Tonight we had the second meeting of Fr. Bill's spiritual formation series. The format was similar to last time: food, discussion/testimony, video, discussion.
Last week they got some Indian food; this time it was from Clay's Smokehouse. Everyone really seemed to enjoy it, and I didn't have the heart to tell them that I wasn't eating because I'm vegetarian. I hate to impose my dietary restrictions on others.
For the discussion part, we reviewed some of the stuff from last week and focused on our testimonies. We broke up into pairs and each person had a couple of minutes to give their testimony they started working on last Thursday. Rose and I shared ours with each other, although what I ended up saying was substantially different from what I had written down.
I realize that testimony isn't my thing. It's essentially presenting your conversion story to others in an effort to open the door to talk more about your faith. I'm shy, don't like to talk much (especially in groups of more than 2 or 3 people), and have a more private spirituality. Plus, my story is rather long and boring and full of loaded terms like bodhisattva and bodhicitta. The whole thing makes me rather uncomfortable, frankly. My testimony is my example: the person I am and the way I try to live my life.
The videos are pretty cheezy, but I kind of like them anyway. They're funny, and some of the questions they ask are thought-provoking. I agree with Colleen, though, that they could be a little more diverse (it's primarily done by two clean-cut, white guys). One of the things I really liked from today's video was the quote, "Christ is the visible image of the invisible God." I don't know why, but I found it rather brilliant at the time.
All in all, I enjoy spending time with everyone there even if I feel uncomfortable at times. I like hearing other people's stories and being among fellow seekers.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
2/12/15
Last night was RCIA. The topic was Mary and the saints. Unfortunately, I had a migraine (I don't know why I've been getting so many lately), and it was a struggle for me to stay present. The lights. The heat. The noise. My head was a ball of pain, and all I wanted was to go home. Perhaps next time I should invoke the aid of St. William or St. Gemma.
It was kind of an interesting topic, though, and I wish I could have participated in the discussion more. For me, saints are primarily examples of people who have lived a holy life and have achieved some level of divine union or spiritual realization. They're icons of inspiration, offering encouragement that these things are attainable and helping show the way, much like stream-enterers and arahants in Buddhism (e.g., Kassapa).
I found Barbara's thoughts about this interesting, as well. She said that her personal belief is that all living beings return to God, so that the saints are still present with us since God isn't limited and they can manifest to us or in some way be present in our lives when called upon. The image I like to think of is the classic example used in Vedanta of waves cresting and returning to the sea—individual waves of consciousness are born, persist for a time, and then return to the sea from which they're born.
As for Mary, I appreciate her as a powerful, feminine figure in the Church, and conceive of her in much the same way as I once did the divine feminine of the Triple Goddess. She appears in the Gospels as the maiden, young and newly betrothed. She becomes the divine mother when she becomes pregnant through the holy spirit and gives birth to Jesus/God. And she takes on the role of the wise crone at the death of Jesus/God.
Mary is a powerful figure to me precisely because she helps to balance out the heavily male-dominated cast of characters in the New Testament, and in my opinion, gives Christian theology a much needed feminine/maternal force. Mary is probably the most popular saint. As one BBC article notes, "To many lay Catholics Mary is the female gateway through whom they experience the divine," a natural choice considering her role as mother of God.
Even though I felt terrible, I enjoyed the class. Romanos and Barbara seemed to be on the same page and got along despite my fears. I got a lot from their exchanges, although I wish I'd taken some notes as I've forgotten most of what they said.
It was kind of an interesting topic, though, and I wish I could have participated in the discussion more. For me, saints are primarily examples of people who have lived a holy life and have achieved some level of divine union or spiritual realization. They're icons of inspiration, offering encouragement that these things are attainable and helping show the way, much like stream-enterers and arahants in Buddhism (e.g., Kassapa).
I found Barbara's thoughts about this interesting, as well. She said that her personal belief is that all living beings return to God, so that the saints are still present with us since God isn't limited and they can manifest to us or in some way be present in our lives when called upon. The image I like to think of is the classic example used in Vedanta of waves cresting and returning to the sea—individual waves of consciousness are born, persist for a time, and then return to the sea from which they're born.
As for Mary, I appreciate her as a powerful, feminine figure in the Church, and conceive of her in much the same way as I once did the divine feminine of the Triple Goddess. She appears in the Gospels as the maiden, young and newly betrothed. She becomes the divine mother when she becomes pregnant through the holy spirit and gives birth to Jesus/God. And she takes on the role of the wise crone at the death of Jesus/God.
Mary is a powerful figure to me precisely because she helps to balance out the heavily male-dominated cast of characters in the New Testament, and in my opinion, gives Christian theology a much needed feminine/maternal force. Mary is probably the most popular saint. As one BBC article notes, "To many lay Catholics Mary is the female gateway through whom they experience the divine," a natural choice considering her role as mother of God.
Even though I felt terrible, I enjoyed the class. Romanos and Barbara seemed to be on the same page and got along despite my fears. I got a lot from their exchanges, although I wish I'd taken some notes as I've forgotten most of what they said.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
2/10/15
I decided to start reading Karen Armstrong's A History of God the other day. I saw it sitting on a friend's bookshelf and asked if I could borrow it after reading a bit of the introduction. Although the book explores the history of God and how the ideas about God have evolved in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam throughout the centuries, which I find an interesting subject in and of itself, it begins with a short biography of her own experience with God and religion.
What caught my eye was her confession that, while feeling it possible to 'break through to God' and entering a religious order to do that, she became increasingly aware of, and unhappy with, her lack of religious experience, eventually leaving the religious life and having God fade into the background. That is, until her study of the history of religion gave her a new perspective, finding that instead of simply waiting for God to descend from on high, she should deliberately create a sense of God for herself—that in an important sense God is the product of the creative imagination, like poetry and music (xvii-xx).
I thought it was a rather curious introduction, but it also spoke to me, expressing a lot of what I'm thinking and feeling and trying to discover. As I walk farther into my own search for God, I realize that I, too, want to break through to God and have that experience transfigure the whole of my being. And like her, I'm disappointed at times with what often feels like failure. But what she wrote also reminded me of Fr. Michael's advice about using my imagination to make the Bible real and see how it relates to me.
I went back and read a few chapters of Matthew, trying to put myself there and contemplating what Jesus was pointing towards with things like the parable of the camel and the eye of a needle in Mt 19:16-30. It got me thinking about renunciation and what Jesus meant by 'the kingdom of heaven,' which seems to differ slightly depending on the context. Here, for instance, Jesus seems to be saying that possessions and worldly concerns can be an obstacle to following his example and entering into the kingdom of heaven, a kingdom that's often said to be within.
One explanation I've heard (from Fr. Charlie if memory serves me right) is that this parable is referring to a fully-packed camel trying to enter through a narrow gate that they could only pass through unencumbered. To 'be perfect,' one must be non-attached. And this, I think, is very similar to the Buddhist teachings regarding clinging, particularly to sensual pleasures and views. To realize nibbana, one must first learn to let go of what isn't theirs, to release their grasping to self-views and put down their burden of clinging.
TTo break through to God, to awaken to the absolute, then, requires a certain level of internal renunciation that's aided by external forms. But this reality is subtle, much like the 'light silent sound' of the presence of God (1 Kings 19:9-12) or the Dhamma realized by the Buddha (SN 6.1). And thinking about my perceived failures, I'm somewhat comforted by the fact that even Jesus' close disciples often seemed in the dark despite being in the presence of such an awakened, divine being.
What caught my eye was her confession that, while feeling it possible to 'break through to God' and entering a religious order to do that, she became increasingly aware of, and unhappy with, her lack of religious experience, eventually leaving the religious life and having God fade into the background. That is, until her study of the history of religion gave her a new perspective, finding that instead of simply waiting for God to descend from on high, she should deliberately create a sense of God for herself—that in an important sense God is the product of the creative imagination, like poetry and music (xvii-xx).
I thought it was a rather curious introduction, but it also spoke to me, expressing a lot of what I'm thinking and feeling and trying to discover. As I walk farther into my own search for God, I realize that I, too, want to break through to God and have that experience transfigure the whole of my being. And like her, I'm disappointed at times with what often feels like failure. But what she wrote also reminded me of Fr. Michael's advice about using my imagination to make the Bible real and see how it relates to me.
I went back and read a few chapters of Matthew, trying to put myself there and contemplating what Jesus was pointing towards with things like the parable of the camel and the eye of a needle in Mt 19:16-30. It got me thinking about renunciation and what Jesus meant by 'the kingdom of heaven,' which seems to differ slightly depending on the context. Here, for instance, Jesus seems to be saying that possessions and worldly concerns can be an obstacle to following his example and entering into the kingdom of heaven, a kingdom that's often said to be within.
One explanation I've heard (from Fr. Charlie if memory serves me right) is that this parable is referring to a fully-packed camel trying to enter through a narrow gate that they could only pass through unencumbered. To 'be perfect,' one must be non-attached. And this, I think, is very similar to the Buddhist teachings regarding clinging, particularly to sensual pleasures and views. To realize nibbana, one must first learn to let go of what isn't theirs, to release their grasping to self-views and put down their burden of clinging.
TTo break through to God, to awaken to the absolute, then, requires a certain level of internal renunciation that's aided by external forms. But this reality is subtle, much like the 'light silent sound' of the presence of God (1 Kings 19:9-12) or the Dhamma realized by the Buddha (SN 6.1). And thinking about my perceived failures, I'm somewhat comforted by the fact that even Jesus' close disciples often seemed in the dark despite being in the presence of such an awakened, divine being.
Monday, February 9, 2015
2/9/15
I felt bad today for missing the last upasika class; but some friends of ours got Annie and I tickets to Carmina Burana and I didn't want to miss it. I'd mentioned a while back that I'd never seen an opera or symphony and that one of my resolutions this year was to see one. They asked if I was interested in seeing Carmina Burana, and after reading a bit about it and watching a video of "O Fortuna" — with its bawdy lyrics, beautiful compositions, and huge ensemble — I was sold.
The day was cold, wet, and windy, but none of that could dampen my spirits. It was truly an incredible experience, and it reminded me of something Fr. Michael said once about how music is just a bunch of sound waves, yet it can touch our hearts and move us to tears. What is it inside of us that can be so moved by beauty? It's kind of amazing when you think about the way sound waves can reach inside of you, moving you and creating waves of emotions that, at least for a short time, wash over the whole of your entire being.
In a way, it's kind of like a religious experience, I suppose, where something invades your mind and body and completely consumes you, not unlike the feelings of rapture and pleasure one can feel in deep meditation or the ecstasy felt by some in prayer.
The day was cold, wet, and windy, but none of that could dampen my spirits. It was truly an incredible experience, and it reminded me of something Fr. Michael said once about how music is just a bunch of sound waves, yet it can touch our hearts and move us to tears. What is it inside of us that can be so moved by beauty? It's kind of amazing when you think about the way sound waves can reach inside of you, moving you and creating waves of emotions that, at least for a short time, wash over the whole of your entire being.
In a way, it's kind of like a religious experience, I suppose, where something invades your mind and body and completely consumes you, not unlike the feelings of rapture and pleasure one can feel in deep meditation or the ecstasy felt by some in prayer.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
2/8/15
I can't believe it's already Sunday. What a busy and stressful week it's been. Work has been especially challenging. A couple of people quit last week, putting more of a burden on me. It couldn't be a worse time, either, with all the audits going on.
On top of that, I spent the week house-sitting for a friend and taking care of his three elderly cats while he was away on a business trip. I still haven't fully recovered. I love cats, but being woken up by his 21yr old cat, Jasmine, almost every hour on the hour made me a sleep-deprived wreck. In hindsight, I guess it's a good thing it went by so fast.
On a more positive note, I went to the first Spiritual Formations meetup started by Fr. Bill Thursday night. It's essentially a program for young and middle adults that's partially based on the Alpha Faith series and exercises developed by the Fellowship of Catholic University Students. And of course, Fr. Bill has added some of his own stuff to the mix, as well.
Although I enjoyed myself, I'm not sure if I like it yet. It's been less 'contemplative' and more 'evangelistic' than I expected thus far. One of the first exercises, for instance, is a testimony worksheet divided into four 'acts' that we're supposed to write about: (1) my life before I knew Jesus Christ; (2) how I came to know Jesus Christ and his Church; (3) my life in Jesus Christ; and (4) the challenge and invitation to the audience.
I'm having some trouble with this exercise, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Part of the reason is that this is still very new to me. I'm kind of in the middle of getting to know the Church, and I can't say that I truly know Jesus yet, so it's hard to have any real perspective on my journey to be able to talk about it in a concise, intelligible way right now. (I've been keeping this journal since August, though, to help with that.)
Another reason is that these kinds of things are inherently difficult for me to talk about. I don't mind talking about it per se, but it's a really personal thing for me and I sometimes find it hard to articulate my thoughts and experiences with others. I suppose some of that's due to the fact most of my friends and family aren't very religious/spiritual, so I'm just not used to talking about spiritual things. Some of it's also because I'm shy and have a more contemplative approach (I think a lot of that has to do with my Buddhist practice), which makes some of my experiences and ideas hard to put into words.
And some of it, I must confess, has to do with the fact that my ideas about certain doctrines are kind of 'out there,' or else not entirely orthodox.
There's no real pressure to 'say the right things,' though. I got a nice email from Rose on Friday, in fact, saying that she got the impression that I was having problems with this exercise, and not to worry as things will start coming together as I continue my journey. She also said that past experience has led me to this place in time, and that I shouldn't worry about using 'Christian' words and just try putting faith-journey words in place of them that are familiar to me. But the most encouraging part was, "From what I have gathered over the past several months is that you hold a deep spiritual belief, but are searching for something to take it to a new level. You have a rich past to build upon."
Speaking of which, here are some notes I scribbled down while watching the first Alpha series video as they were discussing Jesus' statement in John 14, "I am the way and the truth and the life":
Mass was also a bright spot for me this week. I really felt at home there. Today's homily was similar to last week's, with a few tweaks here and there tying everything to the day's readings. It was still good, but it got me thinking about how difficult it must be to come up with something new to say every day. I certainly don't hold it against them if they occasionally recycle a story or two.
Another thing of note was that Alexis, who often helps hand out communion each Sunday, asked if I'd like to be one of the gift-bearers (i.e., those who present the bread and wine to be consecrated to the priest). I happily said yes, although I'm not sure if I did it properly. But the important thing is that I had a chance to participate, however minimally, in one of the Church's most sacred and contemplative acts.
On top of that, I spent the week house-sitting for a friend and taking care of his three elderly cats while he was away on a business trip. I still haven't fully recovered. I love cats, but being woken up by his 21yr old cat, Jasmine, almost every hour on the hour made me a sleep-deprived wreck. In hindsight, I guess it's a good thing it went by so fast.
On a more positive note, I went to the first Spiritual Formations meetup started by Fr. Bill Thursday night. It's essentially a program for young and middle adults that's partially based on the Alpha Faith series and exercises developed by the Fellowship of Catholic University Students. And of course, Fr. Bill has added some of his own stuff to the mix, as well.
Although I enjoyed myself, I'm not sure if I like it yet. It's been less 'contemplative' and more 'evangelistic' than I expected thus far. One of the first exercises, for instance, is a testimony worksheet divided into four 'acts' that we're supposed to write about: (1) my life before I knew Jesus Christ; (2) how I came to know Jesus Christ and his Church; (3) my life in Jesus Christ; and (4) the challenge and invitation to the audience.
I'm having some trouble with this exercise, not knowing what to say or how to say it. Part of the reason is that this is still very new to me. I'm kind of in the middle of getting to know the Church, and I can't say that I truly know Jesus yet, so it's hard to have any real perspective on my journey to be able to talk about it in a concise, intelligible way right now. (I've been keeping this journal since August, though, to help with that.)
Another reason is that these kinds of things are inherently difficult for me to talk about. I don't mind talking about it per se, but it's a really personal thing for me and I sometimes find it hard to articulate my thoughts and experiences with others. I suppose some of that's due to the fact most of my friends and family aren't very religious/spiritual, so I'm just not used to talking about spiritual things. Some of it's also because I'm shy and have a more contemplative approach (I think a lot of that has to do with my Buddhist practice), which makes some of my experiences and ideas hard to put into words.
And some of it, I must confess, has to do with the fact that my ideas about certain doctrines are kind of 'out there,' or else not entirely orthodox.
There's no real pressure to 'say the right things,' though. I got a nice email from Rose on Friday, in fact, saying that she got the impression that I was having problems with this exercise, and not to worry as things will start coming together as I continue my journey. She also said that past experience has led me to this place in time, and that I shouldn't worry about using 'Christian' words and just try putting faith-journey words in place of them that are familiar to me. But the most encouraging part was, "From what I have gathered over the past several months is that you hold a deep spiritual belief, but are searching for something to take it to a new level. You have a rich past to build upon."
Speaking of which, here are some notes I scribbled down while watching the first Alpha series video as they were discussing Jesus' statement in John 14, "I am the way and the truth and the life":
Jesus: "I am the way." Not unlike the Buddha as a teacher pointing the way to the noble eightfold path. 'I am the way,' finger pointing towards the moon, way/path to holiness, awakening to something ineffable—nibbana, the deathless, God?
Jesus: "I am the truth." Could mean something similar to the Buddha saying 'I am awake.' A statement of realization. Or like when the Buddha says, "He who sees Dhamma sees me; he who sees me sees Dhamma.
Mass was also a bright spot for me this week. I really felt at home there. Today's homily was similar to last week's, with a few tweaks here and there tying everything to the day's readings. It was still good, but it got me thinking about how difficult it must be to come up with something new to say every day. I certainly don't hold it against them if they occasionally recycle a story or two.
Another thing of note was that Alexis, who often helps hand out communion each Sunday, asked if I'd like to be one of the gift-bearers (i.e., those who present the bread and wine to be consecrated to the priest). I happily said yes, although I'm not sure if I did it properly. But the important thing is that I had a chance to participate, however minimally, in one of the Church's most sacred and contemplative acts.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
2/1/15 (2)
Fr. Michael posted this tonight, and I thought it rather serendipitous considering the topic of today's RCIA class (emphasis mine):
Unfortunately, he's going to LA on Tuesday to be with his father, who's 100 and not doing so well. They'll both be in my thoughts.
A mother once asked Albert Einstein how her son could become as smart as he was. Einstein replied, "read him fairytales." "What else should I do?" she asked, "read him more fairytales." Einstein once said "logic will get you from point A to point B, imagination will take you everywhere."
In a lot of ways we have lost the power of the story. Immediately we want to know if something is true or not. We get obsessed with data, facts and what we think is real and concrete. In religious and spiritual realms we settle for beliefs and creeds rather than faith. It is easy to say “I believe” quite something else to free fall headlong into what we say we believe. Imagination helps us take that step, the step that can lead us to far more than we can possibly imagine or believe.
Jesus gave us no creeds. Jesus told stories, stories that would, if we use our imaginations, lead us to new and fuller life. Jesus told stories about daily life. The story of the sower, the story of flowers in the fields, the woman who lost a coin and a person born blind. These and all the other stories Jesus tells can, if we use our imaginations, draw us ever deeper into the ordinary things and events we see, hear, smell, taste and touch. Jesus knew long before the poet Gerard Manly Hopkins "that all of creation is charged with the grandeur of God."
A few years ago my dad and I drove the Alcan Highway to Fairbanks Alaska. I took many beautiful photographs but when I got home I was very disappointed with all of them. None of them captured what I really saw; they all fell short of the insane beauty of that trip. People who have seen them like them but I knew their shortcomings. This is true of our words and our language especially when we try to tell someone of our spiritual experiences. Our words, our symbols are only shadows of what they are trying to convey.
In recent years my dad has told me stories of his landing on Omaha Beach on D-Day. Interesting stories but only my imagination can lead me into the drama, horror, and full fury of what he was experiencing. His words are only shadows. My words, our words are only shadows of what we are trying to convey to each other. This is why silence is so important for in the silence is the fullness of truth.
God's first Word was silence and out of that holy silence all was created in the imagination of God. Only in awe-struck silence can we appreciate God’s truth all around us; only in such silence can we hold tenderly the truth of our friends, relatives, partners and our community of Faith. "When you pray, go to your room and shut the door." We need to do this often alone and with others to discover God's truth and love that abides deep within each of us.
Let our first word be Holy Silence.
Unfortunately, he's going to LA on Tuesday to be with his father, who's 100 and not doing so well. They'll both be in my thoughts.
2/1/15
Romanos joined me at St. Philip for the first time today, and I introduced him to Fr. Bill, Fr. Michael, and the RCIA group (sans Barbara, who was meeting with another group).
Fr. Bill celebrated mass and gave the homily, which I thought was rather good. I particularly liked what he said about the holy spirit (Holy Spirit?, is capitalization important?), that it makes us more of who we already are, a truer person if you will. He brought up the man with the 'unclean spirit' from today's Gospel reading, comparing what afflicted him to the inner voices/demons we all have that resist the call of holiness within, much like the voices of Mara (the embodiment of delusion and desire) that tempt us from seeing and practicing Dhamma.
I see the holy spirit as what guides us on the path, inspiring us and helping transform the potentiality within into the actuality that exists (i.e., our capacity to achieve a more completed [divine] state in Aristotelian terms), to go from ignorance to knowledge of what is. It's the primary cause and condition by which gnosis is possible.
Fr. Bill's homily was also touching, mentioning his father who recently passed away at the end, his voice cracking as he began to cry.
The topic for today's class was the Nicene Creed, and Barbara's husband James led the class, giving us a more historical perspective to the Creed and how and why it came to be than a theological one. It was interesting, and it gave me some of the historical background to what Romanos was saying yesterday about the meaning of the Creed, the former satisfying my intellectual side and the latter satisfying my more mystical side.
I think everyone liked Romanos and vice versa, although I can foresee his and Barbara's personalities clashing. Hopefully they'll get along, though.
Fr. Bill celebrated mass and gave the homily, which I thought was rather good. I particularly liked what he said about the holy spirit (Holy Spirit?, is capitalization important?), that it makes us more of who we already are, a truer person if you will. He brought up the man with the 'unclean spirit' from today's Gospel reading, comparing what afflicted him to the inner voices/demons we all have that resist the call of holiness within, much like the voices of Mara (the embodiment of delusion and desire) that tempt us from seeing and practicing Dhamma.
I see the holy spirit as what guides us on the path, inspiring us and helping transform the potentiality within into the actuality that exists (i.e., our capacity to achieve a more completed [divine] state in Aristotelian terms), to go from ignorance to knowledge of what is. It's the primary cause and condition by which gnosis is possible.
Fr. Bill's homily was also touching, mentioning his father who recently passed away at the end, his voice cracking as he began to cry.
The topic for today's class was the Nicene Creed, and Barbara's husband James led the class, giving us a more historical perspective to the Creed and how and why it came to be than a theological one. It was interesting, and it gave me some of the historical background to what Romanos was saying yesterday about the meaning of the Creed, the former satisfying my intellectual side and the latter satisfying my more mystical side.
I think everyone liked Romanos and vice versa, although I can foresee his and Barbara's personalities clashing. Hopefully they'll get along, though.
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