Recently, in reading excerpts of St. Teresa of Avila’s Interior Castle, she reminded me that her understanding and relationship with God, Scripture, and even prayer come from a very different horizon. I need to cautiously come to an appreciation of where her and my understanding can fuse in the middle, and it began with the following text.

Here Teresa is offering a bit of teaching to her sisters about the mysterious ways in which God offers revelation through prayer and Scripture.

“By means of the ladder Jacob must have understood other secrets that he didn’t know how to explain, for by seeing just a ladder on which angels descended and ascended he would not have understood such great mysteries if there had not been deeper interior enlightenment. I don’t know if I’m guessing right in what I say, for although I have heard this story about Jacob, I don’t know if I am remembering it correctly.” (Interior Castle, pp. 380-381)

At first reading, I laughed. It seemed comical to me that in the previous paragraph she confidently wrote to her sisters how they ought to approach discerning intellectual visions, and in the next breath is second-guessing her knowledge of God’s word. It seemed she’s not quite sure she’s got the Scripture text right. What happened to her confidence? Then I remembered, this type of “cushioned” writing is not uncommon among women mystics who wrote their revelations, teachings, or impressions on prayer, Spirit, and faith.

So, what could Teresa have meant by ‘not remembering’?

I will preface that she did admit that understanding the mystery of this nature is no easy task, and the intellectual understanding of a vision may never come. So she uses Jacob’s story to explain the nuance of discerning visions or awarenesses from God. But why does she feel so befuddled by the story?

In texts like this, we, the reader, can easily bring in assumptions from our horizon. If it were us, we’d have the Bible right in front of us, a full English translation and perhaps a commentary. Male or female, we’d confidently have read this passage many times within our Christian lives. We could not second-guess our retelling of it, even if we did jumble up some bits. Particularly, if you are male (this may be true for some women too), you’ve likely preached a sermon on the text and never batted an eye at how you presented it or in what context you shared it. So we could easily assume Teresa must not be that bright after all and be turned off from her writings.

Teresa, however, existed within a vastly different horizon.

A couple of factors to note would be…

1. It was not common, or allowed, for a female to teach or write about Scripture in the 16th century. Many mystic women who recorded their writings used what I call “cushion” language that made them appear to be “playing dumb.” This was actually an act of protection and brilliance because it afforded them an out from heresy claims. As a woman, it was assumed she would likely get theological or Biblical things wrong, and this type of cushioned writing projected her as having inferiority and humility.

2. It could also be a factual statement. She may very well have forgotten the exact understanding of the text. Teresa likely only ever encountered the text through spoken word in Latin during a homily at Mass. Her heart language was Spanish. She may have been recalling it from pure memory and then translating it into Spanish, a feat for any one of us.

3. Her writings would have been supervised by a spiritual director or ordained clergy, both male, to ensure against false teaching or heresy. In fact, most of her writings came to be because these men encouraged her to write. At that time, if a woman wrote freely about spiritual things, it often did not end well. Beguine mystic Marguerite Porete was burned at the stake in 1310 as a heretic for refusing to recant her writings on the spiritual path and union with God. Her works and words would have been known by Teresa as well as her friend and director, St. John of the Cross. The risk of writing could be catastrophic.