12/25/22

Some people wonder why I consider myself Christian. And honestly, I wonder myself sometimes, too, looking at what's been done in its name. But the short answer is, I find hope and inspiration in the revolutionary message contained within Christianity itself and not necessarily in the institution it's become.

When I read the bible, what I see is the story of a people who, on the one hand, are struggling with the world they live in, full of greed, oppression, and violence, yet dreaming of a world that's filled with equality, abundance, and peace. It's a story of historical progress towards something better and the successes and failures that a particular people found worth telling and remembering. And Jesus himself embodies the spirit of this dream. His name means "God liberates" or "God is liberation." His message was destined to be revolutionary, as Mary proclaims in Luke 1:52-53, "He pulls down the mighty from their thrones and raises up the humble. He fills the hungry with good things and he leaves the rich with nothing." His birth was announced to poor workers (shepherds), not the wealthy or kings. His life was spent trying to bring a new and more egalitarian world into being through acts like healing the sick, feeding the hungry, opposing economic exploitation, chastising the rich and distributing their wealth to those in need, and working to bring those on the margins back into the heart of the community. He opposed Roman imperialism, religious hypocrisy, persecution, and violence. He spoke of compassion, forgiveness, universal kinship, and loving our neighbours as ourselves, making concern for others the entry fee to the kingdom of heaven. And he did all of this because he was inspired by universal love and compassion for the human condition.

It's a dream that I share, and just as this revolutionary spirit helped guide the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt, I believe it'll also help guide all of us out of the bondage of our current system that's idolized and globalized greed, oppression, and violence. And for me, Christ is a living symbol of that spirit.

That spirit is also present in many other places, like social and political movements and monasteries—the former reflecting the active aspects of revolution and the latter reflecting the contemplative aspects and desired outcomes of equality and community. I think Ernesto Cardenal touches upon these contradictions and their synthesis when he wrote In Cuba:

At breakfast some Marxists asked me about our community at Solentiname. I explained that we try to lead a life in common, with no "thine" or "mine," a life of voluntary poverty—free from the desire for money and from the demands of a society of consumption. We live in brotherly union, all working for the community. We are all equal. And then I stopped. I understood that what may seem very novel in the capitalistic world is a daily reality in Cuba. (I couldn't talk to them about prayer because it would be misinterpreted, and I wouldn’t know how to explain mystic union to people who don't believe in God.) I was afraid that they were going to ask me what need there is for such communities in a socialist society. At that moment I would not have known what to say.

I kept thinking of the question that the young Marxists might have asked me. It seems to me that in a perfect socialist society it would not be necessary to "flee from the world" in order to live the Gospel. In any case, the material life of those communities would be the same as that of all the others. And I remembered what St. John Chrysostom said (in a letter to a rich man): "If cities were Christian, monasteries would be unnecessary."

For me, God is love. God liberates. God is the spirit of revolution. And Christ loves. Christ is a liberator. Christ is a revolutionary. And as Marcus Borg wrote, Christ "revealed what can be seen of God in a human life" through his words and actions. So I consider myself Christian because I follow Christ's example—not the Christianity of imperialism, wealth, white supremacy, etc., but the revolutionary Christianity of Jesus and the liberation of the poor and oppressed.

12/18/22

Today's service at Spirit of Grace was incredibly moving, both due to the nature of the readings and to the emotions, prayers, and thoughts that were offered by the community.

There was a tearful children's homily at the beginning about the birth of Jesus and the meaning of the name Emmanuel, 'God is with us.' Obviously there was something deeply felt by the presenter, Katie, about the idea of God walking with us, crying with us, and being present with us in good times and bad. (The community has certainly suffered its fair share of hardships and loss, as well as its joys and blessings, this past year.) And the theme of waiting appeared repeatedly throughout, particularly in Fr. Jack's homily—waiting for the birth of Jesus and for the ideals he embodies, waiting for a better future, for liberation, for the presence of God that'll change our lives and the world, a presence that's paradoxically already present.

But what I think we so often forget is that what we're really waiting on is ourselves, for our own awakening and transformation. The way we treat one another is up to us. The way our world appears is up to us. Ultimately, we've been given the "keys to the kingdom of heaven," and it has to be our decisions and actions that bring it about here on earth. God doesn't impose a just or unjust world upon us; we create the world we experience. This is our power, our gift. And the closer we are to God, Dhamma, Tao, Nature, or whatever we want to call it, the more our actions will be characterized by love and harmlessness, and the closer we come to realizing a more just world.

Many of the hymns and bible passages that are sung and read every Sunday mention waiting for God and for a world that's more egalitarian and compassionate, where no one suffers from want, from hunger or thirst, from lack of access to healthcare, from loneliness, oppression, imprisonment, etc. And we sometimes need to be reminded that this new world we're waiting for isn't going to come about through magic, unexpectedly overnight, like Christmas presents waiting under the tree for us as children when we believed in Santa and our parents would hide them while we were sleeping for us to find in the morning. It'll only come about when we consciously and collectively decide to do things different—to not follow our impulses that arise out of greed, aversion, or delusion, but cultivate those arising out of non-greed, non-anger, and non-delusion and lead to long-term welfare and happiness; to not promulgate and support any political or economic system that creates inequality and disadvantages anyone rather than providing for the needs of all.

We're waiting for God to deliver us from all this pain and messiness, but we're the ones who must be vigilant and follow the way forward—we're the ones who are called to love our neighbour as ourselves (Mt 22:34-40), who are called to see those who are hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or ill or in prison and minister to their needs (Mt 25:31-46).

12/17/22

Today is Pope Francis' birthday. I may not always agree with him, but as far as popes go, I think he could be a whole lot worse. For all his faults and that of the institution of the Catholic Church in general, I like that he's not afraid to criticize capitalism and the way that the poor and marginalized are treated within it. For example, when asked recently in an interview about those who call him a communist and how he'd respond to those who say that what the church and the pope have to say about economics isn't important, he answered, "I am much enlightened by the Beatitudes, but above all by the standard by which we will be judged: Matthew 25. 'I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink. I was in prison, and you visited me. I was sick and you cared for me.' Is Jesus a communist, then? The problem that is behind this, that you have rightly touched on, is the socio-political reduction of the Gospel message. If I see the Gospel in a sociological way only, yes, I am a communist, and so too is Jesus. Behind these Beatitudes and Matthew 25 there is a message that is Jesus’ own. And that is to be Christian. The communists stole some of our Christian values." Amen to that. Happy birthday, comrade. 🎂☭

12/16/22

I stumbled on this quote today from Raimundo Panikkar:

The rivers of the earth do not actually meet each other, not even in the oceans, nor do they need to meet in order to be truly life-giving rivers. But they do meet: they meet in the skies–that is, in heaven. The rivers do not meet, not even as water. They meet in the form of clouds, once they have suffered a transformation into vapour, which eventually will pour down again into the valleys of mortals to feed the rivers of the earth. Religions do not coalesce, certainly not as organised religions. They meet once transformed into vapour, once metamorphosized into Spirit, which is then poured down in innumerable tongues.

It offers what I find to be the most beautiful and poetic articulation of what philosophia perennis means.

12/11/22

Today's gospel reading on the third Sunday of Advent is Luke 1:47-55, the Magnificat. This is the version used by Ernesto Cardenal in The Gospel in Solentiname from the American Bible Society:

"My soul praises the Lord;
my heart rejoices in God my savior.
because he has noticed his slave.
And from now on all generations will call be happy,
for mighty God has done great things for me.
His name is holy,
and his love reaches his faithful ones from generation to generation.
He has shown the strength of his arm;
he conquers those with proud hearts.
He pulls down the might from their thrones
and raises up the humble.
He fills the hungry with good things
and he leaves the rich with nothing.
He helps the nation of Israel his servants,
in remembrance of his love;
as he had promised to our fathers,
to Abraham, and to his descendants forever."

Like so many prophets and revolutionaries such as Isaiah before his birth, and others like Martin Luther King, Jr. and Ernesto Cardenal after, Jesus embodies the spirit of this song of hope, and his life was devoted to bringing it about.

The translation they used today at Spirit of Grace was a modern, more inclusive rendition that was nice but had a less forceful impact. Nevertheless, the underlying message is the same. Mary, pregnant and waiting to give birth to her first child, Jesus, sings a praise to God and prophesizes the birth of a new world of justice for the poor and oppressed.

And that got me thinking about how that will come about. There are a lot of hymns that talk of waiting for this world to come, for God to bring it about. But I think that waiting is more like the waiting of an expectant parent, a waiting in which the parent takes an active part. The birth of a child takes time. And as this new life grows and takes shape, it's fed and nurtured by its parents-to-be until the conditions are right for it to enter the world and be born. So, too, the new world we hope to be born takes time to gestate, being fed and nurtured by our words and actions and the intentions underlying them.

But even after the child is born, care is still needed to protect it, nurture it, and help it to thrive and live long into the future, just as any social transformation still needs our continued care to protect it, nurture it, and help it to thrive and live long into the future. And just as we don't ever know the exact minute a child will be born and must wait patiently while preparing for its arrival, the same holds true of the new world, the kin-dom of God, we long for. We must wait patiently while preparing in whatever ways we can for its arrival.

And if we truly take the commandment to love our neighbour as ourselves seriously, then we must work to free our neighbour from social systems of domination and exploitation, from hunger and poverty, from injustice and discrimination, from oppression and violence, from political and economic servitude.

12/10/22

When I was in Seattle a couple of months ago, I picked up a copy of Waiting for God, a collection of letters and essays written by Simone Weil. Her life story is incredibly interesting and I think of her as one of the unnamed saints of the church, living a life of service to others with a faith deeper and more expansive than many of the saints who are named. There are many gems in this book, like the part of one of her letters to Fr. Perrin where she talks about the dangers of the church as a worldly institution and how things like feelings of patriotism can easily be caught and compel one to do and support things that are otherwise evil. One example she gives are saints who approved of the Crusades and Inquisition (12-15). And I think she's correct that there's a real danger of becoming absorbed in the social, being swept away into evil because that world is the domain of the devil, or from the Buddhist view, the domain of the defilements of greed, aversion, and delusion. I think that's why many mystics tend to turn away from the world and live in solitude or communal communities of like-minded people. She also speaks of truth in a deeply profound way, suggesting that she could never be a part of something, no matter how much she loves it, if it limits her intellectual search for truth, "that one can never wrestle enough with God if one does so out of pure regard for the truth. Christ likes us to prefer truth to him because, before being Christ, he is truth. If one turns aside from him to go towards the truth, one will not go far before falling into his arms" (27). And I think her essay "Reflections on the Right Use of School with a View to the Love of God" gets to the heart of prayer and meditation, as well as the important role of education in developing our powers of attention, that "prayer consists of attention," the "development of attention forms the real object" of education (57), and "students must therefore work without any wish to gain good marks, to pass examination, to win school success; applying themselves equally to all their tasks, with the idea that each one will help to form in them the habit of attention" (59). Even if we're not good at something and fail, such as trying to solve a geometry problem, the effort of concentration and attention that we devote to trying is never wasted as "we have nevertheless been making progress each minute of that hour in another more mysterious dimension" and "this apparently barren effort has brought more light into the soul" (58). (And I think this is even more important now, in a time where the speed of technology and our daily lives makes it even more difficult to cultivate this kind of attention.) In terms of prayer and our developed faculties of attention, she write that, "It is the orientation of all the attention of which the soul is capable toward God" and "the higher part of attention only makes contact with God, when prayer is intense and pure enough for such a contact to be established; but the whole attention is turned toward God" (57). In this, I very much see a connection between attention in Christian prayer and mindfulness in Buddhist meditation, with mindful awareness and concentration leading toward the absorption found in deep states of meditation (jhana) and union with 'the deathless.'

12/7/22

Is it just me, or is our society grinding many of us into exhaustion, depression, and hopelessness while forcing us to find any sort of rest, pleasure, or distraction that we can just to get us through the day and the next after that and the one after that, etc.? A society where workloads are too heavy because it's not profitable enough if we have enough people to actually do the job. A society with rents and mortgages many of us can't afford. A society where more of our taxes go towards the military and weapons of war that kill the workers and poor of other countries than to housing or feeding those in need at home. A society where the rich are getting richer and shooting themselves into space while everyone else struggles more and more to make ends meet, making us fight each other for the scraps left over. A society where we wake up each day dreading the commute and having to spend the majority of our waking hours trying to earn a wage rather than spending them with our family and friends and enjoy the amazing world we're born into. Is it just me who wakes up every day tired, beaten, and wishing for something better for all of us but only has the time and energy to heat up dinner in the microwave and watch a couple of episodes of a murder documentary before going to bed to do it all over again tomorrow? Am I the only one who truly believes it could be better than it is if we actually had a voice and choice and this reality wasn't dictated for us by those who benefit from it the most, sitting on their thrones of money, power, and privilege

12/3/22

I recently ordered a new book, The Gospel in Solentiname, by Ernesto Cardenal and started it yesterday. It's essentially a commentary of the gospel readings throughout the year that's composed of various conversations held each Sunday during mass between Cardenal and campesinos (peasant farmers) the Solentiname Islands in Nicaragua during the Somoza dictatorship, many of whom became revolutionaries after their community was destroyed. It's some really amazing stuff that views the gospels through the lens of liberation theology and highlights their true heart: God is love; God is on the side of the poor and oppressed; God is a God of equality, justice, and liberation; and it's our duty to do the work of God on earth.

It definitely starts out with a bang. Jesus is the word of God. God expresses themselves through Jesus, "to denounce oppression, to say: 'Here there is injustice, here there is evil, there are rich and poor, the earth belongs to a few.' And to announce a new life, a new truth, in a word: a social change" (1). "To create is a way of communication" and "when he created light and the stars, the heaven and the earth, God was expressing himself, he was communicating." We are made in God's image. God is a worker and an artist—God created through their word (poema), hence "God's poem is reality" and "The worker is the image of God, and everything he produces is good. It enriches man" (3). Jesus was born among poor workers, in a stable to a carpenter and his wife; his name means "God liberates" or "God is liberation" (9); his message was destined to be revolutionary, as Mary announces, "He pulls down the mighty from their thrones and raises up the humble. He fills the hungry with good things and he leaves the rich with nothing" (18); and his birth was announced to poor workers (shepherds), not the wealthy or kings (26). Just as God guided the Israelites out of bondage in Egypt, he shall guide all of us out of the bondage of our current system.

It's heartening, inspiring, and at times challenging. And the more I read the reflections of these Nicaraguan campesinos like Oscar, Alejandro, Elvis, Felipe, Julio, Laureano, and Rebeca, the more that I truly believe Cardenal is right when he writes, "the true author [of this book] is the Spirit who inspired these comments": the spirit of unity, the spirit of service to others, the spirit of the future society, the spirit of the proletarian struggle, the spirit of equality and community sharing, the spirit of the revolution, the spirit of love (xiii). And I think it's worth listening to what this spirit is trying to tell us, to truly know Jesus and his message through the voices of those closest to him.

11/27/22

First day of Advent. I went to St. Andrew today for mass for the first time in a long while. The reading for the day was Isaiah 2:1-5, which, like chaplain India Jensen Kerr, is one I'm also partial to for similar reasons, particular the passage:

[God] shall judge between the nations,
and set terms for many peoples.
They shall beat their swords into plowshares
and their spears into pruning hooks;
One nation shall not raise the sword against another,
nor shall they train for war again.

I appreciate it because it represents hope and vision of what can be. And the way Isaiah articulates this vision is by using the imagery of tools used for violence and domination being scrapped and transformed into tools used for the service of the community, tools for food production and cultivation rather than destruction. Isaiah speaks of the day when this comes to fruition being in the future, something to both look forward to but also work towards. Because this vision of the future requires us to take an active role in planting and tending the seeds for it to eventually blossom. There's no definite date, because who can say when all the various causes and conditions will ripen and give rise to these effects? But they most certainly will never come into being without our active participation. If we don't choose to be agents of peace and reconciliation, especially when doing so is difficult or seems pointless, then peace and reconciliation will never become humanity's inheritance. The tools don't shape themselves, nor do they act of their own accord. This work is indeed difficult, and not without sacrifice and suffering as it challenges those with privilege and power who profit from violence and exploitation; but it's the exhortation of the prophets from Isaiah to Martin Luther King, Jr. and heart of Jesus' ministry—the world can be transformed, and we must be willing and ready to make this vision of the world a reality. Only when the world is ruled by love and justice and concern for the common good will "the mountain of the Lord's house shall be established as the highest mountain and raised above the hills."

11/19/22

Sometimes I find myself confronted with a lot of uncertainty and despair. Uncertainty whether life has any meaning or purpose. Despair at the seemingly unnecessary and pervasive privation and suffering we visit upon one another. Etc. And in those times, I tend to turn towards things that inspire and uplift me, such as philosophy and religion. Many people find religion unnecessary. Nevertheless, I find within it "the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions." This is especially true of Christianity, which I once dismissed outrightly. But I was surprised upon meeting Jesus for the first time in the Gospel of Matthew, realizing that I had it all wrong. What I really appreciate about Jesus is the way he bridges the gap between the material and the immaterial in trying to bring the kin-dom of God into the here and now. Jesus represents for me the tangible effects of the presence of God in the world and our hearts. The whole focus of the New Testament is the story of Jesus and his way of salvation. This way is characterized by an adherence to nonviolence, peace, and love of others. By tending to the sick, feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, and welcoming the stranger, who's still our neighbour. By forgiveness, reconciliation, and restorative justice. By a preferential option for the poor and marginalized and a more equitable redistribution of wealth. By a God who riots against injustice, greed, hypocrisy, and unequal social relations. By moments of quiet contemplation. By a call to action, to go out and recreate our world into something better. By a historical progression towards renewal and rebirth. By eschewing politics of purity and dogmatic theology and centering the essence of the unknown, which is love, in our daily lives and interactions. And whenever I'm lost in the dark wilderness of my uncertainty and despair, I always have the light of his teachings and example to help guide the way.

11/14/22

I've realized that I don't often write when I'm feeling down or having a difficult time. I may feel so many things so intensely — anxiety, fear, depression, anger, hopelessness, sorrow, loneliness, loss, etc. — but I can rarely seem to find the motivation or words to express them. All those negative thoughts and emotions act like a dark cloud that blocks anything creative or memorable from shining through. I usually just sit and think and brood or try to distract myself until the darkness lifts and then carry on from there, leaving gaps where so much is lost and often left unaddressed. But I want to find a way to express those times as well as when I'm feeling hopeful or inspired. These last couple of weeks have been that way, especially this past weekend. Life has me so busy lately that I haven't had time for church or much else besides work and chores. I've been feeling quite tired and burnt out, stretched thin really, and was looking forward to this weekend. I made plans with some friends to get together on Saturday and was hoping for a relaxing time. It started out well enough. We met up at Imperial and had a beer before heading over to Reel M Inn for their fried chicken, catching up on what's going on in each other's lives. I had a good enough time before heading out to the Coffin Club for a show. Another friend of mine, Zach, who's in at least two bands, was DJing there, and I invited my friend Aaron out so that I could give him a shirt from the Batushka concert I've been holding on to for him. It'd been so long since I'd been there, and I was enjoying the atmosphere only a gothic dance club can provide; but I could also feel this underlying layer of sadness underneath threatening to overwhelm me at any moment, like it'd been building and building and waiting for a crack in the dam. It might have been primarily due to the intoxication from drinking a little too much, but by the end of the night the dam broke and I felt myself being emotionally overwhelmed. Everything flooded up. The homeless people I passed on the way to the club and how strongly human bodies can smell when not constantly tended to. The thought of aging, sickness, death, and decay. How everything in the world eventually breaks down and comes to nothing. Questions like, "Does God really exist?" or "Is there any real meaning in life, or are we just here for a short time and the best we can hope for is to get as much pleasure out of it as we can before we die?" My friend Aaron and how much more mature and further in life he is than me despite being a decade younger, having things I sometimes wish I could have: a wife, a house, a good job, a new baby. My other friend, Zach, and how he's so fucking cool and creative and how I wish I was more like him. The passion my other friends like Wilton have, enjoying everything in life they can even though they've lived hard lives too. And then I thought about all the people surrounding me at the club, with their makeup and outfits and the way they undulated on the dance floor to the rhythm of the music, while I was too shy and timid and just watched from the corner. I was envious of everyone who, despite the hardness of life, was living so hard and so fully in the moment while I was sitting there having the deepest of existential crises while simultaneously enjoying life vicariously through everyone else around me. Yet also realizing that they're all doing the same thing as me: trying to play the character they see themselves as while doing their best not to suffer, but never truly being happy either. Just roles in a play that no one will remember a hundred years from now. It was even worse once I got home, lying in bed and wondering what the point of it all was, thinking about the pain and sadness of dying, desiring to be a better person and live a better life even though I knew that the next day I was going to be the same damn person I was at that moment and that tomorrow was going to be just like every other. I wanted God to speak to me so badly in that moment because I felt myself slipping away and I couldn't find anything else to hold onto. And the only thing I heard besides the deafening silence was the beating of my heart that I'm scared will one day stop forever and end my short, meaningless, wasted existence. Then I thought that maybe it's because I'm not doing the right thing, that maybe if I devoted my life to being a monk I would find the meaning I've been seeking, but also knowing that I'm probably too scared to take that step, that I'm a coward above all else. I recall essentially admitting, as they do in AA, that I was powerless in almost everything, and praying that a power greater than myself would help restore me to sanity and wishing to turn myself over to that greater power knowing that I'd probably resist it. I eventually found sleep, however the next day I couldn't will myself out of bed and spent the entire day lying around and watching the new Star Wars show Andor, contemplating how contradictory everything is (e.g., how the majority of those in power see revolution as a threat to their society while the majority of revolutionaries see the current power structure as oppressive; and once revolutionaries achieve their goal of revolution, they act in many of the same ways as their oppressors to maintain their own vision of society; or how I ask for help I actively rebel against). I'm feeling better today, but I'm still haunted by that silence, which felt so empty and terrifying. And I'm still struggling to find my place in the world and rediscover some meaning in it. My faith, courage, and optimism have been shaken deeply and I feel like I'm starting my journey all over again. Instead of submitting to the unknown, I find myself wrestling not to deny it.

10/16/22

During her reflection last Sunday, Pastor Robyn mentioned this quote from Pierre Teilhard de Chardin:

The day is not far distant when humanity will realize that biologically it is faced with a choice between suicide and adoration.

In the context of Creationtide, which focuses on our relationship with God (or, for the less religiously inclined, think Spinoza's Nature) and the earth and the ways we care for the latter, I think it's the most honest and stark statement of where we are in the present. Right now, humanity has a choice to make, and its choice is between suicide in the form of our addiction to fossil fuels and an economic system that runs on greed and depends upon continual growth and consumption and adoration in the form of an alternative which consciously seeks to care for our common home and equitably and sustainably cultivates and shares our resources. And the latter will most certainly require a material and spiritual transformation. Just as Teilhard thought that matter and spirit are of one substance, so too is our salvation. We must materially change the way we reproduce ourselves (i.e., our socio-economic system) as much as we must change the way we consciously view and treat one another (i.e., our ethical, intellectual, spiritual POV). It's all interconnected. As he wrote in his essay "The Evolution of Chastity" in 1934:

The day will come when, after harnessing the ether, the winds, the tides, gravitation, we shall harness for God the energies of love. And, on that day, for the second time in the history of the world, [humanity] will have discovered fire.

Adoration is another word for love. And without love, we cannot hope to avoid the destruction we're courting.

10/10/22

I enjoyed the most recent podcast episode from Central Lutheran's pastor, Amanda Zentz-Alo, on the topic of Jubilee. It's short but good.

It's probably no surprise to the people who know me well that I'm critical of capitalism and the way that much of our socio-economic system is exploitative and predatory. And while most of my criticisms are from a political-economic POV, there are also many ethical, philosophical, and religious ideas and criticisms that I think are equally as valid. One of the most interesting ideas and practices that's unfortunately long since been abandoned by most is that of Jubilee—an erasing of debts, a resetting of property rights and the returning of property to the dispossessed, a freeing of those in bondage, and a year of rest from toil to let ourselves and the land recharge. I definitely think that we should bring this practice back, and not necessarily wrapped in any specific religious context, but as a secular program of renewal for our communal health and wellbeing. There are clear economic as well as personal benefits to cleaning the slate and balancing out inequalities. But since there's a biblical basis for it, I think religious people and leaders should seriously revisit this idea and push for a modern reinterpretation.

10/9/22

Last night I went to see Batushka, which is one of my all-time favourite bands. Their music and aesthetic is the pinnacle of black metal, in my opinion. Their show is a corrupted Orthodox divine liturgy, much of it in Old Church Slavonic with a few tweaks combined with polished black metal riffs that create religious hymns of self-worship, and it's absolutely brilliant. It's meant to be dark and blasphemous, schema monk imagery and all, and I appreciate aspects of that. There's something appealing about darkness and individualism, as well the idea of not conforming to something that contains oppressive elements (as organized religion certainly has). And God knows I've always had a rebellious streak in me.

Today, in contrast, I went to Spirit of Grace, which I haven't been to in a couple of weeks. They had a visiting priest today, Fr. Neil Moore, with the homily being given by Franciscan friar, Br. James Lockman. The focus of the homily was having a better appreciation of our environment and our impact upon it, bringing up his own ecological restoration work, Pope Francis' encyclical Laudato Si', and St. Francis' teachings and hymn, "Canticle of the Creatures." Br. James also made a point to note how, in the gospel reading for the day, John 15:8-17, Jesus shatters the hierarchy that was imposed by the religious tradition of his day—he calls his disciples his friends, there are no subordinates, all are equal with the great teacher and each other. And the love we are called to show our neighbour we are also called to show to all of creation, including our common home of earth:

Praised be you, my Lord, through our Sister, Mother Earth, who sustains us and directs us bringing forth all kinds of fruits and colored flowers and herbs.

The former was loud and aggressive; the latter subdued and harmonious. And yet within each ritual experience I found a similar feeling pulling me towards something higher, deeper, more profound. I especially felt it when talking to the band after the show following a complaint I'd made regarding a mishap with the meet and greet package I'd purchased and it was just a connection between people. I started out angry and annoyed, but left full of appreciation and affinity for these seven strangers. The act of communication is itself an act of communion, and when done with love or at least the absence of animosity, can open up a deeper relationship that more fully realizes our social nature as a species as well as mirrors the interbeingness that underlies creation. It's, in essence, an unblemished and dynamic reflection of truth expressed by concepts such as the trinity, interbeing, etc. And that same connection is one that I find at church, especially during the eucharist and the conversations that follow. I believe connections can bridge most, if not all, divides if they're genuine and honest.

Thinking about these contrasting and seemingly contradictory experiences, I can't help but compare them to the tides. Like the tides, which come in and out, we too come in and out, we surrender and rebel. Ebb and flow. Life and death. Light and dark. It's all a part of life, and to truly appreciate life in its fullest, we must acknowledge and value the whole and not just the parts we like in that moment.

10/6/22

I went to Seattle over the weekend for a mini-vacation and while I was there I visited St. James Cathedral for mass. I always like visiting churches wherever I go when I have the chance, and I had time for the 8am mass before Rebecca and I hit up Pike PLace Market, so off I went. It was an impressive building with an impressive turnout. But it reminded me of the things I don't like about church and some forms of Catholic worship. For one, it felt very perfunctory and impersonal. Part of that was due to the size of the church and the congregation. It's hard to have that intimate feeling with hundreds of people in all four corners of the church. And then you have the typical trappings of traditional Catholic clericalism, with the priest sitting on a large throne in all their finery. And while I realize this is to represent Christ and ultimately the authority of God, it always seems strange to me that they sit on a throne adorned with fine robes and jewelry when Jesus sat with his disciples and the poor, eating with them and washing their feet and wearing simple clothes. It's like they flipped Christ on his head and made him the Emperor of Rome rather than the humble servant found in places like Mark 10:35-45 and John 13:1-17.

However, I did enjoy aspects of the liturgy as well, because in many ways it's familiar and comforting. And I also appreciated the homily by Fr. Michael Ryan, which hit on something I've been thinking about myself lately, the way God works in the world. On the one hand, you have the miraculous, events that are mirrored in the liturgical year by the special seasons and feast days when the presence of God is "not only apparent, but overpowering." And then you have "ordinary time," which takes up the majority of the liturgical year when, at the end of the day, nothing spectacular or miraculous makes the day stand out. But God is at work in these times as well in what we'd call the holy spirit, which "moves through the corridors and pathways of ordinary time," opening the future for us and the "possibilities of peace, justice, right relationships, healing, and reconciliation," the "future that Jesus calls the kingdom of God." And in every moment, the holy spirit "entices and attracts us to take a small step into that future." So that at the end of the day, "nothing spectacular may have happened but we have done what God has asked of us." He also noted how God primarily works through natural processes, mentioning the passage in which mountains may be thrown into the sea if one does not have doubt in their hearts (miraculous), but noting that the erosion of mountains over time has the same effect of depositing mountains into the very same sea (ordinary). And our task in the midst of "ordinary time" is to keep the vision of that future alive. Just as God works through natural processes, God works in us through time as well, bringing to mind the wisdom of St. Theresa of Avila:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

9/30/22 (2)

On a somewhat happier note, I was featured in the Spirit of Grace newsletter this week, although I'm sad I missed last week's service and will be in Seattle for this week's service, missing that one too:

This month, Karen Moore, Jason Merritt, Kaitlin Pabo-Eulberg, and Nick Pabo-Eulberg joined our community in membership. In the coming weeks, we will be introducing each of them in greater depth. This week, we'd like you to meet... Jason Merritt!

Jason grew up in Detroit and moved to Oregon 15 years ago. Jason wasn't raised in a religious tradition, but he got interested in paganism and Buddhism in his teens, particularly the Thai Theravada Forest tradition of Buddhism. After developing an interest in Christian monastic and contemplative traditions, he got baptized and confirmed at St. Philip Neri. Then he got drawn to Reconciling in Christ Lutheran churches. Jason says, "I consider myself a perennialist, finding the common thread of religion to be what Robin Dunbar calls the 'mystical engagement with the transcendent.'"

Jason has a girlfriend, Rebecca, and a four-year-old cat named Roo. He works as a medical assistant at an internal medicine clinic. He likes reading, writing, hiking, and binging fantasy and sci-fi shows. His guilty pleasures are imperial stouts, reality TV shows, and Buzzfeed quizzes. He would love to go to Finland; India; or the Holy Land. If money were no object, he would study and write about comparative religion to build more understanding. He is energized by a good homily and coffee!

Jason's book recommendations: Without Buddha I Could not be Christian by Paul Knitter; Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time by Marcus Borg; The Perennial Philosophy by Aldous Huxley; A History of God by Karen Armstrong; Food for the Heart: The Collected Teachings of Ajahn Chah; The Cloud of Unknowing; and The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

What brought him to Spirit of Grace: After St. Philip Neri, Jason began attending Central Lutheran and St. Andrew Lutheran. Then he found Spirit of Grace on the internet and was intrigued by the ecumenical description. It sounded right up his alley. He was familiar with Pastor Robyn from visiting St. Andrew. He finds Spirit of Grace to be warm and welcoming and in line with the universality of Christ and the open arms of the church in the New Testament. He also likes the balanced focus on the active and contemplative aspects of Christian spiritual life.

I also had the chance to catch up with my friend Andrew. I hung out with his brother last Saturday after the retreat at Mt. Angel, sharing some of the beer I got for him at Benedictine Brewery. Andrew and I caught up over a beer and burger from Monster Smash. He really loves that place, and Belmont Station usually has some good stuff on tap, so it made for the perfect meeting spot. They're both going through a rough time, but it was nice to see them both and reconnect. One of the things we talked about is how difficult it is for us to be social, but also how bad it can be when we get too isolated and spiral into dark and unhealthy places. Human interaction can be healing. We all have some level of brokenness, and communion with one another is how we find our way through. I told him to reach out whenever he needed. Which reminds me that I also promised Barbara that I'd call her and would catch up with her sometime too. I'll definitely have to keep that promise.

But for now, I'm just sitting here, listening to a CD that Andrew gave me of his most recent release from his analog, industrial synth project XLV. I'm really enjoying it.

9/30/22

Today I attended the funeral mass for James Harrison, an old friend and mentor of sorts.

I met James in 2014 at St. Philip Neri church not long after I'd wandered in one day to check it out and was invited to return by a kind lady named Dorothy. I'd started sitting in on a group led by one of the priests, Fr. Michael, and decided to attend the upcoming RCIA class out of curiosity. James' wife, Barbara, was the director of adult formation and ran the RCIA program, which consists of consecutively progressive classes meant to welcome new people to the church curious about their approach to spirituality, learn about various Catholic doctrines and practices, and prepare those interested to be formally welcomed into the church itself. Barbara led most of the classes, with others like James sitting in to help teach and led discussions. James led some classes as well, and was active throughout, and that's where we started to get to know one another.

I honestly didn't expect to go through the whole program, and they were fine with me going as far as I was comfortable. I never hid my disagreements with various aspects of "orthodox" Catholic theology and church dogmas (many of which they shared or were at least sympathetic to), nor my socialist politics or interest in other faiths such as Buddhism, and that never seemed to be an issue. They met me where I was, and I found myself learning a lot. I also found myself drawn towards their approach to spirituality. It was completely unlike what my perception of Christian spirituality was, being unconditionally welcoming and full of kindness and a deep understanding of oppression and suffering along with a deep desire to overcome those struggles arm in arm with anyone willing to call themselves a sister or brother. Each class intrigued me more, and I found myself looking forward to the next. And before I knew it, I was part of their extended family (or as much as an introvert like me could be).

James himself was incredibly intelligent and had old school manners, which I appreciated. I noticed how he carried himself and treated others right away and admired him for it. He was easy to talk to and had a great smile. I always looked forward to seeing him and our discussions. He was a natural teacher and had a lifetime of experiences to share, both good and bad, and was particularly knowledgeable in the realms of history and racism. And his voice. Warm yet firm. Articulate yet unpretentious. Subdued yet full of emotion and power. I loved the sound of his voice.

Barbara and James, along with the spirituality and call to social justice of the Paulist priests who founded St. Philip and the community they fostered, are the main reasons I decided to be welcomed into the church and found a guiding inspiration in the life and teachings of Jesus. They all exhibited a welcoming spirit that combined a healthy rebelliousness with a genuine concern for others, especially the poor and vulnerable and oppressed. And through my interactions with them, that same spirit found a home in my own heart too..

I didn't know James as well as many, but he certainly had a big impact on my life with his presence. So I know he'll be missed immensely, because I can only imagine the impact he had on those even closer to him. He was a shining example of a true follower of Christ, forever altering my perception of what it means to be one—to be imperfectly perfect; to share the gifts we have with others; to learn from our mistakes; to live a life of love, compassion, and mercy; and to leave the world a little better than we found it.

Everlasting be your memory, my brother, who are worthy of blessedness and eternal memory.

9/26/22

I feel like today has been a struggle. I had a long day at work, and I've been feeling a resurgence of the ongoing conflict inside of myself between living in the world and the pull of monastic life. I thought I'd found a good balance with my new spiritual community and everything else, and I hadn't been thinking about it as much or as strongly. But ever since the retreat and talking to Fr. Martin, I've felt the pull increase, as if for me monasteries and monks are like dense stars warping the gravity around them and pulling me in. So today, I was more conscious of my unhappiness at work and with the general rat race. It's never felt right to me, and it feels even less so now.

On top of that, a news story just came out from the New York Times about my current employer, Providence, that's pretty damning. Titled "profits over patients," it accuses Providence of providing less charity care than average and suggests that Providence targeted low-income patients and pressured them for payments even when they qualified for free care. It's upsetting and demoralizing, but sadly not surprising. Things like this are precisely what form my anti-capitalist politics because, non-profit or not, it's a business like any other, and run as such. The concern at the top is always money and getting more. The coercive laws of competition almost guarantee this, even for non-profits. Providence's promise is to "know me, care for me, ease my way," but the only thing they seem to be good at easing is their profit margins and not helping the poor and vulnerable as much as they say. It's hard to represent a company that professes charity but seemingly embodies greed. And the whole day, I kept thinking about the life of a monk. Living in solitude but also in a communal setting. Working, but not for a wage and to increase the bottom line of shareholders, but solely for the sustenance of the community. Having a life devoted to spiritual enrichment and edification, not material gains and consumption.

It seems that even after all these years, I can't escape this dilemma. I know that I probably idealize monastic life in some ways and that it has its own challenges that I'd find difficult to tackle. But I can't help wondering if the reason I'm so drawn towards it is because that's where I belong. Perhaps it's exacerbated by the knowledge that I'll soon probably be too old to make the choice should I actually decide to plunge into the still, deep waters of the silent life. And yet, I grieve whenever I think about the things I'd have to give up as a monk. My relationship. My cat. My friends for all intents and purposes. Going to the movies or out for coffee with a good book whenever I want. But I also have to be honest that these things don't really bring me the happiness they should, or else I wouldn't yearn so intensely and persistently for the life of a monk, would I?

9/25/22

I had a pretty good time yesterday at the engaged spirituality retreat hosted by the Benedictine Sisters at Queen of Angels Monastery, which focused on the similarities between Thomas Merton and Thich Nhat Hanh and how an inner spiritual life can help to fuel social engagement. I got an early start and arrived in Mt. Angel, OR at about 7:30am in the hopes of catching the 8am mass at Mount Angel Abbey. It was my first time there, and I was curious how it compared to Our Lady of Guadalupe. It's a bit larger, and there are at least triple the monks at Mount Angel. The monastery has a seminary as well as a brewery, and it seems to attract a fair number of people. During mass, they welcomed three new oblates, members of the community (usually lay people) who wish to deepen their spiritual practice in the tradition of the monastery they officially associate themselves with. There are no vows per se, but there are promises that are made publicly during mass. It was my first time witnessing that particular ritual, after which the oblates were given Benedictine medals blessed by the abbot.

I left mass right after communion because the retreat itself was close to starting. Luckily the convent where the retreat was taking place was only about 5 minutes away. I arrived right on time. The retreat was run by Peggy Lindquist and Terry Moe. Peggy is a member of Thich Nhat Hanh's Order of Interbeing, and Terry is a Lutheran pastor and community organizer. Terry is also the author of the book Pastor Robyn gave to me, The Bush Still Burns, written about Terry's journey from pastor to organizer and how that changed both him and the community he was leading. The retreat began with one question, what does engaged spirituality mean to me? We were encouraged to keep that in mind as we progressed through the day, which was divided into five parts.

Part one was focused on a meditation practice from Hanh that combined mindfulness with visualizations to help promote stability, serenity, insight, and joy. Everyone was given four stones to hold as a tangible way to help remain mindful. And with each stone we held, we were encouraged to breath in and out mindfully while visualizing and embodying four separate qualities. For the first, breathing in, we saw ourselves as a flower and breathing out we felt fresh, energized, joyful. For the second, breathing in we saw ourselves as a mountain and breathing out we felt solid, stable, grounded. For the third, breathing in we saw ourselves as still water and breathing out we reflected all that is, mindful of things as they are without the ripples that our minds tend to create. And for the fourth, breathing in we saw ourselves as space and breathing out we felt free, expansive, open. And she read a couple of passages from Hanh, one of which stood out for me:

There are two ways to wash the dishes. The first is to wash the dishes in order to have clean dishes and the second is to wash the dishes to wash the dishes. If, while washing dishes, we think only of the cup of tea that awaits us, thus hurrying to get the dishes out of the way as if they were a nuisance, then we are not "washing the dishes to wash the dishes." What's more, we are not alive during the time we are washing the dishes. In fact, we are completely incapable of realizing the miracle of life while standing at the sink. If we can't wash the dishes, the chances are we won't be able to drink our tea either. While drinking the cup of tea, we will only be thinking of other things, barely aware of the cup in our hands. Thus we are sucked away into the future—and we are incapable of actually living one minute of life. (The Miracle of Mindfulness)

If we're not mindful and simply running on autopilot or else doing something with the thought of getting or doing something else, we're not truly present. We're missing out on that moment and the very act of living itself, because living only takes place in the present. And so much of what we accept as reality and hold to be real and solid is actually an illusion or distortion and the product of the stories we tell ourselves rather than things as they truly are. In the suttas, for example, the Buddha used similes like a glob of foam floating on the river, the hollow core of a banana tree for someone seeking heartwood, and a magic trick—the point being that often what we see lacks the substance we imbue it with (SN 22.95). And in the bible, a similar idea can be seen in places like Ecclesiastes 11:9-12:8, which coincidentally happened to be the first reading during mass:

Rejoice, O youth, while you are young
and let your heart be glad in the days of your youth.
Follow the ways of your heart,
the vision of your eyes;
Yet understand regarding all this
that God will bring you to judgment.
Banish misery from your heart
and remove pain from your body,
for youth and black hair are fleeting.

Remember your Creator in the days of your youth,
before the evil days come
And the years approach of which you will say,
"I have no pleasure in them";
Before the sun is darkened
and the light and the moon and the stars
and the clouds return after the rain;
When the guardians of the house tremble,
and the strong men are bent;
When the women who grind are idle because they are few,
and those who look through the windows grow blind;
When the doors to the street are shut,
and the sound of the mill is low;
When one rises at the call of a bird,
and all the daughters of song are quiet;
When one is afraid of heights,
and perils in the street;
When the almond tree blooms,
and the locust grows sluggish
and the caper berry is without effect,
Because mortals go to their lasting home,
and mourners go about the streets;
Before the silver cord is snapped
and the golden bowl is broken,
And the pitcher is shattered at the spring,
and the pulley is broken at the well,
And the dust returns to the earth as it once was,
and the life breath returns to God who gave it.
Vanity of vanities, says Qoheleth,
all things are vanity!

Mindfulness, then, can be a tool to help ground us and centre ourselves in the present moment. And it can also help us become free of the influence of the three poisons of greed, aversion, and delusion, as well as our clinging to what isn't real or important. The Buddha calls the habitual stories and false perceptions we create papanca, "mental proliferations," and much of our suffering in life comes from believing in them. But true peace comes from letting them go and seeking out and resting within what's true and real. For the Buddha and Hanh, this is nirvana, realization of the unconditioned, the cessation of suffering created by our misunderstandings and wrong perceptions. And for Merton, this is God, the unconditioned, the ground of being. It is all an ineffable oneness. So rather than taking refuge in fleeting moments and indulging in misunderstandings and wrong perceptions, we're invited to be aware, be awake, and to truly live in the present moment.

The second session was about the brotherhood between Merton and Hanh. Although they only met in person once in 1966, they shared a lot in common and admired each other greatly. They both were monks. They both grew up in the midst of war. They both were led by their spiritual practice to be engaged with the world and speak out against injustice and war, even when doing so was difficult and came at a cost. They both wrote very similar things about the role that nature played in their spirituality. They were both writers and poets. They had been monks for about the same amount of time. And they both shared an understanding of spirituality that was ultimately nondual in nature. But even though they shared a number of similarities, they shared differences as well, e.g., Merton was an adult then he entered monastic life whereas Hanh was a teen; Merton was constrained by his monastic traditions and cloistered life while Hanh was much freer and eventually started his own order; Merton found himself drawn every deeper to solitude while Hanh was very active and establish a number of monasteries and retreat centres. Nevertheless, they both stood against war and injustice and each did what they could to address these issues and inspire others to do the same, primarily through their writings.

Session three was "walking with monks in nature." They shared a couple of passages from each monk on their ideas about and experiences in nature, about how nature called them to deeply spiritual experiences and insights. Nature was very much a meditative canvas on which both monks painted poetic pictures that nourished them and gave them an appreciation of the greater whole. And with their words and some brief instructions, those of us that were able were invited outside to practice walking meditation around the convent. We took slow, mindful, deliberate steps. And with each ring of the small bell, we were encouraged to stop and take careful notice of our surroundings and anything we saw, heard, felt. I ended up alone and on the train tracks that ran behind the convent and noticed that I had a lot in common with Merton, which is why I was so drawn to him and his writing. I took in the sun and the breeze and tried to be fully myself while being aware that I felt more at home and more comfortable in solitude. I felt like just following the tracks to wherever they led, leaving everyone and the retreat behind. Not out of aversion towards them, but because of the peace I felt in that moment. As much as I am a social creature and like to have social interactions, I feel a distance between me and others and have a hard time bridging the gap. And often in solitude, I feel something deeper.

We all eventually returned to the retreat centre and were encouraged to discuss our experiences with each other. Peggy stopped by our table and mentioned how she noticed the difference between the wet, green, well-kept grass and the drier, brown, scratchy grass and how we're often drawn towards comfort and creating comfortable surroundings and circumstances but mused "what do we lose by going got comfort rather than reality?" It was an interesting question.

The fourth session focused on engaged spirituality. Much of this was about the response of Merton and Hanh to war, specifically the American war in Vietnam. And we were asked to think about how our spirituality engages with the big issues of today (e.g., climate change, violence, poverty, racism, etc.). A big theme was how a deep spirituality helped these two monks address these kinds of issues, both by nurturing a deep wellspring of compassion and empathy for the suffering of others and by helping to provide the mental and physical strength needed to endure difficult times. There were readings from each monk, as well as a discussion of the ways they spoke out and the difficulties they faced. Merton addressed these issues mostly in his writing, as he wasn't free to leave his monastery and be more physically present. Hanh, on the other had, spoke out against the war vocally and helped victims by creating an organization of volunteers to help rebuild rural school and establish medical centres, but he was eventually exiled from his homeland for 39 years for speaking out against the war, in which time he continued to speak out against a host of issues and established a number of monasteries and retreat centres. Hanh was convinced that if you create peace in yourself, you create peace in the world. There is no clear separation between self and other, individual and world. If you are full of anger, the world just has that much more anger in it. And if you act out of hate and anger, then you will be planting seeds for future hate and anger and suffering. As for Merton, it was noted that, at the time of his death, he'd found himself in the midst of an interfaith journey to Asia in a dialogue with Buddhists but has also found himself craving more and more solitude. And just a week before his death in 1968, Merton recorded a mystical awakening experience prompted by the reclining Buddhas in Polonnaruwa, Sri Lanka:

Looking at these figures I was suddenly, almost forcibly, jerked clean out of the habitual, half-tied vision of things, and an inner clearness, clarity, as if exploding from the rocks themselves, became evident and obvious. The queer evidence of the reclining figure, the smile, the sad smile of Ananda standing with arms folded (much more 'imperative' than Da Vinci's Mona Lisa because completely simple and straightforward). The thing about all this is that there is no puzzle, no problem, and really no 'mystery.' All problems are resolved and everything is clear, simply because what matters is clear. The rock, all matter, all life, is charged with dharmakaya . . . everything is emptiness and everything is compassion. I don't know when in my life I have ever had such a sense of beauty and spiritual validity running together in one aesthetic illumination. Surely, with Mahabalipuram and Polonnaruwa my Asian pilgrimage has come clear and purified itself. I mean, I know and have seen what I was obscurely looking for. I don't know what else remains but I have now seen and have pierced through the surface and have got beyond the shadow and the disguise.

And that kind of internal, unifying experience, when cultivated and matured, leads back outwards, as illustrated by Hanh in Zen and the Art of Saving the Planet:

If you see the suffering in the world but you haven't changed your way of living yet, it means the awakening isn't strong enough. You haven't really woken up. In Zen, sometimes a teacher will shout, or hit you, so you can wake up—they'll do whatever it takes. The Zen master's shout is like a crash of spring thunder. It wakes you up and, with the rains that follow, grasses and flowers will bloom.

The fifth and final section was pointed back towards us: how do you envision an engaged spirituality? At some point, Terry made the point about the importance of this nondual way of seeing and of and/both: action and contemplation, in breath and out breath, world and spirit, mindfulness and engagement, on the cushion and off the cushion, etc. In essence, they complement each other. It's not just one or the other, both are important and needed. We were invited to think about the question and to name an intention for ourselves for our spiritual engagement going forwards. My intention was to give more hope to the world and make it a better place than I found it, even if just a little. Part of that is trying to be a better person and not causing as much harm. And another is to be engaged with a spiritual community that's also engaged with social justice to help with that because I can't do it alone. I've felt demoralized and discouraged, and I need some motivation as well as guidance on ways to be involved, which is one of the things I'm hoping Spirit of Grace can help me with.

I've found through my own personal experience that, if you dig deep into yourself and find a well of love, compassion, and peace, there's often an urge to share that with others. And one of the ways to do that is to try and address and relieve the suffering of others as much as possible. To cease doing harm when you're the one causing it. To acknowledge and take a stand against injustice and with the victim of that injustice. And that's not easy. The roots of our own suffering and unskillful actions run deep. And the problems of the world have complex and often omnipresent causes that will take great effort and a lot of time to fix. So we need to find ways to renew our strength and motivation (fresh flower). We need patience and solid footing (mountain). We need to see clearly, to find ways of doing it effectively (still water). We need to be open to new ideas and people and ways of doing things (space). And we need to know what we can offer. I don't entirely know what I can offer at this stage in my life, but I have a few ideas. One thing I'm doing is trying to fight for an enlightened religion that's based on love, compassion, and peace. I'm trying to offer what empathy and healing I can at work. I want to dedicate some of my time and money to good causes with the right direction. And perhaps someday, offer something to the world with my writing as well.

After the retreat, I stopped at Mount Angel Abbey's Benedictine Brewery to pick up a couple of beers for my friend for his birthday and happened to have a chance to talk to the brewmaster, Fr. Martin. I asked him about some of the beers and which ones were from his recipes, as well as about his journey to the monastery. He was an engineer at Honeywell making really good money before someone suggested he visit the monastery, and something about the place and the life of a monk called to him. He said that the decision to become a monk wasn't necessarily an easy one, but he knew that it was the right one once he was there. I mentioned my own interest in monasticism and experiences at various monasteries and how I felt called to monastic life yet wasn't sure if it was the right thing for me, and he invited me to contact Fr. Odo if I was interested in attending one of their discernment retreats. It's definitely something I'll consider.

9/20/22

Just finished reading Dan Brown's Origin, and two passages near the end caught my eye.

The first appears in a discussion between Robert Langdon and Ambra Vidal and the difference between patterns and codes. Langdon explains that patterns are "any distinctly organized system" and "occur everywhere in nature," whereas codes "must carry information" and "do more than simply form a pattern—codes must transmit data and convey meaning" (pg. 602) The implication being that patterns can be found in nature and form independently from the laws of nature while an intelligence must be behind codes. The discussion then turns towards DNA, which Langdon says is the paradox—is DNA just a pattern naturally found in nature or a code? Because DNA carries genetic data, Ambra excitedly offers, "You think DNA was created by an intelligence!" But Langdon's response offers a cautious yet meaningful disclaimer that I feel reflects my own personal feelings and point of view on the matter:

Langdon held up a hand in mock self-defense. "Easy tiger!" he said. "You're treading on dangerous ground. Let me just say this. Ever since I was a child, I've had the gut sense that there's a consciousness behind the universe. When I witness the precision of mathematics, the reliability of physics, and the symmetrics of the cosmos, I don't feel like I'm observing cold science; I feel as if I'm seeing a living footprint...the shadow of some greater force that is just beyond our grasp." (pg. 603)

The second occurs in a conversation between Langdon and Fr. Bena, a priest in charge of Sagrada Familia, while discussing a major new scientific discovery of sorts and the historical conflict between science and religion, which again reflects my own personal feelings and point of view on the matter:

"It is very obvious to me," Bena said as they walked, "that there is only one way Christianity will survive the coming age of science. We must stop denouncing provable facts. We must become a spiritual partner of science, using our vast experience—millennia of philosophy, personal inquiry, meditation, soul-searching—to help humanity build a moral framework and ensure that the coming technologies will unify, illuminate, and raise us up...rather than destroy us." (pg. 630)

At the end of this exchange, in discussing the concluding line from William Blake's work Vala, or The Four Zoas, "The dark religions are departed and sweet science reigns," which Fr. Bena has some trepidations displaying prominently in one of the most famous basilicas in the world, Langdon reassuringly suggests that the line could "just as easily say: 'Sweet science will banish the dark religions...so the enlightened religions can flourish'" (pg. 631). And I find myself holding onto the same hope.

For example, it brings to mind Stephen Hawking's answer to a question about technological advancements and 'technological unemployment':

If machines produce everything we need, the outcome will depend on how things are distributed. Everyone can enjoy a life of luxurious leisure if the machine-produced wealth is shared, or most people can end up miserably poor if the machine-owners successfully lobby against wealth redistribution. So far, the trend seems to be toward the second option, with technology driving ever-increasing inequality.

In contrast, my heart burns for justice and equality, and recalls for inspiration and nourishment the words and actions of others whose hearts burn with the same fire, from labour organizers and socialists like Eugene Debs to spiritual teachers like Jesus, who, reading a scroll from the prophet Isaiah, summarized his own spiritual mission thusly:

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord." (Luke 4:18-19)

As well as the words of the apostle James, Jesus' younger brother:

Come now, you rich people, weep and wail for the miseries that are coming to you. Your riches have rotted, and your clothes are moth-eaten. Your gold and silver have rusted, and their rust will be evidence against you, and it will eat your flesh like fire. You have laid up treasure during the last days. Listen! The wages of the laborers who mowed your fields, which you kept back by fraud, cry out, and the cries of the harvesters have reached the ears of the Lord of hosts. You have lived on the earth in luxury and in pleasure; you have nourished your hearts in a day of slaughter. You have condemned and murdered the righteous one, who does not resist you. (James 5:1-6)

But only a mature and rational yet mystical (i.e., contemplative) religion has a chance to be this kind of voice, this 'spiritual partner' to science. And if it isn't, or can't evolve to be, then it's empty, hollow, and surely doomed to die, Christian or otherwise.

9/18/22

Today was the big day where I was officially welcomed to Spirit of Grace. Just before the service started, Dir. Vinci came by and informed me that James Harrison, Barbara's husband, died last week after suffering two strokes. She knew that I was a member of St. Philip Neri and thought she'd keep me in the loop about his passing and any funeral arrangements made. It was kind of shocking news. James was extremely smart and kind and I always enjoyed talking to him. I hadn't talked to Barbara in some time and sent a message to the last number I had for her, but I haven't heard back yet. The news definitely darkened the day. But the sadness of the news was balanced out by the joy of being welcomed into this new community despite the loss from my old one.

The themes of the day's readings are some that are close to my heart, especially the first, Amos 8:4-7:

Hear this, you who trample upon the needy
and destroy the poor of the land:
"When will the new moon be over," you ask,
"that we may sell our grain,
And the sabbath,
that we may open the grain-bins?
We will diminish the ephah,
add to the shekel,
and fix our scales for cheating!
We will buy the destitute for silver,
and the poor for a pair of sandals;
even the worthless grain we will sell!"
The Lord has sworn by the pride of Jacob: Never will I forget a thing they have done!

And the gospel reading, Luke 16:1-13, which concludes with one of my favourite lines:

Then he also said to his disciples, "A rich man had a steward who was reported to him for squandering his property. He summoned him and said, 'What is this I hear about you? Prepare a full account of your stewardship, because you can no longer be my steward.' The steward said to himself, 'What shall I do, now that my master is taking the position of steward away from me? I am not strong enough to dig and I am ashamed to beg. I know what I shall do so that, when I am removed from the stewardship, they may welcome me into their homes.' He called in his master's debtors one by one. To the first he said, 'How much do you owe my master?' He replied, 'One hundred measures of olive oil.' He said to him, 'Here is your promissory note. Sit down and quickly write one for fifty.' Then to another he said, 'And you, how much do you owe?' He replied, 'One hundred kors of wheat.' He said to him, 'Here is your promissory note; write one for eighty.' And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.

"For the children of this world are more prudent in dealing with their own generation than are the children of light. I tell you, make friends for yourselves with dishonest wealth, so that when it fails, you will be welcomed into eternal dwellings. The person who is trustworthy in very small matters is also trustworthy in great ones; and the person who is dishonest in very small matters is also dishonest in great ones. If, therefore, you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth, who will trust you with true wealth? If you are not trustworthy with what belongs to another, who will give you what is yours? No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon."

There was a visiting Catholic priest today, Jack Mosbrucker, who gave the homily and celebrated the Eucharist. He joked that they called him because many consider this a difficult passage to preach on as the "dishonest steward" is actually praised, but he said that it's really about our attitudes towards money. He began with the story of his parents, who moved to the US as immigrants and farmers and lived during the Great Depression and Dust Bowl, recalling how his father worked for the WPA for $2 a day and struggled to provide for his family during this time when work and money were scarce. But when Jack was older, they had saved money not for themselves to live on or enjoy, but to share with him. He then moved onto Amos, who himself was poor and saw the people being cheated by those who controlled the markets and prices and had become wealthy at the expense of the poor, and felt called to criticize the wickedness of how these people gained their wealth and the unfairness of such an exploitative system. And then there's Jesus, who more than once attacks unjust wealth, wealth that's accumulated through exploitation and enjoyed by the wealthy without sharing, which is also the subject of this parable. Fr. Jack then dug into the steward, who was turned in to his master. Turned in by who? By whistleblowers who likely suffered under his greed and who had little recourse for justice. Possibly the steward, like his master, made his gains by essentially cheating the people and putting his excess gains into the prices of their commodities and services. So when the steward reduces their debts, he's not really cheating his master because he's giving back to the people what they deserve, returning to them the surplus that was initially extracted from their labour. And ultimately, what the steward trusted in was not money, but in mercy. Money represents greed, and it represents that which is temporary, inconstant, and in Buddhist terms, within the realm of samsara. Mercy, on the other hand, represents the infinite gifts of God, that which transcends time and space, the fruits of the unconditioned. And "No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon."

Following the homily, Pastor Robyn, along with Fr. Jack and Dir. Vinci, called Karen and I up to the altar. There was supposed to be two more being welcomed today, but they weren't able to make it, so Pastor Robyn introduced the two of us to the congregation, gave a brief biography of each of us, and then all three led us in an affirmation of baptism before officially welcoming us as members of Spirit of Grace. We finished by reciting a rendition of the Nicene Creed written by another member of Spirit of Grace, Kate Bernklau-Halvor:

We believe in one God, the all-encompassing Almighty Parent-Creator, the reconciling ground of being, beyond time and space, maker of heaven and earth, and of all things visible and invisible.

We believe in Jesus Christ the Child, the fully human, fully divine, embodied reflection of sacred truth; of one being with the Parent-Creator through whom all things were made; who experienced and loved humanity, suffered, taught, and liberated; met us in our doubts and woundedness; and greeted us as a prophet, with wisdom, healing, and mercy.

We believe in the Holy Spirit, the giver of life, the omnipresent fount of love and inspiration; who with the Parent-Creator and Child is worshiped and glorified; who spoke by the prophets, granting passion and purpose and hope. And we believe in one holy catholic church, built in faith and doubt and flexible tradition, united in awe and love and community, and directed to welcome and listen and act for just mercy. Amen.

The final hymn was "Lift Every Voice and Sing," also known as the black national anthem, which I found moving and speaks to how Spirit of Grace strives to be an inclusive community. Whether it's beginning the service by acknowledging the first peoples on whose land we gather, using more inclusive bible translations and hymn lyrics, addressing the presence and evils of racism, and being LGBTQ+ friendly, Spirit of Grace attempts to be an open, welcoming, and safe space for everyone who enters.

After the service was over, I spent a bit of time wandering around and listening to conversations. A few people came up to introduce themselves, and I eventually found myself listening to a conversation between Fr. Jack and another member of Spirit of Grace. I really enjoyed Fr. Jack's homily and see a lot of what I initially liked about the Paulists in him. He's very big on social justice, and during their conversation he remarked that if social justice isn't in every one of your homilies, you're doing it wrong, or missing the point, or something to that effect. And when the discussion turned towards ecumenicalism and the distance between denominations based on things like disagreements over how to properly understand the theological meaning of 'the real presence of Christ,' he stated very simply and profoundly that "the real presence is in the community." It brought to mind Fr. Michael, who often made that point, referencing Mt 18:20: "For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them."

I took all of it as a sign that I'm where I need to be, and I'm thankful to have been guided here.

9/15/22

Ahead of the Sunday service where new members will be welcomed to Spirit of Grace and the weekly newsletter going out tomorrow, I was given a list of questions to answer for my new member profile to help introduce myself to the community. Not sure how much of this will be sent out in the newsletter, but my answers were as follows:

• Where did you grow up?

I grew up in Detroit, MI. When I was in my mid 20s, I moved out west, spending 2 years in Santa Cruz, CA before making my way to Oregon. I've lived here in the PNW for the last 15 years and it definitely feels like home now.

• What was your faith journey?

I wasn't raised in any religious tradition. Religion wasn't a big thing in my family. I became interested in paganism (nature focused) and then Buddhism (meditation focused) in my mid-to-late teens. I've been heavily involved with the Thai Theravada Forest tradition of Buddhism for 20 years. Along the way, I developed an interest in Christian monasticism and its contemplative traditions. After visiting Our Lady of Guadalupe, that interest progressed until I found myself being baptized and confirmed at St. Philip Neri, a Catholic church run by the Paulists in 2015, and have since found an appreciation of the spirituality of RIC ELCA churches. I consider myself a perennialist of sorts, finding the common thread or core of religion to be what Robin Dunbar calls the "mystical engagement with the transcendent."

• What do you do for a living?

I'm currently a medical assistant at an internal medicine clinic.

• Tell us about your family.

I have a wonderful girlfriend of 6 years, Rebecca, and 4 year old black cat, Roo. I don't have much in the way of family beyond that. I have one younger sister who lives in Michigan that I'm close to. But my mom passed away 7 years ago; I never knew my real father; and I'm estranged from my step-father and 3 step-brothers.

• What do you like to do for fun?

I generally enjoy reading, writing, hiking, and binging too many fantasy and sci-fi shows.

• What are your guilty pleasures?

My guilty pleasures including imperial stouts, reality TV shows, and Buzzfeed quizzes.

• Where would you go with $10,000 and a plane ticket?

Tough call. Either Finland, to see where my grandfather came from; India, to see where the Buddha was born and taught and go on an extended pilgrimage; or the holy land to do the same for Jesus and the great spiritual teachers of Judaism and Islam.

• What would you do for a career if money were no object?

I would study and write about comparative religion full-time, especially the contemplative traditions of various religious traditions, visiting churches, temples, monasteries, and religious communities in an effort to build more understanding of the commonalities religions share vs. the things we use to divide ourselves with.

• What energizes you?

A good homily. Also coffee.

• A book recommendation:

Without Buddha I Could not be Christian by Paul Knitter; Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time by Marcus Borg; The Perennial Philosophy by Aldous Huxley; A History of God by Karen Armstrong; Food for the Heart: The Collected Teachings of Ajahn Chah; The Cloud of Unknowing; The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky.

• What brought you to Spirit of Grace:

I've been searching for a new spiritual home closer to me since moving across the river and other changes in my life. The priests who brought me into the church left Portland, and I found a home in Central Lutheran before moving to the west side. I started going to St. Andrew here and there while occasionally making the drive to Central when able. While googling churches nearby, which I sometimes do, I came upon Spirit of Grace and was initially intrigued by the description as an intentional community of Catholics and Lutherans that worship together, which sounded right up my alley. I was also familiar with Pastor Robyn from past visits to St. Andrew Lutheran Church prior to her call to Spirit of Grace, so I made it a point to visit at some point and I'm happy that I did.

• What were your first impressions of Spirit of Grace?

As advertised. lol I would say that Spirit of Grace struck me a warm and welcoming and very much in line with the universality of Christ and the open arms of the church I find within the New Testament (e.g., Gal 3:28, Mt 22:1-10 and Luke 14:15-24, Romans 15:1-7, etc.). I also noticed that there seemed to be a balanced focus on both the active and contemplative aspects of Christian spiritual life here. And after 3 visits, I can say that all the people I've met have done their best to be welcoming and supportive, and I knew pretty much immediately that this is where I wanted to call home for the time being.

I'm really looking forward to Sunday. It feels exciting to be a part of a spiritual community once more, especially one that seems to have a perfect balance between action and contemplation and shares my appreciation of what both Catholicism and Lutheranism have to offer. I finally fit in somewhere again!

9/11/22

I had a rather long yet delightful day at Spirit of Grace. The first half was the usual service, with today's readings focusing a lot on sin/the mercy of God and being lost, which I feel like has been a recurrent theme lately. I've been rewatching the show Lost. I've been feeling lost in myself and my spiritual practice and the areas I should focus on (e.g., community engagement, social justice and activism, contemplative deepening, etc.). And the parables today were of the lost sheep and lost coin in Luke 15:1-10:

The tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to listen to him, but the Pharisees and scribes began to complain, saying, "This man welcomes sinners and eats with them." So to them he addressed this parable. "What man among you having a hundred sheep and losing one of them would not leave the ninety-nine in the desert and go after the lost one until he finds it? And when he does find it, he sets it on his shoulders with great joy and, upon his arrival home, he calls together his friends and neighbors and says to them, 'Rejoice with me because I have found my lost sheep.' I tell you, in just the same way there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance.

"Or what woman having ten coins and losing one would not light a lamp and sweep the house, searching carefully until she finds it? And when she does find it, she calls together her friends and neighbors and says to them, 'Rejoice with me because I have found the coin that I lost.' In just the same way, I tell you, there will be rejoicing among the angels of God over one sinner who repents."

Pastor Robyn began her homily with a story about random acts of kindness and their impact and then led into two big ideas: that of theological abuse and the open arms of God. She noted that church leaders often use the language of sin in ways that are abusive and maintain unequal power relations between them and their congregation, making many within the church feel unworthy, guilty, or unaccepted because of who they are or the things they might have done or believe in. This kind of language is used to exclude others and to condemn rather than liberate, used to make them feel lonely and outside of the church and the reach of God contrary to Christ. Even more than lost, it makes them feel shut out. But in contrast, Jesus makes clear in these parables that God is always there, always ready and willing to rejoice in finding the lost and being reconnected. We are loved unconditionally no matter how many times we miss the mark, and God is always there to bring us home and rejoice. "God in Jesus comes to find us."

Pastor Robyn made the point that our brokenness can't compare to the love and grace of God. That love and mercy and forgiveness are a constant gift from God that we not only need, but which is freely given without conditions. And rather than being about feeling guilty or unworthy, sin is really about "not knowing who we are, that we are at one with the ground of being... our identity of oneness." Ultimately, we are all one. One with each other, and one with God (much like Spinoza's monism, i.e., that one infinite substance, God or Nature, is the only substance that exists). Pastor Robyn called God an "attractive field of love" open to all souls and that God is immanent throughout the universe. And I rather liked this idea as I've been reading Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, so I could very much picture God as this infinitely dense mass or singularity of love whose gravity draws all towards it. And in my mind, I saw sin as those times when we energetically (through our will) turn away from this attractive field of love for whatever reason. But all we have to do is stop and let go and we fall right back home.

After the service, they had a potluck for everywhere followed by an informal meeting between some of the people new to Spirit of Grace and some of the staff and leadership of the community. Part of it was to get to know one another and let us know a little bit more about Spirit of Grace and all of the things going on in case there was a ministry or group we wanted to get more involved with. It was also a chance for them to get to know us and what brought us here. I made it a point to come because I'm already planning on becoming an official member next Sunday and thought it was important to meet some more of the community. I was surprised to find that many of the new people and staff had similar spiritual backgrounds to me, being involved with the Catholic Church, Buddhism, and centering prayer. I met Benneth, who happened to sit right next to me and is one of the teachers of centering prayer along with Gini, as well as a couple who called themselves CaBus, i.e., Catholic Buddhists. (I asked if they'd read Paul Knitter's Without Buddha I Could Not be a Christian, and they hadn't, so I'm definitely planning on passing along my copy to them the next time I see them.) Overall, it seems like a lot of the people at this church started out Catholic, but have been deeply wounded by the Catholic Church or simply no longer find it a welcoming place while still holding aspects of the tradition in their heart. I can certainly sympathize, and appreciate finding a community that combines the best of two Christian traditions that I treasure along with being open to the influences and insights of other faiths, being both ecumenical and interfaith.

One of the things I like about Spirit of Grace, beyond its intentional inclusivity and welcoming nature, is how they really focus on being a community. Not only do they try to get their members and friends to volunteer with the care of the grounds and assist with the worship service, as many churches generally do, they also try hard to help connect people who have similar interests and help those who are in need, delivering food, helping them move, connecting them with rides, etc. It's very much a community of people trying to live a genuine Christian life of love, compassion, contemplation, and service. And for the time being, I'm honoured to count myself among them.