Introducing the mystics, jagged edges and all
A stained glass window featuring Teresa of Ávila (Wikimedia Commons)This summer bloomed with images of strong women embracing their whole selves. We watched Taylor Swift sing in sequins about how much easier things would be if she were a man. Simone Biles achieved three Olympic gold medals while advocating for the importance of mental health. And Ilona Maher took the internet by storm as she dominated the rugby field, then rocked a Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover, all while promoting the importance and beauty of all body types. Kamala Harris ran for the highest office in our country with a campaign vibrant with the belief that women can contain multitudes.
While these current cultural examples speak volumes to women’s identity, I often wonder where the images of empowered women are in the Catholic Church. After all, our perception of our foremothers in the church affects how we engage with faith and spirituality. We are consistently fed images of meek, demure women quietly living out their faith. This can be a beautiful expression, but where are the firecrackers who forged new paths?
Where are the reformers, the questioners, the women bold enough to trust themselves, who lived out a feminine spirituality?
Shannon K. Evans, a vocal proponent for women finding their voice and place within spirituality, has our answer. In her new book, The Mystics Would Like a Word: Six Women Who Met God and Found a Spirituality for Today, Evans beautifully articulates how the spirituality developed by these mystics still inspires and applies to us today.
Evans expertly weaves her own experiences with stories of the mystics into a tapestry of welcome for those who have felt like outsiders in the church of the well-behaved. She re-examines and revitalizes the stories of the mystics through the female gaze. As in her earlier works, Rewilding Motherhood and Feminist Prayers for My Daughter, nourishing themes like the intersectionality of Christianity, feminism and liberation reside within the pages of this book.
Written with her trademark humor and candor, The Mystics Would Like a Word emphasizes that mysticism is meant for all people. Using affectionate nicknames and epithets for the mystics such as “Big Sis” for Teresa of Ávila, or “the eccentric patron of self-belonging” for Margery Kempe, Evans creates the feel of community through her words.
The experience of reading pieces of Evans’ story alongside the journeys of the mystics feels like encountering dear friends. This is a group of women who see all your jagged edges that other churchgoers may have balked at and say: “You are loved. Your experience matters. I have been there too.” The book leaves you with the distinct impression that you have friends alongside you on the path of feminine spirituality not only in the mystics, but also in Evans herself.
A few years ago, I was at a tender place in my faith, feeling adrift from religion in part due to the pandemic and need for quarantine. The scraps of community I found online for Catholic women felt limiting in their expression of women’s experiences, a sentiment that Evans touches on early in this book.
It felt to me at the time as if identifying as a good, Christian woman meant coloring within conservative lines of meekness and submission. Reading Rewilding Motherhood revitalized my spirituality and opened my eyes to a path and expression of faith that finally felt authentic and in line with my beliefs. The Mystics Would Like a Word continues that process of self-growth and learning to live out a nurturing, feminine spirituality.
Breathing new life into the stories we thought we knew, Evans delivers an account that honors the women these mystics truly were. She does not shy away from their whole selves, addressing their struggles and the historical realities in which they lived. We see careful consideration and curiosity throughout Evans’s examination of the mystics’ stories as she reflects on how elements such as childhood trauma, mental health struggles, and the historical and political climate of the time influenced their lives and faith.
Jesuit Media Lab, an online community of Ignatian creators, recently hosted Evans for a workshop titled “Employing Historical Saints and Mystics in Your Creative Work.” Evans spoke to how a writer should approach the stories of real, historical individuals as a beginner: “[W]ith the curiosity with which you would want someone to look at your own life. To see not just behaviors or actions you took, but looking further into your stories for motivations.”
She went on to explain how within her research of these women, their humanity stood out as an interesting and vital component of their stories. Evans shared that these human aspects of the mystics’ lives were elements that “you don’t want to lose through the fear of not painting the pious, perfect picture. We want the full picture, the full human.”
When art and literature examine the multifaceted, human nature of these historical figures whom we have been taught to emulate and revere, the audience is provided with relatable examples of a faithful life. Thérèse of Lisieux was more than a little flower: Her writings convey powerfully feminist views and a woman of deep convictions. Hildegard of Bingen was a Renaissance woman with a broad range of interests and proficiencies living in the Middle Ages. Evans paints a picture of female mystics who struggled with their mental health but did not let that limit their ministry, who dreamed of answering the call to priesthood while still respecting and loving the church, who were mothers and pilgrims, fierce and soft, holy and messy.
These are women in whom I can see myself, whom I want to teach my daughters about, because they are more than the flawless images crafted from their stories. These women lived, they wrestled with questions, they discovered their voice, and they encountered God in ways that continue to inspire us today.
Throughout the book, readers will find encouragement to trust themselves as Teresa of Ávila did, to move past their discomfort with fragility and vulnerability like Margery Kempe, and to claim their identity as beloved like Hildegard of Bingen. We too can dare to imagine the divine feminine like Julian of Norwich, can explore our own sweet, subversive dreams like Thérèse of Lisieux, can move into contemplative action like Catherine of Siena—because we are empowered by the examples of these mystics to open ourselves to the movements of the Spirit, to ask bold questions, to bravely voice our answers and to encounter God.
When we join hands with these mystics in our pursuit of a strong feminine spirituality, we embrace the full picture of whom God created us to be. We step into a life filled with mystery, holiness, vulnerability and strength; because when we live out our multitudes, we are welcomed by a sisterhood of mystics who have paved the way for us.
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