As I sit with The Shepherd of Hermas, an ancient Christian mystical text once considered scripture by early Christians, I’m drawn into a realm of visions, angelic wisdom, and direct communication with the divine. Reading it feels like walking through a cosmic initiation, much like the inner teachings of the Upanishads or the esoteric path of Kriya Yoga. It speaks not to dogma, but to the soul—its longing, its failings, and its redemption.
Hermas, the humble narrator, is a man not unlike myself: flawed, sincere, and seeking. He is visited by visions of a mysterious woman who later reveals herself to be the eternal Church, created before all things—a divine archetype not of brick and mortar but of living souls. This echoes the words of the great sage Adi Shankara, who taught, “Brahman is the only truth, the world is illusory, and the self is nothing but Brahman.” Here, the Church is not a structure, but consciousness itself, calling us back to our divine origin.
One of the most poignant lessons Hermas receives is that even the desire for unrighteousness in the heart is itself a sin—not because of moralism, but because it reveals a division in the self, a turning away from unity. The vision tells him, “The desire for evil rose up in your heart... it certainly is a sin, and a great one.”
This deeply resonated with the nondual insight of Sri Nisargadatta Maharaj, who reminds us, “The mind creates the abyss, and the heart crosses it.” Hermas is called to drop the illusions and double-mindedness—the internal division—and return to a purity of heart, which alone can reflect the Divine Light.
In another vision, Hermas sees a tower being built out of shining stones, some perfect, some cracked, others unusable. The allegory is as profound as any tantric or yogic metaphor. The tower is the Church—again, not an institution, but a luminous field of consciousness made up of purified souls. The flawed stones can be used—if they repent—but those who cling to duality and deception fall away. "The double-minded will not be saved," says the vision—not as condemnation, but as cosmic physics: the divided cannot stand.
I was reminded here of a line from Lalleshwari: “The mind absorbed in God sees only oneness; otherwise, it is a mill grinding darkness.” The divided mind cannot ascend the tower; it is the integrated heart that becomes the cornerstone.
Even Hermas' personal tribulations—his family’s sins, his initial spiritual ignorance—are not cast in shame but in opportunity. Like Yogananda’s teachings on reincarnation and karma, the message is clear: healing is possible through effort, sincerity, and divine grace. “Be courageous, Hermas,” the woman tells him again and again. And as Sri Yukteswar wrote, “Everything in future will improve if you are making a spiritual effort now.”
One of the most powerful metaphors is the angel named Thegri who silences a monstrous beast—symbol of an impending tribulation—so Hermas can pass unharmed. His protection comes not from fear, but from trust. He “cast his cares upon the Lord,” and thus he was saved. Here I thought of Rupert Spira’s nondual counsel: “Trust is not belief. It is the felt recognition that all is well because all is one.”
If this journey through Hermas’ visions touched something in you as it did in me, I invite you to reflect: What kind of stone am I? Am I firm, shaped by trials and repentance, fitting seamlessly into the Tower of Light? Or do I cling to ego, wealth, and double-mindedness?
Let us each, as Paramahansa Yogananda taught, seek “Self-realization” not as escape, but as participation in the cosmic construction of love and truth. The Church Hermas speaks of is not ancient and far away—it is us. It is built now, through our sincerity, reverence, patience, and love.
Which part of Hermas' vision calls to your soul? And how are you building your tower today? Please let me know.