Inhabiting Time and Space: The Christian Liturgical Cycle as a Mandala of Incarnation and Transformation

Inhabiting Time and Space: The Christian Liturgical Cycle as a Mandala of Incarnation and Transformation

Stuart Higginbotham

The Wisdom of Mandalas

On a recent youth pilgrimage to New York City, I found myself immersed in a special exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. There in the Lehmann Wing, I discovered a curated collection of mandalas that were centuries old. Walking clockwise around the room, I paid attention to which particular mandalas resonated with me, which ones drew me back. 

One in particular caught my attention: the Vajradhatu Mandala, also known as the Diamond Realm Mandala. The particular one there was created in the 14th century in central Tibet. The image depicts the Buddha Vairochana, the primordial or cosmic buddha, in the center of the image. At four cardinal points, other buddhas are positioned. 

14th century mandala, Central Tibet, on view 

At the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City

Interestingly, some sources cite how this particular mandala is used to initiate young monks into their more rigorous practice. The young monks are blindfolded and toss a flower onto the mandala. Whichever quadrant the flower lands in shows the monk the first steps in their practice as they begin their devotions to that particular buddha. 

Mandalas are sophisticated two-dimensional representations of deep spiritual reality that help nurture an awareness of the essence of our being. They are tools that encourage focus and attention. They are pronounced in Buddhism, especially the Tibetan/Vajrayana tradition, and their origin can be traced to Hinduism as well, with their traditional shape consisting of a square that holds a circle with four gates or openings. One visualizes oneself moving from the outermost circle inward, to the central point of spaciousness and awareness.

The Kalachakra Mandala, an essential aspect of Tibetan practice, entails the complex visualization of time and space and how we experience conscious transformation within our bodies–in every aspect of what that means from physical to cosmic. Through a series of directed visualizations and practices, one can experience a holistic degree of awareness as they move through the outer rings depicting wisdom, to the next four rings visualizing the elements of air, fire, water, and earth, and further to the three levels that focus awareness on our body, speech, and mind. In this way, the kalachakra teachings direct our attention to both outer and inner aspects of our existence, and years of training and initiation are needed to fully engage with the visualization this mandala invites.

The Kalachakra Mandala

To help visualize the deep insights of the three-dimensional, complex reality of existence the mandala invites, some have provided an angled visualization of the traditional image. In this way, we see how the two-dimensional image is but a doorway, in itself, to a more complex visualization of reality.

A three-dimensional depiction of the Kalachakra Mandala

Mandalas offer a powerful shift in perspective, challenging us to open our minds and hearts to more subtle and intricate aspects of our existence. In this same vein, perhaps there is a correlation with the orbit of our solar system as we move from a two-dimensional plane to a more complex reality. As astronomers have long known, there is actually much more depth to the movement of the entire solar system through the galaxy. The sun itself is not stationary; rather, it moves through space and across time, carrying the entire solar system with it in a dynamic spiral.

The shift in perspective–and the wisdom and insight that comes from such a transformation–is a key aspect of mandala practice. Visualizing in this way can nurture a deeper awareness of the essence of our being, beyond the preoccupations and ignorances we may have. 

Carl Jung reflected a great deal on the power and meaning of mandalas, as he recognized the circular shape that was common across cultures and religious traditions. To Jung, the mandala was a way to visualize the deeper aspects of the collective unconscious that were manifested in symbolic form. The physical shape of the mandala–and the symbolic dimension that was included–offered a way to reflect on the deepest dynamics of the Self.

One example of such an imaginative reflection is with Hildegard of Bingen, the 11th and 12th century Rhineland mystic whose visions and writings have inspired centuries of contemplatives across religious traditions. One of Hildegard’s images imagines the cycles and seasons of life with trees and figures.

For Jung, the symbols and dynamic layers of a mandala offered a way to reflect imaginatively on the deeper essence of ourselves, recognizing that we need a framework for engaging these inner dynamics even as we are always being challenged to grow. There is always an element of the unknown to our lives, and cultures across time have been drawn to mandalas as a way to symbolically engage with human experience. As his close colleague Marie-Louise von Franz described:

The mandala serves a conservative purpose – namely, to restore a previously existing order. But it also serves the creative purpose of giving expression and form to something that does not yet exist, something new and unique. […] The process is that of the ascending spiral, which grows upward while simultaneously returning again and again to the same point.

— Marie-Louise von Franz, “The Process of Individuation,” in Man and His Symbols  edited by C. G. Jung, Ed. (New York: Doubleday and Company, 1964), p. 225.

I cannot help but think back to when our daughter, three years old at the time, came with us to Drepung Loseling Monastery in Atlanta when His Holiness the Dalai Lama was in town for a teaching. Many had gathered at Drepung for the dismantling of the sand mandala, and other key lamas from around the world had come to preside over the service. Our daughter was transfixed and slipped out of my lap to go stand next to the monks as they chanted. They welcomed her to stand there and observe, and she was absolutely still and engaged as they swept the sand into containers. 

The next day when I picked her up from her preschool, her confused teacher showed me a drawing Evelyn had done. Apparently, she had used most of her free time to draw the same image again and again. Even at her young age, there was some dynamism in the symbol that captured her imagination.

In terms of this deepening of awareness and insight, I find it interesting that Fr. Thomas Keating, a key teacher in the Christian contemplative tradition, explored the dynamics of a Christian anthropology through a series of concentric circles. Fr. Thomas sought to understand the deepening layers of human existence, moving from the outer ring of “ordinary awareness” to the subsequently deepening rings of “spiritual awareness,” “the true self,” “the ground unconscious/ground of being,” and ultimately “the divine indwelling.”

Fr. Thomas’s drawing

You can explore the video interview of Fr. Thomas with this link:

Fr. Thomas’s teaching shows us how we are invited further and further into a more spacious awareness of the divine indwelling, past the superficial levels of existence in which we so often seem to be caught. I cannot help but see the resonances between such teachings and the visualization practices of mandalas.

Exploring the Christian Liturgical Year

Having briefly discussed the wisdom of mandalas and the correlations and connections with both Jung and the Christian contemplative tradition, it occurs to me that there is an enormous potential to see how the Christian liturgical year can actually be envisioned as a particular mandala practice that fosters transformation. Indeed, it is not only that the particular liturgical year can be such a tool, but that we live within a series of concentric circles that invite us into a deeper awareness and transformed life. 

Before we look at the liturgical year, let us start broadly, with our lives within the natural world. We live within cycles of seasons, and we experience the transition of seasons through time as the weather and sunlight and length of days change. 

We see key dates throughout the year on which we observe the solstice and equinox moments. We see transitional times between seasons, and we experience changes in our bodies in accordance with the tilt of the earth’s axis and the length of days. 

We also experience the cycles of the moon, with its 28-day cycle that shifts the tides and calls our attention to harvest and observance. The moon (and the sun) are profound symbols that have fostered imaginative engagement for as long as humans have sat around fires to share stories and wonder about the meaning of life.

Even in terms of the Christian liturgical year, we see how the celebration of Easter is anchored to the lunar cycle and the seasonal cycle with Easter Sunday being the first Sunday after the full moon after the Spring Equinox, anywhere in a range from March 22 to April 25. 

We also have the annual calendar of January 1 to December 31 which organizes so much of our lives, from school schedules to financial deadlines and budgetary details, and much of the church’s ministry year connects with this annual cycle, even though the Christian tradition, itself, follows a different calendar. To illustrate the point of the tension that can exist, remember when Easter Sunday falls on Spring Break.

When it comes to the Christian liturgical year, we see a complex and layered series of observances throughout the course of any given year. We should also note that so many of the Christian feast days have correlations or even roots in more ancient religious traditions–such as Easter’s connection to Passover and the resonances of Christmas with the Winter Solstice and other observances. We see Christian observances connecting with Celtic and other traditions whose lives centered on harvest and planting times.

The main cycle of the Christian year, of course, follows the life and teachings of Jesus. The key feast days are markers in his life, while the season of Ordinary Time and such allows a space for deeper reflection on his teachings. We see the cycle that begins on the First Sunday of Advent each year, sometime close after Thanksgiving (again, a connection with the typical calendrical year). While Christmas Day is fixed on December 25 (with its own rich tradition as to why this is so), with Epiphany on January 6, the date of Easter, as we have mentioned, moves according to the lunar calendar. There is also the key feast of All Saints/All Souls on November 1 and 2, which is an ancient feast of the church. In this way, there are both fixed elements and nimble elements in the yearly liturgical calendar. 

As well, there is the cycle for the Blessed Virgin Mary and other saints that is juxtaposed with the key liturgical cycle. Depending on your piety and practice, key dates may include August 15, the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary (Assumption); March 25, the Feast of the Annunciation; and the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, December 12. You may also observe the Feast of St. Benedict on July 11 and the Feast of St. Francis on October 4. 

Exploring a Mandala of Incarnation and Transformation

As I sat in the Met, going back again and again to the Vajradhatu Mandala, it occurred to me that our liturgical year–and the juxtaposed and layered solar and lunar cycles and even our bodily cycles and rhythms–is actually a mandala for incarnation and transformation. The entire amalgam of cycles, laid together, offers a way for us to visualize a greater participation in the divine life. Indeed, rather than seeing calendars in such a linear way, when we engage them visually through such a mandala practice, we see how we enter into them–even as their wisdom enters into us. 

Indeed, a key question for me these days is this: how do I inhabit time and space, as a human being, with every aspect of my particular existence? How am I oriented? In what am I grounded? What is the posture I am taking that enables me to be transformed and respond in my daily life?

Inspired by my time at the Met, and with the ongoing reflections on mandalas and cycles of time, I created a rudimentary mandala that represents, to me, how I situate myself. 

Much more elaborate work can be done, but perhaps this illustrates the point of how we can engage the cosmic, life, seasonal, and liturgical cycles as a wonderful mandala for visualization and transformation. 

The outermost green circle is the created existence we all share, our universal embodiment. The blue circle represents the waters of baptism, when we sacramentally share in the life of the Christian community as the Body of Christ. The red circle represents the living fire of the Holy Spirit whose presence animates all life. The white circle on the inside represents, to me, air and the spaciousness of God’s presence that is always found within life. So, the elements are all present, earth, water, fire, and air, grounding me in my life. 

The outer ring marks important days in the calendar year, with birthdays and anniversaries. I want to go back now and add in more friends and family to see where the patterns are with celebrations. 

Next, comes the cycles of the sun and moon, with the shift in seasons and the monthly cycle of the moon’s waxing and waning that always draws me in for deeper reflection. Of course, these cycles are not fixed, and we can envision this particular circle constantly turning within the other layers. 

Moving inward, I positioned the lives of key saints and figures whose lives are anchor points. I will go back and add more from other traditions, even, with observances from other schools and faiths that add rich layers of celebration and remembrance. 

From there, I positioned the liturgical calendar itself, with the cycle of feasts and other days that all invite me into a deeper participation in the Life of Christ. By visualizing this way, I remember that the ‘point’ is not just to mark the dates on a calendar; rather, we are called to embody them, to inhabit them–to let the wisdom of the teachings inhabit us. 

In the center of the mandala I put the Cosmic Christ, the Pantocrator icon, who symbolizes the wisdom of that great line from Colossians as, for me in my practice, this universal Christ is the one ‘in whom all things hold together.’ Of course when I reflect on this, I feel the resonances with the Vairochana Buddha, that primordial and cosmic figure whose presence reminds Buddhists of the universal connection of all life. One might also place a flower there, I would imagine, or leave that open and spacious. Again, seeing the cycles as a mandala invites us to visualize and deepen our awareness of how our practice of faith transforms our lives. 

By exploring our practice through such visualization, we can see how this question of how we inhabit space and time is so essential. Two examples of such insight might be how in 2024, the Feast of the Annunciation fell on a Full Moon. So, how can we imaginatively engage with the wisdom of this occurrence when we visualize the Blessed Mother consenting to participate in the Incarnation alongside the fullness of the moon? The poetry writes itself here. 

As well, in 2029, there will be a fascinating convergence of moments with March 25. Of course it is the Feast of the Annunciation, but that year it will also be Palm Sunday, the beginning of Holy Week. The wisdom is profound here with deep reflections on Mary’s consent to participate in the Incarnation laid alongside Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem and crucifixion. Imagine the resonances when we hear the Blessed Mother say, “Let it be with me according to your Word,” alongside Jesus speaking into the cosmos: “It is finished.” 

Indeed, when we ask ourselves how we inhabit time and space, opportunities for transformation become endless. We embody our faith in a dynamic way that fosters a profound spaciousness and development of our consciousness. Our hearts open ever wider to the Spirit’s presence, and we live with a profound hope. 

A final thought might be this: we are not meant just to read about the insights or wisdom of our faith. We are not meant to merely read about the life of Jesus and wonder, even, how we can pattern our lives after his life. Rather, we are meant to embody his life–to open our hearts to the Spirit’s transforming power–so that we share in Christ’s life. As Fr. Thomas once taught us at Snowmass, at some point there ceases to be two, not that it is numerically one, but that we so fully participate in Christ’s life that, while there may be distinction, there is no separation. May it be so. 
–Stuart