What Is Christian Mysticism? (A Brief History)
At its heart, mysticism is the pursuit of direct experience with the Divine—encounters that transcend doctrines and rational explanations. It has been part of Christianity since the beginning.
What is Mysticism?
I was taught in my evangelical upbringing to avoid anything too “mystical.”
It sounded suspicious—dangerous, even Satanic.
The church I grew up in was especially wary of anything that felt “New Age,” though to this day I’m not totally sure what that label was meant to include. Mystics were people who talked about experiences, visions, and union with God in ways that didn’t fit neatly into sermons or Bible studies.
But the truth is, mysticism is one of the oldest through-lines in Christian history.
So what exactly is it?
At its heart, mysticism is the pursuit of direct experience with the Divine—encounters that transcend doctrines and rational explanations.
People have described these experiences in many different ways: as union with God, as visions of light, or as a deep sense of presence beyond words.
And for two thousand years, it has both inspired and unsettled the institutional church.
The Desert Beginnings
Not long after Christianity emerged—by the late third and early fourth centuries—a wave of believers began fleeing the cities and disappearing into the Egyptian desert.
Why did they leave?
Part of it was disillusionment.
When the Roman Empire officially embraced Christianity under Constantine, faith quickly became entangled with power, privilege, and politics. What had once been a movement of outsiders risking persecution started to look, to some, like an institution more interested in status than transformation.
Others left because they were drawn to radical simplicity.
They believed that to find God, you had to strip life down to silence, solitude, and prayer.
And for many, the desert offered something else: a freedom from an emerging church system that limited direct access to God.
Unlike earlier generations of Christians, these early desert monks weren’t fleeing Roman persecution. Their flight was more a rejection of power and privilege than an escape from danger.
Antony the Great was one of the first—leaving behind wealth and reputation to live in solitude. Pachomius organized the first communities of monks living under a shared rule. Macrina, the sister of Basil the Great, guided other women into lives of contemplation and service.
Their practices were varied, but often included:
Hesychasm: stillness and inner quiet before God
Fasting: not just self-denial, but a way to clear the mind
Repetitive prayer: the beginnings of what would become the Jesus Prayer (“Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me”)
The desert became a laboratory for discovering what happens when you strip life down to silence.
These early mystics believed God was most present where everything else fell away.
Medieval Flourishing
By the Middle Ages, mysticism had spread across Europe and was taking on new, vivid forms.
Monks, nuns, and laypeople alike described encounters with God that defied language and convention.
Julian of Norwich recorded a series of visions she called showings, in which Christ appeared to her and assured her that all shall be well.
Meister Eckhart preached sermons about union with God so radical that he was later put on trial for heresy. He spoke of a “birth of God in the soul”—an idea that alarmed church authorities because it blurred the line between Creator and creation.
Hildegard of Bingen composed luminous music, described visions of divine light coursing through all of life, and wrote natural histories that wove science and spirituality together.
And then there was Francis of Assisi.
Francis grew up wealthy but gave everything away to live among the poor. His mystical experiences were inseparable from his radical simplicity and love of creation.
He preached that all creatures were brothers and sisters. His Canticle of the Sun celebrates the divine presence in every part of nature.
According to tradition, near the end of his life, Francis was said to have received the stigmata—wounds believed to mirror the crucifixion of Christ. Many saw this as the ultimate mystical union with Jesus’s suffering.
This period didn’t just produce isolated visionaries—it set the stage for spiritual practices that shaped mainstream Christianity:
Lectio Divina: slow, meditative reading of scripture, moving from reading to reflection to silent union with God
Bridal mysticism: describing the soul’s relationship to God in intimate, almost romantic language
Devotio Moderna: an emphasis on interior, personal devotion over ritual and hierarchy, which would eventually inspire texts like The Imitation of Christ, written by Thomas à Kempis in the early 15th century—a book that became one of the most influential Catholic devotional works in the Western church
Mysticism in this era wasn’t confined to the margins—it was becoming a vital current in the heart of Christian faith.
Suspicion and Suppression
But as mysticism spread, so did suspicion.
Any time someone claimed a direct experience of God, it threatened the authority of official theology.
Marguerite Porete, a Beguine mystic, was burned at the stake in 1310 for her book The Mirror of Simple Souls. Her offense wasn’t simply that she had visions—it was that she insisted no institution could mediate her union with God.
Meister Eckhart faced condemnation, and some of his teachings were formally declared heretical after his death.
The Inquisition spent centuries policing any spirituality that seemed to bypass the church’s control.
Mysticism has always carried that subversive edge because it insists that no hierarchy or system owns access to the Divine.
Reformation and Renewal
The Protestant Reformation brought even more suspicion of mystical language, which often sounded too Catholic or too subjective.
Yet mysticism didn’t disappear—it adapted.
Jakob Böhme, a German shoemaker, wrote about visions of divine light and the unfolding of God within the soul. His writings influenced later Protestant spirituality.
George Fox founded the Quakers, teaching that the Inner Light—the direct presence of God—was available to everyone without clergy or sacraments.
New practices emerged:
Silent worship: Quakers gathering in expectant stillness
Pietism: emphasizing heartfelt devotion and personal experience over cold doctrine
Even in times of upheaval, mysticism kept reemerging—like a spring you couldn’t permanently cover.
Modern Echoes
Today, Christian mysticism exists in virtually every expression of the faith. (And though we haven’t explored it here, some form of mysticism can be found in nearly every world religion.)
Thomas Merton, a Trappist monk, wrote about contemplative prayer as a path to authenticity and compassion.
Henri Nouwen made the mystical life accessible to ordinary people, blending deep spirituality with psychological insight.
Richard Rohr, a Franciscan friar (and a mentor of mine), has become one of the most influential voices in modern Christian mysticism—teaching about non-dual consciousness, the contemplative path, and the universal Christ.
Cynthia Bourgeault teaches Centering Prayer, a modern contemplative practice rooted in ancient methods.
Many who are deconstructing old certainties find themselves drawn to mysticism—not because it offers easy answers, but because it makes space for mystery.
Side note: Some would also point to Pentecostal and charismatic movements as a kind of modern mysticism, with practices like speaking in tongues, prophecy, and healing understood as direct encounters with the Holy Spirit. However, these traditions have developed their own distinct theology and culture, and are often treated as a separate stream of experiential Christianity. I’ll be writing another Brief History article soon—A Brief History of Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity—to explore how these movements emerged and why they have shaped so much of the modern faith landscape.
Was Mysticism Always on the Edges?
But here’s the bigger question:
Did we go back far enough?
We’ve traced mysticism from the deserts of Egypt through medieval Europe and into our modern lives.
But what if mysticism wasn’t something that emerged later—on the edges of Christianity?
What if it was there from the very beginning?
Even in the centuries between Paul and the Desert Fathers, mystical impulses were already taking shape. Early Christians recorded visions and ecstatic prophecies, as in the Montanist movement. Writers like Origen described the soul’s ascent to God through contemplation. Gnostic communities emphasized hidden spiritual knowledge and direct experience of the divine. Even martyrdom was sometimes seen as the ultimate mystical union with Christ.
But keep going back…
Look at Paul.
He wasn’t just a teacher or a converted Pharisee. He was, by any reasonable definition, a mystic. He claimed to have visions of the risen Christ. He described being “caught up to the third heaven,” hearing things he wasn’t permitted to repeat. He spoke of a Spirit groaning within us beyond words.
And Jesus himself?
You could make a strong case that the historical Jesus was a Jewish mystic.
He withdrew into solitude for weeks at a time. He taught his followers to pray in secret. He spoke of the kingdom as something already here, within and among us. He described union with God in ways that scandalized the religious authorities, ultimately leading to his death.
Some would argue that the Gospel of John is so different from the other three because it reflects the Jesus who emerged a generation later in more mystical Christian communities. Unlike the Synoptic Gospels, John focuses less on short teachings and more on cosmic language, spiritual union, and interior transformation. It as portrays Christ as the eternal Logos—a presence believers could encounter directly, not just a teacher to follow.
Maybe mysticism was never meant to be a fringe expression of Christianity.
Maybe its founder—and its greatest architect—were mystics from the start.
A Personal Note
I’ve said from the beginning that I don’t really care what you end up believing.
Whether you call yourself Christian, agnostic, spiritual-but-not-religious, atheist, or something else entirely—I want this space to be safe for you.
But for the sake of transparency, I’ll share where I land.
I identify as a Christian mystic.
But I also identify as a materialist.
I don’t believe in a supernatural realm separate from this one.
For me, all of this—what we call spirit, consciousness, God—is somehow embedded in the material reality we’re part of.
I believe in mystery and transcendence.
I believe there is a connection—between humanity, the earth, the universe, and “God,” as I understand that word.
All of it seems real to me, even though I can’t explain it in any neat or systematic way.
If you’re curious, I wrote more about how I hold these beliefs in this post.
Maybe you feel something like that too.
Or maybe you don’t.
Either way, you’re welcome here.
Beautifully laid out, Joe. What I appreciate most is how you resist turning mysticism into a niche within Christianity when—if we’re honest—it’s more like the spine. From Jesus retreating to lonely places to Paul’s third-heaven vision, to the Desert Mothers and Fathers rejecting empire religion for inner fire, mysticism wasn’t the fringe. It was the fire that kept the faith alive when institutions went cold.
Also love that you named Marguerite Porete. More folks need to know her story—burned not for blasphemy, but for daring to say you don’t need priests to touch the Divine.
The church fears what it can’t control. But the mystic doesn’t need control—just stillness, and maybe a little holy defiance.
I have enjoyed your writing Joe. I have always been drawn to the mystics for that very reason you state, the mystery. The sense of divine presence and yet the mystery of it all.
Recently I finished reading Martin Laird’s Into the Silent Land and there is a quote that I felt speaks of the heart of Christian mysticism.
“God is already the ground of our being…most of us spend most of our lives more or less ignorant of this…this ignorance is pervasive and renders us like the proverbial deep-sea fisherman, who spends his life fishing for minnows while standing on a whale.”