4/26/15

Today's gospel reading at mass (as was yesterday's) was from the Gospel of John, where Jesus says:

I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. A hired man, who is not a shepherd and whose sheep are not his own, sees a wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away, and the wolf catches and scatters them. This is because he works for pay and has no concern for the sheep. I am the good shepherd, and I know mine and mine know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father; and I will lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. These also I must lead, and they will hear my voice, and there will be one flock, one shepherd. This is why the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down on my own. I have power to lay it down, and power to take it up again. This command I have received from my Father. (John 10:11-18)

On the face of it, it's obviously about Jesus' role as a guide and protector—a manifestation and symbol of God in the world. The good shepherd is Jesus, who cares for and watches over his flock, us. And for leaders of the Church after him, it serves as a model for leadership. The good shepherd is one who cares for and guides their flock, who goes after those that are lost, and who ultimately is willing to lay down their life for those they care for.

But internalizing this passage, I think it can also been seen as a metaphor for our own inner good shepherd, our conscience — the rational part of our soul to take an image from Plato — that watches out for the wolves of greed, aversion, and delusion and guides the other parts towards the good and the beautiful. Or to use an image from the Buddha, the good shepherd is akin to the gate-keeper of mindfulness.

As I listened to the readings and Fr. Larry's homily, which focused a great deal on vocational discernment, I was struck as I often am by the amount of wisdom contained in the Bible, especially in the words of Jesus, and I found myself wanting to be like the lamp that "gives light to all in the house" (Mt 5:14-16). I want to help people see the wealth of wisdom these teachings have to offer us, to illuminate their relevance in our modern lives.

In the depths of my soul, I feel called. I don't know if I'm being called to live a consecrated life, but I know without a doubt that it has to be a deeply spiritual one. (After mass, Fr. Larry joked that it was the third day in a row he'd seen me and that maybe it was a sign). Immersing myself in my faith gives me so much happiness and meaning. Religious life is the only way of life that really makes sense to me. I want to immerse myself in contemplation and prayer. I want to labour for the needs of all, not for money.

I pray to see the path God has laid before me, and the strength to follow wherever it may lead.

4/25/15

Last night, I skipped my meditation and discussion group to go to the open sanctuary at St. Philip. I was feeling down and felt like I needed something spiritually uplifting, so I braved the rain to enjoy the music and company. Fr. Larry, the Paulist vocational director, led the adoration. He's in town this weekend to preach about vocations in religious life.

I got there early and tried to meditate in the pews, but my mind was restless and it was hard to concentrate on anything but the past couple of days. I've had some rough days at work and it's all I can think about. I've become increasingly unhappy there over the last few months, too, which makes everything even harder to just roll with. Low pay. Menial work. Inept co-workers. Condescending managers. Work-place conflicts.

I feel like part of the reason I've been so angry and unhappy lately has to do with these feelings of discontent. I feel like I should be doing something else with my life but I don't know what that is. Should I find a different job? Should I try to go to school? Should I take this as a sign to explore religious life? I don't know. I applied for a custodial and event set-up position at a Methodist church downtown. We'll see where that goes.

Sometimes when I stop to think about the world, I can't help but think how crazy it is, how miserable we've made life for ourselves. Half the world lives in abject poverty, struggling just to survive, while the other half wastes their lives in bullshit jobs created just to keep this global economic ponzi scheme moving, living in material abundance and oblivious to the lack of meaning their lives truly have. We're born into a world where we force ourselves to either sell our souls to Mammon or live in barbarism, being like the hired shepherd who, because he works for pay, has no concern for the sheep (i.e., other people).

God/Dhamma increasingly has no place in our world. Everything is all about money. Our time is measured by it, and our worth is in creating more of it. Without it, we feel helpless, powerless, and desperate. Paul was right when he wrote, "For the love of money is the root of all evils, and some people in their desire for it have strayed from the faith and have pierced themselves with many pains" (1 Tim 6:10).

Much of that pain is caused by the kind of society we've created. As MLK Jr. put it, we live in a thing-oriented society rather than a person-oriented society, where things like "machines and computers, profit motives and property rights are considered more important than people." I saw this clearly in the depths of my own poverty and unemployment, which I gave voice to three years ago in "Lament of the Unemployed":

I am the unemployed. Sitting, thinking, worrying about the future: that is me, as I sift endlessly through help-wanted ads, a hapless recruit of the reserve army of labour, that unholy legion, condemned for all eternity to suppress wages and frighten workers into submission by its very existence, and I by mine—a statistical example paraded around factory floors and offices, behind counters and in the fields, throughout workplaces of all kinds, to keep the workers in line.

"See?!" the angels of Capital thunder. "See what happens if you don't play by the rules? See how little you're actually worth when not selling your labour to Capital? Capital gives you meaning! Capital gives you purpose! Capital is your sovereign; and it is through your role as obedient subjects to the whims of Capital that you fulfill your purpose and give your existence meaning!"

I am a phantom, a boogeyman. I am the monster lurking under the working-class' bed at night. I am a warning, a cautionary tale told to all the good workers in order to teach them the blessings of selling their labour for Capital's gain; to teach them the joys of subservience; and more importantly, to instill in them the fear of self-determination and freedom.

"For Capital, and only Capital, is the one, true job Creator! Capital is the alpha and omega, the first and the last!" the angels trumpet. "And it is only through Capital that you may be productive and enter into the kingdom of heaven. Beware! Idle hands are the devil's plaything. Disobedience is the original sin; and the price of sin is death!"

I am the unemployed, my labour-time unrepentantly unproductive in the all-seeing eye of Capital. I am wretched, sinful, and undeserving of salvation; and only through the benevolent grace of Capital can I be saved.

For me, trying to find God in the world is like trying to find a needle in a haystack. It's a seemingly impossible task, and I crave those rare moments when I do experience the peace and love of God, like during communion or when I'm out in nature or in a warm embrace. It's not that God has forsaken us; it's more like we've forsaken God.

It's as if we've allowed ourselves to be swept up by the social and material forces at our disposal, seeing them as ends in and of themselves. And the ideological narratives that we've created (or that have been created for us by those who sit at the top of the proverbial coach in Edward Bellamy's Looking Backward) have seduced us into letting our appetites rule our souls rather than our reflective or rational side.

When we desire, we start to believe that whatever we do to satisfy those desires is just. When we see those who are without, or experience privation ourselves, we start to believe that this is simply the result of some personal failing—if you're not successful, it's because you didn't try hard enough, you didn't work hard enough, you didn't work smart enough, etc. And this kind of mentality allows us to turn a blind eye to those of us who sleep on the streets, or to look down upon ourselves as unworthy of salvation, spiritually or otherwise.

Our hearts become hard to the suffering of others; our eyes see not people but competitors and parasites. Our compassion is judgmental and conditional. We treat the least among us as less than human, less than animals even, instead of as Christ himself. We close the gates to the kingdom of heaven every time we ignore the suffering of others, every time we judge and condemn and 'cast the first stone' at another.

God hasn't forsaken us; God has shown us the way to happiness through teachers like Jesus, the Buddha, and countless other saints throughout human history. It's there if we'd only take the time to stop and look around. It's written in our hearts, if we'd only take the time to stop and look within. God is hidden everywhere in plain sight.

I go to church every chance I get to help remind me of that because I, too, forget. I, too, give in to my appetites and despair and need to be strengthened. I, too, need a guardian, a guide when lost, as well as the encouragement to be the same for others. And in the future, I can even see myself making a vocational choice to become a priest or brother.

4/19/15

I've been feeling really sad and angry the last couple of days. Not all the time, but every now and then it'll hit me pretty strongly. I'm not entirely sure why since the past month has actually been pretty good for me. Work has been relatively OK. I've hung out with a lot of friends this week. My spiritual life has been going well. I honestly can't complain. But for some reason, I've been feeling angry and sad and like I'm on the outside looking in.

Sometimes, I fall into a really dark place and I feel possessed by so much negativity that I can hardly bear it. It eats me up inside until it starts to spill out, impacting those closest to me. When I get like this, all I can really do is isolate myself from everyone as much as possible and wait it out. But in the meantime, I can be distant and unpleasant to be around, mostly because I just want (and maybe need) to be alone.

Most people think that solitude is bad, but I find that solitude is quite healthy, at least sometimes. In solitude, I can be honest and open with myself about the things I think and feel. As Fr. Michael often says, acceptance is the key to happiness; and accepting our suffering and discontent is the first step towards transforming it. But for me to do that, I need solitude. I need the time and space to probe my soul, to find and confront the causes of my suffering.

Today at mass, Fr. Bill talked about the transformative nature of Jesus' suffering on the cross in his homily, how "Son though he was, he learned obedience from what he suffered" (Heb 5:8). But what does that mean? He mentioned that the word obedience comes from the Latin oboedire, which literally means 'to listen.' Jesus listened to his suffering, learned from it, and was transformed by it. It is through our suffering that we die, emptying ourselves of self only to be filled with something greater if we truly listen.

The lesson in many ways is one of surrender. We must surrender ourselves by emptying ourselves of self in order to be filled with the love of God and to share that love with one another. And as I knelt in the pews after communion, praying that this spiritual nourishment would give me the strength to battle my inner demons and exorcise them from my heart, part of me was able to let go, to surrender to the love of God, which I imagined as a pair of ethereal arms hugging all of humanity and gathering us into one spiritual body.

Although I wasn't able to let go completely, to the extent that I could I felt happier, as if some of the proverbial weight I'd been carrying had been lifted off my shoulders. And I thought of the passage in Matthew where Jesus says, "Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light" (Mt 11:28-30). How light indeed!

It was definitely a healing moment, bringing to mind the numerous times Fr. Michael has said the Eucharist is the spiritual food that helps nourish us and heal our inner brokenness. It's hard to say if something within me was reaching out, or if something without was reaching in, but I felt something. It may just have been a psychosomatic reaction, but it felt like the door of my heart had been opened ever so slightly to the peace and love of God. Up to that point, I'd been in solitude, withdrawn into myself. But afterwards, I was awakened in a small way to the presence of Christ all around me.

A lot of that had to do with the readings and Fr. Bill. One line that caught my attention was, "The way we may be sure that we know [Jesus] is to keep his commandments" (1 John 2:3). And during his homily, Fr. Bill had us look at one another and say something to the effect of, "In your face I see the face of Jesus," evoking for me the words of Allah via Muhammad, "When I love him I become his ears by which he hears, and his eyes with which he sees, and his hands with which he grasps, and his feet with which he walks" (Hadith Qudsi 25). We know Jesus through loving God and loving our neighbour as our self, i.e., we know him through love and selflessness.

That's why his yoke is so light: Jesus doesn't ask us to pick up anything; he asks us to let go of everything, even ourselves, so that we may become truly free. And as we do, each one of us becomes like a lamp, illuminating the world through our good deeds. It's only difficult when we're unable to put down our psychological burdens, becoming like a fully-packed camel that has trouble trying to pass through a narrow gate. For most of us, however, that's easier said than done, and we need a constant reminder.

After mass, many of us met in Carvlin Hall for the monthly French toast breakfast, and I sat with Chris, John, Anne (John's sponsor), and Sr. Ida. It was nice to just be present in their company. (I also saw Dorothy, who had a bruise around her right eye from a biopsy she had Thursday. I hope everything is OK.) I left feeling refreshed and ready to go back out into the world, where the love of God is reflected in every act of kindness, no matter how small.

4/11/15

Even though Easter was less than a week ago, I felt like I needed a little extra help this week, so I decided to visit St. Mary's Cathedral yesterday for the 5:30pm evening mass. I'd had a couple of days where, after vowing I'd be perfect in the eyes of God, I was anything but, giving into things like greed, lust, and aversion. I spoke words out of anger. I had no self-control and ate food I wasn't supposed to. I gave in to my feelings of lust. All in all, the things I did were minor, and some I don't really consider sinful or unskillful, but I felt somewhat weak and helpless because I was confronted once again with my frailties and how hard it can be to follow the noble eightfold path, even in the best of conditions.

I suppose I'd hoped for some sort of divine revelation that'd somehow change me, make me into a saint overnight; but that's not really how it works, is it? In the rite of baptism, we may 'die' to sin; but we're still just as capable of being sinful. The process of conversion is a lifelong one. We're born into a new spiritual life, but we're not born an entirely new person. All the thoughts, feelings, memories, and habits we walk in with to be baptized and welcomed into the Church, good and bad, are the same ones we walk out with. We're given new spiritual tools to confront our defilements, but the work is still ours to do.

It was kind of strange walking into another church and being able to fully participate. I'm so used to just sitting in the back, quietly watching everyone else as they say the responses and go up for communion. St. Mary's is a lovely church. It's large, open, and has some beautiful stained glass windows and iconography. It also has nice acoustics and I can only imagine how great the choir sounds. I saw Anthony, one of the people who's been coming to Fr. Bill's Thursday night group. He's a regular altar server there. I didn't have time to stick around and say hi, though, as I had to quickly catch the bus in order to make it to my Friday night meditation and discussion group on time.

I had a bad headache and contemplated just going home, but I decided to go anyway. It'd been a long time since my last visit, and I thought to myself, "My defilements don't take days off, why should I? If you're serious about this, a headache shouldn't stop you from trying to be in the present moment." I made it with a couple of minutes to spare. I mostly nodded off during the meditation, but the discussion was interesting. They're still going over MN 2, and the main topic of discussion was the drawbacks of grasping at precepts and practices, or as Ajahn Sumedho calls it in one of his talks, clinging to conventions, which can limit how we see and react to certain people, ideas, and situations.

On one level, clinging to precepts and practices (sometimes also translated as rites and rituals) means simply going through the motions ritualistically, as if simply doing x is all the spiritual life entails regardless of the intention behind it. It's a type of magical thinking, e.g., "If I circumnavigate this holy shrine three times, my wish will be granted." On another level, it's about placing things into conceptual categories and giving those categories substance rather than treating them like the conventional designations they are, e.g., placing everyone into the gender binary of male and female or the sexual binary of straight and gay when there's actually a whole spectrum. The pro is the convenience of communication. The con is the tendency to cling to these conventions, which often engenders ill-will and an us vs. them attitude towards anyone who falls outside of these conventional 'absolutes.'

The rest of the discussion consisted of an intro to the next section of the sutta, where the Buddha teaches sense restraint as one method of dealing with the mental effluents, cankers, fermentations, or intoxicating biases (asavas) that obstruct spiritual awakening, i.e., sense desire, wrong views, becoming, and ignorance. And I found both topics rather timely since "the fermentations to be abandoned by restraining" are what I've been struggling with lately due to my 'unrestrained' faculties. I need to think outside of the box and find new ways of looking at things so as not to grasp at any signs or features that 'intoxicate' the mind and cause one to sin or miss the mark (hamartia). In other words, I mustn't cling to conventions, and I must guard the doors of my senses.

Today, I woke up early and decided to treat myself to breakfast at Beulahland for the Arsenal vs. Burnley match. I didn't practice much sense restraint, however, and overdid it on the coffee and key lime pie, which messed up my stomach pretty bad (note to self: indulging like you're used to after a relatively long period of fasting is a bad idea). I spent the entire afternoon laid up on the couch with stomach cramps, which at least gave me time to finally watch the first half of Fiddler on the Roof (I love it so far!). Annie and I had plans to hang out with a friend for drinks, but I wasn't feeling up to it and stayed home. I started feeling better around 4pm, but still not quite enough for food and drinks, so I decided to go to St. Philip for the vigil instead. It was quite an unexpected experience.

First, the gospel reading and homily given by Fr. Charlie had to do with 'doubting' Thomas, someone I can definitely relate to. Charlie said that we shouldn't look down on Thomas for his lack of faith because we've all experienced doubt at some point in our lives (especially when it comes to the 'big questions'), and he's simply giving voice to what's in all of our hearts at one time or another. Doubt in and of itself isn't bad, isn't antithetical to faith. As Thomas Merton writes:

Faith means doubt. Faith is not the suppression of doubt. It is the overcoming of doubt, and you overcome doubt by going through it. The man of faith who has never experienced doubt is not a man of faith. (The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton)

Fr. Charlie noted how Jesus upbraided all the disciples in Mark's gospel for their "unbelief and hardness of heart," as well as the fact that the other disciples didn't turn their backs on Thomas even though he doubted what they'd seen in his absence. They still loved him and kept him close until he, too, was able to experience the resurrected Jesus. Thomas was simply being honest, and he wasn't excommunicated for it. In many ways, doubt marks the beginning of our journey towards awakening and self-discovery. Doubt leads to investigation, which leads to conviction, and finally, to gnosis. The reading begins with Thomas openly stating his doubt and ends with his exclamation of faith, "My Lord, my God." Thomas would then go on to become one of the most faithful of Jesus' disciples in spreading his message, travelling as far as India.

After the service, I ran into Fr. Bill, who said that he had something for me in the rectory. When he returned, he handed me a card signed by himself and everyone from the Spiritual Formations group plus a bag with a chocolate Easter bunny and a beautiful, sapphire blue rosary in it (which, probably unknownst to Fr. Bill, happens to be my favourite colour/birthstone). We talked a bit about what we had going on this week and the future of the Spiritual Formations group, and I mentioned that I saw Anthony on Friday while he was serving during the 5:30pm mass at St. Mary's. Later, while locking up the church, he said that he thought both Chris and I might be good at being altar servers at St. Philip and asked if I was interested. I was a bit taken aback and said that, although I'd probably be incredibly nervous at first due to my shy nature, I'd love to learn. It made me really happy.

Finally, as I was leaving the church, a man came up to me and said that he was hitchhiking from South Dakota to Arizona and asked if I had any change to spare. I said yes and gave him $20. He introduced himself as Clayton and told me a lot about himself: that he's Native American (Sioux); that he's an ex-Marine who served during the first Gulf War; that he recently lost his mother, and all of his friends have turned their backs on him; that he recently relapsed (alcoholism, I think); that he was trying to get to Arizona for a welding job. Like Thomas, I doubted a lot of what he said, but he did start crying at one point while talking about his family and his substance abuse. I felt a great deal of compassion for him, and I patiently listened to his story. When he was done, he thanked me and said he was going to walk a bit down Division to find something to eat.

I got in Annie's car and was about to go home, but decided to catch up with him and asked if he wanted to get something to eat with me instead. He said yes and I asked what he felt like. A hamburger. So we ended up walking to the food carts on 28th and Division, talking some more along the way. We found a cart with burgers, and as we were eating, he said, "Pilamaya. That means thank you." When he'd finished his food, he got up, said that he was going to walk back the way we came, and left. He seemed like a proud man, and the abruptness made me wonder if he was uncomfortable with having to rely on someone else's generosity. Or maybe he thought he'd gotten all he was going to get from me and went to find someone else to hustle. Either way, it felt good to be kind, and I recalled one of my favourite parables/discourses, that of the sheep and the goats in Mt 25:31-46:

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit upon his glorious throne, and all the nations will be assembled before him. And he will separate them one from another, as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will place the sheep on his right and the goats on his left. Then the king will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, a stranger and you welcomed me, naked and you clothed me, ill and you cared for me, in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you ill or in prison, and visit you?’ And the king will say to them in reply, ‘Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.’ Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you accursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, a stranger and you gave me no welcome, naked and you gave me no clothing, ill and in prison, and you did not care for me.’ Then they will answer and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or ill or in prison, and not minister to your needs?’ He will answer them, ‘Amen, I say to you, what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.’ And these will go off to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”

4/5/15

What a whirlwind these past three days have been.

Holy Thursday's service, the commemoration of the last supper and the beginning of the Triduum, was a wonderful example of ordered chaos. It was like a play where none of the actors knew the script by heart. At the beginning, those of us in the RCIA group processed in the holy oils and chrism that were blessed by the archbishop during Tuesday's mass. I carried in the oil of the catechumens. We each took turns offering them to Fr. Michael before taking our seats. Afterwards, we sang a hymn, except that it was the wrong hymn and it changed to a different one in the middle.

At one point. Fr. Michael called everyone up for the the washing of the feet ceremony, which mirrors when Jesus, in an act of service and humility, washed the feet of his disciples and then exhorted them to do the same, saying, "I have given you a model to follow, so that as I have done for you, you should also do. Amen, amen, I say to you, no slave is greater than his master nor any messenger greater than the one who sent him. If you understand this, blessed are you if you do it" (John 13:15-17).

There were three stations set up with two chairs each. Fr. Michael stood at one and members of the pastoral council stood at the other two. I was one of the first to come up, so Fr. Michael washed my foot. Then I turned around and washed the foot of the person behind me. It was one of the most awkward things I've ever done, and we had a comedic mix-up with the towels, but I also that it was a great symbolic gesture of the egalitarianism of Jesus' message and of the true Church, in which, "There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus" (Gal 3:28).

After the readings, Fr. Michael gave an amazing homily:

Tonight we remember. We begin to remember that Love is stronger than death. We remember this not just as something that happened 2,000 years ago in Jesus, but as something that IS happening to us, in us, right now on this Holy Night.

The death, that Love is stronger than, is not just our physical death, but all the deaths we endure in loving service of our neighbors. St. Paul said, in his letter to the Galatians: "I no longer live but Christ lives in me." To experience this Divine Union in our lives requires a constant death to self so that we may rise in Christ and Christ rise in us. The steps to this new life are remembered, and hopefully made our own, in the three acts of our Triduum service that we begin tonight.

Tonight's action is humble service. I know it is awkward, and you feel a little self-conscience but imagine what it was like for those at the Last Supper. Dirty, sweaty, smelly feet; and since no one else would do the task, Jesus bends down and washes everyone's feet. This action tells us that Jesus loves us down to our toes, and that we must love each other in the same way.

Tonight we need to remember that this table is not just for us gathered here. All are welcome to the Table of the Lord, all; who suffer unjust laws that seek to discriminate against LGBT community, blacks, Hispanics, all who are coming to our shores seeking a fuller life; all who suffer from our pet peeves and prejudices, all who suffer from our family spats and arguments, all of us who suffer from illnesses and disabilities, who suffer from not feeling not good enough or worthy enough; all are welcome here to the table of the Lord. Jesus asks: "do you realize what I just did for you?" We washed each other's feet in humble acceptance and welcome, so we do whenever we welcome, without reservation, someone into our lives, or into our community of faith. Tonight we remember and we do for others what Jesus did for us.

Tonight we gather around the Table of the Lord, to do what Jesus told us to do in His memory. We gather because we need each other. We gather for support in our weaknesses, and to share our strength with those who feel they can’t go on. Together in Christ we are more than we can possibly dream of or imagine. We need each other so we can face the darkness that will inevitably come.

We end our evening tonight in silence at the Altar of Repose, as we anticipate the deep darkness and emptiness of Good Friday. It is in the deep darkness of Good Friday that God speaks to us in the silence, for God's first Word was silence. It is in the deep darkness of the tomb that all the good stuff happens, and brings forth Easter joy. There may be bunnies and Easter eggs but without the tomb there is no real joy and lasting joy.

It covered some of the same ideas he talked about during Wednesday's B- meeting, but the way he said it was incredibly powerful. He spoke about the Triduum and its different acts, how this one was about humble service and Good Friday is about the deep silence, darkness, and emptiness of the tomb and how that silence, darkness, and emptiness is where all the good stuff happens, where God speaks to us. And he spoke of the need for us to take what we're doing here today symbolically and really put into practice when we walk out those doors.

I could have sat and meditated on those words for hours, but then they started preparing for communion. Both Chris and I were gift-bearers, although we completely missed our cue and were a little late in bringing them up. I kept waiting for him to go stand by the gifts, and he was probably doing the same. I brought up the wine, Chris the hosts. During communion, I helped strip the altar for Good Friday. I helped move a candle stand and fold the white altar cloth with Fr. Bill, although I had a bit of trouble following his lead.

When communion was over, Fr. Michael led a procession around the church carrying the extra consecrated hosts to the 'altar of repose' (which in this case was the tabernacle on the left side of the church), where they remained 'entombed' until the communion service on Good Friday. After the hosts were placed inside, everyone knelt and prayed or meditated in silence before silently leaving the church. I saw Dorothy as I was leaving and gave her a hug, thanking her again for the card. It was a beautiful service in so many ways, and so full of symbolism. I'm glad that I decided to go to the B- meeting Wednesday because I think it helped me better appreciate some of the things that I probably wouldn't have noticed or understood otherwise.

I awoke to a cold and rainy Good Friday, as if the sky itself was in mourning. I fasted, prayed a little, and watched Pasolini's 1964 film The Gospel According to St. Matthew, which then inspired me to finally finish reading the rest of Matthew's gospel. I picked up from chapter 23, where Jesus sternly rebukes the religious hierarchy of his day for their hypocrisy. The path to God is one of humility, justice, mercy, all of which the scribes and Pharisees apparently lacked. It's a warning to them and also to us to reflect upon our own actions and intentions (cf., AN 5.57).

The Good Friday service was interesting and unlike any other I'd been to. It began with readings, the last of which was a reading of the passion from the Gospel of John. Then Fr. Bill gave a homily about the meaning of the passion and how Jesus was a victim of sacred violence, the same kind we inflict on others through the death penalty and other means of scapegoating and satisfying our inner needs, which was followed by a series of intercessory prayers. Afterwards, members of the social justice committee carried in a large wooden cross that was placed in front of the altar, and everyone took turns venerating it in their own way, most kneeling and kissing it or placing their forehead upon it. There was no mass (the only day no mass is held in any Catholic church), but it ended with communion from the extra hosts consecrated the night before.

Dorothy offered to give me a ride home that night, and we talked a lot on the way. A lot of the discussion was about the similarities between the Orthodox Church and the Catholic Church since my sponsor, Romanos, is Greek Orthodox. We also talked a bit about history and what it was that made me interested in visiting churches before I became interested in the religious aspects of Christianity (aesthetics and atmosphere mostly); and she told me about her visit to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington D.C. and how she didn't like how stern the mosaic of Jesus looks (it's pretty bad). Dorothy is truly one of the nicest persons I've ever met.

Holy Saturday I was initiated into the Church. The service didn't start until 8:30pm, after sunset. The whole day I waited in a half joyful, half anxious state; and the two hour service itself seemed like it flew by in the blink of an eye. Romanos picked me up a little before 8pm, and in the car, he surprised me with a card with some money, a simple yet beautiful San Damiano cross, and a Chinese coin from the Chongning era, the characters meaning 'esteem tranquility,' which the description that came with it said can be related to Psalm 34:15, "Seek peace (shalom), and pursue it."

Before the Easter Vigil began, we all congregated in the vestibule as Rose handed out small candles for the procession. Even though I was tired and hungry and had a headache, I was tremendously happy. The day was finally here! At 8:30pm, we all gathered outside as they tried to light the Easter fire. They had a little trouble getting it started, though, as someone mixed up the ratio of salt and alcohol that was supposed to be used. After the Paschal candle was finally lit, representing the light of Christ, "that Morning Star, who came back from the dead, and shed his peaceful light on all humanity," we all took turns lighting our candles and processed one by one into the dark church.

The service itself began with a beautiful singing of the Exsultet followed by a number of readings and responsorial Psalms concluding with a reading from the Gospel of Mark. Then Fr. Charlie gave the homily, the message of which was clear and powerful, but for the life of me I can barely remember any of it. By this time, I knew the rites of baptism and confirmation were near at hand, and it was difficult to restrain my excitement and nervousness. I remember that he began with talking about earth, air, fire, and water, the four elements of life and the aspects of God that each represented throughout the readings. And I also remember something about how we 'die' in baptism to sin and are born again with the risen Christ into a new life.

As soon as Fr. Charlie finished the homily, John and I, along with our sponsors, were called up to the altar, where we knelt as prayers were said and the saints were invoked. Then Fr. Charlie blessed a large bowl of water, which he placed the Paschal candle in three times. I think there were some prayers before and after, although I can't remember any of them. It felt like a dream; and even though I tried hard to listen to every word and take them into my heart, it was like a river of sound that flowed through my body, leaving only a sense of warmth and joy as each word passed into silence. We were then asked a series of questions, such as do we reject sin, do we believe in God, etc., to each of which we answered 'I do.'

After this, John and I were called up to the bowl one by one, each of us placing our heads over it while Fr. Charlie poured the water over our heads with a seashell, baptizing us in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We were given a new candle lit from the Paschal candle, and a white cloth (made by Carol from our Lent group, I think) was placed on our shoulders: the candle represented the light of Christ and our enlightenment, the cloth of our new life. Fr. Charlie then anointed the crown of our heads with the newly-blessed holy chrism (a mixture of olive oil and balsam). As is the Orthodox tradition, Romanos took out the cross he had gotten for me and placed it around my neck, saying axios, 'worthy.'

After that, the assembly renewed their baptismal promises, with Fr. Charlie asking everyone the same questions he asked John and I before sprinkling with water from the baptismal font. Next, Kathleen was called up to make her profession of faith, followed by two others who were called up to join us for confirmation. The five of us 'neophytes' all stood on the steps of the altar as Fr. Charlie took turns placing his hands on each of our heads before finally anointing each of our foreheads with holy chrism and officially welcoming us as full members into the Church. Such serene joy! I remember smiling, then we all hugged, and I felt so incredibly happy, so peaceful.

As we stepped down from the altar, I felt the same, yet somehow different, like a weight had been lifted off my heart. I suppose it could have just been a psychological reaction induced by the ceremony and the welcoming attitude of everyone present, but I really felt lighter, freer, and I smiled more than I had in a long time. I wished I could have stayed in that moment forever; but Rose had us help prepare for the liturgy of the Eucharist. John and I presented the gifts (I brought up the hosts this time), while the other three brought up some of the items needed during and after the consecration (communion cloths, etc.).

My first communion was a blur, which is kind of funny because I'd waited so long to take part in this mystery and it was over before I knew it. I just remember saying the "Our Father," with Romanos on my right and Fr. Michael on my left, and then standing before Fr. Charlie as he handed me the body of Christ. I placed it on my tongue, then took the cup of consecrated wine and sipped, letting the wine soak into the unleavened wafer. There was no thunderbolt like my imagination half expected; but the host melted in my mouth and it tasted beautiful. At least that's the best I can come to explaining the combination of bread and wine with the sense of euphoric yet subtle joy that was welling up within me. Tastes, sounds, and emotions all mixed together and washed over me in a gentle wave of sensory overload.

When the Easter Vigil service was finally over, everyone came to congratulate us and welcome us to the Church with handshakes and hugs. I thanked Romanos, Barbara, Fr. Bill, Fr. Charlie, and especially Fr. Michael for being there and for being my spiritual mentors. As Romanos drove me home, we talked a lot, but I was in such a daze that I don't recall much of the conversation besides him explaining that the rite itself didn't so much call down the Holy Spirit or give it to me as it did press the 'on' button of something that was already intrinsically there within me (kind of like the transmission of the nature of Mind in Zen, I suppose).

Despite not having slept much the previous two nights, and not going to bed until around 1am, I awoke early, possibly in anticipation of the Easter Sunday service. Annie dropped me off at the church, and I found a seat next to Karen, B- Kathleen, and RCIA Kathleen. The church was packed. Fr. Bill presided, and gave a really nice homily inspired by his experience in Ghana getting to know the Dagbani people's culture and language by 'wasting time' with them, a term used by the Dagbani people themselves. He also talked about the emptiness we sometimes feel and try to fill with things like TV, music, food, sex, etc., saying that we need to embrace that emptiness and fill it with God, which reminded me a lot of what I wrote last Saturday.

My experience at communion was similar to that of the night before, this time receiving the body of Christ from Fr. Bill and the cup from Rob, my representative in the Oregon House of Representatives. It all went by so fast, yet as I knelt there in prayer and contemplated the past few days, I became lost within myself, only vaguely aware of the continuing procession and the hymn being sung. So much of what Thomas Merton wrote about the Eucharist in his autobiography and other works became clear to me, and I felt like I finally understood what Fr. Michael meant about it being the spiritual food that helps nourish us and heal our inner brokenness. I wished in that moment that everyday could be full of such joy and meaning.

After mass, I was greeted by a number of people who congratulated me and welcomed me into the Church. Fr. Michael posted a couple of pictures online of our baptism, so the secret was out (there weren't that many people at the Easter Vigil itself). I also took the time to thank everyone again for everything. Fr. Bill said that I seem to be coming out of my shell a bit, and Fr. Charlie (who I learned officiated at Jeb Bush's wedding) suggested I be put to work as a lector or communion server, which I think I might do.

Easter ended with a nice, impromptu dinner with Annie and some friends, and the whole time I kept thinking about how incredible these last three days have been. They truly have been a blessing.

4/2/15

Eight months ago, I left Our Lady of Guadalupe uplifted yet confused, not knowing what kind of lasting affect my time there would have on me. I felt called yet lost, wishing that I had some sort of guiding star to point the way. And in many ways, I think I found that star in St. Philip, and in people like Dorothy, Barbara, Fr. Bill, Fr. Charlie, Fr. Michael, and of course my kalyanamitta Romanos. Here I am, eight months later, preparing to enter into the Church and the next chapter in my story.

Today is Holy Thursday, the beginning of the Triduum, the most important time in the Church's liturgical year. Triduum isn't three separate services but one service with three acts. Holy Thursday's act is all about service and welcoming others out of love. This is symbolized in the tradition of the washing of feet, where priests and pastoral councils will wash the feet of parishioners as Jesus did his disciples during the last supper.

Jesus' life itself symbolizes this. As I wrote in November, "I see Jesus as a bodhisattva of sorts, an enlightened being pointing the way towards spiritual awakening. He's divine and descended from royalty, yet he comes to serve rather than to be served. He teaches that, to enter the kingdom of heaven, one must help relieve the suffering of others (i.e., possess a mind suffused with bodhicitta). He lives a life of selflessness, healing the sick, comforting those in need, and preaching compassion, harmlessness, and forgiveness." It's a joyful act, then, celebrating the birth of the mystery of the Eucharist and of its expression in our actions of body, speech, and mind.

Tomorrow's act, Good Friday, is rather solemn in contrast. It's about the death of Jesus. The church will be shrouded in darkness; all the lights and candles will be extinguished. But as Fr. Michael reminded us yesterday, it's also a contemplative act. When everyone leaves silently out of the dark church empty of the Eucharist, it represents the silence, darkness, and emptiness from which God speaks to us. It's a time for contemplation and reflection.

When Paul says things like, "I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me" (Gal 2:19-20) and "We know that our old self was crucified with him, so that our sinful body might be done away with, that we might no longer be in slavery to sin" (Rom 6:6), I think he's talking about anatta, dying to self, fana, the cessation of the ego that opens one to an experience of the deathless, nibbana, God.

In commemorating Jesus' passion, we celebrate a paradox. On the one hand, the historical person of Jesus, who embodied the spirit of God, was put to death by humanity, illustrating the power that the defilements of greed, aversion, and delusion have on the human heart. When our minds are defiled by incoming defilements, there's no evil we won't do for our own sake. On the other hand, the timeless Christ is revealed, showing us the way to new spiritual life, that when our minds are freed from incoming defilements, there's no good we won't do for the sake of others, even to the point of giving our own lives for them.

On Holy Saturday, the Easter Vigil, light comes back into the world. Each member of the congregation will light a candle from the Paschal candle in the midst of the darkened church, symbolically overcoming the darkness of sin and death. Christ has arisen within our hearts, which illuminate the world with their light of love, compassion, and truth. On this day, new members are initiated into the church through the rites of baptism and confirmation. The Easter Vigil is an act of celebration, triumph, and rebirth.

Today marks the beginning of a new chapter in my life, in my spiritual journey. In many ways, I think the Triduum represents externally a play that takes place internally in each of our spiritual lives. I began in ignorance, like an infant new to the world who depended on the help and care of others, and was guided along the way by spiritual teachers and friends. I had my doubts, my many dark nights of the soul. And now here I am, entering willingly into the unknown in order that I may be spiritually reborn.

4/1/15

Today was the last Spiritual Formations group meeting, which was moved to Wednesday because of the Holy Thursday service tomorrow night. I didn't stay until the end, though, and I felt bad for leaving early to go to the B- meeting, but the B- group means more to me. It's my spiritual home at St. Philip. It's not an exaggeration to say that I'm a part of the Church because of the B- group. Dorothy's invitation back in August is what opened the door to the Church for me.

Fr. Michael talked about the Triduum, the last three days in Holy Week leading up to Easter. It's the most important time in the liturgical year. He described it as one service/play with three acts. I'm really looking forward to it, and I'm glad that I took the next two days off of work so that I can fully immerse myself in it. It looks like the RCIA group will have some active roles, as well.

After the meeting, Dorothy offered to give me a ride home. We had a nice talk on the way about all kinds of stuff like what led me to St. Philip, about her time as a volunteer school teacher in Texas, and about my upcoming baptism and confirmation. She also gave me a really sweet card welcoming me into the Church since she won't be able to make it Saturday. The card says, "The community of God's people welcomes you with love," and she added, "and especially Dorothy."

Something else of note is that I've been reading Karen Armstrong's A History of God and, finding myself very drawn to the chapters on Islam and Sufism in particular, I decided to see if there are any Sufi groups in the area. I sent a message about my interest to two of them and I got a response from both; but I think I might check out the Sufi Circle of Portland first, which is in the spiritual lineage of Rumi.

Looking back at the me of eight months ago, it's hard to believe that I'm here, now, doing what I'm doing. At the same time, I can see how the path I was on was leading me here the entire time, and the really surprising thing is that I didn't realize it sooner. That's why it feels so natural, why I don't have to ask that many questions in the RCIA class, why I've just gone with the flow. I already have the answers that I need. I intuitively know the direction I need to go.