I was looking at my notebook and reflecting on the past week. Not much has happened, but at the same time, it feels like a lot has happened, most of it in my head I suppose. For example, at work the other day, I was thinking about why it makes me so unhappy. One of the reasons is the nature of customer service-related jobs and the way they coerce you into endless fake relationships.
Reading Without Buddha I Could not be a Christian, I'm really seeing how God (InterBeing) comes through, or is expressed in, our relationships with one another, bringing to mind the psychological interpretation of the Trinity offered by the likes of Augustine, Aquinas, etc. Jesus' commandment to love our neighbour is a commandment to enter into a relationship with others. But for these relationships to be genuine, loving, fruitful, they must be natural.
In contrast, I'm expected on a daily basis to enter into relationships that are mechanical, fake, empty, in order to facilitate transactions for profit. Real relationships are fulfilling; fake ones are anything but. In many ways, they're dehumanizing; and after the first dozen or so, I find myself closing off, becoming a robot, "Hello. What would you like? Would you like anything else? That will be $_____. Thank you. Here's your change." Of course there are those few regulars who you do have real interactions with beyond the exchange of goods and services, and I live for those interactions. They're what keep me sane. But the majority of them are so forced, so rushed and unpleasant, so empty of life that it's hard not to walk out a shell empty of life yourself.
It's not an exaggeration to say that a big part of why I love going to church every chance I get is to recharge and reclaim my humanity by entering into a relationship with the community through fellowship and with God through the Eucharist. I've tried finding that at work, too, but I've found those kinds of mechanical relationships to be barren soil.
Something else I got to thinking about is the ways we tend to share our beliefs and practices with one another. Watching an episode of Sons of Anarchy, I realized why I find those things difficult to talk about and share directly even though we're called to share the 'good news' with others at the end of every mass.
SoA is about a motorcycle gang; and thinking about the concept of 'brotherhood,' I thought about our need for companionship and camaraderie. We look for people we trust, places we feel safe. In social groups like gangs, clubs, fraternities, etc., you're surrounded by people who have been initiated in some way into the group. Because of that, they're people you, at least ideally, feel you can trust, who you share something with and feel safe around.
In the show, there's a room where only members can enter, where all club business is discussed and club decisions made. Everyone in that room has been 'initiated' and is on the same page. Outside that room, certain things can't be shared with outsiders, either because they simply wouldn't understand or because it could hurt the club, but they still share their beliefs through what they wear, what they do, etc.
In the same way, the church for me is that room. Of course, anyone can walk through those doors, and that's OK. But I'd have trouble inviting someone I know who's uninterested in, or even hostile to, religion to come with me, just as I'd have trouble talking to someone uninterested in, or even hostile to, religion about religion directly. That doesn't mean I don't share anything at all, though; I just try to do it in more subtle ways. With people critical of Christianity and Jesus, for example, I might try to stress the subversive and egalitarian things Jesus said and did in order to help them see beyond their prejudices.
And at church, even though I'd like to share my experience with others, it's an intimate, personal experience. For me, it's a safe space in which I can enter into a relationship with God in the mystery of the Eucharist. It's not something I can explain to others; and when I'm there I really just want to be open to the moment, not worrying about being judged by someone who might not understand.
Monday, May 25, 2015
Saturday, May 23, 2015
5/23/15
There are so many things I wanted to write about this week, but I can't seem to find the time or motivation. I just want to curl up in bed and sleep. Work's been beating me down. My mom's still stuck in the hospital. And I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, adding to the weight on my mind and further fueling this mid-life crisis I seem to be having.
I think I'm depressed. Part of the problem is that I'm 36 and working a low-paying, dead-end job. Everyone's been encouraging me to find a new one since the one I have is making me so unhappy. But it's hard to find things outside of food service without a BA these days; and I don't really have the time or money to go to school full time. I can barely keep up with my bills and other life expenses as it is. I'd need a lot of loans for that, and I'm afraid of getting into too much debt.
One reason I'm so afraid of debt is watching what my parents had to go through. When I was young, just starting high school, my parents were forced to file for bankruptcy. They got into a lot of debt — some of it from medical bills, some of it just from having a family, a mortgage, etc. — and they just couldn't dig themselves out of the hole. We were also close to losing our house. It was a scary and stressful time for all of us.
I certainly didn't want us to become homeless, so I let my mom cash in all the bonds my uncle had given me for college to help save our home, thinking, "It's just money; I'm sure I'll find a way to make more and replace it when I'm finished with school." But I never did. My family was stuck living paycheck to paycheck; and as soon as I graduated high school, I started working, too.
I didn't really have much hope of going to college right after high school even if I wanted to, though. My grades the last year or so weren't too good. By then, my grandmother had passed away, my mom was recovering from cancer treatment, and I was as full of teenage angst as one could be. Life at home was rocky; and I wasn't getting along very well with my dad. As a result, I started withdrawing more and more into myself, and was increasingly self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. All I could think about was graduating and getting out of my parent's house. It was all I cared about.
Looking back, I wish I'd made a lot of different choices. I was suffering and just trying to find some small sliver of happiness in what was for me a tough and brutal world; but I was also young and selfish and thought I knew everything. Because of those choices, I'm stuck in the same cycle of poverty that my parents were, living paycheck to paycheck, wishing I'd at least tried to go to college.
So what's stopping me now? The fear of debt, for one. I'd have to take out some serious loans to get a four-year degree, let alone anything more than that. Assuming things go well, I'd be 40+ by the time I got my degree, and likely 70+ before finally being out of debt. That's a big risk. It'd also mean giving up on any thoughts of becoming a monk, since you can't enter a monastery with debt. And that means a lot of soul-searching.
Another thing is my mom's health, her mortality hovering over me like the fear of debt. She doesn't want me to become a monk because she's afraid it'll mean never seeing me again; and I'm afraid that going will break her heart. I want to make sure I'm always here for her whenever she needs me.
Annie and I have talked about this before, and she understands the difficulties I'm having making this choice. She was lucky enough to have her parents pay for her education, so she entered the workforce young, educated, and debt free. She can't imagine being burdened with the amount of debt some of her other friends are saddled with. She also understands the pull monasticism has for me, and has often wondered if I'd be happier as a monk. But I'm not sure she understands how truly torn I am. I love her more than life itself; she's my rock, my home. And yet I feel called to something that would separate us forever.
One of the things I pray for most is guidance. Time is passing us by, and I have to make a choice sooner rather than later. I'm standing at a crossroads and can see the pros and cons of each decision. I can see a potentially happy life with Annie and a career; and I can see an equally happy life in a cloister or wat (Buddhist monastery) somewhere.
Life is amazing, and I'm not drawn towards monasticism out of revulsion. I don't want to run away from the world; it's just that a spiritual, contemplative life is the only one that makes sense to me. But in our modern world, it seems like the path to acquiring material success has steadily become more and more divorced from that, creating an almost insurmountable division. And I'm afraid of being stranded on one side of the chasm or the other.
I think I'm depressed. Part of the problem is that I'm 36 and working a low-paying, dead-end job. Everyone's been encouraging me to find a new one since the one I have is making me so unhappy. But it's hard to find things outside of food service without a BA these days; and I don't really have the time or money to go to school full time. I can barely keep up with my bills and other life expenses as it is. I'd need a lot of loans for that, and I'm afraid of getting into too much debt.
One reason I'm so afraid of debt is watching what my parents had to go through. When I was young, just starting high school, my parents were forced to file for bankruptcy. They got into a lot of debt — some of it from medical bills, some of it just from having a family, a mortgage, etc. — and they just couldn't dig themselves out of the hole. We were also close to losing our house. It was a scary and stressful time for all of us.
I certainly didn't want us to become homeless, so I let my mom cash in all the bonds my uncle had given me for college to help save our home, thinking, "It's just money; I'm sure I'll find a way to make more and replace it when I'm finished with school." But I never did. My family was stuck living paycheck to paycheck; and as soon as I graduated high school, I started working, too.
I didn't really have much hope of going to college right after high school even if I wanted to, though. My grades the last year or so weren't too good. By then, my grandmother had passed away, my mom was recovering from cancer treatment, and I was as full of teenage angst as one could be. Life at home was rocky; and I wasn't getting along very well with my dad. As a result, I started withdrawing more and more into myself, and was increasingly self-medicating with drugs and alcohol. All I could think about was graduating and getting out of my parent's house. It was all I cared about.
Looking back, I wish I'd made a lot of different choices. I was suffering and just trying to find some small sliver of happiness in what was for me a tough and brutal world; but I was also young and selfish and thought I knew everything. Because of those choices, I'm stuck in the same cycle of poverty that my parents were, living paycheck to paycheck, wishing I'd at least tried to go to college.
So what's stopping me now? The fear of debt, for one. I'd have to take out some serious loans to get a four-year degree, let alone anything more than that. Assuming things go well, I'd be 40+ by the time I got my degree, and likely 70+ before finally being out of debt. That's a big risk. It'd also mean giving up on any thoughts of becoming a monk, since you can't enter a monastery with debt. And that means a lot of soul-searching.
Another thing is my mom's health, her mortality hovering over me like the fear of debt. She doesn't want me to become a monk because she's afraid it'll mean never seeing me again; and I'm afraid that going will break her heart. I want to make sure I'm always here for her whenever she needs me.
Annie and I have talked about this before, and she understands the difficulties I'm having making this choice. She was lucky enough to have her parents pay for her education, so she entered the workforce young, educated, and debt free. She can't imagine being burdened with the amount of debt some of her other friends are saddled with. She also understands the pull monasticism has for me, and has often wondered if I'd be happier as a monk. But I'm not sure she understands how truly torn I am. I love her more than life itself; she's my rock, my home. And yet I feel called to something that would separate us forever.
One of the things I pray for most is guidance. Time is passing us by, and I have to make a choice sooner rather than later. I'm standing at a crossroads and can see the pros and cons of each decision. I can see a potentially happy life with Annie and a career; and I can see an equally happy life in a cloister or wat (Buddhist monastery) somewhere.
Life is amazing, and I'm not drawn towards monasticism out of revulsion. I don't want to run away from the world; it's just that a spiritual, contemplative life is the only one that makes sense to me. But in our modern world, it seems like the path to acquiring material success has steadily become more and more divorced from that, creating an almost insurmountable division. And I'm afraid of being stranded on one side of the chasm or the other.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
5/16/15
Today, Barbara and Fr. Charlie offered a short Pentecost retreat on the topic of, "Is Paul telling the truth when he says we are Temples of the Holy Spirit?" I really enjoyed it for a number of reasons. One reason is that I simply enjoy being around real people of faith, people who don't just talk the talk, but walk the walk as they say. Not having many people in my life outside of St. Philip who are spiritual/religious to talk to and spend time with, I really appreciate the chances like this I do get. It's spiritually nourishing.
Reflecting on today, I'm more convinced than ever that Paul Knitter is correct when he writes, "What Christians have seen in Jesus of Nazareth is a God who creates and is present to the world through relationships, the same kind of relationships that we say exist in the very nature of God" (Without Buddha I Could not be a Christian, 17). The Divine is less a person out there than it is a presence that's personal, and I'm seeing that more and more in my own experience. God isn't a 'God of the gaps' so much as a God of inter-being, of relationships. In fact, the simplest thing we can say about ourselves and God is "we exist through relationships of knowing and loving and giving because that's how God exists" (18).
By now, it seems like everyone knows about my mom's situation. So when I arrived about 10mins early, both Fr. Charlie and Fr. Michael asked me how she was and whether I was going to go to Michigan to be with her. I said that I was planning on visiting for a month in July and that I wasn't planning on going right now unless things got serious/life-threatening because I don't really have the money, as well as the fact that it'd be difficult for me to have that time off of work. And even though the parish is in a bit of a prolonged financial crisis, the first thing Fr. Charlie said was, if I needed help getting there, he'd help me get a ticket. And I could hear Knitter, "God is the activity of giving and receiving..." (19).
Knitter sees God as a 'connecting spirit,' and in one chapter he connects the word pneuma — the Greek word for 'breath' or 'spirit' — to the Buddhist experience of awakening (to inter-being), which is characterized by wisdom and compassion. Having our eyes opened to the interconnectedness of all things naturally gives rise to compassion—by really seeing our 'constitutive connections,' we see our concerns for ourselves in others. Hence the Buddha says, "Searching all directions with your awareness, you find no one dearer than yourself. In the same way, others are thickly dear to themselves. So you shouldn't hurt others if you love yourself" (Ud 5.1). Jesus says, "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself" (Mt 22:37-39).
It really touched me, and I walked into the Paulist Center chapel with that on my mind.
Fr. Charlie began with a brief overview of the experiential and theological evolution of the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, beginning with the spirit of God as the ancient Israelites understood it, i.e., the creative presence of God in creation and our lives, the 'breath' of God in Genesis. Fr. Charlie commented on the etymology of the word for breath, wind, or spirit and how the spirit of God was seen as a creative, life-giving force. God's breath swept over the chaotic waters as God gave form to the earth (Gen 1:1-23); the breath of God gave us life (Gen 2:7); etc. In this sense, our understanding of the spirit of God begins with a knowledge and appreciation of something present and at work in the world that's greater than us; and the early Biblical myths symbolize this intuitive yet embryonic understanding of an underlying connectedness or inter-being that's present and active in the world.
(As a side note, I find it interesting that the Pali word pana, found in places like the first precept in reference to living beings — Panatipata veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami, 'I undertake the precept to refrain from destroying living creatures' — literally means 'that which breathes,' and generally denotes any living being that has breath and consciousness.)
Fr. Charlie then moved on to the spirit of Yahweh, a development in which the presence of God was seen as being imparted to the people of God and working through them, a creative force present in history helping to shape and guide us. It was seen as a special gift, a dynamic entity working through select people in the world (which from the OT perspective is the Jewish people in general, and certain prophets in particular). But this dynamic force is elusive. We can't quite find it. An ancient belief was that to name something, or to know a thing's true name, was to have power over it. But God is beyond our ability to 'name' or control, hence the Jewish tradition of not pronouncing the name given to Moses, Yahweh, 'I Am Who I Am.' In a similar vein, Knitter relates the spirit of God to the Buddhist concepts of emptiness and inter-being, also using the term 'groundlessness.'
Next was the spirit of Jesus, the spirit at work in the lives of the apostles as they carried out the mission of Jesus of making the kingdom of God on Earth a reality after his death and ascension, which from John we can hear was present from 'the beginning.' The spirit of Jesus, the word of God made flesh, is none other than this dynamic force at work in history, combining aspects of both the unconditional love of God (represented, for example, by the story of Hosea and Gomer) and God's relational nature. And early on, through the words of Jesus and the letters of Paul, we see that this spirit of God dwells within us all; and this in turn went on to influence the doctrine of the Holy Spirit that took shape in the 3rd century, giving an even fuller picture of God's presence in the world and our lives.
Here, Fr. Charlie encouraged us to think about and look for feelings, experiences, etc. in our own lives where we potentially saw the spirit of God at work. Were there any ah-ha moments like the ones experienced by John the Baptist or Paul? Maybe something a little more subtle? We were asked to think about it and then pair with another person and talk it over with them. I got James, Barbara's husband, and we took turns sharing our stories.
My experience wasn't as intense and immediate as James', but more of connecting the dots in my life and spiritual journey. I took as a starting point my childhood fancy that I'd move to Oregon someday because of a fascination with a map puzzle piece and all the things that eventually led me here, where I was able to discover God through my experiences at Our Lady of Guadalupe, meeting Dorothy, and becoming a part of St. Philip's community despite all the issues I have with the Catholic Church as an institution. Looking back, I can see a thread (the Holy Spirit?) weaving all of these events and experiences together, events and experiences that led me to the one place I could find God.
After we finished relating our stories, we all reconvened and Fr. Charlie asked us to share a little of what we learned from the other person's story, or from telling our own. One of the things I found interesting, and somewhat surprising, was that James said he felt more comfortable with me after talking with me. It made me think of Knitter's ideas about God, the Divine, being relational, personal. Silence, while good in many circumstances, can often prevent the expression of that. Sometimes, we must open up and share when the spirit motivates. It also reminded me of what Br. Chris said about me being like two people, the quiet one at the beginning and end of my five-day retreat and the more talkative one at the pond. It makes me think that maybe I'm on the right track and should continue working on connecting with God and other people when I feel inspired.
Fr. Charlie then went over the word 'behold,' as in John's exclamation, "Behold the lamb of God" (John 1:29). He said that whenever we hear or read this word in the Bible, it means to see someone or something in a new light. Essentially, it's a word that represents verbally a kind of awakening experience. In many cases, it's an awakening to something that's already there, we just never recognized it for what it was or could be. He told us the story of a family member who everyone had a certain opinion of while growing up — carefree and without a serious thought his whole life — only to have them all see him in a new light after he surprised everyone and read an incredibly deep and thoughtful reflection he wrote about his grandfather during the viewing.
He used John the Baptist as another example, who likely knew Jesus as a cousin before the spiritual teacher and bodhisattva that he was. He had one experience during Jesus' baptism. But in prison, he probably wasn't being shrewd when he sent his disciples to ask Jesus, "Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?" He may have worried that Jesus wasn't doing the kinds of things everyone thought the Messiah was going to do. He may have wondered if he missed the boat, so to speak. Jesus, of course, replies, "Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the good news proclaimed to them. And blessed is the one who takes no offense at me" (Luke 7:22-23). To me, this shows an evolution in understanding of the spirit of God and the working of that spirit in the world.
The idea of seeing Jesus, and in turn the spirit of God, in a new light reminded of something I wrote back in January when I started reading the Gospel of Matthew:
And in the Holy Spirit, we encounter the spirit of God active in the world—a spirit in which we're baptized, with its gifts of wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, fortitude, piety, and fear of [the loss of] the Lord; a spirit that, for Knitter, "points more meaningfully to a pervasive energy rather than to a particular being, that energizes many things without being contained by any" (20). And this spirit, that's been with us since the beginning, is a connecting, relational, personal one. Jesus heals through touch and word, imagery that I think symbolizes the relationship between God and us and how that relationship is expressed and unfolds in our lives. It's inter-being in the fullest sense of the word.
So, is Paul telling the truth? As Fr. Michael would say, he's telling the truth as he knows it. And looking at my own life, I'd have to agree. I can look back and see the Holy Spirit, what Knitter terms 'InterBeing,' working throughout my life; and I can see it at work in the lives of others. The Holy Spirit may be difficult to spot because, in many ways, it's hidden in plain sight. But I believe it's always there, dwelling among us.
Reflecting on today, I'm more convinced than ever that Paul Knitter is correct when he writes, "What Christians have seen in Jesus of Nazareth is a God who creates and is present to the world through relationships, the same kind of relationships that we say exist in the very nature of God" (Without Buddha I Could not be a Christian, 17). The Divine is less a person out there than it is a presence that's personal, and I'm seeing that more and more in my own experience. God isn't a 'God of the gaps' so much as a God of inter-being, of relationships. In fact, the simplest thing we can say about ourselves and God is "we exist through relationships of knowing and loving and giving because that's how God exists" (18).
By now, it seems like everyone knows about my mom's situation. So when I arrived about 10mins early, both Fr. Charlie and Fr. Michael asked me how she was and whether I was going to go to Michigan to be with her. I said that I was planning on visiting for a month in July and that I wasn't planning on going right now unless things got serious/life-threatening because I don't really have the money, as well as the fact that it'd be difficult for me to have that time off of work. And even though the parish is in a bit of a prolonged financial crisis, the first thing Fr. Charlie said was, if I needed help getting there, he'd help me get a ticket. And I could hear Knitter, "God is the activity of giving and receiving..." (19).
Knitter sees God as a 'connecting spirit,' and in one chapter he connects the word pneuma — the Greek word for 'breath' or 'spirit' — to the Buddhist experience of awakening (to inter-being), which is characterized by wisdom and compassion. Having our eyes opened to the interconnectedness of all things naturally gives rise to compassion—by really seeing our 'constitutive connections,' we see our concerns for ourselves in others. Hence the Buddha says, "Searching all directions with your awareness, you find no one dearer than yourself. In the same way, others are thickly dear to themselves. So you shouldn't hurt others if you love yourself" (Ud 5.1). Jesus says, "You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself" (Mt 22:37-39).
It really touched me, and I walked into the Paulist Center chapel with that on my mind.
Fr. Charlie began with a brief overview of the experiential and theological evolution of the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, beginning with the spirit of God as the ancient Israelites understood it, i.e., the creative presence of God in creation and our lives, the 'breath' of God in Genesis. Fr. Charlie commented on the etymology of the word for breath, wind, or spirit and how the spirit of God was seen as a creative, life-giving force. God's breath swept over the chaotic waters as God gave form to the earth (Gen 1:1-23); the breath of God gave us life (Gen 2:7); etc. In this sense, our understanding of the spirit of God begins with a knowledge and appreciation of something present and at work in the world that's greater than us; and the early Biblical myths symbolize this intuitive yet embryonic understanding of an underlying connectedness or inter-being that's present and active in the world.
(As a side note, I find it interesting that the Pali word pana, found in places like the first precept in reference to living beings — Panatipata veramani sikkhapadam samadiyami, 'I undertake the precept to refrain from destroying living creatures' — literally means 'that which breathes,' and generally denotes any living being that has breath and consciousness.)
Fr. Charlie then moved on to the spirit of Yahweh, a development in which the presence of God was seen as being imparted to the people of God and working through them, a creative force present in history helping to shape and guide us. It was seen as a special gift, a dynamic entity working through select people in the world (which from the OT perspective is the Jewish people in general, and certain prophets in particular). But this dynamic force is elusive. We can't quite find it. An ancient belief was that to name something, or to know a thing's true name, was to have power over it. But God is beyond our ability to 'name' or control, hence the Jewish tradition of not pronouncing the name given to Moses, Yahweh, 'I Am Who I Am.' In a similar vein, Knitter relates the spirit of God to the Buddhist concepts of emptiness and inter-being, also using the term 'groundlessness.'
Next was the spirit of Jesus, the spirit at work in the lives of the apostles as they carried out the mission of Jesus of making the kingdom of God on Earth a reality after his death and ascension, which from John we can hear was present from 'the beginning.' The spirit of Jesus, the word of God made flesh, is none other than this dynamic force at work in history, combining aspects of both the unconditional love of God (represented, for example, by the story of Hosea and Gomer) and God's relational nature. And early on, through the words of Jesus and the letters of Paul, we see that this spirit of God dwells within us all; and this in turn went on to influence the doctrine of the Holy Spirit that took shape in the 3rd century, giving an even fuller picture of God's presence in the world and our lives.
Here, Fr. Charlie encouraged us to think about and look for feelings, experiences, etc. in our own lives where we potentially saw the spirit of God at work. Were there any ah-ha moments like the ones experienced by John the Baptist or Paul? Maybe something a little more subtle? We were asked to think about it and then pair with another person and talk it over with them. I got James, Barbara's husband, and we took turns sharing our stories.
My experience wasn't as intense and immediate as James', but more of connecting the dots in my life and spiritual journey. I took as a starting point my childhood fancy that I'd move to Oregon someday because of a fascination with a map puzzle piece and all the things that eventually led me here, where I was able to discover God through my experiences at Our Lady of Guadalupe, meeting Dorothy, and becoming a part of St. Philip's community despite all the issues I have with the Catholic Church as an institution. Looking back, I can see a thread (the Holy Spirit?) weaving all of these events and experiences together, events and experiences that led me to the one place I could find God.
After we finished relating our stories, we all reconvened and Fr. Charlie asked us to share a little of what we learned from the other person's story, or from telling our own. One of the things I found interesting, and somewhat surprising, was that James said he felt more comfortable with me after talking with me. It made me think of Knitter's ideas about God, the Divine, being relational, personal. Silence, while good in many circumstances, can often prevent the expression of that. Sometimes, we must open up and share when the spirit motivates. It also reminded me of what Br. Chris said about me being like two people, the quiet one at the beginning and end of my five-day retreat and the more talkative one at the pond. It makes me think that maybe I'm on the right track and should continue working on connecting with God and other people when I feel inspired.
Fr. Charlie then went over the word 'behold,' as in John's exclamation, "Behold the lamb of God" (John 1:29). He said that whenever we hear or read this word in the Bible, it means to see someone or something in a new light. Essentially, it's a word that represents verbally a kind of awakening experience. In many cases, it's an awakening to something that's already there, we just never recognized it for what it was or could be. He told us the story of a family member who everyone had a certain opinion of while growing up — carefree and without a serious thought his whole life — only to have them all see him in a new light after he surprised everyone and read an incredibly deep and thoughtful reflection he wrote about his grandfather during the viewing.
He used John the Baptist as another example, who likely knew Jesus as a cousin before the spiritual teacher and bodhisattva that he was. He had one experience during Jesus' baptism. But in prison, he probably wasn't being shrewd when he sent his disciples to ask Jesus, "Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?" He may have worried that Jesus wasn't doing the kinds of things everyone thought the Messiah was going to do. He may have wondered if he missed the boat, so to speak. Jesus, of course, replies, "Go and tell John what you have seen and heard: the blind regain their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, the poor have the good news proclaimed to them. And blessed is the one who takes no offense at me" (Luke 7:22-23). To me, this shows an evolution in understanding of the spirit of God and the working of that spirit in the world.
The idea of seeing Jesus, and in turn the spirit of God, in a new light reminded of something I wrote back in January when I started reading the Gospel of Matthew:
The Sermon of the Mount is a perfect example of [Jesus' soteriological message being more subtle than what people expected]. Many were waiting for a warrior king in the line of David who'd lead them out of oppression through strength and might and military genius. But here we have the 'messiah' preaching the importance of right action and harmlessness, especially forgiveness and righteous (skillful) deeds, rather than shouting battle cries. Much of it reminds me of ideas and teachings found in the Pali Canon (hence my whole double-belonging thing).
And in the Holy Spirit, we encounter the spirit of God active in the world—a spirit in which we're baptized, with its gifts of wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, fortitude, piety, and fear of [the loss of] the Lord; a spirit that, for Knitter, "points more meaningfully to a pervasive energy rather than to a particular being, that energizes many things without being contained by any" (20). And this spirit, that's been with us since the beginning, is a connecting, relational, personal one. Jesus heals through touch and word, imagery that I think symbolizes the relationship between God and us and how that relationship is expressed and unfolds in our lives. It's inter-being in the fullest sense of the word.
So, is Paul telling the truth? As Fr. Michael would say, he's telling the truth as he knows it. And looking at my own life, I'd have to agree. I can look back and see the Holy Spirit, what Knitter terms 'InterBeing,' working throughout my life; and I can see it at work in the lives of others. The Holy Spirit may be difficult to spot because, in many ways, it's hidden in plain sight. But I believe it's always there, dwelling among us.
Thursday, May 14, 2015
5/14/15
I went to St. Mary's Cathedral for mass this evening for the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord, not knowing that it was 'transferred' to Sunday. The mass celebrated the Feast of Saint Matthias instead, who was chosen to replace Judas.
The Gospel reading was John 15:9-17, the same as last Sunday. The priest (Fr. Hoang?) gave a short yet energetic homily on love. Jesus commands us to love one another. Love isn't simply a feeling or an emotion; it's a decision, a commitment. Love is relational, it's something we share. And the Trinity symbolizes this relational nature of love.
Today I read a few pages of Without Buddha I Could not be a Christian where Knitter talks about the relational nature of God and the world:
And as if echoing today's homily, Knitter writes, "To love means to relate, to give of oneself, to bring forth Interbeing" (25). The more I look, the more examples I find in my own experience: my relationship with Annie; the joy and happiness I experience during communion; the time I've spent with Dorothy; the love expressed by all the people who've reached out to me and my family with prayers and words of support; etc.
I think I'm finally starting to realize that the more you distance yourself from others, the more you close yourself off from others, the more difficult it becomes for you to love. But the more you open your heart, the more you're able to give of yourself, the closer we get to God, because God is love.
The Gospel reading was John 15:9-17, the same as last Sunday. The priest (Fr. Hoang?) gave a short yet energetic homily on love. Jesus commands us to love one another. Love isn't simply a feeling or an emotion; it's a decision, a commitment. Love is relational, it's something we share. And the Trinity symbolizes this relational nature of love.
Today I read a few pages of Without Buddha I Could not be a Christian where Knitter talks about the relational nature of God and the world:
All of this means that God’s very being, or existing, or identity consists of relating, or inter-existing, or InterBeing. That’s what theologians term the “internal Trinity” – God’s inner nature. But what God is internally, God must be externally. What Christians have seen in Jesus of Nazareth is a God who creates and is present to the world through relationships, the same kind of relationships that we say exist in the very nature of God: relationships of knowing, of giving, of loving that bring forth ever more life and existence. Behind and within all the different images and symbols Christians may use for God – Creator, Father, Redeemer, Word, Spirit – the most fundamental, the deepest truth Christians can speak of God is that God is the source and power of relationships. (19)
And as if echoing today's homily, Knitter writes, "To love means to relate, to give of oneself, to bring forth Interbeing" (25). The more I look, the more examples I find in my own experience: my relationship with Annie; the joy and happiness I experience during communion; the time I've spent with Dorothy; the love expressed by all the people who've reached out to me and my family with prayers and words of support; etc.
I think I'm finally starting to realize that the more you distance yourself from others, the more you close yourself off from others, the more difficult it becomes for you to love. But the more you open your heart, the more you're able to give of yourself, the closer we get to God, because God is love.
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
5/13/15
I recently finished Karen Armstrong's A History of God (which I really enjoyed) and have started on Paul Knitter's Without Buddha I Could not be a Christian. On the way to work this morning, something Knitter wrote got my imagination going. On p. 17, he compares the Buddhist concept of inter-being and the non-duality of samsara and nirvana to Karl Rahner's description of "the supernatural existential," which Knitter summarizes as Rahner's claim that "our human condition is not just 'human' or purely natural because from the first moment of creation humanity is infused and animated by the grace of God's very presence. In other words, the 'Natural' is really the 'Supernatural!'"
As I was walking and reflecting on what that meant, it got me thinking of people like Isaac Newton, Spinoza, and the Faylasufs, who sought an understanding of God through the study of natural science, which in turn got me thinking about God and how modern scientific ideas about the world tend to have little room for a transcendent sort of consciousness (God?) that's "over all and through all and in all" (Eph 4:6).
Today, many scientists have a purely materialistic worldview, viewing all phenomena as being composed of matter, with consciousness being the result of material interactions. Consciousness, while not strictly material itself, is believed by many to be an emergent property of the brain and its various biochemical and physiological processes. Instead of an immaterial phenomenon, consciousness is seen as a network of sorts emerging from all these physical connections and interactions, and some recent studies do seem to support the idea that, as per one abstract, "awareness is associated with truly global changes in the brain’s functional connectivity."
But what about Rahner's 'supernatural existential?' Or Knitter's idea that, "With the word 'God' we're trying to get at an activity that is going on everywhere rather than a Being that exists somewhere. God is much more an environment than a thing" (19-20)? I started thinking about the vastness of the universe, with its multitude of stars and galaxies and fundamental forces of nature, and found myself wondering if maybe the universe itself wasn't some kind of infinitely large, cosmic brain giving form to an infinitely reflective consciousness. Like the old hermetic saying "as above, so below," might the structure of the microcosm (human brain) be in accordance with the structure of the macrocosm (universe)?
Admittedly, it seems a little out-there; but after I got home and did a little googling, I was surprised to find that it may not be such a crazy idea after all. I stumbled onto one article from Live Science, for example, that opens with the line, "The universe may grow like a giant brain, according to a new computer simulation."
The article continues, "The results, published Nov.16 in the journal Nature's Scientific Reports, suggest that some undiscovered, fundamental laws may govern the growth of systems large and small, from the electrical firing between brain cells and growth of social networks to the expansion of galaxies," which brought to mind another line from the Emerald Tablet: "That which is below is like that which is above and that which is above is like that which is below to do the miracles of one only thing" (Isaac Newton trans.). Maybe we're made in God's image more than we realize.
As I was walking and reflecting on what that meant, it got me thinking of people like Isaac Newton, Spinoza, and the Faylasufs, who sought an understanding of God through the study of natural science, which in turn got me thinking about God and how modern scientific ideas about the world tend to have little room for a transcendent sort of consciousness (God?) that's "over all and through all and in all" (Eph 4:6).
Today, many scientists have a purely materialistic worldview, viewing all phenomena as being composed of matter, with consciousness being the result of material interactions. Consciousness, while not strictly material itself, is believed by many to be an emergent property of the brain and its various biochemical and physiological processes. Instead of an immaterial phenomenon, consciousness is seen as a network of sorts emerging from all these physical connections and interactions, and some recent studies do seem to support the idea that, as per one abstract, "awareness is associated with truly global changes in the brain’s functional connectivity."
But what about Rahner's 'supernatural existential?' Or Knitter's idea that, "With the word 'God' we're trying to get at an activity that is going on everywhere rather than a Being that exists somewhere. God is much more an environment than a thing" (19-20)? I started thinking about the vastness of the universe, with its multitude of stars and galaxies and fundamental forces of nature, and found myself wondering if maybe the universe itself wasn't some kind of infinitely large, cosmic brain giving form to an infinitely reflective consciousness. Like the old hermetic saying "as above, so below," might the structure of the microcosm (human brain) be in accordance with the structure of the macrocosm (universe)?
Admittedly, it seems a little out-there; but after I got home and did a little googling, I was surprised to find that it may not be such a crazy idea after all. I stumbled onto one article from Live Science, for example, that opens with the line, "The universe may grow like a giant brain, according to a new computer simulation."
The article continues, "The results, published Nov.16 in the journal Nature's Scientific Reports, suggest that some undiscovered, fundamental laws may govern the growth of systems large and small, from the electrical firing between brain cells and growth of social networks to the expansion of galaxies," which brought to mind another line from the Emerald Tablet: "That which is below is like that which is above and that which is above is like that which is below to do the miracles of one only thing" (Isaac Newton trans.). Maybe we're made in God's image more than we realize.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
5/10/15 (2)
There were a lot of things I was planning on writing about this week (e.g., B-, spending time with Dorothy, thoughts about Fr. Michael's homily, etc.); but my mom's really sick and I'm too worried about her to focus on much else at the moment.
Mother's Day has become rather bittersweet for me the last couple of years. I love my mom more than anything; and being so far away, it makes me sad that I can't spend Mother's Day with her, especially when she's sick. Two years ago, she was suffering from renal failure and had to be rushed to the hospital the day after Mother's Day. We almost lost her. This year, she's sick again with the flu and maybe worse. I keep telling her to go to the doctor, but she's stubborn and I'm afraid it'll be a repeat of two years ago.
She just can't seem to catch a break, and it kills me that there isn't much I can do for her. Feeling powerless is one of the worst feelings in the world.
Mother's Day has become rather bittersweet for me the last couple of years. I love my mom more than anything; and being so far away, it makes me sad that I can't spend Mother's Day with her, especially when she's sick. Two years ago, she was suffering from renal failure and had to be rushed to the hospital the day after Mother's Day. We almost lost her. This year, she's sick again with the flu and maybe worse. I keep telling her to go to the doctor, but she's stubborn and I'm afraid it'll be a repeat of two years ago.
She just can't seem to catch a break, and it kills me that there isn't much I can do for her. Feeling powerless is one of the worst feelings in the world.
5/10/15
Just finished reading Karen Armstrong's A History of God. In it, Armstrong explores the history of "God" — a word that we come to discover packs a lot more meaning than simply some celestial Big Brother in the sky — particularly how ideas about God have evolved in the three main monotheistic religions throughout the centuries, and how those ideas have influenced religion, art, science, philosophy, and culture in a dialectical way.
Throughout the book, Armstrong routinely steers away from God as an objective reality or being, focusing instead on the role of God as a subjective experience in our collective lives, the product of the creative imagination, much like music, poetry, and art. From her point of view, God, or spirituality in general, gives expression to certain ideas, feelings, and experiences that we all tend to have, and it's likely not a coincidence that, "When people try to find an ultimate meaning and value in human life, their minds seem to go in a certain direction. They have not been coerced to do this; it is something that seems natural to humanity" (394).
She continually stresses the symbolic nature of these ideas, however, since the full reality of the absolute can't be put into words, stressing again and again that they become dangerous when taken too literally and clung to in a fundamentalistic way. Religion is always at its best when this is understood. Our ideas about God, the universe, or anything else for that matter, constantly grow and change, which in turn revolutionizes the way we perceive and interact with the world and one another. She demonstrates that, when one idea of God is no longer tenable or useful, it fades away to be replaced by one that does, illustrating an evolution of consciousness as we expand our understanding of the world and ourselves.
One idea I found especially interesting is that, since the philosophical death of God that's come about in the last couple hundred years, there's been nothing to take its place, leaving a void in our psyches. Armstrong suggests that we create a faith for ourselves to cultivate our sense of the wonder and ineffable significance of life, but "the aimlessness, alienation, anomie and violence that characterize so much of modern life" seem to indicate that that's no longer the case (397-8). We need to create a new focus of meaning, however, not fall back onto fundamentalism, apocalypticism, and 'instant' charismatic forms of religiosity that are currently prevalent in the US and other parts of the world.
Although I know there are many who'd strongly disagree with me on this, I'm inclined to side with Armstrong's assessment. While I think it's important to try and liberate society from its suffering and alienation by changing the material conditions that support it, which includes building on our scientific understanding of the world, I also think there's a spiritual dimension that needs to be addressed. Religion, then, isn't just some kind of spiritual painkiller; it can also be part of the cure.
Throughout the book, Armstrong routinely steers away from God as an objective reality or being, focusing instead on the role of God as a subjective experience in our collective lives, the product of the creative imagination, much like music, poetry, and art. From her point of view, God, or spirituality in general, gives expression to certain ideas, feelings, and experiences that we all tend to have, and it's likely not a coincidence that, "When people try to find an ultimate meaning and value in human life, their minds seem to go in a certain direction. They have not been coerced to do this; it is something that seems natural to humanity" (394).
She continually stresses the symbolic nature of these ideas, however, since the full reality of the absolute can't be put into words, stressing again and again that they become dangerous when taken too literally and clung to in a fundamentalistic way. Religion is always at its best when this is understood. Our ideas about God, the universe, or anything else for that matter, constantly grow and change, which in turn revolutionizes the way we perceive and interact with the world and one another. She demonstrates that, when one idea of God is no longer tenable or useful, it fades away to be replaced by one that does, illustrating an evolution of consciousness as we expand our understanding of the world and ourselves.
One idea I found especially interesting is that, since the philosophical death of God that's come about in the last couple hundred years, there's been nothing to take its place, leaving a void in our psyches. Armstrong suggests that we create a faith for ourselves to cultivate our sense of the wonder and ineffable significance of life, but "the aimlessness, alienation, anomie and violence that characterize so much of modern life" seem to indicate that that's no longer the case (397-8). We need to create a new focus of meaning, however, not fall back onto fundamentalism, apocalypticism, and 'instant' charismatic forms of religiosity that are currently prevalent in the US and other parts of the world.
Although I know there are many who'd strongly disagree with me on this, I'm inclined to side with Armstrong's assessment. While I think it's important to try and liberate society from its suffering and alienation by changing the material conditions that support it, which includes building on our scientific understanding of the world, I also think there's a spiritual dimension that needs to be addressed. Religion, then, isn't just some kind of spiritual painkiller; it can also be part of the cure.
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