I recently reflected on a post about feeling disillusioned with modern spiritual teachers. It resonated deeply with me, because I have walked that path myself.
There was a time when I was drawn to authors like Doreen Virtue, a former New Age teacher who later embraced Christianity; Marianne Williamson, a spiritual writer and political activist; and Caroline Myss, a medical intuitive and author on personal empowerment. I was searching for something mystical, something beyond ordinary explanations of life, and their words spoke to that longing.
But over time, something shifted.
Spiritual teachers are human. They are not God. Some grow in humility and depth, while others may drift toward certainty that feels rigid or disconnected from the quiet spirit they once expressed.
When Doreen Virtue converted to Christianity, that did not trouble me — conversion is personal. What unsettled me was her criticism of Christian mysticism, particularly Orthodox mysticism, and what felt to me like quoting Scripture without its fuller context. I try not to judge her path. Still, I had to discern what was right for mine. Later, when she described her earlier work as influenced by darkness, I quietly let those books go — not in anger, but to protect my spiritual clarity.
With Marianne Williamson, I have a different experience. I still find insight in her writing, though I sometimes sense tension between spiritual language and political expression. I hold both appreciation and caution together.
With Caroline Myss, I feel something steadier. Even if I might disagree politically at times, I sense integrity — that she largely lives what she teaches. That congruence matters.
Living through disillusionment — whether with spiritual leaders, politicians, public figures, or even a local priest — has taught me something important: no human leader is infallible. Only Christ is steady.
My faith is grounded in Christ and in the life of the Eastern Orthodox Church, where we are constantly reminded of human imperfection. My mother often reminded me of this when I became critical of leaders or clergy: they are human.
Disillusionment, for me now, is no longer a crisis. It is an invitation.
In the Orthodox tradition, mysticism is not about ego or personal light. It is about grace — God working within the heart through humility and repentance. Saints like Gregory Palamas, a Byzantine theologian and mystic, taught that inner transformation is participation in God’s uncreated light — not our own brilliance.
This understanding is shared across the wider Christian tradition. In the Catholic Church, mystical saints such as Saint Teresa of Avila, a Carmelite mystic, and Saint Ignatius of Loyola, founder of the Jesuits and spiritual guide, show that authentic mysticism is disciplined, discerning, and deeply Christ-centred. Their experiences were never about elevating themselves. They were about surrender — allowing God to purify the heart.
True mysticism, whether Eastern or Western, does not inflate the ego. It humbles it.
Public figures change. Spiritual movements shift. Political leaders rise and fall. Even priests can disappoint.
But my walk with Christ does not rise or fall with any one personality.
I am learning to stay anchored.
To grow quietly.
To pray more and react less.
To stop placing human beings on pedestals they were never meant to stand on.
Disillusionment has become a teacher. It strips away idealism, but it also deepens faith.
Because when the personalities fall away, Christ remains.
And that is steady ground.
Perhaps the deeper question is this: When the people we
admire disappoint us, where do we ultimately place our trust?
Further Reading
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