By Jim Nichols

Mystery, problem, enchantment, thin places.

Author Joan Didion, when asked her discernment of a topic, replied, “I don’t know what I think about it until I write about it.”

That response came to mind when a friend asked me what I thought about “mystery.” What is it? Is it different from a problem? What is a mystery to me? How do I deal with mystery? Perhaps if I write a bit, I might understand better.

My wife and I have taken three identifiable pilgrimages to the Celtic Christian areas of Lindisfarne (England), Iona (Scotland), and Taizé (France). Others have historically described these as “thin places” where the boundary between heaven and earth seems more permeable. They encounter God in fresh ways, but impossible to describe; it is mysterious.

A thin place does not occur just on a trip across the ocean. If we are attentive to the enchanted world, we encounter thin places all around us. They might involve nature, many people or no one else, sounds or silence. As we learn to tune in to the presence of God, something happens to us (perhaps only fleetingly), and we realize we have tapped into a holy mystery.

The distinction between a problem and a mystery is not a hard one for me. 

Biology is filled with problems. It is one of the reasons I became a biologist. Topics that are looking for explanations and connections abound. I have seen the eyes of my fellow biologists light up and their speech become more rapid as they enter a discussion about their research topic. They seem almost enchanted. My graduate advisor suggested two potential dissertation research problems to pursue. A later research director assigned me a problem that he wanted to address in his lab. They were problems to be solved, but not mysteries.

Humans have well-developed problem-solving skills. We do experiments, we collect the data, we go on to the next problem. This is not to minimize the magnitude of problem-solving. Designing a COVID vaccine was a gigantic problem eventually solved spectacularly.

But mysteries must be embraced, not solved. The language of problem uses concepts or techniques we understand as humans. The language of mystery (since it potentially deals with what is beyond space and time) requires metaphor. “The Kingdom of God is within you.” “The Lord is my Shepherd.”

In scripture, “mystery” is a large word.

The Old Testament use of the word generally refers to a secret, sometimes religious and at other times human. The New Testament uses the word almost exclusively in a religious sense. Often there is a “secret” aspect to it, but the strong hint is that the secret will soon be revealed. That revelation connects to God’s plan for the earth and humans. It is a divine plan concealed until God’s suitable time.

Scratching that surface a bit, we see such notes as Mark 4 where Jesus explains that he speaks in parables and thus only certain ones can understand the “secret of the kingdom of God.” In Romans 11 and 16 we hear that the mystery is that a hardening has come upon Israel so that Gentiles can be attracted to God. In fact, the welcoming of the Gentiles is explained as “. . . the mystery hidden for the ages.” Ephesians 1 writes of the mystery as the unification of the earth with all people.

Other fascinating and provoking scriptures are in Colossians 1 where the mystery is defined as “Christ in you.” I Corinthians 15 has the wonderful passage “. . . I will tell you a mystery. We will not all die . . . but be changed.” At that point, I want to say, “Keep writing, Paul, don’t stop! Explain that.” However, it is a mystery.

What are mysteries for you? 

Where did I come from? Where am I going? In the space between these two mysteries am I responsible to someone or something larger than all this? What is my role in this in-between time?

Apparently, monks and nuns before us learned to incorporate mystery into their lives. It resulted in a “let it be” approach that decreased apprehension about the fragilities and dangers of life. Can we learn that certainty and resolution might be fine human goals, but eternally they remain illusory and unachievable?

Perhaps it is just worth staying in the conversation.

The fine hymn Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus concludes that, if we do so, “. . . the things of earth will grow strangely dim in the light of his glory and grace.”

Jim Nichols is a retired Abilene Christian University biology professor and current hospital chaplain