10/22/15

At B-, Fr. Michael started the discussion by mentioning a couple of parishioners came to him and complained about Fr. Bill's homily Sunday, which they said boiled down to suffering = God's punishment. I was surprised to hear that, and reassured Fr. Michael that that was definitely not what I heard. One of the things he said that stood out to me, though, was that we often have trouble believing that God loves us unconditionally, and that we need to get away from the reward/punishment idea of God. If we believe in a God who punishes us with suffering, what room does that leave for unconditional love and forgiveness?

He also said things like: We use guilt to motivate people to do good things, and we really shouldn't. Suffering is a reality, and spirituality is about relieving suffering. Like Francis of Assisi, we should live simply, in solidarity with the poor, and move away from a 'me' centred focus/ego presence. The value system that we're stuck in ultimately leads to the indignity of the human person. That last part I found especially thought-provoking as it points to something Marx saw in terms of economic social relations. In A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, for example, Marx famously writes:

In the social production of their existence, men inevitably enter into definite relations, which are independent of their will, namely relations of production appropriate to a given stage in the development of their material forces of production. The totality of these relations of production constitutes the economic structure of society, the real foundation, on which arises a legal and political superstructure and to which correspond definite forms of social consciousness. The mode of production of material life conditions the general process of social, political and intellectual life. It is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but their social existence that determines their consciousness.

And within that structure, there exist a number of contradictions and inequalities that ultimately lead to the indignity of labour vs. capital. It not only estranges and alienates the worker's relationship to the products of their labour, but estranges and alienates the worker's relationship to the act of production itself. The worker's labour becomes "external to the worker, i.e., it does not belong to his intrinsic nature; that in his work, therefore, he does not affirm himself but denies himself, does not feel content but unhappy, does not develop freely his physical and mental energy but mortifies his body and ruins his mind." As a consequence, the worker "only feels himself outside his work, and in his work feels outside himself. He feels at home when he is not working, and when he is working he does not feel at home. His labor is therefore not voluntary, but coerced; it is forced labor" (Economic and Philosophical Manuscripts of 1844).

In a similar way, our value system as a society is geared towards consumption and how much stuff a person can buy, as well their efficiency in the production process, not the value of the person themselves. In the end, we don't even value ourselves, we value symbols and representations of value, of status and material gain, rather than our intrinsic worth as individuals made in God's image. And I think people tend to ignore the role our 'social existence' plays in conditioning our culture, our values, and, ultimately, our sense of self-worth. That's one reason I truly appreciate the strong emphasis Catholicism places on social justice, because the material conditions of a society does matter.

As I wrote back in December, "it's up to us to prepare the way [for the kingdom of God] by fulfilling the commandments to love God, love our neighbor, and love one another as God loves us. And to me, preparing the way of the Lord by making 'straight in the wasteland a highway,' filling the valleys, and lowering the mountains means fighting for equality, raising the oppressed and bringing the rich and powerful 'down to earth,' uniting all in a classless society not unlike the Christian community described in Acts: everyone of one heart and mind, holding everything in common and distributing to each according to need (Acts 4:32-35)."

10/18/15

Friday night, I decided to go to PFoD since the Pacific Hermitage monks were in town. During the tea time, Ajahn Sudanto talked about his recent visit to Temple Forest Monastery, a new monastery in Temple, New Hampshire. There are about five monks living there right now, including Ajahn Caganando. Although the current buildings on the property are rather old and in need of a lot of work, the surroundings sound rather idyllic, set amidst rolling hills, colonial stone walls, and a resurgent forest.

After meditation, Ajahn Sudanto forwent the usual Dhamma talk and did a prolonged Q&A about practice. I noticed that a lot of his answers focused on the need to develop and nurture all the factors of the path rather than overly relying on thinking to intellectually figure it all out. Thinking can only take us so far. We also need to arouse our curiosity, investigate our experience of suffering, meditate, study, and have patience. But above all, finding delight and interest is key, whether in our object of meditation or our investigation of Dhamma. Without that, our practice is likely to be dry and unfruitful.

I got a chance to talk to Ajahn Sudanto afterwards. I told him about the rough year I'm having, and he told me a little about his father passing away at 59, which is one the reasons he originally came back to the US from Thailand. I mentioned my stay at the Trappist Abbey and he seemed familiar with it. I wish I'd had more time to talk to him, though, about my struggle between living a worldly life and monasticism, as well as my draw to both Buddhist and Catholic monastic traditions. Hearing him talk about monastic life made me yearn for it; and the whole walk home, I found myself comparing what I like about each tradition and wondering where I feel the most called.

Today, on the other hand, was my first time officially serving as a Eucharistic minister. I arrived early and talked to Fr. Michael outside for a few minutes before heading in to help with the set up. I met Marie, and she had me light the candles next to the altar and ambo, as well as find two people to offer the gifts. Fr. Michael actually helped me with that part, which was exceptionally kind of him. Then I went up after the sign of peace and was one of the cup bearers during communion. I was more nervous this time around for some reason, but I also felt extremely proud and honoured to be a part of the liturgy.

Today was also memorable for the homily, which Fr. Bill gave. The theme was suffering as a blessing, which is definitely a challenging one. In Buddhism, suffering takes centre stage, and the practice is all about investigating suffering and learning how to suffer less. It's both our nemesis and our greatest teacher. But in Christianity, suffering is seen as a blessing of sorts; and Fr. Bill's homily was inspired in part by today's readings and an interview Stephen Colbert did in which he quotes Tolkien, "What punishments of God are not gifts?," as well as the life of Jessica Cox. He talked about the need to accept the gifts and abilities that God has given, and how it's through 'pruning' that we often grow.

When he was finished, Fr. Bill asked everyone what they heard/took away from the homily, something I think is rather courageous considering you never know who's going to respond and how. Some offered their understanding of Fr. Bill's words (I offered that what I heard was, the suffering we experience isn't so much a punishment as gateways to spiritual growth and wisdom if we're open to the lessons). Others took the opportunity to question the need for such 'lessons,' bringing up the suffering of children. And one man moved the entire parish by tearfully sharing that he has cancer and that it's motivating him to be the best, most Christ-like person he can possibly be with the time he has left.

I suppose it's really all about perspective. Suffering exists. And we can view the suffering we experience as some sort of punishment from God, or we can explore our suffering and learn from it, using it as both a motivation for cultivating empathy and compassion for our fellow brothers and sisters and as a teacher by asking ourselves the question, How can I use this experience of suffering to grow and mature spiritually? And that's a really hard thing to do. We instinctively want to run away from suffering and towards happiness and pleasure. But both Jesus and the Buddha teach us that we have to confront suffering head-on.

I don't think I have all the answers, but I suspect that most of the suffering we experience is either random and due to the nature of the causally-deterministic world we live in (i.e., without purpose in and of itself) or the result of human actions influenced by the defilement of greed, aversion, and delusion. And it's only by turning to face that suffering, by picking up the individual crosses we each bear, that we can ultimately transform it into grace, into love, wisdom, compassion, and joy. Easier said than done, for sure; but I know it's possible.

Once mass was over, Robert showed me how to properly clean the cups and plates, and then we headed over to the hall for the monthly french toast breakfast. Barbara asked me to sit at the RCIA table since there were two dormant Catholics who are coming back into the church. They decided to meet every Sunday after mass, and I agreed to try and make as many meetings as I can as part of the RCIA team. Fr. Bill also invited me to participate in an eight-week program geared toward evangelization and leading small faith groups. I told him that reaching out and interacting with others wasn't one of my strengths; but he seemed confident I'd be up to the challenge, and I said that I'd think about it.

All in all, this weekend was a lot more spiritually eventful than I expected; and I find myself once again entertaining serious thoughts about religious life.

10/10/15

Last night, I debated on what to do: stay in and watch TV at my friend's place, where I'm cat-sitting for two weeks, go to the Friday night meditation and discussion group at PFoD, or go to St. Philip for the open sanctuary and adoration. I eventually decided to go to Open Sanctuary, partially because I wasn't in the mood to be alone and partially because I was feeling lazy and meditation is a lot more work than people think. Sitting still and focusing on a single object for 45min takes a surprising amount of effort.

About nine people showed up. Before the praise and adoration, we read part of the gospel reading for Sunday, Mk 10:17-30:

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up, knelt down before him, and asked him, "Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus answered him, "Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: 'You shall not kill; you shall not commit adultery; you shall not steal; you shall not bear false witness; you shall not defraud; honor your father and your mother.'" He replied and said to him, "Teacher, all of these I have observed from my youth." Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said to him, "You are lacking in one thing. Go, sell what you have, and give to [the] poor and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." At that statement his face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.

Fr. Bill asked us what word or phrase stood out to us. For me, it was the phrase 'come, follow me.' I see in it my interest in religion and monasticism. Then he asked what this passage said to us. Although I didn't feel like sharing my thoughts this time around, three interconnected aspects stood out for me. The first is that a spiritual life isn't just about following rules and we shouldn't fall into spiritual legalism, where the letter becomes more important than the spirit of the 'ten words.' The second aspect is the cultivation of generosity, having an open hand and an open heart. And the third aspect is renunciation, the letting go of our attachments to worldly things and pleasures in exchange for something more, something transcendent. When Jesus says "come, follow me," he's saying "follow my example, minister to the poor and seek that which is deathless."

Pretty much everyone agreed that it's one of the more challenging passages in the New Testament. Jesus is asking a lot of us; he's calling us to do much the same as the Buddha before him—he's calling us to turn away from our craving and desire, to lay down our burdens, emotional and material, and truly live the gospel/Dhamma. But it doesn't happen overnight for most of us. Like the man in the gospel story, practicing morality is only the first step. From there, we need to practice cultivating compassion and generosity and acting on those positive mental states. And then we need to practice letting go, through giving as well as through detachment and selflessness.

All that's easier said than done, however. Clinging and craving are natural aspects of our biology/psychology, like an evolutionary original sin except we didn't do anything wrong, it's simply how we've evolved. They encourage the mind to feed upon sensory experiences and cause it to either cling intensely to pleasant experiences or violently push away unpleasant ones. It may have helped us at some point in our evolution as a species, but now it tends to do more harm than good, which is why spiritual teachers like Jesus and the Buddha encourage us to go against the current of self-centredness and craving.

But even as I write this, I'm attached to the computer I'm writing it on, not to mention all the music and pictures that I've got stored on it. If anything were to happen to it, there'd probably be a lot of "sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief, and despair." And how much harder would it be if someone were to tell me to sell it, along with all my books, clothes, iPod, and everything else I own to follow them into the unknown? I'd like to think that if Jesus or the Buddha were to ask, I wouldn't hesitate, but...

When the discussion was over, we all sat and listened to the music and prayed in our own way in front of the monstrance containing the Blessed Sacrament, the visible symbol of the invisible God. After the praise and adoration, everyone gathered in the foyer and talked for a while before deciding to head over to Double Barrel to continue the conversation. I didn't have much to talk about; and listening to everyone else, I was conscious of how little I had in common with most of them. But I'm glad I went, even if I still felt lonely.

10/7/15

At B- tonight, Fr. Michael had us listen to an episode of the Moth Radio Hour in which Ishmael Beah, a former child soldier from Sierra Leone, tells his story about reclaiming his lost childhood. One of the things that made an impression on me, besides the skill of Ishmael's storytelling, was something Fr. Michael pointed out: that it was the silence and humility in his life that allowed him to escape the conditioning of his violent past and experience a new life. In spite of all the things he did and saw as a child soldier in a war-torn country, he didn't have the need to boast, to always be the best and have the last word. That silence and humility, wherever it came from, gave Ishmael the space and wisdom he needed to transform his life, his very self, in a positive and healing way. And those are the same qualities that attracted me to many of the great spiritual teachers throughout history. Thomas Merton, for example, writes:

The world of men has forgotten the joys of silence, the peace of solitude which is necessary, to some extent, for the fullness of human living. Not all men are called to be hermits, but all men need enough silence and solitude in their lives to enable the deep inner voice of their own true self to be heard at least occasionally. When that inner voice is not heard, when man cannot attain to the spiritual peace that comes from being perfectly at one with his own true self, his life is always miserable and exhausting. For he cannot go on happily for long unless he is in contact with the springs of spiritual life which are hidden in the depths of his own soul. If man is constantly exiled from his own home, locked out of his own spiritual solitude, he ceases to be a true person. He no longer lives as a man. He becomes a kind of automaton, living without joy because he has lost his spontaneity. He is no longer moved from within, but only from outside himself. (The Silent Life, 166-7)

One day I hope to discover that same silence in my own life, although I hope I don't have to go through what Ishmael did to find it.

10/5/15

This weekend was the Paulist visitation. Paulist president Fr. Eric Andrews and council member Fr. Charles Kullmann came to do their four-year visitation, which had a lot of the people in the parish nervous. Generally, these seem to be routine visits, where they talk to the parish, assess any needs, and decide about replacement priests. But with dwindling/less active members and financial issues combined with a dwindling number of available priests, people are worried that the parish might be closed.

It's sad, really, that places like St. Philip have to worry so much about money. I always thought Catholic churches were rolling in the dough, but many parishes in the US are really struggling. They don't get as much in donations as many assume, and they tend to have a lot of expenses, particularly maintenance and staff. Churches and religious institutions have to run like businesses. If they're not 'profitable' enough, they can be closed and resources allocated elsewhere, leaving an empty building and spiritually-homeless community.

I'm not sure it'll come to that here, at least not quite yet, but it's easy to understand why they're concerned. The bullpen of Paulist priests is aging. Many of the hundred or so active Paulists are close (if not already passed) retirement age, and they have to start considering consolidating their resources, including priests. They just don't have the numbers to staff every existing community they serve, especially if trying to keep to the three-priest-a-parish model, where one serves the parish and the others focus on missionary work while keeping each other company since priesthood can be a lonely life.

I met both of them Friday at Open Sanctuary. There was a decent turnout, which was good. Not only is it nice to see Fr. Bill's efforts to draw in young adults bearing fruit, but I think it was good that Fr. Eric and Fr. Charles saw that there was real potential at St. Philip for ministering to young adults, something important to both the Church and to the survival of our parish. Another positive thing was that a couple of the people who came discovered Fr. Bill's young adult group from social media (meetup.com mostly), and one was a young woman from Puerto Rico who's here for an internship to complete a degree she's working on in Minnesota. It was a nice mix of people, and I think it was good for Fr. Eric and Fr. Charles to see that to help them visualize St. Philip's continuing potential as a Paulist parish.

Before the praise and adoration, we all sat in a circle and introduced ourselves. Fr. Eric mentioned that he'd previously worked for Jim Henson before becoming a Paulist priest. After that, we did some lectio divina, meditating on the first reading for Sunday, Gn 2:18-24, and each offering our thoughts. Afterwards, a bunch of us went out to Double Barrel for some food and drinks. I ended up talking to Dan and Kurt most of the night. Kurt works with kids doing some sort of religious education, and we discussed various approaches to that, such as dealing with questions like, "Why can't we see God?" (I offered my 'seeing God in other people' bit.) I also talked about my struggle between monasticism and lay-life with Fr. Bill, although I'm not sure what he thinks about it all.

Saturday, I went to the 'town hall' meeting at Carvlin Hall, where parishioners and the pastoral staff of St. Philip met with the visitation team. I got there late, but I don't think I missed much. And near the end, I managed to share with the visitation team and everyone from St. Philip there that the only reason I'm Catholic is because of the Paulists and the community of St. Philip, that I went to other parishes but never felt there what I feel at St. Philip, and I really appreciate the Paulists' approach to spirituality.

Sunday was a bit of a mixed bag for me. On the one hand, I had a wonderful time at church. It was the feast day of St. Francis, and Fr. Eric, who was the presider this weekend, gave a nice homily stressing the fact that we all gather as a family and that each of us needs to be a source of love and spiritual nourishment to those around us that we may be whole. I also had a chance to talk to Fr. Michael, who I hadn't seen in quite some time and just had eye surgery. On top of that, I was able to make the time to head over to Holy Trinity for the Greek festival and saw Romanos for the first time in months.

On the other hand, I heard about the gay priest who was fired from the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith one day before the Synod on the Family after announcing he's gay and has a partner, which was depressing. It seems like every time the Catholic Church takes one step forward, it takes three steps back, and that worries me.

The new pope has energized and inspired many Catholics and non-Catholics alike with his focus on the poor, the environment, and reforming an ossified and corrupt Vatican, as well as his push for clergy to be more open and welcoming. But the old guard is pushing back at every turn; and the older, conservative members of the Church are already cracking down on gay priests and employees, as well as anything that hints of progress. But I think Charamsa is brave and reflects the future of the Church if it's to survive, one where the LGBTQ community is accepted and priests aren't forced to be celibate.

I see in human progress the movement of the Holy Spirit, and in this synod, which seems to be trying to broaden the institutional Church's understanding of family. But it's often our own stubbornness, our unwillingness to break with tradition, that holds us back. Jesus confronted this with the Pharisees of his day; and we confront it within elements of the Roman Curia (or the Thai Supreme Council when it comes to things like the ordination of bhikkhunis). One of the signs of true wisdom is the ability to realize when we're wrong and let go of that which is harmful to ourselves and others; and in this case, I think the stance of the Church on 'non-traditional' families, LGBTQ individuals, mandatory clerical celibacy, and women priests is harmful and needs to change.

One thing that I've learned in the last few years is that religion is about celebrating and strengthening relationships, relationships between one another as well as between humanity as a whole and the amazing abundance of life and the mysteries that surround us. And I think we spend way too much time and energy trying to limit and control the forms that those relationships take and who can participate in them, not to mention trying to maintain a patriarchal society of rigid (even unnatural) gender stereotypes where women are relegated to supportive roles rather than leadership.

I suppose it's a bit arrogant to think that my vision of the Church, when it conflicts with centuries of tradition, is the correct one; but my image of an all-loving and merciful God simply doesn't allow for discrimination and inequality. Women shouldn't be barred from the priesthood. Members of the clergy shouldn't be forced to be celibate. Same-sex couples, and those who have gotten divorced and remarried, should have access to all the sacraments of the Church. I truly believe these things with all my heart.

9/20/15

Today at mass I was asked to be one of the Eucharistic ministers, which was a bit of a surprise. They were short a person, and I'd attended the minister training last Saturday, so they asked me to fill in. I said yes, happy to help serve during mass, "the source and summit of Christian life." I went up immediately after the sign of peace, joining Fr. Charlie and the other ministers on the altar for the breaking of bread and communion, and then was given one of the chalices filled with the consecrated wine to be offered to each parishioner in the procession with the solemn yet joyful declaration, "the blood of Christ."

It was a really nice experience being a more active apart of the liturgy, and I was a lot less nervous than I thought I'd be despite not feeling worthy to hold in my hands the "blood of the covenant, which will be shed on behalf of many for the forgiveness of sins" (Mt 26:28), one of the icons of sacrifice and reconciliation. It made me feel closer to the community, and I went up again at the end of mass to be blessed along with some of the other young adults, being encouraged by Fr. Charlie to help share our lives of faith with others.

After mass, Fr. Bill invited me to join the parish staff and the young adult group at the parish breakfast to talk about ways to reach out to other young adults, as well as discuss any of the challenges we have and the things about the Church that draw us towards it. I mentioned that what initially drew me to the Church was its contemplative and mystical tradition, which might not interest many young adults but certainly interested me, and the sense of community I discovered at St. Philip, which has been a great source of support in difficult times and a source of joy in happier ones.

As for challenges, I offered that many young adults, especially those like myself who haven't grown up in a Catholic household, seem to have trouble seeing the relevance of the Church and what it has to offer. It took me a long time to see through the traditions and superficialities that put me off and glimpse the depth of Catholic spirituality. What I hesitated to offer was my opinion that the Church needs to do some deep soul-searching and evolve when it comes to fully accepting LGBTQ people and women; and by that I mean accepting the reality of same-sex unions and the ability of women to be priests.

All in all, though, it was a good discussion; and one of the ideas I really liked was that of the young adult group volunteering some of their time to a charity or soup kitchen, anything that helps others. I agree with James, one of the twelve apostles, that "a person is justified by works and not by faith alone" (James 2:24) and that "faith without works is dead" (James 2:26). Or as Fr. Michael said during one of our last B- meetings, orthopraxy (right doing) is just as important as orthodoxy (right thinking), the two go hand in hand. But it also brought to mind a growing worry I have about engaging with other religious people.

Many of those involved in the young adult group that I've met are far more traditional and conservative than I; and with Chris, I've already experienced the kinds of conflicts that can arise between those who are more progressive vs. those who are more traditional. Chris has since decided to attend another parish because he feels that St. Philip isn't 'Roman Catholic' enough and that newly baptized members (like myself, obviously) display a shocking lack of knowledge and regard for church precepts. I've tried to be supportive and invited him out to lunch, saying that I still want to be his friend despite our disagreements about same-sex marriage, but he doesn't seem all that interested.

I'm not really sure what to do when it comes to these things. On the one hand, I don't want to alienate people or get my parish into trouble for having opinions that contradict Church doctrine. So when I'm asked about my thoughts on how the Church can better reach out to young people, for example, I'm afraid to say what I really think. I conceive of the Church as a place of safety characterized by communities that are full of love and understanding. I don't want to antagonize anyone or make them feel unwelcome simply because we don't see eye-to-eye on certain things.

On the other hand, some of these issues are very important to me, and I often feel the need to express my point of view even if it might not be well received. Part of me thinks that the little voice in my heart telling me things like same-sex relationships are OK and women should be able to be priests is the Holy Spirit at work trying to open the doors of the Church to everyone, making the kingdom of heaven a more complete, fully-expressed reality here on earth. I feel it's my duty, as a Christian and a decent human being, to proclaim and work towards the equality of all.

In some ways, this kind of dilemma is a lot like my inner conflict between living a worldly life and the pull of monasticism. On the one hand, I'm drawn towards monasticism, a contemplative way of life characterized by silence, renunciation, and living in harmony with fellow seekers, just as I am towards keeping certain things to myself out of dispassion or when I think it may cause discord and conflict. On the other, I'm drawn towards the joys of living a worldly life, just as I am towards supporting things I believe will ultimately make this world a better place. It feels like no matter where I turn, I can't seem to escape this struggle.

9/10/15

Annie and I spent last weekend in Joseph, OR, a small town at the base of the Wallowa Mountains. It was an amazing weekend. We stayed at Chandler's Inn, a bed and breakfast near the outskirts of town, and were greeted by deer every morning. Saturday, we rode the tram up to the top of Mt. Howard and spent hours wandering the trails, enjoying the spectacular views and all the wildlife, then had a nice dinner at Terminal Gravity Brewing. Sunday, I went to mass at St. Katherine of Siena in Enterprise, and then we checked out Wallowa Lake, Old Chief Joseph's gravesite, and learned about the history of the area.

The only thing that marred the trip was the land's history, which reminded us of how appallingly we treated First Nations people. The town of Joseph, OR, for example, is named after Young Chief Joseph, a leader of the Niimi'ipuu (Nez Perce) tribe who originally inhabited this land and son of Old Chief Joseph. The Niimi'ipuu maintained a longstanding peace with white settlers until a gold rush prompted the government to 're-negotiate' their treaty. Joseph and his tribe fought their forced removal from their ancestral home; and when they were eventually forced to surrender to the US Army, Joseph became an outspoken critic of the suffering of his people, who to this day haven't been allowed to return.

Enjoying the natural beauty of the Wallowa Mountains, Wallowa Lake, all the rivers and streams, and the abundant wildlife that flourishes there, it's hard not to also mourn the Niimi'ipuu's loss.