12/7/15

At tonight's Discipleship Training group, Fr. Bill had us do a gospel testimony, asking us to pick out and discuss a passage that was meaningful to us in some way. I was paired up with Dominique, who went first and used the parable of the sower from Mark, which was suggested by The Way. That passage didn't really speak to me, however, and I had trouble thinking of a single passage off the top of my head that did, so I ended up talking about the Gospel of Matthew as a whole, about how I'd read bits and pieces from the Bible before but it wasn't until I decided to sit down and read the Gospel of Matthew all the way through that any of it became meaningful to me.

While it was obvious that the gospel was written for a predominantly Jewish audience and trying to legitimize Jesus as the coming Messiah, I was quickly impressed by the content, which on the face of it seemed rather simplistic but also contained a depth I was eager to explore. From the sermon on the mount to Jesus' warnings about being a spiritual hypocrite, I was inspired to continue reading. And the more I read, the more I was inspired to learn about Christian spiritual life, to live as Christ did, and to be a lamp of skillfulness for others to see. I saw the meaning underlying the stories, the truth/Dhamma reflected in them that I'd somehow missed all these years.

I also shared with her my appreciation of Pier Paolo Pasolini's The Gospel According to Matthew, which itself is a testament to the power of the gospel. After reading all four of the gospels all the way through, Pasolini was inspired to make one into a film. And despite being a Marxist and an atheist, and whatever political motives he had for doing it, Pasolini succeeded in making one of the most faithful and reverent film adaptations of a gospel narrative ever made. Apparently the Vatican newspaper L'Osservatore Romano even goes so far as to describe it as "the best film about Jesus ever made in the history of cinema." That's quite the praise.

12/2/15

At B- tonight, Fr. Michael started out with the idea that we often don't recognize our own poverty, and how being 'poor in spirit' isn't necessarily a physical trait. He said that we have to name our poverty so that we can be open to the gifts God is trying to give us. Spiritual growth really happens when we're cornered and put into a difficult place, a place of darkness, referencing St. John of the Cross. But this darkness is paradoxically full of light, because it's out of this darkness that we gain a stronger sense of the presence of God in our lives. It's a process of death and rebirth, like the parable of the grain of wheat:

Amen, amen, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains just a grain of wheat; but if it dies, it produces much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will preserve it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there also will my servant be. The Father will honor whoever serves me. (John 12:24-26)

Switching gears somewhat, Fr. Michael talked about combating fundamentalism. He said that we often approach fundamentalists by debating with them when in actuality living a powerful spiritual life is a more effective witness. Then he read the readings from that day and had us reflect on them. He had an interesting take on the first part of the gospel reading from Matthew:

Jesus left there and went along the Sea of Galilee. Then he went up on a mountainside and sat down. Great crowds came to him, bringing the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others, and laid them at his feet; and he healed them. The people were amazed when they saw the mute speaking, the crippled made well, the lame walking and the blind seeing. And they praised the God of Israel. (Mt 15:29-31)

The people in the procession, in offering "the lame, the blind, the crippled, the mute and many others" at the feet of Jesus, are offering up their weaknesses. And that's a pretty radical image when you think about it. Rather than offering up sumptuous foods and riches, we offer up our weaknesses and God heals and gives us strength! This led into a discussion about suffering and how a lot of spiritual growth can come out of times of great suffering. I think suffering can help by clearing away our comforts and cutting through our illusions about life, leaving us naked in a sense. And when we're in a place where we can be more mindful and reflective, we can see things as they really are and more easily let go of what isn't skillful/necessary.

It's not the suffering itself that's important but our response to it. Dorothy offered a story about a friend of hers who experienced a lot of misfortunes and suffering in a relatively short span of time, and her prayer/mantra was, "What can I learn from this?" It reflects an openness of heart, a poverty of spirit, non-attachment. It's as if life is screaming, "Let go! It's not that serious! It's not that important!" To develop that kind of attitude, though, we have to confront our greedy tendencies and our self-centredness, not to mention the conditionings of capitalism that compel us to become invested in accumulation, a sense of ownership, individualism, financial and legal responsibilities, etc.

The more we build up and hold onto, the more we invest in and cling to what we have, the harder it is to see through that, to see through the allure of sensual pleasures and the machinations of our ego. We need to put down/let go/lose these things, or at least our clinging in relation to them, to be free to move beyond them and turn within and find God/nibbana in the darkness, silence, emptiness.

11/29/15

Today is the first day of Advent, the beginning of the Church's liturgical calendar, a time when we're encouraged to reflect on the coming of Christ. Fr. Michael likens the liturgical calendar to a time machine. It's a time when we paradoxically go forward and yet backward in time, allowing us to always be on the threshold of a new beginning, allowing us to do things differently, better. Fr. Michael, quoting Sherman the Robot quoting Winston Churchill at the end of the sci-fi film Millennium during last week's homily, "This is not the end. This is not the beginning of the end. It is the end of the beginning."

I like that idea of time and, by extension, our lives as a cycle. I've always appreciated Buddhist cosmology for that reason. Instead of approaching life as something we have to get right on the first try, it allows us to make mistakes and learn from them, to evolve and grow through this existential, dialectic process of birth and death, which takes place from moment to moment as well as over multiple lifetimes. This cycle is not only evident in the liturgical year, but it's present in the Eucharist, which connects past, present, and future every time we come together in communion, uniting the Church in eternity.

This week, I was asked to light the Advent candle at the beginning of mass while Fr. Bill offered a special prayer in place of the usual penitential rite. The day's readings were about remaining spiritually vigilant, not allowing the stresses of daily life to push God out of our minds, even when the world is in turmoil. Our thoughts should always abide in the love of God, and our actions should always arise out of that love. In his homily, Fr. Bill talked about inscribing the doors of our church and our homes with the phrase, Domus Dei et Porta Coeli, "House of God and Gateway to Heaven," reminding us to be mindful of how God touches us through the people around us and the experiences we share.

After mass, I helped Fr. Bill carry some chairs from the church over to the rectory, and then helped set up the dining room for a dinner he's hosting for some friends. I moved a bunch of stuff, mopped, and set up about 16 places. While I was over there, I snuck a peek at the beautiful wooden altar in their chapel, which Fr. Michael once mentioned was hand carved by a German Paulist priest while being sheltered from internment during WWI or WWII.

The more time I spend at church and with spiritual people like Fr. Michael and Fr. Bill, the more drawn I am towards religious life. I don't know if I'm being called to become a brother or priest or simply to draw closer to a more spiritual lifestyle in lay-life, but the pull is strong either way. I definitely want to deepen my prayer life, to more readily recognize the spirit of God within and unveil the fuller meaning of my life, whatever that meaning and purpose might be. In some ways, it feels like I'm near the 'end of the beginning' of my own life, which is exciting and nerve-racking at the same time.

11/26/15

I volunteered to serve at the Thanksgiving mass, which was nice. Fr. Michael gave a great homily about being mindful of all the little miracles in our lives, the things that we tend to miss when we're self-absorbed and not paying attention. Despite all the bad in the world, there's always something for us to be thankful for and always some good we can do. I spent the rest of the morning on dish duty at St. Philip's Thanksgiving dinner.

Every year, they host a meal on Thanksgiving for those with nowhere to go or no one to eat with. Many of the people who come are homeless, but many are just people who don't have any friends or family to share the holiday with, or else people who simply like the sense of community. A group of people from New Seasons prepare a lot of the food, and the rest is donated by members of the parish. They also collect things like socks, scarves, hats, etc. for anyone who can use them. Last year, I helped serve. This year, I was on clean up duty with Dan from the young adult group since no one else wanted that honour.


They say that it's better to give than to receive; and while I might have disagreed with that as a kid, I definitely agree with it today. I don't have much to offer, but I get a lot of joy from giving, even if it's just a bit of my time. Generosity is truly a treasure:

And what is the treasure of generosity? There is the case of a disciple of the noble ones, his awareness cleansed of the stain of stinginess, living at home, freely generous, openhanded, delighting in being magnanimous, responsive to requests, delighting in the distribution of alms. This is called the treasure of generosity. (AN 7.6)

11/16/15

Today we had our first Discipleship Training session. The focus was communication, particularly listening. There were six of us, so Fr. Bill had us break up into two teams of three, with one speaker, one listener, and one observer. In my group, I was the listener, Irene was the speaker, and Dan was the observer. Irene told a story about a recent experience she had at work. She's an occupational therapist at a hospital, and she told me about a particularly challenging encounter with a patient that was having a lot of trouble emotionally and psychologically. I did my best to listen and respond as best I could to show that I was listening and interested; and when she was finished, I shared an anecdote of my own to help show that I could relate with her, at least on some small level. When each team was finished, we regrouped and discussed how the exchanges went.

Afterwards, we went through and read a few sections of The Way: A Catholic Small Group Bible Discussion Guide and talked about them. The first was a quote from Pope Benedict:

And once again the Pope (John Paul II) said: No! If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful and great. No! Only in this friendship are the doors of life opened wide. Only in this friendship is the great potential of human existence truly revealed. Only in this friendship do we experience beauty and liberation. And so, today, with great strength and great conviction, on the basis of long personal experience of life, I say to you, dear young people: Do not be afraid of Christ! He takes nothing away, and he gives you everything. When we give ourselves to him, we receive a hundredfold in return. Yes, open, open wide the doors to Christ – and you will find true life. Amen.

Fr. Bill had us pick out and answer one of the four questions that followed. I never got a chance to answer (which was ok by me), but I'd mentally picked question one: What spoke to you from this passage? For me, it was the idea that "the great potential of human experience" is truly revealed in our friendship with Christ, as Christ is always pointing us towards other people. To love God and others as ourselves is the greatest commandment. And Jesus said that, "If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and remain in his love" (John 15:10). So, ultimately, the great potential of human experience is to abide in love and friendship. For me, this is the real heart of Christian spirituality.

The second reading was John 15:1-11 followed by a section from a handout Fr. Bill gave out dealing with reflecting skills, i.e., the restating and paraphrasing of both the feelings and the words of the speaker, which helps the speaker 'hear' their own thoughts and focus their ideas, lets them know you're trying your best to understand their message, and encourages them to continue talking. All in all, it was an interesting session; and while I'm not sure evangelization and leading small faith groups is my calling, I like the fellowship aspect of it, and think it'll be worth sticking around to see what I might learn.

11/11/15

Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part, but I see the Catholic Church going through a transformation. I see in it, and especially in the words of Pope Francis, the beginnings of a truly universal and egalitarian faith. At the same time, I see a lot of resistance to these changes despite the Pope's words that, "When 'facing evils or problems in the church... it is useless to seek solutions in conservatism and fundamentalism, in the restoration of outdated conduct and forms' that are no longer culturally relevant or meaningful."

Our challenge is to be the agents of this transformation. To share the gifts God has given us and follow the example of Christ and his teachings, which David Gerrold summarizes as:

Don't be judgmental. Don't be a hypocrite. Don't use your religion to bully others. Don't pray loudly in the streets to show how holy you are. Forgive others. Heal the sick. Feed the poor. You're not without sin, don't cast stones. By your deeds you will earn your place in heaven. Be humble in spirit, be generous in nature. LOVE ONE ANOTHER.

It's as if we're rediscovering the deep interconnectedness of everything in the universe, and in that discovery, the intimate connections between each and every one of us—that the things we once thought were so important because of our ignorance, the things we use to divide ourselves from ourselves, distinctions like civilized and uncivilized, black and white, man and woman, gay and straight, religious and atheist, etc., which are conventional labels that we've imbued with some sort of ultimate reality, are without substance.

The teachings of Jesus were radical in that sense, because throughout his teachings, we find this call towards universal love and radical egalitarianism. As Paul wrote to the Galatians:

For through faith you are all children of God in Christ Jesus. For all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free person, there is not male and female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus. (Gal 3:26-8)

To establish the kingdom of God on earth, then, is to work towards a better and more egalitarian world. A world free from economic exploitation. A world free from classism, racism, sexism, and all other forms of discrimination and oppression. I think it's a mistake to expect someone else to do the work for us, to wait for some kind of other-worldly paradise. I think this is one of the main messages of the story of Jesus, the story of God becoming human to minister the sick, feed the poor, and comfort those who are suffering.

Jesus himself called each of us to pick up our crosses (our burdens that we carry for others) and follow him. Not in some abstract way, but by literally becoming a suffering servant.

11/9/15

As it nears the holiday season, with Thanksgiving right around the corner and Christmas not far behind, there's been the typical increase in both pro and anti-religious rhetoric. Some people are proud to be religious, loudly proclaiming their belief in Jesus as their saviour and their anger that Starbucks doesn't have more Christmassy cups, while others criticize religion as something negative and harmful, citing things like the recent announcement by leaders of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints that children from gay families "won't be eligible for a naming blessing, baptism or mission call without the approval of the faith's top leaders." And to be honest, I can't disagree with those criticisms.

Historically, religious people seem obligated to push their beliefs and values onto the rest of society, ideas that tend to oppress and discriminate against segments of society in the name of love and acceptance. And woe to anyone on the wrong side of the fence. Moreover, religion as a broader social phenomenon has been more about constructing moral absolutes out of some sort of perceived and/or 'revealed' objective authority than personal transformation and enlightenment. In this sense, religion, as opposed to personal faith, is really about control over the hearts and minds of people via dictating and then enforcing societal norms that, because of their 'divine' origins, are notoriously difficult to challenge, let alone amend, becoming immune to things like compassion and reason.

That said, I don't think the solution is to eradicate religion. For one, the same argument against religion could be made about anything where factions emerge and ideologies lead to oppression and discrimination. Take politics, for example. While many political individuals may possess more enlightened and progressive political ideas, political systems themselves are all about control, dictating and then enforcing their own set of societal norms that are just as difficult to challenge, let alone amend, and which tend to oppress and discriminate segments of society in the name of order and justice. Whereas religion in the US has played a large role in oppressing the LGBTQ community in recent times, politics (as well as bad science) has played an equally large role in oppressing ethnic minorities (e.g., slavery, Jim Crow, etc.). To say religion is all bad is essentially to say that politics is all bad.

On one level, I think the problem comes down to authority, i.e., who has it and how far it extends. Generally speaking, the more absolute and insular an authoritarian structure is, the more control they seek to establish over society and the more difficult their ideas are to challenge/reform. And this is especially true when things like laws and moral values are considered valid because they're enacted by 'legitimate authority.' As Leo Strauss argues in his essay on Plato in History of Political Philosophy, when "the just is the same as the lawful or legal," there's nothing higher to which one can appeal (37). Moreover, when justice is nothing but the advantage of the stronger, and the will of the ruling class becomes the sole source of justice since they create and enact the laws that the rest of us must follow, we become trapped within a system where justice doesn't exist for the state since each regime "lays down the laws with a view to its own preservation and well-being" (38). And I think the same is true when it comes to religion and religious authorities, as well.

I can also understand that, for critics of religion in general, both religion and religious authorities appear to be archaic and essentially irrelevant in our modern day and age, being relics of a superstitious past. The Catholic Church, in particular, has been opposed to social progress and change, historically as well as presently. However, despite all the negatives associated with religion, I think that religion not only helps to give a voice to deep and profoundly moving feelings that are often difficult for us to express, but offers a spiritual and emotional dynamic to our existential suffering. As Marx wrote in his introduction to A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel's Philosophy of Right, "Religious suffering is, at one and the same time, the expression of real suffering and a protest against real suffering. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people."

Hence, even if one discounts religion, in some sense it's a type of pain-killer that speaks to real and often materially-unanswered needs, and this is one of the reasons that religion shouldn't be dismissed totally off-hand. To do so is unfair to people who are themselves religious, in my opinion, and it also runs the risk of denying the underlying aspects of religion that touch the very core of our humanity and the miasma of joy, sorrow, and camaraderie that religious beliefs often speak to or find expression in. After all, religion is, among other things, a creative expression of our search for happiness, meaning, and truth in a seemingly infinite universe. In this capacity, religion can be a beautiful thing that brings communities together and inspires profound acts of love and charity, as well as bring individuals closer to a happiness that transcends much of the suffering and unsatisfactoriness seemingly inherent in this fragile thing we call life.

That's not to say religion is somehow above criticism, of course. As sympathetic towards religion as I am, I'm also quite critical of religion's proclivity to fall into absolutism and dogmatism, not to mention its historical reliance on things like authority and tradition over evidence and rationality. All in all, though, I'm a firm believer that a person can be both rational/scientifically-minded and spiritual at the same time; but unless such a person also tries to remain open-minded and willing to alter or even throw out their religious beliefs when they seemingly conflict with reality and the evidence presented to them, or if they end up harming and oppressing a section of the population, social progress will always be somewhat at odds with religion and religion will lose in the long run.

On a deeper yet complementary level, however, I think the problem comes down to class and social relations. One of the many things I think Marx was right about in his analysis and critique of capitalism as an exploitative mode of production is the formative role material conditions play in the social structure of a society, which includes the dominating ideology in any society. As Marx famously writes in The Germany Ideology:

The ideas of the ruling class are in every epoch the ruling ideas, i.e. the class which is the ruling material force of society, is at the same time its ruling intellectual force. The class which has the means of material production at its disposal, has control at the same time over the means of mental production, so that thereby, generally speaking, the ideas of those who lack the means of mental production are subject to it. The ruling ideas are nothing more than the ideal expression of the dominant material relationships, the dominant material relationships grasped as ideas; hence of the relationships which make the one class the ruling one, therefore, the ideas of its dominance. The individuals composing the ruling class possess among other things consciousness, and therefore think. Insofar, therefore, as they rule as a class and determine the extent and compass of an epoch, it is self-evident that they do this in its whole range, hence among other things rule also as thinkers, as producers of ideas, and regulate the production and distribution of the ideas of their age: thus their ideas are the ruling ideas of the epoch.

Of course, that doesn't mean every politician or clergy member is some kind of evil puppet master. What it does mean is that, once placed in a position of authority, their roles in society are often conditioned to be ones of control, helping to preserve and reproduce these ideas and social relations because that's how the logic of the system works, whether that system is feudalistic, capitalistic, etc. From this point of view, then, we certainly need to critically assess these social structures and their socio-economic foundation, but to what end? This is a question I struggled with for a long time myself, both politically and spiritually.

Politically, I found myself drawn towards the more immature aspects of 19th century revolutionary nihilism, with its focus on the disruption and destruction of the present social order by any means necessary; while spiritually, I was influenced by 'new atheists' like Dawkins who see religion as the root of all evil and advocate a similar fate for religion, becoming somewhat anti-religious myself. But over time, I started to see some of the drawbacks to my approach, drawbacks I think Dostoyevsky brilliantly and humorously explores in his novel Demons. I lost myself in my own certainty and self-righteousness, alienating those I attacked as ignorant and being just as inflexible as those I was criticizing, whether they were capitalists or religious. I sought to tear down with nothing to put in its place, leaving nothing but a void.

I also became conscious fairly early on that I was a minority in my views and realized I wasn't going to convert the world with what I thought were my superior arguments, nor was I interested in forcing them to with violence, so I started to look for more holistic solutions. And in the process, I unexpectedly found a deeper appreciation for religion, seeing in its rich history something I'd missed before and acknowledging a yearning in my own heart for deeper spiritual truths. It's hard for me to explain that journey or what I took away from it in a sentence or two, but suffice it to say that I gradually found myself opening up to religion and what it has to offer in its purest form, which for me is an expression of mystery and wonder, a framework of morality built on the principle of harmlessness, an inclusive sense of community, and an exploration of what it means to be human through loving and treating others as yourself, whomever they may be.

That doesn't mean I think people need to be religious, only that I don't think religion is the proverbial devil, which reminds me of something I wrote during my six-day retreat at Our Lady after my mom passed away:

I don't go to church, meditate, or read spiritual books to debate or convert anyone. I respect everyone's beliefs or lack thereof. If you're an atheist and believe that science alone can uncover all there is to know about the universe and our experience of it, that's fine. It's a valid approach. Beauty and meaning can be found in life without spiritual beliefs and practices. My girlfriend's an atheist and we have no conflicts about it whatsoever. Rather, I do these things because I find meaning in them; because I have an intuitive sense of something more underlying reality and human experience, a unifying force or awareness or potentiality, and I'm interested in exploring that feeling, as well as the spiritual experiences and knowledge that I believe help point the way towards its realization. I see in them a reflection of a continuing evolution in our consciousness (collective and individual) and connection to the universe.

Buddhism and Christianity, for example, are icons of this evolution, evincing existential, psychological, and spiritual developments through the transformative focal points of their founders. Both the Buddha and Jesus were influenced by their cultures, which were characterized by religious and ethnic tribalism, and led by a priestly caste in charge of rituals and sacrifices meant to control and/or manipulate the mysterious forces of life, reflecting an early state of consciousness that I think can be found at the beginning of most early religions. There was certainly an awareness of interbeing and the larger whole, but it was trapped within a kind of group identity, making it exclusive rather than inclusive. And there was certainly a reverence for creation, but it was trapped within a kind of fear. But out of these seeds grew a new kind of consciousness that increasingly pulled people out of their tribalism and fearful worship of the unknown—a maturation that can be found within the religious texts of their time, but which are given fuller expression in the Buddha and Jesus' respective teachings. Each utilized their cultural and religious language, but infused them with new meaning and perspective.

In Things Hidden, for instance, Richard Rohr talks of a "development of crucial divine wisdom" and stages of consciousness found in both the Bible and our history (12-3). And I think the Pali Canon, along with the Vedas and Upanisads before it, show such a development, as well. If we look closely, we can see this spiritual dialectic in most, if not all, religions. We can see that these cultures and ancient texts were trying to give expression to, and find ways of connecting with, their collective sense of something greater underlying experience (God, truth, the absolute, ground of being, or whatever label you want to place on it) through myths and stories, symbols pointing towards a deeper level of truth and shared knowledge/experience, "a full-body knowing, a cellular knowing ... a transference and sharing of Being" (63-4).

In essence, they're exploring the mystery of consciousness, something that's notoriously hard, if not impossible, to objectify; and ultimately pointing towards what I believe to be a unitive and even psychologically-healing experience piercing the illusion of our dualistic way of thinking, the illusion of separation between subject and object, between the non-spiritual and the spiritual, between matter (body) and spirit (mind). These stories first and foremost attempt to illustrate that what we call God or awakening isn't something outside of us, something 'otherworldly'—it can be experienced right here, right now. The Pali Canon talks of "touching the deathless element with the body" (AN 6.46). Jesus says "the kingdom of God is among/within us (Luke 17:21); and Paul writes that "your body is a temple of the holy Spirit within you" (1 Cor 6:19-20). Are they all delusional? Perhaps. Or perhaps they're talking about a shared reality/experience—a unifying awareness, a heightened state of consciousness, a glimpse through the veil of ignorance and into the absolute, a realization of the luminosity within us.

It sounds fanciful, I know; but the closer I come to this experience, the greater my faith in its reality grows. I know that many people have grasped these symbols too tightly, or else held them in the wrong way, so that they turn to bite them like the proverbial snake, creating fanatics and fundamentalists; and I share the concerns of others about them, and about those forcing others to agree with them. But that doesn't mean there isn't something of value here, that they haven't helped our progress as much as they've served to hinder it. Historically speaking, the religious and philosophical seekers of the time were often its best scientists. And science itself is just as easily capable of destroying whole cities as religion if held inappropriately. All I can say is that, if others want to walk with me on this journey, they're more than welcome. And if they don't, that's ok, too.

To be honest, I'm not really sure what the point of all this is. Maybe I'm just trying to convince myself that I'm not a fool for being religious. I don't know. While I've heard people express their desire to 'kill religion' (e.g., Dawkins et al.), and can sympathize with some of their reasoning for making such statements — especially when you have people using religion to justify suicide bombings and discrimination against gays, women, etc. — I also can't help but think that doing so would come at a great cost to humanity in that we'd be losing an important part of what makes us, well, human. And I feel the need to defend that, if only to myself since I was once one of those calling for the death of religion.