Supernaturalism: The natural state of faith-infused living
August 17, 2024 at 9:47 p.m.
The supernatural is real.
Transitional Deacon Liam Hosty of Indianapolis swings the censer toward pilgrims July 21, 2024, during the final day of the National Eucharistic Congress at Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis. (OSV News photo/Bob Roller)Bob Roller
We all know it. We all know that there are "things visible and invisible," and we've all experienced moments where the veil between the two has thinned-out and surprised us – through our dreams, our guts or our physical, peripheral senses – with information we need, consolations that feed or warnings we're smart to heed.
Like Hamlet, we all know there are "more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of" in our philosophies. We all go out in search of connecting with that thing – that force, that power, that energy, that "thing" – that exists beyond our perceived-as-natural world.
How we make that search, and how we engage with what we encounter while searching, has a lot to do with our own lived experiences – the permitted trials we've endured and how they've shaped the hope or cynicism we carry within us.
How linear is our reason, how ready our imaginations, how objectively black-and-white (or subjectively fuzzy) our intake fittings? How victimized do we feel, or how fortunate, how neglected or overwhelmed, and has our experience with formal religion either nurtured us or repelled us?
Our answers affect where we land on supernaturalism and how (or whether) the concept fits into our lives. If we think the supernatural is hogwash, we may land on atheism, agnosticism or scientism and move no further. If it's not nonsense, but also not for us, we might be drawn to the staid sort of faith-without-vulgar-talk-of-miracles found in mainline Protestantism, or the quiet, trace-supernaturalism of Buddhism.
The "spiritual but not religious" might be comfortable with the vagaries of paganism (supernaturalism but mostly – and dangerously – on one's own terms), or with the strictures of any sort of fundamentalism, where supernaturalism is acknowledged as real-but-stand-offish while the books and rules have primacy.
I passionately advocate for acknowledging the profound supernaturalism of the Catholic Church, where bread and wine, consecrated through prayer and ritual, bring into our space the very presence of the incarnate Lord, who feeds us, entering into our very veins and sinews, so we might become his vessels, bringing the light, the concern, the Body of Christ into the world.
Where grace – all unmerited – sacramentally assists the work of the Holy Spirit in ways material and immaterial.
Where a thought is a thing: mind and spirit reach out to heaven and there fall into the divine heart, sustenance and consolation of the Living God – who makes the thought of prayer into a thing of real efficacy and power (all mustard seeds and mountains), and through whom we become conduits of God's great and subversive freedom.
Where the natural and the supernatural are complimentary: the Communion of Saints not only touches time but impacts the world in ways large and small as we call on the interest and intercessions of our spiritual ancestors to impact our world, fully confident that we are heard and given a ready assist of intercession.
Where a thing blessed is a thing made sacred – icons, wedding rings, religious gear, rosaries and crucifixes and medals – and those sacred things contain a measure of the power invoked toward them.
Where blessings are powerful, because they are rooted in prayerful intention.
Where intention matters. We might say that our lives are lived at the busy corner of Intentions Avenue and Belief Boulevard, where both coalesce and are borne Godward on the energetic engines of hope and supernatural faith.
Even those who claim no faith testify to the unseen but true power of prayer, they do so with every "Oh, God!" or "Oh, Lord!" or "Have mercy!" Those gasps and pleas that rise from our guts – which always know what is true – betray all our doubt against the supernatural when either joy or horror are before us.
They are real, those joys and horrors. They are real, good and evil. How fortunate for us that they are also real, the things visible and invisible, the things natural and supernatural.
It is good to get comfortable living with, and talking about, these realities.
Elizabeth Scalia is editor-at-large for OSV. Follow her on X (formerly known as Twitter) @theanchoress.
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The supernatural is real.
Transitional Deacon Liam Hosty of Indianapolis swings the censer toward pilgrims July 21, 2024, during the final day of the National Eucharistic Congress at Lucas Oil Stadium in Indianapolis. (OSV News photo/Bob Roller)Bob Roller
We all know it. We all know that there are "things visible and invisible," and we've all experienced moments where the veil between the two has thinned-out and surprised us – through our dreams, our guts or our physical, peripheral senses – with information we need, consolations that feed or warnings we're smart to heed.
Like Hamlet, we all know there are "more things in heaven and earth, than are dreamt of" in our philosophies. We all go out in search of connecting with that thing – that force, that power, that energy, that "thing" – that exists beyond our perceived-as-natural world.
How we make that search, and how we engage with what we encounter while searching, has a lot to do with our own lived experiences – the permitted trials we've endured and how they've shaped the hope or cynicism we carry within us.
How linear is our reason, how ready our imaginations, how objectively black-and-white (or subjectively fuzzy) our intake fittings? How victimized do we feel, or how fortunate, how neglected or overwhelmed, and has our experience with formal religion either nurtured us or repelled us?
Our answers affect where we land on supernaturalism and how (or whether) the concept fits into our lives. If we think the supernatural is hogwash, we may land on atheism, agnosticism or scientism and move no further. If it's not nonsense, but also not for us, we might be drawn to the staid sort of faith-without-vulgar-talk-of-miracles found in mainline Protestantism, or the quiet, trace-supernaturalism of Buddhism.
The "spiritual but not religious" might be comfortable with the vagaries of paganism (supernaturalism but mostly – and dangerously – on one's own terms), or with the strictures of any sort of fundamentalism, where supernaturalism is acknowledged as real-but-stand-offish while the books and rules have primacy.
I passionately advocate for acknowledging the profound supernaturalism of the Catholic Church, where bread and wine, consecrated through prayer and ritual, bring into our space the very presence of the incarnate Lord, who feeds us, entering into our very veins and sinews, so we might become his vessels, bringing the light, the concern, the Body of Christ into the world.
Where grace – all unmerited – sacramentally assists the work of the Holy Spirit in ways material and immaterial.
Where a thought is a thing: mind and spirit reach out to heaven and there fall into the divine heart, sustenance and consolation of the Living God – who makes the thought of prayer into a thing of real efficacy and power (all mustard seeds and mountains), and through whom we become conduits of God's great and subversive freedom.
Where the natural and the supernatural are complimentary: the Communion of Saints not only touches time but impacts the world in ways large and small as we call on the interest and intercessions of our spiritual ancestors to impact our world, fully confident that we are heard and given a ready assist of intercession.
Where a thing blessed is a thing made sacred – icons, wedding rings, religious gear, rosaries and crucifixes and medals – and those sacred things contain a measure of the power invoked toward them.
Where blessings are powerful, because they are rooted in prayerful intention.
Where intention matters. We might say that our lives are lived at the busy corner of Intentions Avenue and Belief Boulevard, where both coalesce and are borne Godward on the energetic engines of hope and supernatural faith.
Even those who claim no faith testify to the unseen but true power of prayer, they do so with every "Oh, God!" or "Oh, Lord!" or "Have mercy!" Those gasps and pleas that rise from our guts – which always know what is true – betray all our doubt against the supernatural when either joy or horror are before us.
They are real, those joys and horrors. They are real, good and evil. How fortunate for us that they are also real, the things visible and invisible, the things natural and supernatural.
It is good to get comfortable living with, and talking about, these realities.
Elizabeth Scalia is editor-at-large for OSV. Follow her on X (formerly known as Twitter) @theanchoress.