12/13/14

Prayer. That was the theme for Wednesday's inquiry class, as well as Fr. Michael's homily this evening. The gist of both was that prayer isn't simply a form of rote repetition but an event you enter, a living, mystical experience of the presence of God. Ultimately, prayer should transform you and 'wake you' up to the divine presence all around you, much like the experience of St. Francis.

He also talked about the role of prayer in confronting 'evil' in the world. Jesus says to "love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you" (Mt 5:44). Why? Perhaps because our love and our prayers and our actions will help make a difference in the world, help change the minds and hearts of those who would do us and others harm. But even if not, Fr. Michael said that to hate something or someone is to bring that hate and darkness into your own heart. The same with things like anger, jealousy, and resentment. To hate is to pollute our own hearts and minds; to love is to purify them. Much like how the Buddha said:

Phenomena are preceded by the heart,
++++ruled by the heart,
++++made of the heart.
If you speak or act
with a corrupted heart,
then suffering follows you —
as the wheel of the cart,
++++the track of the ox
++++that pulls it.

Phenomena are  preceded by the heart,
++++ruled by the heart,
++++made of the heart.
If you speak or act
with a calm, bright heart,
then happiness follows you,
like a shadow
++++that never leaves.

In many ways, I think, prayer is a form of intention; and in prayer, what we're intending is the non-doing of evil, the performance of what's skillful, and the cleansing of our hearts. We seek to go inside and unveil the innate goodness within, no matter how many layers of ignorance obscure it. And to do that, we need a still point inside, a place of quiet, a place of peace, so that we can listen with our hearts rather than our ears. In the words of St. John of the Cross, "The Father spoke one word from all eternity and he spoke it in silence, and it is in silence that we hear it."

Ultimately, then, I think both prayer and meditation are ways for us to come into contact with the absolute; and some of what Fr. Michael said reminded me of St. John Vianney's words on how prayer stretches the small heart of a small (finite) creature all the way to God (the infinite). Or to paraphrase Fr. Michael, "Prayer is an event we enter into. Moments when heaven and earth touch."

12/8/14

I was thinking of writing something about God today, about the experience of God/Dhamma as I understand it; but then I read this post from Fr. Dn. Charles Joiner's blog, Orthodox Way of Life, and decided that it sums up my own thoughts much better than I ever could myself:

When you read in Scripture, the Kingdom of God is within us (Lk 17:21), what does this mean to you? The Church Fathers refer to this place within also as the "Heart." It is in this place that God has fashioned that God abides so He can manifest Himself through each person. The role of the Church is to help us discover this deep place of the "Heart" that is also the center of our soul.

It is the place within where we wage a battle for our salvation. This is the target of all our ascetic efforts. We want it to be made pure. Jesus has told us that the pure of Heart will see God. As we seek to become united with God, to overcome our sinfulness, we desire that our soul, its "Heart" be ignited by His grace.

Jesus told us, You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength. (Matt 12:30) So, what does this mean? Saint Gregory Palamas says the heart is the body of our body, a place where our whole being becomes like a knot. When our mind and heart are united we have only one thought––the thought of God. All of our desire is focused on God. When we give our whole mind, our whole heart to God we are totally focused on Him. In this stance we receive His grace and are given the ability to do His will. In this way we attain what Apostle Paul meant when he said that Christ is formed in us (Gal 4:19). We become whole and are perfected.

We can never wholly contain God in our heart as He is infinite, something greater than our heart. He makes it a dwelling place, a temple of His divinity reflecting His image in us. When our whole heart and mind are turned to God we become holy, enlightened, "the light of the world." It is in this way that God directs our life, fulfilling the purpose He has for us.

Reflect on the following passage from the Sermon on the Mount where Jesus told His disciple the following:

You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In this same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven. (Matthew 5:14-16)

We want to purify our heart so that it shines, becomes a great light, enabling us to take action in the world in a way that glorifies God, that encourages others to purify their hearts and to seek God with their whole heart and mind and soul. In this way the whole world can become a great light.

What is it that keeps us from becoming this light that Jesus speaks about? Our reality is that we are not able to give our whole heart and mind to God but instead are distracted by our passions, our earthly desires. We are not living with a focus on the "Heart" but on the things of this created world siphoning our attention away from God. Because of our fallen nature we have within us also the tendency to sin. As Paul says, "all have sinned and come short of the Glory of God." (Rom 3:23)

How are we to proceed? We must do as the prodigal son, recognize our condition and seek to return to our father's house which is within. We must uproot our sinful tendencies so that God's commandments will become alive in our heart instead of our passions and worldly desires. This is a path of return that is difficult. There is only one way and that is to master our situation with God's help so we can follow the divine commandments. Archimandrite Zacharias writes,

There is no greater misfortune than that of an insensible and verified heart that is unable to distinguish between the luminous Way of God's Providence and the gloomy confusion of the ways of the world.

Difficult, yes, but we know it is possible. We have an all powerful ally, God. His aim is for our "Heart" to become His temple. He says to us, "Behold, I stand at the door and knock: If anyone hears my voice, and opens the door, I will come to him, and will sup with him, and he with Me? (Rev 3"20). When we knock and the door is opened we discover the greatest of miracles. Our heart becomes united with the Holy Spirit. With an open "Heart" we can unify our mind with our heart and God will fill His Kingdom within us with His full goodness.

For this to happen God must first be able to converse with us. We must be capable of hearing Him and willing to surrender our will to His direction. In this way God can become the sole focus of our life. We must learn to develop an intimate relationship with Him so we can have an ongoing dialogue with Him

What gets in the way? It's our pride, our self-centeredness. We fail to see the larger picture and see our death as the end of everything that gives us pleasure. We become fearful and sinful seeking to satisfy our own needs. We are stuck until we can come to terms with the reality of our situation, just like the prodigal son before he was able to return to his father. We must say what he said, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you and am no more worthy to be called your son. (Luke 15:19-19) In this way we are humbled. We discover how poorly we live by His commandments, how distant we are from Him. We see clearly our self-centeredness, our selfishness and pride. We become sorry for our condition and seek His help to return. From this realization we are motivated to make changes in our attitude and orientation toward life and God. We begin a long journey of purification where we liberate our "Heart" from all the bodily passions. In cooperation with Grace we will finally be able to surrender our whole being to Him, to commit our whole heart, our whole mind, and our whole soul to Him. We will discover the "Kingdom within."

12/7/14

My experience at mass today had a surprisingly big impact on me. I didn't expect it to, but everything seemed to address some aspect of what I've been going through the past week, from my continued exploration of Catholicism and my interest in monasticism to the recent protests sparked by the separate decisions not to indict the officers involved in the deaths of Michael Brown and Eric Garner and the societal issues underlying them.

Before mass, I watched an episode of TLC's The Monastery, a show that I recently discovered about a group of men who visit Christ in the Desert, a Benedictine monastery in New Mexico, for 40 days. I'm interested in monastic life, so I was excited to find the show. And in this particular episode, the community has a 'desert day,' where everyone must spend the whole day in silence and solitude. One of the men, Will, has a lot of thoughts and feelings come up that have been haunting him for a long time, and they kind of overwhelm him when he no longer has a routine to distract himself with.

At mass, I sat in meditation before the beginning of the service and a lot of things came bubbling up and I felt a lot like Will, with guilt and shame and restless energy welling up within me. I was surprised to find that even things I'd thought I'd gotten over long ago, things I did as a kid, I'm still carrying around inside. Guilt and remorse over harming animals and insects. Over acts of greed and selfishness. Over unskillful things I did out of lust. Even though many happened far in the past, the shadows of those actions still follow me, like the wheel that follows the foot of the ox. I realized that I didn't feel worthy of anything holy or spiritual, and deep down, I don't think most people do either. We're imperfect, broken, looking for healing and reconciliation.

Fr. Charlie's homily touched upon that notion somewhat, as well as the importance of social justice in 'preparing the way of the Lord' and 'making straight his paths,' connecting them together in a holistic way, with the readings pointing towards preparing both the world and ourselves for the kingdom of heaven.

The first reading from Isaiah reflects the peace and justice aspect of the Catholic spiritual practice, the outward 'ministry' of the Church. In preparing the way for the Lord, we're called to knockdown all the things in society that separate and divide us from one another, i.e., nationalism, racism, sexism, human trafficking, xenophobic immigration policies, etc. The second and third readings reflect the internal aspect of Catholic spirituality, straightening the crookedness in ourselves and our own lives, with both the sacraments and the community acting as our encouragement and support.

Fr. Charlie said that the kingdom is here, now; and it's up to us to prepare the way by fulfilling the commandments to love God, love our neighbour, 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). But whether or not that's how the Church interprets today's readings, Fr. Charlie's homily really touched me and gave me a lot of comfort and encouragement, assuaging my feelings of shame and unworthiness.

We're all unworthy in a sense. We all have the potential to do unskillful things out of greed, aversion, and delusion. And that's really the underlying point of communion—recognizing that we have faults and yet celebrating what's good and holy in all of us, ideally reuniting us in a bond of love and understanding with one another and God, this divine mystery.

After mass, one of the ladies I met in the B- group invited me and another lady (a Holy Name sister) to watch Fr. Michael anoint her and give her a blessing before her back surgery on Wednesday. Fr. Michael anointed her forehead and palms, then had us place our hands on her head as he said a prayer. It seemed like it meant a lot to her, and I felt honoured that she asked me to be there. There are so many people like that at St. Philip, and it moves me how much a part of the community they've made me in such a short time.

12/6/14

The last couple of weeks have flown by. Thanksgiving seems like yesterday. I wanted to write something about Wednesday's B- group, and here it is already Saturday. I've forgotten half the things that were on my mind. I remember some of it had to do with the discussion about Advent, the time to celebrate the Incarnation, the uniting of heaven and earth.

Fr. Michael pointed out that, in the story of Jesus, God became flesh, uniting heaven and earth. The Incarnation is about God wanting to commune with creation, with us. In that context, Fr. Michael touched upon the role of prayer in opening us up to the presence of God all around us. We think mystical experiences are beyond us, that we're not capable of them, and yet we're naturally drawn towards them, like a deer to a stream of water.

But unlike the deer of the Psalms, our stream is within. Fr. Michael said that numerous passages ask us to turn within and to look for God there, as well as in our interactions with others. The kingdom of God is among us and within us. We are temples of God in which the spirit of God dwells. It's good to set aside some time each day for quiet and solitude, for meditation and prayer, for listening to God.

In contrast to that, the next day I went to the Holiday Ale Fest, and as I started walking home I ran straight into a march protesting the decision not to indict the officer involved in the murder of Eric Garner, as well as the decision not to indict the officer involved in the Ferguson shooting of Michael Brown. I found myself in the front as the group marched from Pioneer Square to the Moda Center, chanting along the way various slogans such as, "No justice, no peace," "Who's lives matter? Black lives matter," etc.

It felt good, right; and being near the front, I started chanting at the top of my lungs, raising my fist and raging against the system with all my being. All that was going through my mind was, "This has to stop, and I have to be on the front line against racism, sexism, and every other kind of discriminatory 'ism' there is. Enough is enough!" Fighting injustice is also a spiritual pursuit, in my opinion.

I also decided to read the New Testament all the way through on Advent Sunday, it being the beginning of a new liturgical year and all. I'm finding a lot of parallels between the teachings of Jesus and those of the Buddha recorded in the Pali Canon. I'll try to take Fr. Michael's advice about using my imagination to make it real and see how it relates to me.

11/30/14

Today I walked into church and was surprised to see that the green decorations I've become so accustomed to were replaced by purple ones, and Fr. Michael explained to me that it's because it's the beginning of Advent, the first day in the Church's liturgical year.

Still being new to all of this, it's interesting learning about the different liturgical seasons and colours, and how they're meant to shift the focus of one's spiritual practice as the year progresses.

In this case, advent means arrival, and traditionally, it refers to the coming of Jesus, the Messiah, God in the flesh. It's a time of waiting and prayer, the purple expressing a penitential and/or hopeful mood, with the focus being the mystical birth of Jesus and mindfulness of what we're doing in preparation for the 'second coming,' which was reflected in the day's scriptural readings, particularly Mk 13:33-37:

Jesus said to his disciples:
“Be watchful! Be alert!
You do not know when the time will come.
It is like a man traveling abroad.
He leaves home and places his servants in charge,
each with his own work,
and orders the gatekeeper to be on the watch.
Watch, therefore;
you do not know when the Lord of the house is coming,
whether in the evening, or at midnight,
or at cockcrow, or in the morning.
May he not come suddenly and find you sleeping.
What I say to you, I say to all: ‘Watch!’”

For me, too, I suppose, Advent represents the arrival of Jesus and everything he embodies (e.g., love, compassion, forgiveness, etc.); but it also represents more abstract ideas, like the fruits of spiritual awakening that we help cultivate through our spiritual practices.

The exhortation to be watchful and alert, for example, brought to mind similar passages in the suttas of the Pali Canon about the importance of mindfulness and heedfulness; and when the Gospel talks about staying alert and making sure you're doing your work when the master of the house comes, I see it exhorting the spiritual seeker not to neglect their contemplative duties. We must strive to be as alert and aware as possible, to remain attuned to the present moment because that is where God, enlightenment, is found.

Fr. Bill's homily reflected that idea, as well, I thought. He began by telling the same story about Sister Jose Hobday he told in his homily on Thanksgiving of her first experience of God's presence while being surrounded by nature and absorbed in the present moment:

One summer Saturday morning about forty years ago, I was waiting for my friend Juanita to come over. I was about twelve at the time. I became agitated and started complaining, and generally making a nuisance of myself. In fact, I was becoming rather obnoxious to everyone else in the house.

Finally, my father said to me, ‘Get a book, a blanket, and an apple, and get into the car.’ I wanted to know why, but he only repeated the order. So I obeyed. My father drove me about eight miles from home to a canyon area and said, ‘Now get out. We cannot stand you any longer at home! You aren’t fit to live with. Just stay out here by yourself today until you understand better how to act. I’ll come back for you this evening.’ I got out, angry, frustrated, and defiant. I thought immediately of walking home; eight miles was not distance at all to me. Then the thought of meeting my father when I got home took hold, and I quickly changed my mind. I cried and threw the book, apple and blanket over the canyon edge. I had been dumped and I was furious.

But it is hard to keep up a good, rebellious cry with no audience, so finally there was nothing to do but face up to the day alone. I sat on the rim of the canyon, kicking dirt and trying to get control of myself. After a couple of hours, as noon approached, I began to get hungry. I located the apple and climbed down to retrieve it—as well as the book and blanket. Upon reaching the top of the rim, I saw a pinon tree nearby which offered some shade. I spread the blanket in the shade, put the book under my head, and began to eat the apple.

I eventually became aware of a change of attitude. As I looked through the branches into the sky, a great sense of peace and beauty came to me. The clouds sat in still puffs, the blue was endless, and I began to take in their spaciousness. I thought about the way I had acted and why my father had treated me so harshly. Understanding began to come, and I became more objective about my behavior. I found myself getting in touch with my feelings, and with the world around me. Nature was my mother holding me for comfort and healing. I became aware of being part of it all, and I found myself thinking of God.

I wanted harmony. I wanted to hold the feeling of mystery. I wanted to be a better person. It was a prayerful time, a time of deep silence. I felt in communion with much that I could not know, but to which I was drawn. This sense lasted a long time, perhaps a few hours. I found I liked being alone and enjoyed the rich emptiness. It was as if I had met another person—me—and concluded I was not so bad after all.

By the time my father came to get me, I was restored. My father did not press me about the day. He asked no questions, and I gave him no answers. But I was different, and we both knew it. My father had dumped me into solitude and had challenged me to grow. Before I got out of the car, I thanked him. And from then on, especially during the summer, I would take a day to go off alone. I loved those times of solitude, of contemplation, and of prayer. I loved the world, and the God I had met that day. This habit of seeking solitude has stayed with me all these years.

In Sister Jose Hobday's experience of finding God in the quiet and solitude of nature, I saw similarities to the Buddha's encouragement to his monks and nuns to live and practice meditation in the wilderness, and the bliss of the Venerable Bhaddiya when recollecting the peace and happiness he discovered while practicing in the seclusion of the wilderness.

He also spoke about mindfulness and its role in helping redirect the 'monkey-mind' from negative and distracting thoughts to an awareness of the present and the presence of God in our lives, as well as how our experiences of suffering can help lead us towards that presence if we learn to wait and watch — to sit in the dark, awake, ready to see the light — referencing Mary Oliver's poem, "The Uses of Sorrow":

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

This, of course, is something I'm quite familiar with since Buddhism specializes in utilizing the unsatisfactoriness and suffering (dukkha) in life as a motivation and means of gnosis.

Afterwards, Fr. Bill gave a talk on the spirituality of Isaac Hecker, the founder of the Paulist Fathers, which sadly few stayed around to hear. The focus was his mystical experiences and how he put them to work, with a number of quotes we took turns reading and a mindfulness exercise we were encouraged to try.

Surprisingly, there was a lot I could relate to, especially the progression of Fr. Hecker's spiritual journey. Like me, he had mystical experiences and a deep, spiritual yearning starting at a young age, and he spent a lot of his early years trying to find a spiritual tradition that could validate and/or nurture his inner experience of God, being inspired by the Transcendentalist movement before finally finding a home in the Catholic Church.

It definitely gave me a lot to think about; and my experiences at St. Philip these past few weeks have convinced me that I'm in the right place. I just wish more people appreciated the contemplative side of the Church as much as I do.

11/27/14

Last night, I volunteered with some friends at the Oregon Food Bank packing 3 lb bags of frozen corn on the cob that'll get distributed to individuals and families in need around Oregon. All together, we helped bag and box 16,711 lbs of corn in about 2 hours.

Today, I spent the morning helping out at St. Philip's Thanksgiving dinner after mass (I especially enjoyed Fr. Bill's story about Sister Jose Hobday during the homily). Even though I was mainly just serving food, getting people something to drink, and clearing empty dishes, I got a chance to talk to a lot of nice people who didn't have anywhere else to go and/or no one to eat with.

Most seemed to really appreciate having a place to go and the generosity of everyone that made it all possible; and a lot appreciated the company, except the one guy who chastised us for over-serving the table. It was a great experience. It also made me thankful for the friends and family that I have and sometimes take for granted and forget to thank because I get so caught up in myself.

As much as I think about giving my time to help others, the more I reflect on the spirit of Mt 25:31-46, the more I'm inspired to actually do it. Plus, it kind of feels good doing something to help others. I think my heart grew half a size these past two days.

11/23/14

Today is the last day of the year in the Church's liturgical calendar, so I thought it was fitting that the Gospel reading was the parable of sheep and goats in Matthew, by far one of my favourite passages in the Bible. Fr. Michael's homily summarized the parable by saying that we don't treat darkness with more darkness, or violence with more violence, but by being a community of shepherds and healers (bringing to mind Dhammapada verses 3-6). We should continually ask ourselves, How have I treated others today?

This is the single most important teaching for me. Everything flows out of it and leads to it. In this parable, Jesus teaches that, to enter the kingdom of heaven, one must help relieve the suffering of others (to possess a mind suffused with bodhicitta from a Buddhist point of view). The teaching itself arises out of a spirit of love, compassion, and generosity, and the spiritual practices we do are designed to help us develop these qualities within our heart. Have I found the lost? Have I bound the injured? Have I fed and clothed and comforted those in need? It's not rocket science. These are the important questions in life.

It's also one of the hardest teachings for me to put into practice. I'm lost myself, and more than not, I'm too busy worrying about feeding and clothing and comforting myself to pay much attention to the people around me. I ask myself how I've treated others today, and the answer disappoints me. If I were to be judged today, I'm afraid that I'd be counted among the goats rather than the sheep. Buddhism teaches that the more we cling, the harder it is to let go and truly give. Maybe that's why Jesus encouraged his followers to deny themselves and give up everything to follow him into the 'kingdom of heaven.'