6/21/15

This weekend was quite a spiritual one for me. On Friday, for instance, I decided to go to St. Philip for the noon mass, which Fr. Michael happened to be celebrating. I ran into Karen, and we sat next to each other. The gospel reading was Mt 6:19-23:

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and decay destroy, and thieves break in and steal. But store up treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor decay destroys, nor thieves break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.

"The lamp of the body is the eye. If your eye is sound, your whole body will be filled with light; but if your eye is bad, your whole body will be in darkness. And if the light in you is darkness, how great will the darkness be.

It was a reminder for me of Jesus' true message, which I believe is ultimately one of compassion, contemplation, and renunciation. The first passage is a reminder that worldly things are ephemeral, transient, subject to change and dissolution, not worth clinging to. Instead, Jesus points us towards another kind of treasure, a heavenly (i.e., non-worldly) treasure, much like the Buddha: "Indeed, the path that leads to worldly gain is one and the Path that leads to Nibbana is another" (Dhp 75).

The second, as Fr. Michael pointed out in his homily, isn't referring to our physical eyes so much as the 'eye of wisdom' that cuts through the darkness of ignorance and, in the words of Bhikkhu Nanamoli, "sees directly into the true nature of existence ordinarily hidden from us by our greed, aversion and delusion" ("The Discourse on Right View: The Sammaditthi Sutta and its Commentary").

After mass, I stuck around and hung out with Karen and Fr. Michael for an hour or two, just talking and enjoying the beautiful weather. Karen offered to give me a ride home, and we ended up having lunch together. We talked a lot about our approach to spirituality and our affection for Buddhism as well as Catholicism. I also discovered we share significant others who are atheist/non-religious yet supportive of our spirituality.

Later in the evening, I went to PFoD for the Pacific Hermitage monks' monthly visit. Ajahn Sudanto talked and answered a lot of questions during the informal tea gathering, and Ajahn Karunadhammo gave the Dhamma talk after meditation.

One of the topics was kamma, literally 'action.' People often have a lot of misconceptions about the concept due to the way it's been popularized; but Ajahn Sudanto stressed that it refers to the element of intention that colours/influences our experience of the present, and that it's pointing towards how we react to circumstances rather than to the existence of the circumstances themselves.

Another topic was the importance of mindfulness in seeing our craving and how it agitates the mind and gives rise to suffering, which in turn helps us eventually let go of our craving and attachments, freeing the mind and opening us up to an extraordinary peace.

The theme of the Dhamma talk was what the Buddha called the three 'divine messengers,' aging, illness, and death. In relating a personal story about visiting his elderly and ailing mother, Ajahn Karunadhammo talked about how these things reminded him of why he ordained and how Buddhism is about confronting our mortality with sober wisdom, helping us to live and die as skillfully as possible.

I went to mass twice on Saturday (the 8:00am daily mass and the 4:00pm vigil), as well as Sunday morning. Fr. Michael gave an interesting homily that focused on the cushion Jesus rested his head on in the boat rather than the miracle of calming the wind and sea. (I love his perspective on things.). In the day's gospel reading from Mark, Jesus sleeps with his head on a cushion in the midst of a violent storm, and he rebukes his disciples for their fear and agitation. Fr. Michael suggested that we be cushions for one another, a place of comfort and rest, while I saw in Jesus a reflection of the inner calm we should try to cultivate in confronting the turbulence of the world, which reminded me of Knitter's words, "People who are peace will surely make peace" (185).

Even with all of that wisdom and encouragement, though, I find myself becoming more and more overwhelmed by the reality of my mom's illness. She's starting to do worse and I'm afraid that I might lose her. Last night, the mere thought of it sent me into a panic. I know that death is a natural part of life, but the thought of losing her is too much for me to bear, and neither prayers nor meditation are helping at the moment.

Like Peter was for the Church, my mom is the rock on which our family is built; and I feel like once she's no longer with us, everything will fall to pieces. Right now, all I can think to do is pray for the strength to be a cushion for my family.

6/18/15

I took Dorothy to the B- meeting yesterday. Fr. Michael is back from LA, where his father's in hospice. He's had to come back to take care of some of his own needs, like overdue eye appointments/shots, as well as pastoral duties while Fr. Charlie's away. I know how difficult that must be for him. Being so far away from my family, I often feel what I imagine to be a similar conflict whenever my mom's in the hospital and I'm not there by her side.

Fr. Michael said that he didn't feel like he did a good job of leading the group, that he was 'off' because of traveling and the stuff with his dad, but I thought the exact opposite. I especially liked the topic, which was based in large part on Paul Knitter's book, Without Buddha I Could not be a Christian. (Apparently, I got a couple of people interested in reading it.) The initial topic was the problem of evil, although someone also brought up the Trinity. Fr. Michael approached both through the lens of non-duality.

I spent a lot of the time jotting down my own thoughts to the questions and ideas being raised. Part of that was me trying to collect my thoughts in case I decided to join in, which I didn't although I wish I had. (I guess I'm still not quite over being the shy, quiet one just yet.) I was a little worried that people wouldn't like the book or get where Knitter's coming from since few have any experience with Buddhism, but that fear was largely unfounded.

In explaining Knitter's approach to the problem of evil, Fr. Michael touched on how the Buddhist idea of ignorance being the root of what we call evil (actions arising out of greed, aversion, and delusion), rather than some malevolent entity or unchangeable nature, can help one cultivate love and compassion for those who do evil things (love the sinner, hate the sin as they say). Like Stoicism, Buddhism takes the position that we largely do harmful things out of ignorance, out of not seeing things clearly. Those who pollute the environment, for example, generally do so because they think that profiting from the exploitation and defilement of natural resources is good while turning a blind eye to the harm it causes. It's really an act of selfishness conditioned by ignorance.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus tells us to love our enemies that we may be children of God, "for he makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and causes rain to fall on the just and the unjust" (Mt 5:43-5). We shouldn't make distinctions with our love (non-duality); but how can we love someone who's evil? One way is by realizing that they're not necessarily evil; they're simply someone who's acting out of ignorance and a mind defiled by greed, aversion, and delusion. At the same time, it makes us responsible for our actions (rather than blaming God or the devil for our evil deeds and misfortune), and encourages us by suggesting that each one of us can 'wake up' and be 'born again.'

Hating evil may feel right, but if you hate, that hate harms you as much as it causes you to harm others. Moreover, hate hardens the heart and makes reconciliation all but impossible; and how can we work to make the kingdom of God a reality when our hearts are clouded by hatred and ill-will? Are we not a part of God's plan? Does God not work through us? These were some of the thoughts that crossed my mind, at any rate.

As for the Trinity, that concept really gives a lot of people a hard time, especially if you approach it from a logical standpoint. But I think Knitter and others are on the right track when they say that the Trinity is a symbol pointing towards the relational nature of God, reflecting on the spiritual level the relational/social nature of humanity.

For me, God isn't the 'God of the gaps,' of the things we can't explain or fully understand, but the 'God of relationships.' Like Knitter, I see God as the interconnectedness and love that's present all around and within us. And the Trinity is merely a finger pointing to the moon, something to help us awaken to the face of God hidden in plain sight.

But back to the problem of evil. What kind of solution does this approach offer? It offers a contemplative one, I think, one in which we begin with a simple premise: if we strive to do good, refrain from evil, and purify our minds, the rest will take care of itself. In other words, we have to begin by addressing our own intentions and actions, by transforming our ignorance into wisdom so that when we act, we act less out of ignorance and more out of wisdom, less out of greed, aversion, and delusion and more out of charity, compassion, and loving-kindness. Or as Knitter might say, we must be peace in order to effectively make peace, addressing our suffering and suffering of the world at the same time.

In essence, we must learn to let go of our craving, to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Jesus' example. As Knitter puts it, "We have to be 'free of attachment' if we are to be truly able to 'create a better world' according to its needs and not our own." Elaborating on this, he continues a couple of paragraphs down:

Yes, structures will have to be changed. But they will be changed, naturally and necessarily, by people with changed hearts. Yes, justice will have to be realized. But it will be realized, because Enlightened beings, peace-filled beings, will naturally share and address the needs of those who have been exploited. True contemplation will automatically become action. People who are peace will surely make peace. If you spend enough time "just sitting there," you will stand up and do. So again, the priority, perhaps the only real requirement, for making peace in the world is to be peace in the heart. (185)

Because of the excitement surrounding Pope Francis' encyclical on the environment, the issue of climate change was brought up a number of times. The ignorance of those who deny climate change and/or the science suggesting human activity is one of the main contributing factors was used as an example in the discussion about evil. And when talk turned towards sustainability as one answer to climate change, I was again reminded of the importance of compassion and wisdom: to be more sustainable requires a conscious decision on our own part in conjunction with systematic, socio-economic changes, changes made, naturally and necessarily, by people with changed hearts. It's all interconnected.

At one point, someone asked if anybody knew the origins of the phrase "Grace builds on nature" and what it meant. Nobody knew the exact origin offhand, but I liked one interpretation to the effect of, we can tap into what's already there. Just as I have trouble believing in a God who must be feared, I have a hard time with the idea of God giving or withholding 'grace.' Instead, I view what we call grace as the natural result/combination of right view, right intention, and right action, as our ability to be open and aware and 'see' what we need or what we might otherwise overlook. It's the Connecting Spirit unfolding throughout history, the Spirit of God blossoming within our lives.

From a dualistic perspective, perhaps, there seems to be good and evil, grace seems to be given and withheld; but from a non-dual point of view, God is present everywhere, and that presence is obscured only by our ignorance. When we remove the veil of ignorance, we see and experience that presence, that unconditional love and beingness, permeating our lives. And in that way, we can become like Christ and help build the kingdom of God.

6/17/15

Today begins my three month seasonal layoff. I worked last summer; but this time around, I decided to take the layoff and go to Michigan to visit my family for a month. It's mainly to be with my mom for her birthday in July. I'm hoping she'll be out of the hospital by then, although they've been having trouble getting her kidney to work right, so who knows. Either way, it'll be nice to spend some time with her.

Now that I'm not working, I have a lot of free time, which means a lot of time to think. This morning, for example, I was thinking about Last Sunday's mass, and in particular, a prayer of Cardinal Newman's that Fr. Bill had us partially recite during his homily:

God has created me to do Him some definite service. He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission. I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good; I shall do His work. I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it if I do but keep His commandments. Therefore, I will trust Him, whatever I am, I can never be thrown away.

I wish I knew what my calling in this life was. I feel like if I knew, I'd be more at peace, like a great weight would be lifted off of me. But that's kind of a selfish wish, isn't it? I want my life to have meaning, to be fulfilling. I want to devote myself to something in order to feel like my life has some worth, that I haven't been created for naught. I want to trade the suffering of not having a goal for the suffering of not yet achieving my goal.

It's a relatively wholesome desire in the grand scheme of things, I suppose. But still, it all revolves around 'me,' about what 'I' want and about what would make 'me' happy, which tells me that I've yet to truly understand the conditions of discipleship...

Contemplating all of this, I wandered over to St. Michael the Archangel for the noon mass. The readings for the day were about generosity and right intention. One should give for the sake of giving, for being able to give is a greater gift and blessing than to receive; and more important than the size of the gift is the spirit/intention in which it's given. What God (or InterBeing a la Knitter) shares with us, we should joyfully share with others out of love and compassion—we should give selflessly, without strings or expectations of reward:

[T]ake care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them; otherwise, you will have no recompense from your heavenly Father. When you give alms, do not blow a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets to win the praise of others. Amen, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right is doing, so that your almsgiving may be secret. And your Father who sees in secret will repay you. (Mt 6:1-4)

In hoarding what we have, aren't we closing our hearts to those around us who are in need? What's more, aren't we admitting through our actions that we don't believe there are fruits and results of good and bad actions (a rejection of dependent co-arising and part of wrong view in Buddhism)? Rather than give, we cling. Rather than seeking God or awakening, we make our own material comfort the central care of our lives.

Like in Cardinal Newman's prayer, we're links in a chain, bonds of connection, which I think hints at the non-dual nature of reality. Ultimately, there's no real separation between 'us' and 'them,' no difference between samsara and nirvana, or in the words of Paul, "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).

Something else that stood out to me today was that, during the responsorial Psalm, I just couldn't bring myself to repeat "Blessed the man who fears the Lord," so I quietly sang "Blessed the man who loves the Lord" instead. I realized that such language doesn't reflect my understanding of God; and I simply can't believe in a God who must be feared. God is love, and I feel that our language about God should reflect that.

6/8/15

I went to my first Latin mass Saturday at St. Stephen. I had some spare time and decided to see what it was like. In some ways, I liked it. Because almost the whole thing was in Latin, it felt new and exciting, and I particularly enjoyed the singing of the Cantores in Ecclesia choir. It was quite beautiful, and reminded me of some of the singing I've heard at Holy Trinity. It definitely had a different feel from what I'm used to. But not knowing any Latin, I found it hard to keep up, even with the missal; and because of that, I felt more like a spectator than a participant. I'd certainly go again, although I prefer celebrating mass in a language I can understand.

Sunday, I went to St. Philip. Whereas Fr. Bliven's homily at St. Stephen stressed the reality of the Eucharist being the literal body and blood of Christ (which makes sense being the Feast of Corpus Christi and all), referencing 1 Corinthians 11, Fr. Charlie's homily stressed the underlying social dynamic of the Eucharist—how mass isn't just about connecting with God through Jesus, but about connecting with God and each other through Jesus. He noted that the word companion comes from the Latin words cum and panis, literally 'with bread,' referring to someone you eat with, someone you share a table with. It points to an intimate connection; and in the Eucharist, which is itself a remembrance and reenactment of the Last Supper, our companionship brings Christ into our midst, "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them" (Mt 18:20).

Fr. Charlie pointed out that, even though we may all be in the same room together, some of us may be there alone, isolated within; and he encouraged us to really open our hearts to one another. We're not just there to be in communion with God, because God is in each and every one of us. It's not unlike what Romanos wrote recently in response the things I wrote about my feelings of alienation at work a couple weeks ago:

No matter how mundane the transaction, whether it's taking orders in a subway sandwich shop or cafeteria, or trying to help a customer through a technical problem or even selling them another product, we can still be the human face of the Gospel, of Jesus Christ, to the other person; and without them knowing it, they can be the human face of Christ to us. We can do this, and in most cases probably should, without giving religion or spirituality a thought. If we believe in the incarnation of God, in us, and as us, then how can we speak of any encounter as 'mechanical, fake, empty'?

Deep down, I know there's some truth to that, especially when he says:

If one cannot find peace in serving Christ in His common humanity under the disguise of our neighbor, our customer, our boss, our brother or sister, our friend, or the one who we know hates or despises us without cause, then the peace we experience in environments we can control, is what really is ‘mechanical, fake, empty’ and will not last. Should we be so unfortunate as to have everything go our way and be able to seek the God within by rejecting the God without, we may be blind to it, but it will be obvious to others that we’re just playing a game. Some play the ‘game of Church.’ Others play the ‘game of Boddhisatva.’ Some play the ‘game of Thrones.’ In the end, unless you win Christ by surrendering to Him in whatever way He comes to you, games won’t save you though they comfort for a moment. There is no game. It’s all for real, because Christ is all, and in all.

But still, for me that's easier said than done. After so many monotonous interactions, I tend to feel empty and emotionally drained. And worse, when someone's being rude and/or verbally abusive to me, I automatically get defensive, angry. I don't feel like I deserve to be treated that way, which makes me feel even angrier and more powerless because I'm expected to take it all or else risk getting in trouble, possibly even lose my job. I wish I could be more like St. Francis and welcome such interactions, either as penance or an opportunity to follow Jesus' teachings, to really practice what I believe to be right and true. And yet I struggle with even the mildest of unpleasantries.

It reminds of what Fr. Michael said in one of his homilies about the need for us to address the suffering underlying our sin, because I do feel in my heart that my anger towards others is a sin, and I desperately want to uproot that anger out of my spiritual soil. That's one of the things that initially drew me to Buddhism, in fact—the possibility of transcending greed, aversion, and delusion. But to love unconditionally seems like the hardest thing in the world to do; and I wish I had the faith and courage of St. Francis to give up everything and to give everything of myself so that I, too, could learn to live with such boundless love and compassion for all beings.

6/1/15

I went camping this weekend with a few friends, and I think getting away from everything for a few days was exactly what I needed. I took off Friday, and went to the 9am mass at Ascension before heading out to Fernview Campground. I was originally going to go to St. Philip, but I always forget their Friday mass is at noon, so I decided to check out Ascension instead.

The first thing I noticed was the large San Damiano cross hanging above the altar. The Gospel reading was Mark 11:11-26, where Jesus curses the fig tree, overturns the money changers' tables, and talks about faith and prayer. The homily was on faith and purifying the temple, but not the Temple of Jerusalem, the temple of our body, where the spirit of God dwells (1 Cor 6:19-20). We need to make room in our temple for God by rejecting the things like greed that pollute our temple and keep God out.

As I was leaving, someone turned and wished me a good day, and for some reason that small act of kindness really touched me.

We arrived at the campsite mid-afternoon, which is along the South Santiam River. It's a beautiful site. After setting up our tents, we headed down to drink a few beers by the river. There's nothing quite as relaxing as the sound of running water. As I sat there watching the water cascade over and between the rocks that dot the river, with the sun hanging low in the sky, soon to be out of sight, I thought how the initial chaos is really full of patterns, order.

Water rushing and splashing and crashing in a chaotic, frothy stream—it seems so random, so disorderly and without rhyme or reason. But as I kept watching, I thought of how it couldn't flow any other way, the molecules of water bumping into each other and into those of the rocks that gravity compels them to flow past, each action conditioning the next until all these tiny, individual interactions produce the impossibly complex, ordered symphony of a turbulent river. An apt metaphor for life.

Another thought that occurred to me was about communion, the act of taking consecrated bread and wine into yourself. It's become such an important part of my life. I still don't know that I believe the bread and wine turns into the literal flesh and blood of God/Jesus, but the idea of taking something into yourself, into your very being, that's been touched by God is a powerful one. I find that it opens up something inside of me that, for some reason, I keep closed off, like a bumping, spiritual molecule in the turbulent river of my life that I'm convinced has a purpose even though it may not look like it.

I felt incredibly content, with no regrets or cares in the world. I thought:

If only we could always feel so free, so at peace. It's easier to believe in God and the goodness of the world after a few drinks or whenever I'm to the point of losing my 'self,' especially when surrounded by nature and/or listening to some amazing music. Everything wraps together and weaves itself into a trans-sensual tapestry of thoughts, feelings, sounds, tastes, and emotions , opening a door in my heart to the divine dwelling among us. I wish I could share this feeling with others, like a bodhisattva. God is love. Love is the law. As above, so below. Trite truisms, perhaps, but no less profound...

I've been reading Omer Englebert's biography of St. Francis, so I decided to go to St. Francis of Assisi for the 7pm contemplative mass when I got home since I missed the morning mass at St. Philip, especially with it being the Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity and all. It's amazing how similar he was to many of the Thai Forest masters I've read about. The simplicity and austerity of his life was incredible, and reading about it inspires me and has me thinking a lot about entering the monastic life. To be so free, so at peace. And even the difficulties of such a life can bear so much fruit...

The mass was kind of odd, yet intimate and moving. The church is old and mostly wood, including the tree-stump altar, simple but not unpleasantly so. Much of the homily was inspired by a book on ecology written by a Catholic (can't remember the title), part of which talks about the relational nature of the Trinity. We were encouraged to discuss the idea afterwards. Before communion, our small group all held hands during the "Our Father," and remained standing in front of the sanctuary as the priest handed each one of us communion. It was a nice way to end a long weekend.