girlfriend, and your brother were run off the road. They didn’t make it. They’re dead.’ I didn’t know what to say. How do you respond to hearing those words over the phone?”

As he told me this story, my friend began to subtly cry—one small tear at a time. I didn’t know what to say either. But I quickly realized, there’s nothing to say—just listen. In listening, I learned something profound.

The art of listening alone is profound. But I learned something else from my friend on Tuesday night. After telling me his story, he began to talk about something that is shockingly taboo: Christ is mystery.

The words of Paul suddenly rang in my head. Paul says to the Ephesians:

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Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, mystics were a sect of orthodox Christianity. Today, they are often labeled cultic-style prophets or hippies. But what if mysticism still has something to offer us and we are missing it because of misplaced labels?

 

The Crazies Ruined the Fun for Everyone

I have had my fair share of run-ins with cultic prophets. There’s no way around it: They’re crazy. I don’t immediately doubt people who claim to have seen visions of God, had transcendent experiences, or encountered semi-divine creatures, but I am a bit leery of them.