10/12/14

Even before I got seriously interested in Christianity, I occasionally liked going to church on Sunday, usually to a Catholic or Orthodox church whenever the mood struck. I liked the atmosphere and the ritual. But I really enjoy going now and go almost every week. I feel like I'm getting more out of it, too.

There are probably a lot of reasons why, but I think a big part of that is because I'm becoming more involved with the community, which is something new for me. Whenever I had the urge to go before, I always resisted getting too close, getting too involved with the community, because I never quite felt like I belonged. But I don't feel that way anymore. I feel like everyone belongs, including me. And during mass, Fr. Michael gave the homily based on today's reading from Matthew, the parable of the wedding feast, that really brought that home.

In the parable, Jesus compares the kingdom of heaven to a king who gives a wedding feast for his son. The kingdom of heaven, like in Isaiah 25:6-10, is likened to rich abundance. But none of the invited guests come when sent for, and some even kill the servants sent by the king to invite them. The king, in a rage, sends out his soldiers to punish those who murdered his servants.

The king then says, "The feast is ready, but those who were invited were not worthy to come. Go out, therefore, into the main roads and invite to the feast whomever you find." Everyone they find, good and bad alike, are brought, illustrating the universality of the invitation to share in this rich abundance. But one of the people they bring isn't wearing a wedding garment, and the king, seeing this, asks why. The person is reduced to silence and doesn't answer, so the king has them bound and thrown outside into the darkness, where "there will be wailing and grinding of teeth."

Fr. Michael took the opportunity to focus on the invitation in his homily, how everyone the servants encountered on the road was invited. Although one of the guests gets thrown out for not wearing a wedding garment, which might represent Matthew's Jewish audience who rejected Jesus' message and/or those who lack good deeds (curiously this part doesn't appear in Luke's version), Fr. Michael half-jokingly mused that maybe part of the parable was missing—that he always pictures Jesus going outside and talking to the man to find out why. Maybe he just felt unworthy.

He said that a lot of people who don't come to church might not do so because they feel unworthy or unwelcome, and it's really up to the community to invite them in, to reach out and welcome them as they are into the community and share with them everything the community has to offer. Jesus' message was a universal and deeply social one; and it's in our interactions with one another that we're able to see the divine nature reflected in one another and can actually carry out that message of love, forgiveness, and reconciliation.

It's that personal invitation which makes all the difference. Fr. Michael brought up the invitation John receives from Jesus to 'come and see,' which he said is the kind of invitation we need to offer others as well. Non-threatening and with no strings attached, just an invitation to 'come and see,' much like how the Buddha invited those to come and see (ehipassiko) the Dhamma for themselves. What he said reminded me of the first time I went to St. Philip Neri and how kind and welcoming Dorothy was. It was mainly because of her that I came back.

In essence, it's all about the people. We're not being called to simply invite people into a particular building, although that may be part of it. We're being called to invite people into our hearts, into our spiritual community, and to follow Jesus' commandment to love one another, being forgiving rather than judgmental, kind rather than hardhearted.

Before the service, I spoke to Fr. Michael and he said that he wished he had a better homily, but I thought it was quite good. At least it did for me what I think he hoped it would for everyone there, to make them feel welcome at St. Philip, and to inspire them to go out and connect with other people in the same way.

10/11/14

I've become rather cynical as of late when it comes to politics and religion.

I see, for example, the problems that we're facing as a society, problems that stem in large part from the way our society is currently structured, and I instinctively want to fix them. But the solutions that I see are rejected by most as being too radical, utopian etc., and I can't seem to convince anyone to see things any differently, as if the status quo hasn't been consistently creating the conditions for systemic inequality and catastrophic global climate change for centuries. Whatever I do or say, I feel like Sisyphus, rolling a boulder up a hill just to watch it roll back down again.

The majority of people seem to be politically apathetic; and the majority of those who aren't seem to be satisfied with lesser evilism. And don't get me started on the sectarian triumphalism of political parties that, in my opinion, sell a lot of snake oil to the faithful, but fail to do much of anything that's truly efficacious and for the good of all, dividing people more than uniting them in common cause. And much like in the realm of political parties, I think the sectarian triumphalism of religious institutions is guilty of the same when it comes to spirituality.

Individually, there are a lot of good people and groups out there doing a lot of good things in the world; but collectively, on the macro level, I don't see quite the same—I see conflict, division, and shortsightedness where it really counts. It's especially apparent to me after spending time at a monastery; when I come back to the 'worldly life,' the ways we live, the things we think are important, etc., seem so crazy in contrast. It's like as a society, we're ill; but we don't think we're ill, and we childishly fight against most of the things that can potentially make us healthier. The sanest and happiest people I know seem to be the ones who have renounced the world.

I don't know. I think I'm at least understanding the inner motives of hermits.

10/9/14 (a new found appreciation)

I was looking through some old posts of mine today, and came across this one from just over four years ago, dated 10/7/10, when I really started to develop my appreciation for Christianity:

Admittedly, I've been fairly critical of Christianity as an institution for most of my life, not to mention certain scriptural passages that are, in my eyes, less than divine. And yet, I find myself coming to appreciate Christianity, and Orthodox Christianity in particular, as an extension of the ancient Greek mystery religions mixed with a bit of Eastern mysticism; although much of its 'mystery' seems to have been lost on many of its adherents.

My appreciation began after reading an interview with Archimandrite Dionysios, and discovering that Gregory Palamas is said to have constantly prayed: "Enlighten my darkness." It also struck me how Hesychastic prayer bears a superficial resemblance with Buddhist meditation, e.g., specific body postures, deliberate breathing patterns, acquiring an inner stillness, sense restraint, etc. It was years ago, however, and my appreciation quickly faded; but it was recently rekindled by my reading of Plato's Republic, as well as other of his dialogues, and a conversation I had at a local Greek Orthodox church.

While I practice Buddhism and am interested in things like philosophy and religion in general, I'm a very skeptical and secular person by nature. I have a hard time seeing into what some call 'the realm of the divine' — i.e., Plato's realm of forms, Spinoza's absolute substance, Buddhism's unconditioned reality — and I regularly doubt that such a realm even exists, but my recent readings of Plato have at least piqued my interest in trying. And talking with my kind guide at Holy Trinity last weekend during the annual Greek festival got me thinking about Christianity in a whole new way.

Seeking to explore this subject more, I decided to ask Simon, my long-time kalyana-mitta (admirable friend) from newbuddhist.com, to explain to me his views regarding the "excellence of the synthesis of the messages and practices" of Buddhism and Christianity. After receiving a brief message saying that it may take a day or two for him to condense his views for me, I was delighted to find this reply later in the day:

Despite what I said about taking time to reply, I reflected on this over my latte and toast in the autumn sun while in town and have put together a preliminary outline for your consideration. As you have been speaking to Orthodox Christians, you might like to consider the Christos Pantocrator with what I say about creative sunyatta.

I would add (because these first lines are written after the rest) that a fundamental principle, on which all rests, is that 'revelation' does not stop, either with the Buddha's death or with that of Saint Paul, but that we can inform our understanding across the ages.

First of all, I must stress that I do not imagine that I have a complete or, even, a completely coherent account. The fact is that I see humanity as progressing towards a more perfect understanding and we, you and I at this time and in this place, are within the process, the work in progress (see Note below). A synthesis will require the total transformation of all the elements, resulting in something new and, probably, very alien to our present thinking. This, for me, is the meaning of Jesus' saying about the grain of wheat that must fall to the ground and 'die' before it can grow. My personal image is that of the caterpillar, the pupa and the butterfly. Just as the individual ego resists the apparent death of awakening, so bodies of belief like faiths and religions resist their own 'transmogrification'.

This leads me to my second point, which is that I expect to find contradictions because those are the places where the most reflection is needed and where the energy of that meditative reflection is transformative. Do you know the poetry of George Herbert? One of his poems, which is now sung as a hymn, The Elixir

TEACH me, my God and King,
In all things Thee to see

The last two stanzas talk about "the famous stone/That turneth all to gold", the Philosophers' Stone of the alchemists taken as a metaphor for the Christ-inspired mind:

A servant with this clause
Makes drudgery divine :
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,
Makes that and th' action fine.

This is the famous stone
That turneth all to gold ;
For that which God doth touch and own
Cannot for less be told.

It is at the points of resistance that transformation occurs. Here, the poet Rilke and his attitude to praise for "the secateur and the rose" helped form my view.

Both you and I, I seem to remember, find inspiration in the Gospel of Thomas, which sometimes makes it hard to dialogue with those Christians who reject it as authentic or inspired, nevertheless, there are still enough hints in the canonical New Testament to point us to areas of the Way that Jesus taught that have tended to be overlooked or ignored in practice, and the same goes for the Buddhist sutras. These gaps are, to some extent, filled when both are brought together.

Here are some examples:

Jesus says that we are "deny our selves". This occurs in both the canonical and the Thomas gospels, although Thomas is closer to an 'Eastern' approach, an abandonment of ahamkara (the word McGregor Ross uses in his Thomas translations), of atman. The classical explanation is one of self-denial, of disciplining the senses but stops short of a denial of 'self'. I would argue that the Buddhist notion of the aggregates empowers the Christian's self denying practices, making it mindful of the deceit of the world that is often the subject of scripture. Here, as in other examples, Buddhist texts reveal a model of 'how' and Christian texts reveal outcome, particularly if we take the Teilhard view of the Cosmic Christ and the Omega Point. The thorny question of 'soul' must, in the end, be up to each one of us to decide for ourselves, if possible from our own experiences arising from practice or enlightenment.

Of course, there are challenges. By and large, Christians do not accept the notion of anatta as traditionally described and Buddhists object to a teleology or purposefulness other than personal. We have to go deeper.

Deeper brings us to sunyatta and kenosis and the mystery of creative emptiness. Much argument is wasted on whether or not there is a 'Creator', conceived along quasi-human lines. As I see it, Jesus reveals that there is compassion and caring which is behind and subtends all that is, from which all arises and into which all falls back, and that this parent-like caring is personal as well as ineffable. It is, if you like, the Buddha-nature (or indwelling Christ) of the universe.

Arising from the depths of mystery, a further example of creative interaction between Buddhism and Christianity is in the realm of social and politico-economic action. Buddhism, for too long, has tended towards a solipsistic approach, focusing on individual Awakening and ignoring political action. It is salutary to notice that Buddhists like Thich Nhat Hanh or Joanna Macy, along with His Holiness the Dalai Lama, coming to the Western tradition, have brought in an emphasis on 'good works', an area where Christians have been active for many centuries. Whereas there are excellent schools, hospitals and other 'guardian' institutions which were founded by and continue to be run by Christian groups across the ages, catering for all faiths and none, delivering services at the point of need, similar Buddhist institutions are few and far between - indeed, I can only think of hospices or animal sanctuaries. The abolition of slavery, too, is a further example.

From these few examples, you may be able to see why and how I developed, for myself, a 'hermeneutic', a way of reading scriptures and of seeing the world which rejects exclusivity of truth to any one theory or body of faith in favour of another: each brings something to the party. Often, however, I need to sit for a while with a contradiction or a 'knot' before I can penetrate the symbolism because I truly believe that we perceive shadows, as Plato taught in his Cave Myth, and it is up to us to spend the effort needed to understand what casts the shadows, the Reality behind apparent phenomena. In this, I recognise that I am in the mainstream of neither Buddhism, which can be seen as denying an ultimate Reality, and Christianity which ignores dependent origination.

This is already rather long but I hope it gives you some idea of how it all connects for me.

Note:
Years ago I came across a talk given at the World Council of Churches by an IT specialist priest who likened the unfolding universe to a computer program. Such a program, they said, who need to be answering a question and the question is there, in one of the creation stories in Genesis (1:26): "Let us create in our own image". Thus we are part of the (to us) long process by which Compassionate Creativity is achieving that goal. And why? The next (older) story gives us the clue: (2:18) "It is not good to be alone." Inherent in these texts are also the notions of relationship and interbeing.

A lot of what Simon wrote reminded me of what the amiable gentleman at the church said, especially regarding the notions of relationship and interbeing. For example, he said that in talking to me, he saw God. Not that I was God, but that there's something special, something divine, in our interactions with other people. This brought to mind one of the images of hell mentioned by the deacon in one of the church tours earlier in the day — that of being utterly alone — and I couldn't help but be reminded of the Buddha's words to his cousin, Ananda, in SN 45.2:

Admirable friendship, admirable companionship, admirable camaraderie is actually the whole of the holy life.

I also found it interesting that Simon mentioned the allegory of the cave from Plato's Republic since it's one of the things that helped motivate me to explore this subject in the first place. (I even wrote a blog post recently comparing what's in the Republic to many of the things the Buddha is recorded as saying in the Pali Canon.)

I'm not planning on converting to Christianity anytime soon; still, I do feel like I'm deepening my own practice and understanding of Buddhism simply by allowing myself to be open to these, for lack of a better word, mysteries. This is not only due to the works of Plato and my recent conversation at Holy Trinity, but to people like David Cooper (God is a Verb), Thomas Merton (Mystics and Zen Masters) and Simon who continually seek to find harmony between spiritual disciplines. Perhaps in time I'll go back to my old, critical ways, but for now, I'm enjoying this newfound appreciation of what devoted people of all religious disciplines have to offer.

It's interesting to see where I was then compared to now. I think I did revert to my critical ways for a time; but I've since come back around with a new appreciation, along with some new experiences, and I'm looking forward to seeing where this journey will take me next.

10/9/14

During yesterday's inquiry class, I was reminded of the way my friend sees God in his interactions with people via Barbara's comment that God tends to constantly throw us together so that we have to interact and share with one another. Then today, I read something in Thomas Merton's The Sign of Jonas that brought that to mind and for me really highlighted the deeply social nature of Christian spirituality:

Christ recognizes Himself when the souls that possess His likeness in them by charity, recognize one another by some actual expression of His love in one another, and begin to praise Him and thank Him and move one another to greater love, in His joy. (150)

I found it a wonderful expression of this same idea, i.e., of seeing God in our interactions with other people. I think this is important, maybe even the most important aspect of Christianity. I've been trying to see God throughout the day in my interactions with others. Unfortunately, I think my interactions with people have been so negative from my side that any potential sign of God is being buried in darkness.

I wish I knew how to be more patient and loving. I seem to get so easily irritated and caught up in my own negative moods that it overwhelms all the goodness in my heart and makes it hard for me to be receptive to all the goodness that's around me. I want so much to be a better person and to be a source of joy to those around me rather than a thorn in their side—to be able to truly love others as much as I love myself.

10/8/14

The topic of today's inquiry class was pretty interesting: our image of God and what influences that image. Barbara began by asking us to think of some of the names of God we know. She then asked us to think of some attributes that we want God to have and to think of examples in our life where we might see that.

I had a hard time thinking of things besides the typical ones of love and compassion, which were some of the first things mentioned by others. One thing that I thought about was the present moment and the feelings of joy and happiness that I sometimes get when surrounded by solitude and quiet. When those feelings arise, the presentness of everything overwhelms me. But then I thought of the emptiness and loneliness I sometimes feel as well, which I suppose could reflect the absence of God. Or maybe both are God, the latter emptying myself of 'self' so that I can then be filled with the former.

The idea was basically to see how we all see God from different perspectives and how different experiences colour that perception. Using the Old Testament as an example, she pointed out how tribal life was tumultuous, and how God often takes on an angry or vengeful persona based upon the experiences of the ancient Israelites. They were trying to describe their experience of God in that context, and we have to take that into consideration.

It's something to think about, in my opinion. I think we tend to put God in a box, however we conceive the idea, and that picture is influenced by our experiences and biases, how we were raised, the things we've read, the ups and downs in our lives, etc. But the subject transcends whatever box we try to place it in. Our point of view is limited; but at the same time, we want to express how God appears to us in our lives.

Some of the ways she talked about God reminded me a bit of nibbana in the sense that God is something which is always there, and the more we allow our preconceived notions to fall away, the more we experience God. To me, it's similar to the idea that nibbana, the unconditioned, is always there, the experience of it simply being obscured by our clinging to views (think Nagarjuna) and our defilements of greed, hatred, and delusion.

As for myself, from past experiences with conservative Christians and a few unpleasant Bible passages, I've had a rather negative view of God as a fictional, angry, petty old man for a long, long time. But after things like talking to my Orthodox friend about the way he sees God in his interactions with people and reading things like In the Spirit of Happiness and parts of the Philokalia, I started to form a completely different picture.

I'm still not sure if there's a God, but I feel more drawn towards the idea than I ever have before. And the picture I have is growing bigger and more complex, yet simpler. My perspective is evolving. Sometimes I think about my interactions with people and I occasionally see them the same way my friend does. (Barbara said something similar about God constantly throwing us together.) Sometimes, in quiet and solitude, I think I feel what a lot of the mystics and contemplatives talk about. And I liked Barbara's definition of God as what draws us towards virtue.

Near the beginning of the class, they gave out copies of the New American translation of the Bible; at the end, Barbara gave us some homework: to ask ourselves every night, Where did I see God today? For me, I think it'll be an exercise in seeing goodness around me. "God doesn't work against himself." Look for the goodness.

10/5/14

I've been reading Thomas Merton's The Sign of Jonas recently, which is making me nostalgic for my time at Our Lady of Guadalupe. The simplicity. The contemplative atmosphere. The experience of the Liturgy of the Hours. I miss all of it and hope to visit again soon.

Mass today was nice, and I finally got to meet Fr. Bill; but I was a bit distracted and didn't fully appreciate it. I accidentally deleted some data from a friend's computer while taking care of her cat these past two weeks, and today was the day she returned.

One thing that I did take away from the homily, however, is how important right action (i.e., actions in line with Dhamma/God) is. Some people, I think, tend to see the social justice side of Christianity as something beyond or outside of the spiritual messages contained within the Bible; but it's really not, in my opinion. Quite a few seem to be more than willing to criticize priests who they feel are too liberal and/or too focused on things like social justice. But the teachings in the Bible continually stress things like justice, love in action, moral uprightness, generosity, and our duty towards others in need, i.e., many are about how we treat one another. For example, one of this week's readings:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. (Phil 4:6-9)

"Put these things into practice." And to me, that echoes one of the implicit messages from the parable of the wicked tenants who failed in their duties. Or Jesus more explicitly, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me" (Matt 19:21).

For me, these teachings seem to be as rooted in, and applicable to, the here-and-now as they do the hereafter. So when priests relate many of these exhortations and parables to the recognition and support of social issues like a living wage, universal healthcare, immigrant rights and immigration reform, domestic violence, care of the poor and sick, etc., I think they're 'putting these things into practice' as much as they are when they're stressing the internal aspects of the spiritual life. Or as Fr. Charlie put it in his homily, we can't be passive in the face of injustice. It's an inspiring and proactive message that I think exemplifies the spirit of Jesus' commandment to his disciples: "[L]ove one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another. This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another" (John 13:34-35).

Unfortunately, while trying to take all of that in and be fully present during the service, I was also fretting about whether I could recover the data I accidentally deleted from my friend's computer despite St. Paul's advice, and panicking about having to confess my epic fuckup right after mass after I got a message that she'd just got back from her trip. (Although she was understanding and not as upset as I feared she'd be, I still felt like the worst person in the world.)

As I write this, I'm still waiting for the recovery program to scan for the lost files, and I'm hoping and praying they'll be recoverable. But whether or not they are, I certainly learned a fairly painful and embarrassing lesson about the importance of mindfulness...

10/1/14

The topic for today's B- Catholics group was supposed to be the Eucharist, but it shifted somewhat due to a question raised by Dorothy about an article she read dealing with the lack of youth participation at Sunday mass. Part of Fr. Michael's response was that you can't force them to come; they have to want to be there. The question is, how can you connect with people and help them grow in their spiritual life?

At this point, Fr. Michael spoke about his attendance of an interfaith service at Augustana Lutheran Church yesterday. The event was to support Francisco Aguirre, who's taken sanctuary at Augustana after ICE agents arrived at his home on September 19th threatening to deport him. Fr. Michael went, in part, because of his passion for social justice. But he left contemplating the genuine hospitality and sense of community that he felt there, even among so many different people from equally as many spiritual traditions, something that the Paulist Fathers also seek to offer through contemporary culture and media.

It got me thinking about why I was there at the meeting, and why I've been attending mass and the inquiry class, as well. The most obvious answer is that I really like to be around spiritual people and places, I always have. And lately, the more I visit, the more I feel like I'm being nourished spiritually, socially, etc., and that it's a good place for me right now in my spiritual journey despite my years of avoiding Christianity like the plague. The few people I've already met seem to truly embody the welcoming spirit that Fr. Michael spoke of; and I also appreciate the parish's focus on social justice.

Social justice is something that's also important to me, including immigrant rights and immigration reform. I have a friend who's in a similar situation. Because my friend, his wife, and their first daughter initially came to this country 'illegally,' and his first lawyer screwed him over by putting the wrong country of origin on his paperwork because it's easier to immigrate from certain Latin American countries than others, he was ultimately denied citizenship despite the fact that he's been living, working, and paying taxes in the US for over 24 years, is an asset to his present employer, has no criminal record, has two children under 18 who are legal US citizens, and has been going through the immigration process since 2005. Now their future is in limbo.

As I was thinking about all of this, Fr. Michael said something that I thought was interesting. While talking about some of the reasons people may not come to mass, he mentioned that people often have the idea that communion is some kind of prize that you get for being good, that if you do x, y, and z you get communion as a reward. If you're not perfect, well, never mind. But he said that's not the right way of looking at it at all. Communion isn't simply a reward for being perfect or following all the rules; it's more like spiritual food for the soul that nourishes us and helps us heal our inner brokenness.

I found myself thinking of the story of Jesus and the adulterer — where he says, "Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her" (John 8:7) — and how Jesus seems to have spent a lot of time with the poor and what many would consider the more unsavoury elements of society, wondering whether it might be because they weren't self-righteous and didn't deny their sins, weaknesses, and brokenness.

To paraphrase something Fr. Michael said, it's OK to be imperfect and to share those imperfections with one another. Communion isn't a reward for the perfect; it's for all of us who are imperfect to commune with one another (and God), and to be nourished spiritually. Just like in AA, acceptance of the problem/our brokenness is the first step towards healing. I got the same sense reading a passage from Thomas Merton's The Sign of Jonas, where he writes of his own imperfections:

It seems to me the most absurd thing in the world to be upset because I am weak and distracted and blind and constantly make mistakes! What else do I expect! Does God love me any less because I can't make myself a saint by my own power and in my own way? He loves me more because I am so clumsy and helpless without Him—and underneath what I am He sees me as I will one day be by His pure gift and that pleases Him—and therefore it pleases me and I attend to His great love which is my joy. (102-3)

This type of communion is subtle and difficult to put into words, however. I don't think it's meant to be a robotic, ritualistic obligation, but a genuine celebration of love, forgiveness, and reconciliation. It's an uplifting experience if we're receptive to it. Maybe many don't come to Sunday mass because they think they're not worthy. Maybe they're missing the spiritual maturity to understand its deeper meaning. Or maybe it's not being presented or received in the same spirit that it was first celebrated, when Jesus told his disciples to, "Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another" (John 13:34-35).

From the Buddhist point of view, one of the big dangers of clinging to rites and rituals in and of themselves is that we eventually sterilize those things of all honesty and efficacy. We tend to fall into the spiritual trap of thinking that just going through the motions is enough, i.e., doing things that may be outwardly correct but not necessarily with the right intentions. And I think that's true in this case, as well.

Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.