2/9/18

I don't want to jinx it, but I may have found a job at Providence Portland Medical Center as a cleaning attendant. My first day would be Feb. 26th if all goes well with the background check and drug screening process.

The hours aren't ideal, and I'd have to work more weekends than not; but I'd have a job paying a bit more than my last one. It's not a glamorous job, though, and it won't be easy. I'll be cleaning hospital rooms, common areas, and ORs. I'll be dealing with sick people and in regular contact with every bodily fluid imaginable on a daily basis. It's a little intimidating, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about on-the-job injuries and illnesses. But at the same time, I'd be doing something essential at a place designed to help people in need. And if I can approach it in the right way, it could help me to deepen my own personal spiritual practice.

If I do this job selfishly, only for myself and the money I'd get each payday, I'll most certainly suffer. It's hard work. It's dirty work. It's dangerous work at times. It's work that many might look down upon. And little about it will likely be enjoyable in and of itself. But if somehow I can find a way to do it with those I'm serving in mind, the people who come because they're sick or dying or visiting loved ones who are, and not allow my heart to be hardened by the work itself or the suffering around me, then the rewards I'll receive will be priceless.

We all share a common bond, a common nature, as humans; and in some ways, I think we've lost that connection to one another somewhere along the way. We get so wrapped up in our own lives and narratives that we lose the ability to love others as ourselves. It seems like a wonderful ideal, this selfless, reconciling love, but I don't think most of us actually think it's possible. But what if it is? What if all the great spiritual teachers throughout history are right?

To be able to develop an honest and healthy sense of humility, to intimately realize that nobody is beneath me, and to have the opportunity to serve those in need, are both things I desire greatly. I’m inspired by stories like that of the life of Francis of Assisi, who overcame his fear and self-centredness through acts of humility and charity in his own spiritual journey, caring for lepers and the poor out of love and compassion and being able to see in them the presence of God so easily obscured by their outward circumstances and our own spiritual blindness.

While I'm certainly no Francis of Assisi, I see in the story of his life an example of a path to inner peace and theosis, that experience of real and transformative union with divine nature that I think is open to all.

11/4/17

The idea of monastic life has always fascinated me, and I've often considered becoming a monk myself. Most people have trouble understanding why, but I realize that it's simply because many aren't called to such a life. What is a monk, anyway? To paraphrase Thomas Merton from The Silent Life, a monk is someone who's been called by something inside of themselves — whether you want to call that inner voice intuition, wisdom, or the holy spirit — to relinquish the cares, desires, and ambitions of everyday life and devote themselves to the search for truth. In one sense or another, they withdraw from 'the world' and give themselves over to a life of contemplation. Instead of looking outwardly for meaning and happiness, they turn to look within. Instead of taking refuge in material things or the ephemeral enjoyment found in the pursuit of worldly pleasures, they seek a deeper level of fulfillment based on an intangible yet infinitely more stable foundation—that which some call God, Dhamma, or Ground of Being. Their labour is ultimately a spiritual labour. Their vocation is one in which they seek to empty themselves of self in order to, paradoxically, become more full. To the average person, this kind of ascetic, self-denying lifestyle may sound crazy, even dangerous. But to the person called to such a life, it appears as an oasis in the desert. And I have to admit that I find myself increasingly drawn towards those still, deep, cooling, love-filled waters of the silent life.

9/20/17

Life is a struggle. It continually fights against decay, entropy, and catastrophe in the tiny space it occupies within the incomprehensible vastness that is the universe. But somehow, we've learned over time to thrive despite the harshness of it all. And the main way we've done this is through increasingly-greater levels of cooperation and an ever-expansive sense of community. Our history is ultimately one of an intricate and interconnected web of ideas, events, and social relations that have given rise, over numerous generations, to civilization as we know it today, with its beauty and its horrors, its triumphs and its tragedies, its heroes and its monsters. So many mistakes have kept us in a state of nature that's often savage, distrustful, and broken. But the stronger our bonds, the greater our achievements and the higher we ascend. And our biggest mistake is that we've grown accustomed to seeing ourselves as isolated, individual atoms that simply swerve here and there and bump into one another in a chaotic dance of self-interest. Yet, nature isn't limited to this kind of dance. Individual atoms also cooperate, bond together to create molecules that themselves combine with other molecules again and again to eventually form the myriad of things we can see and hear and taste and touch and contemplate. The stronger their bonds and the more complex (and cooperative) their structures, the more amazing the things they create, even the mystery of life itself. And looking at the state of the world around me, from the threat of catastrophic climate change to the destructive power of war, the only hope for the future I see is a higher degree of cooperation and a more expansive sense of community than we currently have now, as individuals and as nations, overcoming barriers and borders in the struggle to create something altogether new. Despite whatever fears we may have and the harshness we're sometimes confronted with, we must abandon our atomistic ways of living and begin to more fully embrace all the positive forces that bind us together, or else everything that we see and love and hold close to our hearts, our whole world, will fall apart in the chaotic dance of self-interest.

7/23/17

The first reading for today:

They devoted themselves to the teaching of the apostles and to the communal life, to the breaking of the bread and to the prayers. Awe came upon everyone, and many wonders and signs were done through the apostles. All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their property and possessions and divide them among all according to each one’s need. Every day they devoted themselves to meeting together in the temple area and to breaking bread in their homes. They ate their meals with exultation and sincerity of heart, praising God and enjoying favor with all the people. And every day the Lord added to their number those who were being saved. (Acts 2:42-47)

It's one of my favourite passages outside of the four Gospels. It describes the early church and the way they lived, a way of life which inspired those around them. They lived as a community where everything was held in common, and each members' needs were met. It was a community of fraternity that was characterized above all by love and care and concern for one another. This passage always inspires me to try and see the best in people, to be a better person, and to strive to recreate the same kind of community here and now, a community based on love of one's neighbours in the spirit of liberty, equality, fraternity.

6/25/17

Radical Jesus.

Most of the people who have known me for a long time know that I wasn't a big fan of Christianity for most of my life. In particular, I had a passionate distaste for the brutality, oppression, and conformity imposed upon the western world throughout history by the various Christian churches that mirrored their image of Christ as the holy Tyrant.

But then, one day, I picked up the gospel of Matthew and started reading, and I quickly discovering that Jesus himself bore little resemblance to the majority of those who confessed their faith in his teachings and example and those of his early disciples, who themselves were "of one heart and mind, and no one claimed that any of their possessions was their own, but they had everything in common," such that "there was no needy person among them, for those who owned property or houses would sell them, bring the proceeds of the sale, and put them at the feet of the apostles, and they were distributed to each according to need" (Acts 4:32-35). My perception of Christianity was forever altered by this, and by all those who I'd go on to meet who echoed this revolutionary message. And make no mistake, Jesus' message was a radical one.

He was essentially a pre-industrial communist, preaching unconditional love, equality, and care for all, particularly the 'least among us,' the poor, the sick, and the oppressed (Mt 25:31-46), which is the spiritual heart of liberation theology and its "preferential option for the poor." He condemned greed and hypocrisy (Mt 23), standing up the religious ruling class and monied elites of his time, going so far as flipping tables and driving the latter from the temple with shouts and whips (John 2:13–16). He was a feminist-like ally, ministering to women in ways that were forbidden for men (John 4:4-42), and refusing to judge women by the harsh, patriarchal laws of his time (John 8:1-11). He associated with those whom his society feared, shunned, and looked down upon out of ignorance and prejudice, from those considered unclean to outcasts and sinners (Mark 1: 40-45, Mark 2:13-17), which many found scandalous. He lived counter to almost every expectation and social norm of his time and invited others to follow his lead. He stripped down all the religious bureaucracy and legalism of his day, teaching that God's law is fulfilled in keeping one simple precept, 'love your neighbour as yourself' (Gal 5:13-14). He chose all of his closest disciples from amongst the working class (fishermen), those looked down upon for their occupations (tax collector), women, and revolutionary zealots rather than the class of religious elites. And his mission, inherited from his heavenly father and voiced by his mother, Mary, included throwing down the rulers from their thrones, uplifting the lowly, and sending the rich away empty (Luke 1:46-55).

And in that story, I found something inspiring as well as unifying. All are one with the universal Christ, and Christ is one with all (Gal 3:28), which is radically egalitarian. Next to loving God, loving our neighbour as ourselves is the greatest commandment (Mt 22:34-40), which is radically compassionate. And the relational nature of God in the form of the trinity itself reflects the interdependent nature of humanity, the aspect of individuals as communal species-beings. Pope Francis himself once said something in an interview that I think perfectly summarizes why I'm drawn to both Christianity and communism, and why I see in Jesus a revolutionary of the people:

It has been said many times and my response has always been that, if anything, it is the communists who think like Christians. Christ spoke of a society where the poor, the weak and the marginalized have the right to decide. Not demagogues, not Barabbas, but the people, the poor, whether they have faith in a transcendent God or not. It is they who must help to achieve equality and freedom.

And that resonates with me because I believe that kind of equality and freedom requires both a political (external) and spiritual (internal) foundation, a radical material and mental shift in our understanding of, and approach to, the way society is structured because both matter and spirit are intertwined. And of course, it wasn't just this outward expression of radical humanity that drew me in, but the internal, contemplative aspects that accompanied it, as well. Because contained within this story is not only an implicit rejection of a rigid, legalistic, and ritualized approach to spirituality, but a strong affirmation that living a deeply enriching, socially-engaged spiritual life is really about the quality of our intentions, not necessarily following the letter of this law or that. One passage that stands out to me in this regard is where Jesus says to his disciples: "Don't you see that whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then out of the body? But the things that come out of a person's mouth come from the heart, and these defile them. For out of the heart come evil thoughts—murder, adultery, sexual immorality, theft, false testimony, slander. These are what defile a person; but eating with unwashed hands does not defile them" (Mt 15: 17-20).

It's easy for me to see now that many self-professed Christians are not true followers of Christ. And my own political awakening and activism have, in turn, opened my eyes to the truly radical nature of Jesus, whose story continues to inspire and guide me.

3/25/17

Last weekend, a more or less traditional priest unknowingly gave a homily that essentially argues for the primacy of conscience over institutional church dogmas when taken to its logical conclusion. In the gospel reading for that day (John 4:5-42), the priest notes that Jesus ignores Jewish socio-religious customs by talking to a Samaritan woman alone at a well while waiting for his disciples to return. Jewish men weren't supposed to talk to women who aren't their spouse or close relative in seclusion. He also transgressed long-standing socio-religious custom by interacting with a Samaritan, who were shunned by Jews and vice versa. According to one commentary, Samaritan women in particular were seen as ritually unclean in the eyes of religious leaders, so the act of asking for a drink of water from one was particularly transgressive.

But none of this stops Jesus from acknowledging her as a person and showing her kindness, as well as giving her an esoteric teaching on material vs. spiritual thirst. For him, there's no distinction between man and woman, Jew and Samaritan; there are simply two people interacting, and it's only this personal relationship that truly matters, a relationship some from a philosophical POV call "the 'unity of I and Thou.'" And in following Jesus' example in this gospel, I think it's perfectly acceptable for, and even the duty of, Christians to transgress socio-religious customs whenever they're hateful, backwards, small-minded, discriminatory, and/or oppressive, like those barring women from the priesthood or ideas about the sinfulness of same-sex relationships.

2/19/17

Today, I was reminded once again just how bad I am at keeping in touch with people. I found out that my friend and godfather, Romanos, passed away back in October. October! I'd even been thinking about him recently, thinking about how I hadn't seen much from him on Facebook or his blogs for a long time. So when Barbara mentioned his passing, I was shocked.

I met Romanos back in 2010 at Holy Trinity Greek Orthodox Church, where he was volunteering during their annual Greek festival. We spent a lot of time talking that day, and we eventually became friends, talking (and sometimes arguing) about religion, philosophy, politics, you name it. He was a unique person to say the least, and I never quite figured him out; but he was genuinely kind and smart and caring. He loved to talk, but he was also a good listener when he needed to be.

What I appreciated the most about him, though, was his approach to spirituality. It was contemplative and loving and it really spoke to me. I really enjoyed our discussions. Because of him, I started to see something good in everyone. Our long talks gave me plenty to think about, and he truly got my spirituality. He gave me a couple of books that really piqued my interest in contemplative Christianity, an interest that eventually led me to spend a week at a nearby Trappist monastery. And from there, I soon discovered the wonderful community at St. Philip Neri.

With his help, I'd found my own spiritual home, a warm, welcoming community with a strong interest in social justice and a contemplative foundation. And when I decided to be formally initiated into the community, I asked Romanos to be my sponsor and godfather even though he was Orthodox and the community I was joining was Catholic. But labels never really mattered to Romanos, and he followed his heart regardless of what people thought about his religious and political views or the company he kept.

He was my friend even though he disagreed with my politics. He was my friend when I called myself a Buddhist. He was my friend when I called myself a Catholic Buddhist. And he remained my friend when I simply saw myself as a contemplative socialist of various stripes, deeply ecumenical and outspoken on progressive social issues.

We'd often go months without speaking, and during that time, I was going through a lot of changes. New job. New place. New relationship. I guess I was just too wrapped up in my own world to notice the Facebook post his son made about his passing. I regret not being at the funeral to say goodbye, but I'm consoled by the fact that I knew such a strange and wonderful character at all.

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