Today is the first Sunday of Lent. It was a beautiful day. The sun was out, and the sky a bright blue. The church's decorations are now purple, as was Fr. Charlie's vestments, which symbolize penance, healing, and the reflective moods of Lent (much like at Advent).
One of today's readings, 1 Pt 3:18-22, mentioned how the story of those saved by Noah's ark prefigured baptism, not as a literal washing away of dirt from the body but as "an appeal to God for a clear conscience," or as the NABRE's footnote elucidates, "a promise on the part of Christians to live with a good conscience before God." So baptism represents an intentional commitment of right action and not just an act of faith, or so it'd seem.
I liked the twist to Fr. Charlie's homily, which was that, even though we're encouraged during this time of year to do good and avoid evil, we also have to watch out for doing good for the wrong reasons. He used examples like Satan tempting Jesus with bread in the desert when he was hungry from fasting, and the wealthy man who decided not to follow Jesus on the account of his attachment to his wealth. In each example, the thing in and of itself isn't evil (i.e., offering food to someone who's hungry, being wealthy, etc.), but they're good things done with the wrong (unskillful) reason or else not done due to attachment.
In the case of the former, a good is corrupted because it's done with an unskillful or even malicious intention, making it bad. In the latter, being attached to a good can cause us to miss out on something better, choosing a good but avoiding the best. To be comfortable in this life isn't evil, but clinging to material comfort to the extent that we neglect our inner/spiritual development gives rise to a different kind of suffering, one that no amount of money or sensual pleasures can cure. That's what I took away from it, anyway.
I saw Karen after the service, who's starting to get around after her back surgery (I was at her anointing). She was happy to see me and was grateful that I'd been asking about her. We had a nice talk, and she introduced me to a few people. I also said hi to Fr. Charlie, Fr. Michael, and Fr. Bill, who I hung out with last night at Double Dragon with a couple of other people from the Spiritual Formations group for karaoke. And after mass, I joined some friends for tea and then we all went up to Mt. Tabor Park.
It's been a rather joyful Lenten Sunday, except for the news I just got from my mom as I'm writing this that my aunt Pat passed away, which has given it a more sombre mood. I'm not really sure how to feel right now. I'm glad she's not in pain any more, but I'm sad that she's gone. And I'm even sadder for my mom, who lost her best friend today.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
Thursday, February 19, 2015
2/19/15
Last night was B-, and Fr. Michael distributed ashes for Ash Wednesday, saying to each, "Repent, and believe in the Gospel." The topic, of course, was Lent. What's the meaning of Lent? For me, it's about trying to do better, be better. During Lent, we're encouraged to: fast to some degree in order to realize our dependence (on God and others) and be reminded of the suffering of those who often go without; give up something for others (i.e., donate money saved on a vice or sense pleasure that we've given up to charity); and deepen our spiritual practice (i.e., pray, meditate, read spiritual material, etc.).
For Lent, I decided to fast, as well as give up alcohol. I figure that since this is the time leading up to Easter and my potential baptism and confirmation, I should spend it in the proper way to help aid my discernment. Yesterday, I went without anything but water for the day. It was particularly difficult since I work with food; but the hardest part was going without coffee. I got a caffeine headache, which showed just how dependent upon coffee I am. Today, I ate a light breakfast and had a salad for lunch, but still no coffee. I'm limiting myself to a predominately vegan diet like they do in the Orthodox tradition.
I like the idea of fasting. It's a way of loosening the grip of sensual desire and bringing one closer to a state of spiritual openness. Many Buddhist meditators, for example, have found fasting to be a helpful meditation aid. Fasting also has a long history in the Christian tradition, aiding one get closer to God. As Romanos so poetically put it the other day, "Fasting is an act of hospitality, cleaning out, emptying some organ or attribute of us, so that God can have more room during His visit. Fasting is always a deliberate spending—even wasting—of our lives on the slim chance that we might buy the world for God."
With our busy, noisy lives and all the distractions around us vying for our attention, it's good to take time to 'go into the desert' and prepare ourselves spiritually, I think. Fasting is part of that, but so is prayer/meditation, which can be its own form of renunciation—bodily, we renounce certain foods in order to help subdue our passions; and mentally, we attempt to renounce our sinful/unskillful intentions. It's a lot harder to do right than I thought, though. I noticed that I was a lot more tired and irritable today than usual, thinking and saying a lot of unskillful things. I also failed to be charitable when I had the opportunity.
The first day in and I already felt like a failure. But in a way, it's a good lesson. We tend to expect things to be easy and overestimate the things we're capable of on our own. Part of Lent, I think, is learning humility, seeing how fragile and self-centred we are. Lent is like a spiritual mirror that we hold up to our hearts to see what kind of person we truly are and how in touch we are with God. And to really 'make more room for God,' we have to return to the silence of God, which means uncovering the divinity within us, or like Jesus says in Mt 6:6, "go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret."
For Lent, I decided to fast, as well as give up alcohol. I figure that since this is the time leading up to Easter and my potential baptism and confirmation, I should spend it in the proper way to help aid my discernment. Yesterday, I went without anything but water for the day. It was particularly difficult since I work with food; but the hardest part was going without coffee. I got a caffeine headache, which showed just how dependent upon coffee I am. Today, I ate a light breakfast and had a salad for lunch, but still no coffee. I'm limiting myself to a predominately vegan diet like they do in the Orthodox tradition.
I like the idea of fasting. It's a way of loosening the grip of sensual desire and bringing one closer to a state of spiritual openness. Many Buddhist meditators, for example, have found fasting to be a helpful meditation aid. Fasting also has a long history in the Christian tradition, aiding one get closer to God. As Romanos so poetically put it the other day, "Fasting is an act of hospitality, cleaning out, emptying some organ or attribute of us, so that God can have more room during His visit. Fasting is always a deliberate spending—even wasting—of our lives on the slim chance that we might buy the world for God."
With our busy, noisy lives and all the distractions around us vying for our attention, it's good to take time to 'go into the desert' and prepare ourselves spiritually, I think. Fasting is part of that, but so is prayer/meditation, which can be its own form of renunciation—bodily, we renounce certain foods in order to help subdue our passions; and mentally, we attempt to renounce our sinful/unskillful intentions. It's a lot harder to do right than I thought, though. I noticed that I was a lot more tired and irritable today than usual, thinking and saying a lot of unskillful things. I also failed to be charitable when I had the opportunity.
The first day in and I already felt like a failure. But in a way, it's a good lesson. We tend to expect things to be easy and overestimate the things we're capable of on our own. Part of Lent, I think, is learning humility, seeing how fragile and self-centred we are. Lent is like a spiritual mirror that we hold up to our hearts to see what kind of person we truly are and how in touch we are with God. And to really 'make more room for God,' we have to return to the silence of God, which means uncovering the divinity within us, or like Jesus says in Mt 6:6, "go to your inner room, close the door, and pray to your Father in secret."
Sunday, February 15, 2015
2/15/15 (2)
Got a call from my mom today about my aunt Pat. She's in liver failure and it doesn't look like she has long to live. They're talking about moving her hospice.
She's not technically my aunt, but she's been like a sister to my mom her whole life. They've been best friends since she was 6, and Pat has always been there for my mom these past 50+ years. I've known her all my life. My mom's really upset, and I can't blame her. Almost all of her other close friends and family have passed away. I imagine she feels lonely, scared.
I wish there was something I could do or say to help make her feel better. I could tell her that death is a natural part of life and it's not necessarily the end, that Pat may still be with her in some form after she's gone from this world; but I know how little comfort that'd probably be right now. It's kind of trite to say to someone who's grieving. At least she said talking to me helped calm her down a bit, although I don't think it helped for very long.
Pat has always watched out for my mom, though, and thinking of the RCIA class on saints, I'd like to think that she'll continue to watch over her even after she's gone.
She's not technically my aunt, but she's been like a sister to my mom her whole life. They've been best friends since she was 6, and Pat has always been there for my mom these past 50+ years. I've known her all my life. My mom's really upset, and I can't blame her. Almost all of her other close friends and family have passed away. I imagine she feels lonely, scared.
I wish there was something I could do or say to help make her feel better. I could tell her that death is a natural part of life and it's not necessarily the end, that Pat may still be with her in some form after she's gone from this world; but I know how little comfort that'd probably be right now. It's kind of trite to say to someone who's grieving. At least she said talking to me helped calm her down a bit, although I don't think it helped for very long.
Pat has always watched out for my mom, though, and thinking of the RCIA class on saints, I'd like to think that she'll continue to watch over her even after she's gone.
2/15/15
Sixth Sunday in ordinary time, and third Sunday of the month, which meant mass and RCIA today. Romanos joined me, and I was asked to be one of the gift-bearers again. I took up the wine this time. I like participating in the Liturgy. I think once I'm confirmed I'd like to sign up to assist in handing out communion. I'd love to be a lector, too, but my fear of public speaking may make that difficult.
Fr. Bill celebrated the mass today and gave the homily. Fr. Charlie just got back, though, so Fr. Bill won't have to be the only priest on duty anymore. I imagine it's been a busy couple of weeks for him. The homily was tied to today's readings, which focused on leprosy and being made clean. Fr. Bill said that leprosy is a metaphor for sin, actions that defile us and make us ugly inside, and that love is what makes us beautiful—the love of God being like the love of Belle that heals and transforms the Beast. Fr. Bill surprised everyone, I think, when he sang the song "Beauty and the Beast."
After mass, we had our RCIA class at the French toast breakfast. The topic was personal and social sin. The general consensus was that social sin is any intentional action that negatively impacts those around us, things that cause harm to others or the environment and contributes to alienation, discrimination, oppression, etc.; and personal sin is any intentional action that goes against God/Dhamma and turns us away from what's good/skillful.
I'm not sure if this is controversial, but Barbara's opinion was that sin is something that ultimately must be intentional, i.e., that you have to know something is wrong and then proceed to do it anyway. This is exactly the attitude of Buddhist precepts, and I think it accords well with what Jesus says in Matthew regarding the importance of intention:
In other words, if a heart is defiled and acts out of defilement (i.e., out of greed, aversion, and delusion), that actions is a sin—it defiles one, it turns one away from God/Dhamma, it harms oneself and others. And sin leads to hell, an alienated state of consciousness that can't return to the presence of God. The image that Jesus uses of Gehenna (e.g., in Matthew 5), the fiery garbage dump outside of ancient Jerusalem, is a metaphor for the immediate consequences of sinful/unskillful actions, i.e., it's better to burn in Gehenna than to do something that harms others and separates us from God/Dhamma.
We are all imperfect creatures. We all have our own flaws and weaknesses and succumb to various temptations and vices (personified by Mara and Satan) throughout our lives. But what happens after death is a mystery, and one can't truly know the mind of others, so it's better not to cast stones at others and work on purifying our own minds instead. And just as important is the forgiveness of others, especially those who repent of their unskillful deeds.
From my point of view, I think it's fair to say that the underlying foundation of the Buddhist precepts and the Ten Commandments as understood by Jesus is the principle of harmlessness (ahimsa). Harmlessness is truly a noble and holy attitude. True love arises naturally out of a deep spirit of harmlessness, making our actions faultless gifts to those around us. And sin arises out of a heart that's defiled with greed, covetousness, selfishness, anger, and ignorance of the worth and importance of others.
We all have the capability to sin (hamartia) or 'miss the mark' (hamartanein), which is why forgiveness is so important. It opens the door for reconciliation and, even when that's not possible, lightens the heart of its burdens. To forgive is to free the heart from the emotions and thoughts that separate one from one's neighbour and from God. Sin is like a poison we give ourselves, and love is the antidote.
Fr. Bill celebrated the mass today and gave the homily. Fr. Charlie just got back, though, so Fr. Bill won't have to be the only priest on duty anymore. I imagine it's been a busy couple of weeks for him. The homily was tied to today's readings, which focused on leprosy and being made clean. Fr. Bill said that leprosy is a metaphor for sin, actions that defile us and make us ugly inside, and that love is what makes us beautiful—the love of God being like the love of Belle that heals and transforms the Beast. Fr. Bill surprised everyone, I think, when he sang the song "Beauty and the Beast."
After mass, we had our RCIA class at the French toast breakfast. The topic was personal and social sin. The general consensus was that social sin is any intentional action that negatively impacts those around us, things that cause harm to others or the environment and contributes to alienation, discrimination, oppression, etc.; and personal sin is any intentional action that goes against God/Dhamma and turns us away from what's good/skillful.
I'm not sure if this is controversial, but Barbara's opinion was that sin is something that ultimately must be intentional, i.e., that you have to know something is wrong and then proceed to do it anyway. This is exactly the attitude of Buddhist precepts, and I think it accords well with what Jesus says in Matthew regarding the importance of intention:
He summoned the crowd and said to them, 'Hear and understand. It is not what enters one's mouth that defiles that person; but what comes out of the mouth is what defiles one." Then his disciples approached and said to him, "Do you know that the Pharisees took offense when they heard what you said?” He said in reply, "Every plant that my heavenly Father has not planted will be uprooted. Let them alone; they are blind guides (of the blind). If a blind person leads a blind person, both will fall into a pit." Then Peter said to him in reply, 'Explain [this] parable to us.' He said to them, "Are even you still without understanding? Do you not realize that everything that enters the mouth passes into the stomach and is expelled into the latrine? But the things that come out of the mouth come from the heart, and they defile. For from the heart come evil thoughts, murder, adultery, unchastity, theft, false witness, blasphemy. These are what defile a person, but to eat with unwashed hands does not defile." (Mt 15:10-20)
In other words, if a heart is defiled and acts out of defilement (i.e., out of greed, aversion, and delusion), that actions is a sin—it defiles one, it turns one away from God/Dhamma, it harms oneself and others. And sin leads to hell, an alienated state of consciousness that can't return to the presence of God. The image that Jesus uses of Gehenna (e.g., in Matthew 5), the fiery garbage dump outside of ancient Jerusalem, is a metaphor for the immediate consequences of sinful/unskillful actions, i.e., it's better to burn in Gehenna than to do something that harms others and separates us from God/Dhamma.
We are all imperfect creatures. We all have our own flaws and weaknesses and succumb to various temptations and vices (personified by Mara and Satan) throughout our lives. But what happens after death is a mystery, and one can't truly know the mind of others, so it's better not to cast stones at others and work on purifying our own minds instead. And just as important is the forgiveness of others, especially those who repent of their unskillful deeds.
From my point of view, I think it's fair to say that the underlying foundation of the Buddhist precepts and the Ten Commandments as understood by Jesus is the principle of harmlessness (ahimsa). Harmlessness is truly a noble and holy attitude. True love arises naturally out of a deep spirit of harmlessness, making our actions faultless gifts to those around us. And sin arises out of a heart that's defiled with greed, covetousness, selfishness, anger, and ignorance of the worth and importance of others.
We all have the capability to sin (hamartia) or 'miss the mark' (hamartanein), which is why forgiveness is so important. It opens the door for reconciliation and, even when that's not possible, lightens the heart of its burdens. To forgive is to free the heart from the emotions and thoughts that separate one from one's neighbour and from God. Sin is like a poison we give ourselves, and love is the antidote.
Thursday, February 12, 2015
2/12/15 (2)
Tonight we had the second meeting of Fr. Bill's spiritual formation series. The format was similar to last time: food, discussion/testimony, video, discussion.
Last week they got some Indian food; this time it was from Clay's Smokehouse. Everyone really seemed to enjoy it, and I didn't have the heart to tell them that I wasn't eating because I'm vegetarian. I hate to impose my dietary restrictions on others.
For the discussion part, we reviewed some of the stuff from last week and focused on our testimonies. We broke up into pairs and each person had a couple of minutes to give their testimony they started working on last Thursday. Rose and I shared ours with each other, although what I ended up saying was substantially different from what I had written down.
I realize that testimony isn't my thing. It's essentially presenting your conversion story to others in an effort to open the door to talk more about your faith. I'm shy, don't like to talk much (especially in groups of more than 2 or 3 people), and have a more private spirituality. Plus, my story is rather long and boring and full of loaded terms like bodhisattva and bodhicitta. The whole thing makes me rather uncomfortable, frankly. My testimony is my example: the person I am and the way I try to live my life.
The videos are pretty cheezy, but I kind of like them anyway. They're funny, and some of the questions they ask are thought-provoking. I agree with Colleen, though, that they could be a little more diverse (it's primarily done by two clean-cut, white guys). One of the things I really liked from today's video was the quote, "Christ is the visible image of the invisible God." I don't know why, but I found it rather brilliant at the time.
All in all, I enjoy spending time with everyone there even if I feel uncomfortable at times. I like hearing other people's stories and being among fellow seekers.
Last week they got some Indian food; this time it was from Clay's Smokehouse. Everyone really seemed to enjoy it, and I didn't have the heart to tell them that I wasn't eating because I'm vegetarian. I hate to impose my dietary restrictions on others.
For the discussion part, we reviewed some of the stuff from last week and focused on our testimonies. We broke up into pairs and each person had a couple of minutes to give their testimony they started working on last Thursday. Rose and I shared ours with each other, although what I ended up saying was substantially different from what I had written down.
I realize that testimony isn't my thing. It's essentially presenting your conversion story to others in an effort to open the door to talk more about your faith. I'm shy, don't like to talk much (especially in groups of more than 2 or 3 people), and have a more private spirituality. Plus, my story is rather long and boring and full of loaded terms like bodhisattva and bodhicitta. The whole thing makes me rather uncomfortable, frankly. My testimony is my example: the person I am and the way I try to live my life.
The videos are pretty cheezy, but I kind of like them anyway. They're funny, and some of the questions they ask are thought-provoking. I agree with Colleen, though, that they could be a little more diverse (it's primarily done by two clean-cut, white guys). One of the things I really liked from today's video was the quote, "Christ is the visible image of the invisible God." I don't know why, but I found it rather brilliant at the time.
All in all, I enjoy spending time with everyone there even if I feel uncomfortable at times. I like hearing other people's stories and being among fellow seekers.
2/12/15
Last night was RCIA. The topic was Mary and the saints. Unfortunately, I had a migraine (I don't know why I've been getting so many lately), and it was a struggle for me to stay present. The lights. The heat. The noise. My head was a ball of pain, and all I wanted was to go home. Perhaps next time I should invoke the aid of St. William or St. Gemma.
It was kind of an interesting topic, though, and I wish I could have participated in the discussion more. For me, saints are primarily examples of people who have lived a holy life and have achieved some level of divine union or spiritual realization. They're icons of inspiration, offering encouragement that these things are attainable and helping show the way, much like stream-enterers and arahants in Buddhism (e.g., Kassapa).
I found Barbara's thoughts about this interesting, as well. She said that her personal belief is that all living beings return to God, so that the saints are still present with us since God isn't limited and they can manifest to us or in some way be present in our lives when called upon. The image I like to think of is the classic example used in Vedanta of waves cresting and returning to the sea—individual waves of consciousness are born, persist for a time, and then return to the sea from which they're born.
As for Mary, I appreciate her as a powerful, feminine figure in the Church, and conceive of her in much the same way as I once did the divine feminine of the Triple Goddess. She appears in the Gospels as the maiden, young and newly betrothed. She becomes the divine mother when she becomes pregnant through the holy spirit and gives birth to Jesus/God. And she takes on the role of the wise crone at the death of Jesus/God.
Mary is a powerful figure to me precisely because she helps to balance out the heavily male-dominated cast of characters in the New Testament, and in my opinion, gives Christian theology a much needed feminine/maternal force. Mary is probably the most popular saint. As one BBC article notes, "To many lay Catholics Mary is the female gateway through whom they experience the divine," a natural choice considering her role as mother of God.
Even though I felt terrible, I enjoyed the class. Romanos and Barbara seemed to be on the same page and got along despite my fears. I got a lot from their exchanges, although I wish I'd taken some notes as I've forgotten most of what they said.
It was kind of an interesting topic, though, and I wish I could have participated in the discussion more. For me, saints are primarily examples of people who have lived a holy life and have achieved some level of divine union or spiritual realization. They're icons of inspiration, offering encouragement that these things are attainable and helping show the way, much like stream-enterers and arahants in Buddhism (e.g., Kassapa).
I found Barbara's thoughts about this interesting, as well. She said that her personal belief is that all living beings return to God, so that the saints are still present with us since God isn't limited and they can manifest to us or in some way be present in our lives when called upon. The image I like to think of is the classic example used in Vedanta of waves cresting and returning to the sea—individual waves of consciousness are born, persist for a time, and then return to the sea from which they're born.
As for Mary, I appreciate her as a powerful, feminine figure in the Church, and conceive of her in much the same way as I once did the divine feminine of the Triple Goddess. She appears in the Gospels as the maiden, young and newly betrothed. She becomes the divine mother when she becomes pregnant through the holy spirit and gives birth to Jesus/God. And she takes on the role of the wise crone at the death of Jesus/God.
Mary is a powerful figure to me precisely because she helps to balance out the heavily male-dominated cast of characters in the New Testament, and in my opinion, gives Christian theology a much needed feminine/maternal force. Mary is probably the most popular saint. As one BBC article notes, "To many lay Catholics Mary is the female gateway through whom they experience the divine," a natural choice considering her role as mother of God.
Even though I felt terrible, I enjoyed the class. Romanos and Barbara seemed to be on the same page and got along despite my fears. I got a lot from their exchanges, although I wish I'd taken some notes as I've forgotten most of what they said.
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
2/10/15
I decided to start reading Karen Armstrong's A History of God the other day. I saw it sitting on a friend's bookshelf and asked if I could borrow it after reading a bit of the introduction. Although the book explores the history of God and how the ideas about God have evolved in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam throughout the centuries, which I find an interesting subject in and of itself, it begins with a short biography of her own experience with God and religion.
What caught my eye was her confession that, while feeling it possible to 'break through to God' and entering a religious order to do that, she became increasingly aware of, and unhappy with, her lack of religious experience, eventually leaving the religious life and having God fade into the background. That is, until her study of the history of religion gave her a new perspective, finding that instead of simply waiting for God to descend from on high, she should deliberately create a sense of God for herself—that in an important sense God is the product of the creative imagination, like poetry and music (xvii-xx).
I thought it was a rather curious introduction, but it also spoke to me, expressing a lot of what I'm thinking and feeling and trying to discover. As I walk farther into my own search for God, I realize that I, too, want to break through to God and have that experience transfigure the whole of my being. And like her, I'm disappointed at times with what often feels like failure. But what she wrote also reminded me of Fr. Michael's advice about using my imagination to make the Bible real and see how it relates to me.
I went back and read a few chapters of Matthew, trying to put myself there and contemplating what Jesus was pointing towards with things like the parable of the camel and the eye of a needle in Mt 19:16-30. It got me thinking about renunciation and what Jesus meant by 'the kingdom of heaven,' which seems to differ slightly depending on the context. Here, for instance, Jesus seems to be saying that possessions and worldly concerns can be an obstacle to following his example and entering into the kingdom of heaven, a kingdom that's often said to be within.
One explanation I've heard (from Fr. Charlie if memory serves me right) is that this parable is referring to a fully-packed camel trying to enter through a narrow gate that they could only pass through unencumbered. To 'be perfect,' one must be non-attached. And this, I think, is very similar to the Buddhist teachings regarding clinging, particularly to sensual pleasures and views. To realize nibbana, one must first learn to let go of what isn't theirs, to release their grasping to self-views and put down their burden of clinging.
TTo break through to God, to awaken to the absolute, then, requires a certain level of internal renunciation that's aided by external forms. But this reality is subtle, much like the 'light silent sound' of the presence of God (1 Kings 19:9-12) or the Dhamma realized by the Buddha (SN 6.1). And thinking about my perceived failures, I'm somewhat comforted by the fact that even Jesus' close disciples often seemed in the dark despite being in the presence of such an awakened, divine being.
What caught my eye was her confession that, while feeling it possible to 'break through to God' and entering a religious order to do that, she became increasingly aware of, and unhappy with, her lack of religious experience, eventually leaving the religious life and having God fade into the background. That is, until her study of the history of religion gave her a new perspective, finding that instead of simply waiting for God to descend from on high, she should deliberately create a sense of God for herself—that in an important sense God is the product of the creative imagination, like poetry and music (xvii-xx).
I thought it was a rather curious introduction, but it also spoke to me, expressing a lot of what I'm thinking and feeling and trying to discover. As I walk farther into my own search for God, I realize that I, too, want to break through to God and have that experience transfigure the whole of my being. And like her, I'm disappointed at times with what often feels like failure. But what she wrote also reminded me of Fr. Michael's advice about using my imagination to make the Bible real and see how it relates to me.
I went back and read a few chapters of Matthew, trying to put myself there and contemplating what Jesus was pointing towards with things like the parable of the camel and the eye of a needle in Mt 19:16-30. It got me thinking about renunciation and what Jesus meant by 'the kingdom of heaven,' which seems to differ slightly depending on the context. Here, for instance, Jesus seems to be saying that possessions and worldly concerns can be an obstacle to following his example and entering into the kingdom of heaven, a kingdom that's often said to be within.
One explanation I've heard (from Fr. Charlie if memory serves me right) is that this parable is referring to a fully-packed camel trying to enter through a narrow gate that they could only pass through unencumbered. To 'be perfect,' one must be non-attached. And this, I think, is very similar to the Buddhist teachings regarding clinging, particularly to sensual pleasures and views. To realize nibbana, one must first learn to let go of what isn't theirs, to release their grasping to self-views and put down their burden of clinging.
TTo break through to God, to awaken to the absolute, then, requires a certain level of internal renunciation that's aided by external forms. But this reality is subtle, much like the 'light silent sound' of the presence of God (1 Kings 19:9-12) or the Dhamma realized by the Buddha (SN 6.1). And thinking about my perceived failures, I'm somewhat comforted by the fact that even Jesus' close disciples often seemed in the dark despite being in the presence of such an awakened, divine being.
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