Showing posts with label Thomas Merton. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Thomas Merton. Show all posts

2021/09/07

Everyday Mysticism, Interview with EunSung Kim

Everyday Mysticism





Everyday Mysticism


Thoughts about spirituality and faith. My own struggles and descriptions of my spiritual journey within my everyday life.


About Me     eunsung k

Gender         MALE
Occupation Stay at Home Dad
Location         Richmond, VA, United States
.
I love writing and creating art. I also love noticing beauty and art in hidden places. 





Sunday, November 1, 2015

the Cloud of Unknowing

Can people who are married and have kids be contemplatives? I used to think that contemplatives only existed in the walls of a monastery, whether it be a Christian or Buddhist monastery. I do not live in a cloister, but my home is the community in which I am spiritually growing.

My daughter Winnie is almost a year old. The days of holding her in the early morning while she naps on my chest and praying silently are long gone. Winnie wakes up rearing to go and walks from corner to corner exploring each cranny, and un-shelving most of her favorite books. It is hard to center and sit in silence and open oneself to contemplative prayer, when you are utterly exhausted most of the time.

The anonymous author of Cloud of Unknowing writes in the 43rd chapter about forgetting the self and to "let nothing stir your mind or will other than God. Attempt to suppress all your thoughts and feelings regarding subjects less than God. Put distracting ideas under a cloud of forgetting. In contemplation, forget everything, including yourself and your accomplishments." How do I focus on God and let everything else go?

For me, getting out of my own thoughts come usually the way of helping others and being of service to them, and eventually I get out of my own head in the action of helping others long enough that I remember to consciously contact God with my thoughts, words, and eventually someday with my whole being.

Being a father to a young toddler is often hectic and frenzied. :) But there are opportunities to open yourself up to the moment and let go of "distracting ideas" and "forget everything." Kids are wonderful teachers in opening yourself up to the present moment. My daughter Winnie and I have been lately taking morning walks. Winnie does not go very far until she inspects the tiny spec she sees on the side walk, or stumbles towards the grass to see a leaf, rubbish, or something that caught her eye; she is in awe of everything. If I put down my cell phone long enough, because I am usually busy capturing these cute moments digitally, I am invited to be present and put my focus on here and now. I see with new eyes, eyes of my daughter, a piece of discarded wrapper becomes treasure and a thing of fascination.

Children are also good teachers in giving and receiving love. I am not sure where Winnie learned this, but sometimes spontaneously as I or my wife, Jocelyn holds her, she will cry "hug" and give the most warm heartfelt hug. Winnie gently lays her head on your chest and wraps her arms around you. In those little moments, I am not thinking about myself, how tired I am, but just being in the presence of love. This sort of love I think are glimpses of how God loves us. This sort of Holy Love only exists now, in the present moment. It is love that one has to experience and open up to, and let go of one's defenses. Kids and puppies are good at disarming most of us, and a random act of kindness from them will melt even the coldest of hearts (not all, but most).

I am not a monk. I am a father and a husband. But I too am a contemplative. I happen to be Quaker and also Catholic. I grew up in the great tradition of the Methodist Church, but even then I was drawn to moments of silence. The contemplation that finds me in my current experience is sporadic, but it still nurtures me. It is the type of silence that opens me up and connects me to something bigger, and gives me hope even in the worst of days. I carry this silence that lives in my heart and is nurtured at home, to the hospital when I encounter folks in crisis as a Chaplain Intern. I am grateful to have my wife, Jocelyn and my daughter, Winnie as teachers in giving and receiving love with all my heart and soul.

Posted by eunsung k. at 8:31 PM 2 comments:
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Labels: Catholic, contemplative prayer, parenting, Quaker, spirituality


Tuesday, August 18, 2015

Living Here and Now

Spiritual identity is not something far off, not something we need to go to Tibet to find. It is here, in the way we walk on the earth, the way we see our life, the way we care for ourselves and others. Our true nature is not something extraordinary; in fact, it is quite ordinary, an inevitable portion of our daily life.--Muller (How Then Shall I Live?, 64)


Spiritual life is not a theory. We have to live it.--Anonymous (Big Book, 83)


It is hard not to run away, when things get hard. Even good things like being a dad, being married to the person i love, pursuing a career that feels natural to who i am, and seeking spiritual growth in the community i have been placed can be all very "hard." I learned very early on to check out when i feel overwhelmed and stressed. I escaped into my room, and would day dream being a super hero, or a famous country music star traveling the world singing in juke joints. I escaped into my mind to disconnect from the unbearable discomfort of what was happening in the now.

I find it sometimes impossible to pray where I am, because I feel like where I am is not enough. I judge the hell out of myself, and this self judgement keeps me disconnected from God, myself, and others around me. I am slowly, but surely learning to take a deep breath during these moments of self-pity and as I get grounded into my breath, my body, I become more aware of the here and now. I start to connect to myself, and then able to connect to something greater than myself. Quakers have a saying "that of God in you," and I forget in these moments of disconnection that the Holy Spirit dwells within me.

I still daydream sometimes about practicing a "real" spiritual life when I have time, so I can go on prayer retreats, visit monasteries, and learn from holy people. I do not discount the value of going on spiritual retreats, but my wish for escape from spirituality in my daily life robs me of growing and practicing a spiritual life in this very moment. I pray in the now, even when I am changing my daughter's poopy diaper, and even after or during hurtful words being spoken. I pray, when all I can utter are a few words, because I am so sleep deprived.

God accepts me even when I am cranky and not at my best, and the question is whether I can accept myself as I am. I am working on this, and it's a work in process. But this "work" is often joyful work that I undertake, because the work of a spiritual life is my life as it is. So here I am, trading on this road the best I can, and making tons of mistakes as a first time father and husband. I try to be a good son to my parents and a good brother, but sometimes I get caught up in my own life and go a long time without reaching out to them. But even in all my little failings, I know that God is walking with me and through me.

I hope these words are helpful to others who are struggling to live a spiritual life here and now in the messiness of their lives.


Lord Grant me the serenity to be myself. Give me the courage to grow, and the wisdom to trust in You, myself, and others. Amen.(http://julianofnorwich.blogspot.com/2012/01/day-56.html)

Posted by eunsung k. at 11:28 AM No comments:
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Sunday, July 19, 2015

Growing Pains

"Communities need tensions if they are to grow and deepen. Tensions come from conflicts within each person--conflicts born out of a refusal of personal and community growth, conflicts between individual egoisms, conflicts arising from a diminishing gratuite, from a clash of temperaments and from individual psychological difficulties. These are natural tensions. Anguish is the normal reaction to being brought up against our own limitations and darkness, to the discovery of our own deep wound...There are a thousand reasons for tension. And each of them brings the whole community, as well as each individual member of it, face to face with its own poverty, inability to cope, weariness, aggression and depression. These can be important times if we realize that the treasure of the community is in danger. When everything is going well, when the community feels it is living successfully, its members tend to let their energies dissipate, and to listen less carefully to each other. Tensions bring people back to the reality of helplessness; obliging them to spend more time in prayer and dialogue, to work patiently to overcome the crisis and refind lost unity; making them understand that the community is more than just a human reality, that it also needs the spirit of God if it is to live and deepen." --Jean Vanier (120, Community and Growth)

I think of myself as a caring and loving person, and yet at times I find myself deeply self-centered and selfish. I don't set out to be selfish or self-centered, but it often starts with "Yes, but..." or "Well, you could have said it this way..." My need to be right sometimes gets in the way of unity within my current community, my life with my wife, Jocelyn and our 8 months old daughter, Winnie. I have been experiencing these tensions that Jean Vanier described in the quote above, and they do indeed bring me a place of what he calls "reality of helplessness," or what I choose to call an experience of powerlessness. I lack the power sufficient to solve the problem of my own making, which is my aversion to growth and change; when I deny this fundamental reality of life, change, then I experience pain and suffering.

I agree with Jean that the movement from tension, conflict, to growth comes from opening to a power greater than ourselves, which he calls the spirit of God and what I choose to call the Divine Presence. My own deep wounds come out, as I share my life on a daily basis with the people I love and that love me. Sometimes, our wounds rub up against each other, and we react out of fear and pain. I experienced the discomfort of my wounds being rubbed at L'Arche Daybreak and then at L'Arche GWDC, when I shared my life with other members of our community. One conflict I had early on as an assistant at Euclid House was over dishes with another assistant, and he had soaked by beloved cast iron skillet in soap! I am not sure why something so small, evoked so much anger in me, but it also brought out anger in him when I confronted him about it. We were eventually able to work it out, slowly but surely, and talk through our tensions and own inner conflicts. We realized that we were both hearing the voices of critical father figures.

I am no longer at L'Arche, but I find myself reliving the lessons I learned in community within my life as a husband and as a new father in Richmond, VA. I am learning that I cannot make decisions on my own, because my actions affect the whole family. I know this seems very simple, but seeing that I cannot act selfishly and that I have to choose unity of the whole does not come easy for me. I sometimes want to make my own choices and not run it by my wife, or just drag my daughter along to activities I want to do. On most days I do not make these selfish choices, but it sometimes takes a lot of prayer and dialogue to make this happen. I also fall prey to going on rants or long winded monologues with my wife, instead of actually opening myself to listen with love.

Most people see me as a nice and polite person, and it's true that I can be very nice and polite. However, sometimes underneath my layer of quiet politeness, lies a deep seated anger and frustration. I am slowly learning to express anger and frustration in healthy ways, along with other feelings and verbalizing other range of emotions. I feel like a immature teenager when it comes to communicating feelings, and navigating conflict.

I am currently working on getting accredited as a chaplain, and the experiences as a chaplain intern and course work has been very helpful in exploring naming tensions within myself and groups that I am part of. I still find tensions between people, whether it be with me and someone else, or tension among people I am with very uncomfortable. But lately, I am learning to stay put and listen deeply, and patiently explore ways to clear up miscommunication. Hopefully I can allow the Divine Presence to live and deepen within my life and deepen my commitment to the folks around me. What a blessing it is to share life with Jocelyn and baby Winnie.

published 7/19/15




Posted by eunsung k. at 8:17 PM 4 comments:
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Saturday, May 16, 2015

Spiritual Life: Clearing Away the Poop


Everyone poops. Most TV shows leave out characters doing mundane things like using the bathroom, cleaning their homes, because they want to suck you into a world that you want to escape to. I watched a lot of Star Trek: the Next Generation, and I don't know if anyone poops or pees in the future. Similarly, great works of spiritual writing and theology often leave out the very practical mundane reality of our existence like cleaning up a 6 months old baby's poopy cloth diaper, after she has started eating solids. Maybe the early Church Fathers and Mothers did not have this problem, but they do talk about daily tasks in the monastic setting. However, my community like the majority of us does not occur in an Christian monastic setting, Buddhist monastery, or in an Ashram.

My immediate community I wake up to everyday, the people I am sharing life together in a very intimate way, consist of my wife and daughter. I never imagined while I was studying theology at Duke Divinity School, which for the most part was really academically focused, that my prayer life includes wiping my daughter's rear and spraying off her poopy cloth diapers. What am I ranting about you ask? Simply put, my spiritual life is here and now in my very reality. I pray now, connect to God at this very moment as I write this blog, as I laugh with my daughter, and when I practice forgiveness.

I think God is with me even when I get angry or say a hurtful word to the very people I love, but in those moments I choose disconnection and separate from a loving God that holds me and others gently. I can choose to reconnect, sometimes slowly and other times quickly by looking at my part and admitting where I was wrong. If you know me, I rarely like to be wrong. I am always trying to figure it out and talk my way into being right: a way of being that served me well before, but does not create a happy or healthy marriage. Sometimes the most spiritual thing to do is hold my tongue and swallow my pride, and just shut up and listen. It sounds simple, but really difficult to do in the moment when you are sleep deprived, and start taking everything personally.

I wonder if the Buddha or Jesus ever changed poopy diapers? Jesus was not married, but surely he must have been around little babies. The historical Buddha was married and had kids before he awakened, but he probably had servants who did all that stuff since he was a prince. Most of us are not the Son of God or the awakened one, but like them we can embody love in the here and now, even at the most difficult moments.

I used to think I would become a spiritual person by becoming a monk, then later by living in community at L'Arche. What I am experiencing now is that God, which I prefer to call the Divine Prescence invites me into holy silence in moments of boisterous cries from my daughter, to the still quiet mornings when my wife is asleep upstairs, and I am holding our daughter, Winnie. close to my chest as she peacefully naps. Like I said before, it's not all about cleaning poop, but my life includes the day to day stuff that needs to be done. I can't always see the everyday stuff as spiritual. I don't always experience how sacred this very moment is, but sometimes my heart breaks open for just a little bit and I truly experience everything as a gift. But if I am not careful, I collect resentments, fears and judgments that turn the very things and people in my life I am grateful for into burdens and hassle. Sometimes, I need to clear away the "poop" within myself, metaphorically speaking, to be open to gratitude for my life as it is. It's much easier to live life clear and free, so I can be grateful for now instead of living in the past or living in the future.

Posted by eunsung k. at 1:49 PM 2 comments:
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Saturday, April 18, 2015

Spiritual Lessons from a Teething Child



Me and my daughter.

Teething is a painful process and very uncomfortable. My daughter's ear piercing screams make my heart wrench as I try to soothe her as her new bottom teeth are coming in. While spiritual growth is not exactly like getting your first baby tooth, it can also be a very painful and down right uncomfortable process.

In my 20s, I had a mistaken belief that a spiritual awakening or some sort of "aha" moment, which Zen describes of kensho would somehow make my life more easy. I confused spiritual growth as somehow comfort and ease. Don't get me wrong, sometimes spiritual experiences are very pleasant in that they provide a sense of clarity.

In my early 30s, I was given a moment of clarity, where I saw for the first time that the way I was living my life was not working. I could no longer blame everyone else for my misery, and maybe just maybe I was willing to try another way before I tried killing myself yet again. It seems funny now to me looking back at how delusional I was thinking I was somehow in control, and I could figure my life out. I had tried many spiritual paths at this point from Anarchist philosophy, Stoicism, Buddhism, Taoism, and different strains of Christianity like Methodism and Catholicism.

I moved to a L'Arche community in DC also hoping that somehow coming to a spiritual community would fix me. The reality was I did not want to truly let control, and my mind started seeing all the ways in which my L'Arche community was the problem and not really helping me. I once again fell into a common pattern of mine, blaming others for the dissatisfaction, restlessness, and internal discomfort I felt. I was spiritually sick and I did not even know it, until I finally came to the jumping off place. At this point, I was praying everyday for a God of my understanding to kill me in my sleep. Why do the dirty work if someone else will do it for you? It upset me each morning that God was not merciful and took me in my sleep, but I had to face life which felt like a chore...a living hell.

I am like a baby in that I thought the world revolved around me. A 31 year old man behaving like a helpless baby leaves one angry entitled human being. Luck for me, I was given a gift of desperation...hitting a spiritual bottom. In a moment of clarity I became aware that the common denominator in all my misery no matter where I went was me. I had to change or get busy dying, because I did not want to continue living this way.

No one, not even a loving community could make me surrender, nor could they then do the work of inner change. I opened myself to a God that I did not really believe, because this God of my childhood, God I studied in seminary was a God of my own making...ultimately I still ran the show. My way did not work and luckily enough I was able to reach out for help and be desperate enough not to control who or what that form of help came.

I experienced a state of admitting I was powerless and being open to another way, which meant admitting my way, my thinking, and the way I was living was not thinking. I was my worst enemy. I am not sure if babies think these thoughts as they experience pain and suffering, maybe they just cry because they hurt. My daughter goes from extreme distress to belly laughs, and I truly envy how she is so much in the moment. She is powerless over the pain and discomfort of teething, but it is my hope that she trusts that she has loving parents that are looking out for her and walking with her through the process. I sometimes forget that I have a loving Power in my life that walks with me through the pains and joys of life, and sometimes that Power reaches out to me through friends and sometimes strangers. I truly believe and have experienced how we can be channels of God's peace, especially in moments we are honest and vulnerable.

Teething like spiritual growth can be very tiring, and sometimes we need a nice long nap cuddled up to someone we love.






Posted by eunsung k. at 9:49 AM 1 comment:
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Saturday, March 28, 2015

getting Winnie to nap: lessons in humility

I've faced many challenges in my life: depression, paying taxes, getting beyond suicidal iterations, finding a job, and etc. But none of them compare to getting a little baby to nap on her bed. :)

Winnie loves to nap on my chest, but based on the wisdom of all the parents before me and especially at the suggestion of my lovely wife, I am trying to be consistent about teaching her how to nap in her own bed. The problem arises a few minutes after I lay her down, and she abruptly wakes up either smiling and laughing or screaming and wailing.

What does this have to do with spirituality? There's nothing like a lesson in humility and a call to practice love and tolerance like the presence of a young infant. I am learning a lesson that my life in community keeps teaching me, which is that I cannot control other people. However, I can try to be centered and stable inside, so I can show up on a consistent basis.

The other day, my daughter and I napped in our bed for a whole freaking hour. It was amazing, and especially needed because she had woken up around 3:30 that morning. I am learning that we are called to love and practice love, even when we are sleep deprived and tired, and I feel like I have nothing to give.

I never thought I was a rigid person, but I've realized as this lovely new person is constantly changing my routine that I have doggedly become a creature of habit. I want things to happen when I want them to, even when I have a roughly fluid schedule. I am working on this with my wife practicing love and tolerance with me. I don't always see how selfish I am being. I'll offer up a story to illustrate. Few months after Winnie was born, we planned to visit our friends in DC. I had organized a lunch with friends and also set up a place for us to stay, and sort of roughly mapped out what we'd do that weekend. The night before we were going on the trip, Winnie was not feeling well and I was also starting to feel slightly not so well. I sort of threw a tantrum when my wife Jocelyn told me we probably should not go tomorrow.

I was really upset and could not get past the plans I had made. My plans became more important than the people right in front of me, and even my own body telling me to rest. The morning came and my daughter was snottier and I was worse, and I finally had the sense to realize that my wife was wise and spoke the truth. It is so humbling to admit that you are wrong, and then the hard part is trying to change and not repeat the same mistake.

Winnie's naps similar to the story I shared, is another experience of me not being able to control the situation or a person. Little babies have good days and bad, and my job is to show up with an open heart. Laugh when my daughter wakes up smiling and laughing, and soothe her when she wakes up crying. Back to this great experiment called parenting... :)



Posted by eunsung k. at 8:30 AM No comments:
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Monday, March 9, 2015

prayer and meditation

I have been practicing some form of meditation since 1999, my first year as an undergraduate at UNC-Chapel Hill. I read a book on Taoist meditation techniques and started sitting. I then I about Zen and started sitting zazen. My meditation practice was off and on until 2008, when I entered a Methodist seminary in Durham, NC. I began to be interested in contemplative practices within the Christian church and sought out a mentor for Centering Prayer and started a centering prayer group along with new friends at seminary. I would say that my love for contemplatives started initially when I discovered Taoist sages, Zen monks, Hindu ascetics, and later early Church Fathers and Mothers.

I was drawn to the writings of Thomas Merton and encountered Trappist Monks when I was in seminary during a spiritual retreat. I used to visit Mepkin Abbey (http://mepkinabbey.org/wordpress/) on a more regular basis, and spent a month there as a Monastic Guest while in seminary. My last year in seminary, I became Catholic. I tell people that I came into the Catholic Church through the back door, being pulled by the contemplatives of the monastic tradition.

Currently, I am a member of the Religious Society of Friends. In the eyes of the Catholic Church, I remain Catholic, and only a confession away to be an upstanding member.


My prayer life consists of daily starting my day with intercessory prayer and silence. I have set prayers I have memorized, and I go through them to open my heart and mind to the will of a God of my understanding. I prefer the Quaker term of Divine Presence. I then sit in silence about 20 minutes, and sometimes invoking the sacred word as taught by Fr. Keating in practicing centering prayer if I get distracted. I intersperse my prayer life with zazen, more specifically a sitting practice called shikantaza, which roughly translates to just sitting. I became more disciplined in my sitting while I was in seminary, and often sat with the Buddhist student group.

As a father of a 4 months old daughter, I've had to be little more flexible with my prayer life and meditation practice. When I awake in the morning, I am often waking up to my daughter getting up to start her day. I usually change her diaper, read to her, play with her and sing to her about an hour before she takes her first nap of the day. I pray and meditate while holding her. I am sitting on a couch rather than on a meditation cushion. My sitting on a zafu has been irregular, but I still try to just sit when I hold my daughter on my couch.

My night time prayer has been also more fluid and flexible. I rarely sit on the cushion, but I try to pray and do some deep breathing as I lay in our bed. I try to open myself to my body sensations, to my own breath and the breathing of my daughter and wife.

I will try to return to a more disciplined meditation practice, especially with the sitting posture on the zafu once my daughter sleeps through the night [keep your figures crossed :)].

===

Let’s Grow Together: Interview with EunSung Kim

October 1, 2015
By Jon Berry

https://www.friendsjournal.org/eunsung-kim/



EunSung Kim, 35, is in chaplain residency training in Richmond, Virginia. He was introduced to Quakerism in college. He and his wife, Jocelyn, married under the care of Friends in Washington, D.C. They were accepted into membership of Richmond (Va.) Meeting last year. They became parents last November, and are raising their daughter, Winnie, in meeting. 
The son of a Methodist minister, EunSung went on to try different traditions, including Catholicism and Zen Buddhism, before settling into Friends. EunSung holds a masters of divinity degree from Duke University.

Jon Berry: How did you and your family come to Quakerism?

When Jocelyn and I began dating, I suggested we try different faith communities. I felt it was important for us to share our spiritual lives. Bless her heart, she agreed. We were living in Washington, D.C. We went to a number of churches—Catholic, Russian Orthodox, evangelical. Then we tried Friends. It felt to both of us a community we could be part of. For her, I think, it was the Quaker principle of simplicity and the social activism of Friends. I was drawn to the silence and communal worship. It was nice to sit in silence and experience God for myself. I was so tired of people telling me what to believe or how to experience God. In Friends meeting, I could just come, and sit, and listen.

Jon: What is meeting for worship like for you?

It depends on the Sunday. I usually sit in the back in a rocking chair. Sometimes my daughter falls asleep and sleeps the whole meeting. Having a little human being next to my heart and feeling that person’s warmth while in silence brings such deep gratitude. There’s a wonderful sense of connection in being in silence with my daughter and my wife. Recently we’ve started using the nursery; Winnie is getting older and wants more stimulation. So we’ll bring her into meeting for the first 20 minutes, when the children are present, then take her to the nursery when the older children go to First-day school.

Jon: How do you center yourself?

Just sitting and being still is the first thing. I try to close my eyes, breathe, and feel my body. Then I try to tune into the sound of my own breath. Sometimes, when I’m distracted, I say a prayer, like the Jesus prayer: “Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me.” Or a Hawaiian prayer I’ve learned that goes, “Thank you. I love you. I’m sorry. Please forgive me.” Sometimes I just say the first part, “Thank you. I love you,” over and over, until my mind calms and I center into silence.

Jon: What happens to you in meeting?

There are times I feel awakenings. The sense of time in meeting can feel different. Last week, I felt tense coming into meeting. But the silence was really deep. Two Friends broke silence, asking for songs to be sung. After the first song, I settled more deeply. Sometimes I go into meeting thinking I just want silence, but then someone speaks and it connects me to the God of my understanding, and I leave meeting in peace. I hope that as she grows up my daughter experiences this kind of silence. I hope meeting can be a safe place for her to experience, experiment, and discover. I remember being surprised when I first saw young Friends sitting in silence, some as young as six or seven sitting for the whole hour. It’s nice to worship in an intergenerational space.

Jon: How do you see Quakerism working in your life?

I love the Quaker belief in letting our lives speak. It can be at home with family. When we eat, we pray a silent prayer. Recently Winnie has been able to hold both our hands so we make a circle. In my professional life, I’m working toward being a chaplain. I’ve been doing my clinical hours in a hospital setting. I try to see the encounters I have with people in moments of crisis as being a meeting for worship. It’s a sacred space. Something happens that you can’t put into words. I love chaplaincy. It feels natural to who I am and the spiritual life I’ve been practicing. Often I’m the first Quaker people have encountered. Coming to a ministerial role, as a Quaker, is interesting. People want to put authority on me, but it’s not necessarily something I want. Authority is something I see as shared. In meeting, everyone is a minister, even children. Someone once said, after a meeting in which Winnie had been making baby noises, that they really enjoyed her share. Whether you use words, or sounds, or presence, you have a place in Friends. 

Jon: Have you gotten involved in your meeting?

We went to one young Friends meeting in D.C. before moving to Richmond, and after moving went to a few Friendly Eight suppers. But then we became parents and life got busy. We made a conscious decision not to be on a committee when Winnie was a baby. I’ve recently talked with Jocelyn about taking on a role, and have been holding in the Light what that might be. The meeting has been really welcoming. From the time we began coming, people wanted to hear our stories and what drew us to Friends. We really appreciated the process of becoming members. One of my favorite parts was writing the letter to the meeting declaring I wanted to become a Friend. Before we applied for membership, Jocelyn and I took the time to go to the mountains. We stayed in a bed and breakfast, and wrote our letters in a beautiful place. We sat in silence before we wrote.

Jon: Has anything you’ve read about Quakerism especially impressed you?

Thomas Kelly’s writings really speak to me. I particularly like A Testament of Devotion, in which he talks about holy silence and holy obedience. I’ve been drawn to the contemplative life, monastic spirituality, centering prayer. Kelly describes that contemplative spiritual life. I appreciate the importance on living out belief. Silence is not just inner peace but to be useful to God.

Jon: What would you like to see for Quakerism in the years to come?

I hope more young families can come into meeting and feel welcome, with children, even younger children, like we have. Quakerism can be such a safe and welcoming space for families. As for myself, I hope I can become involved with the larger meeting. We attended our first regional meeting last year. It was great. Seeing a huge business meeting done with the help of the Spirit in a discerning way was wonderful. I love the practice of not moving forward if we’re not in unity; it’s not majority will but the will of a Higher Power. I love how people are drawn to Quakerism. Many of the people I’ve met in Quakerism didn’t grow up in meetings. They came to meeting and encountered a particular experience of the sacred. It felt like home. It’s what happened to me.




Jon Berry

Jon Berry is a Friends Journal trustee. He lives and worships in New York City.

2021/09/06

Buddhist Christianity from Christian Alternative Books

Buddhist Christianity 




Buddhist Christianity

A wide-ranging, searching and partly autobiographical argument that it is reasonable and beneficial to combine definitely Christian and Buddhist commitments.
Synopsis | Reviews (7)
Paperback £14.99 || $24.95

Aug 27, 2010
e-book £6.99 || $9.99


978-1-78099-085-9
Buy e-book
Ross Thompson

Synopsis


It is possible to be a Christian Buddhist in the context of a universal belief that sits fairly lightly on both traditions. Ross Thompson takes especially seriously the aspects of each faith that seem incompatible with the other, no God and no soul in Buddhism, for example, and the need for grace and the historical atonement on the cross in Christianity. Buddhist Christianity can be no bland blend of the tamer aspects of both faiths, but must result from a wrestling of the seeming incompatibles, allowing each faith to shake the other to its very foundations. The author traces his personal journey through which his need for both faiths became painfully apparent. He explores the Buddha and Jesus through their teachings and the varied communities that flow from them, investigating their different understandings of suffering and wrong, self and liberation, meditation and prayer, cosmology and God or not? He concludes with a bold commitment to both faiths.
==

Cynthia Nichols
5.0 out of 5 stars Clear, potent, terrific writing
Reviewed in the United States on April 6, 2013
Verified Purchase
For anyone who finds vital meaning in both Christianity and Buddhism, anyone interested in intelligent ways to reconcile their differences while foregrounding their real affinities, this is a great read. Not for fundamentalists--Thompson's understanding of Christianity is more from the mystical and nonliteral traditions.
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this book got me back on my first path--bhuddism
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1.0 out of 5 stars Title and content are different and do not match.
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I received a book today with the title 'Buddhist Christianity: A Passionate Openness', by Ross Thompson. This title I had ordered. However, inside the cover is another book with the title 'Cromwell was Framed: Ireland 1649'. It is a different book, which I hadn't ordered from you.

Please provide me with a new book where the text matches the title: Buddhist Christianity.... I request this new item without incurring further costs or having to return the useless one I got today.

I am sure there are more of these misprinted copies.

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This is a very interesting book, especially being written by a CofE clergyman. It is such a complex subject, that it is always good to have perceptions challenged, and to look at the issues from a different viewpoint, so I found it very valuable, even if I did find that there are a number of non sequiturs in parts of the book. It is also very readable, so I would recommend it to anyone who is even mildly interested in the subject
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This is a personal account of the author's spiritual pilgrimage. I liked his thoughts about the basic identity of the spiritual heart of both faiths. I found parts of it tedious, mainly because I am not very interested in deep philosophical theology either of the Buddhist or of the Christian variety. However, I found myself warming to the more emotional and instinctive parts, and also learning a bit more about Buddhism.
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==

Double belonging: Buddhism and Christian faith

(NCR photo/Teresa Malcolm

Paul F. Knitter, author of Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian, is Paul Tillich Professor of Theology, World Religions and Culture at Union Theological Seminary in New York City. He is a leading advocate of globally responsible interreligious dialogue and author of more than 10 books on the subject. In this, his newest book, he writes very personally, sharing his struggles with his Christian faith while relating how his study of Buddhism -- and his own Zen practice -- has helped him through this struggle.

NCR readers familiar with Buddhism or other Eastern practices and religions will find this book both refreshing and rewarding. It is unusual for a Catholic theologian to write as personally as Knitter has done in this book. I spoke with him recently about his Catholic faith and the Buddhist thought and practice that have entered into his thinking and life as he has worked in the field of interreligious dialogue.

Fox: Do you consider yourself to be a Christian?

Knitter: Oh, I definitely do. I was born a Catholic in Chicago, grew up and entered the seminary. I consider myself to be a Christian, especially in its Roman Catholic form.

Would you say that you’re a Buddhist Catholic or a Catholic Buddhist?

Definitely the noun is Catholic or Christian; the adjective is Buddhist. My primary identity is Christian.

As a Catholic theologian, what is your relationship officially with the church?

I think I’m a pretty reputable member of the Catholic Theological Society of America. I’m a practicing Catholic. My relationship with the church is, as far as I can judge, good.

To be straightforward and honest, I have received some general admonitions from Pope Benedict when he was Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger. In a book on dealing with other religions, he mentioned me as one of the people who represent a tendency that could easily slip into relativism. I’m working in an area that is quite controversial, namely how Christianity can understand itself in the light of other religions.

In your book you speak of “double belonging.” Just what does that mean?

Double belonging is being talked about more and more now, both in the theological academy and in the area of Christian spirituality. I think it’s the term that is used when more and more people are finding that they can be genuinely nourished by more than one religious tradition, by more than their home tradition or their native tradition.

How widespread is double belonging?

I wouldn’t say it is for general consumption, but in areas of Europe and North America, I think that the number of people who are serious about practicing their faith are finding that some degree of double belonging is becoming more and more a part of their lives.

Why such a broad interest today in Buddhism among Christians?

There’s no one answer. In the book, I quote a friend of mine, Fr. Michael O’Halloran, who is formerly a Carthusian monk and now a priest here in the New York archdiocese. He is also a Zen teacher. Michael once told me that Christianity is long on content but short on method and technique. So I think Buddhism is providing Christians with practices, with techniques, by which they can enter more experientially into the content of what they believe.

What are the needs among Christian believers that you think Buddhism is addressing?

I hope I’m not generalizing here too much, but I think a lot of it has to do with the dissatisfaction that many of us Christians feel with a God who is all out there, a God who is totally other than I, the God who stands outside of me and confronts me. I think we’re searching for ways of realizing the mystery of the divine of God in a way in which it is more a part of our very selves.

I think Christians are searching more for a way of experiencing and understanding God in a unitive way, or what I say in the book is a “non-dual way,” where God becomes a reality that is certainly different than I am, but is part of my very being.

Buddhism does not affirm the existence of God. It has been described as an “atheistic” religion. How can it have significance for a theistic religion like Christianity?

We’ve got to be really careful with how we use the term “atheistic.” Clearly Buddhism does not affirm the existence of a personal God, but I think the better term would be “non-theistic” rather than “atheistic.” It’s not denying God, but if I may put it this way, the Buddha and so much of Buddhism is much more concerned with experiencing ultimate reality rather than defining and naming it.

When you ask a Buddha, “What is it that you are part of when you are enlightened, or when you experience nirvana?” one of the terms or images that are used is sunyata, which means emptiness. That’s not a very good translation but it’s the word they use to identify that ultimate reality is not an entity, a being, but rather it is what they call the interconnectedness of everything. Or as the Vietnamese monk Thich Nhat Hanh uses the term for ultimate reality, “interbeing.”

Buddhism has helped me to rediscover, to deepen what it means when, in the New Testament -- maybe it’s the only definition of God that we find in the New Testament -- when it says that “God is love.”

I think what Buddhism means by “interbeing” helps me appropriate what in our Christian terminology we mean when we say divine reality is love, and then that sets the stage for me -- and I think for many Christians -- for reappropriating one of our central symbols for God, spirit.

So for me now when I say the word God, what I image, what I feel, thanks to Buddhism, is the interconnecting spirit -- this ever-present spirit, this ever-present, interconnecting energy that is not a person, but is very personal, that this is the mystery that surrounds me, that contains me, and which I am in contact with in the Eucharist, in liturgies, and especially in meditation.

Buddha was enlightened; Jesus was divine. That’s a big difference, isn’t it?

Yes. It’s a big difference. When one looks at, first of all, the language that we Christians use to talk about the mystery of Jesus the Christ, perhaps the two primary words that we use -- or doctrines that we attest to -- are Jesus is Son of God and Jesus is Savior. Now those two terms, Son of God, Savior, are beliefs. These expressions are our attempt to put into words what is the mystery of God.

All of our words are our efforts to try to say in words what can never be fully said in words. In other words, we’re using symbols, we’re using metaphors, we’re using analogies. This goes straight back to St. Thomas Aquinas and to my teacher, Karl Rahner. All of our language is symbolic.

So when the Catholics say that Jesus came to save us, we are not saying just that?

We’re saying something that is very true, something that tries to express what we have experienced, but we can never capture the full reality of it in those words. Again, to use the Buddhist image that is often used, our words are like fingers pointing to the moon -- not the moon itself. Words can never be fully identified with the reality that they are indicating.

You write that Catholics need an eighth sacrament. Explain that.

This has been perhaps one of the key elements that I and many others have learned from Buddhism: the importance of silence. It is in some form of meditation we recognize that the mystery of God is something that cannot be appropriated simply by thought.

This fits into our Catholic sacramental theology. We say that every sacrament contains matter and form. So the matter in the sacrament of silence is our breath, being aware of our breath, being one with our breath, doing nothing else but breathing.

A number of times in the book, you quote Thich Nhat Hanh, the Vietnamese monk. You write, echoing Nhat Hanh, that in order to make peace, we have to be peace. Reversing Pope Paul VI’s statement, you state that if we want justice, we have to seek peace. Is that right?

My wife and I spent much of the ’80s and the ’90s working in El Salvador for peace during the war. So we have been activists throughout our lives -- peace activists, social activists. But when I look back at that activism I am aware of how so often our actions were filled with a certain verbal violence.

We had to resist, we had to confront the evil structures. And there are evil structures, but something was missing for me. What was missing was captured in an experience I had back in 1986 or ’87 when I did a Zen retreat with Roshi Bernie Glassman.

I said to him during this retreat that we were going down to El Salvador to try to do something to stop the terrible death squads. He said: “Right, you have to stop the death squads, but you also have to meditate because you will never stop the death squads until you realize your oneness with them.”

That is the experience that Buddhism calls us to, this deep, personal experience of our interconnectedness with all beings, even those whom we have to oppose as oppressors, as perpetrators of evil. We are one with them. This is what Thich Nhat Hanh means when he says that we have to be peace within ourselves. We have to overcome our egos and realize our connectedness with all beings.

You’ve written, “For Buddhists, selfishness is not so much sinful as it is stupid.” Explain.

This is an aspect, I think, that is especially appreciated, or needed, by many Christians. For Buddhism, and I would want to say for Catholicism as well, our fundamental nature is good. Our fundamental nature is the Buddha nature, namely we are part of the interconnected whole, called to be aware of it, and to act out of compassion.

But our problem is that we are not aware of this. Because we’re not aware of this, because we think we are separate individuals rather than part of the interconnected whole, we think we have to protect ourselves. We think we have to gain things in order to establish our identity and, therefore, we act selfishly. We’re acting selfishly, not because we are fallen, not because we are evil in our natures, but because we are ignorant.

You’ve written that in the future, Christians will be mystics or they will not be anything at all. What do you mean?

That is a loose quotation from my teacher, Karl Rahner. What he was getting at is this: There are so many challenges and so many difficulties that we face that unless our identities are based on our own personal experience of God, as part of them, of Christ, as their very being, they are not going to be able to find the strength and the stamina and the wisdom to hang in there.

You’ve written that Buddhism has helped you peer into the mystery beyond death. What about death and life afterwards?

That was perhaps, for me, the most helpful, but maybe the most controversial part of my book. Buddhism tells us that here in this life our true identity, our true happiness, is to move beyond our individuality. I think that resonates with the word, “Unless a grain of wheat genuinely falls into the ground and dies, it will not bear fruit.” Buddhism has led me to look more deeply into what that passage means or what Jesus means when he said, “You will not find yourself unless you lose yourself.”

This has brought me to recognize something that for me seems to be more satisfying, namely that the life that awaits me after I die is going to be an existence that is going to be beyond my individual existence as Paul Knitter. I will live on, but I will not live on probably as Paul Knitter. In other words, our life in the future life after death is a form of existence that is beyond individuality. That doesn’t mean we’re annihilated; that doesn’t mean we don’t exist, but we will exist in a totally transformed, trans-individual existence.

[Thomas C. Fox is NCR editor and can be reached at tfox@ncronline.org.]





===



How the Buddha became a Christian saintJuly 13, 2020 5.58am AEST


Author
Philip C. Almond

Emeritus Professor in the History of Religious Thought, The University of Queensland
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Philip C. Almond does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.
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From the 11th century onwards, the Legend of Barlaam and Josaphat enjoyed a popularity in the medieval West attained perhaps by no other legend. It was available in over 60 versions in the main languages of Europe, the Christian East and Africa. It was most familiar to English leaders from its inclusion in William Caxton’s 1483 translation of the Golden Legend.

Little did European readers know that the story they loved of the life of Saint Josaphat was in fact that of Siddhartha Gautama, the Buddha, the founder of Buddhism.
The ascetic life

According to the legend, there reigned in India a king called Abenner, immersed in the pleasures of the world. When the king had a son, Josaphat, an astrologer predicted he would forsake the world. To forestall this outcome, the king ordered a city to be built for his son from which were excluded poverty, disease, old age and death.

But Josaphat made journeys outside of the city where he encountered, on one occasion, a blind man and a horribly deformed one and, on another occasion, an old man weighed down by illness. He realised the impermanence of all things:

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No longer is there any sweetness in this transitory life now that I have seen these things […] Gradual and sudden death are in league together.

While experiencing this spiritual crisis, the sage Barlaam from Sri Lanka reached Josaphat and told him of the rejection of worldly pursuits and the acceptance of the Christian ideal of the ascetic life. Prince Josaphat was converted to Christianity and began to practise the ideal of the spiritual life of poverty, simplicity and devotion to God.
Scenes from the Story of Jehosophat from the Bible. Augsburg, G. Zainer, c.1475. Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Gift of Paul J. Sachs

To forestall his quest, his father surrounded him with seductive maidens who “tantalised him with every kind of temptation with which they sought to arouse his appetites”.

Josaphat resisted them all.

After the death of his father, Josaphat remained determined to continue his ascetic life and abdicated the throne. He journeyed to Sri Lanka in search of Barlaam. After a quest lasting two years, Josaphat found Barlaam living in the mountains and joined him there in a life of asceticism until his death.
A great saint

Barlaam and Josaphat were included in the calendars of saints in both the Western and Eastern churches. By the 10th century, they were included in the calendars of the Eastern churches, and by the end of the 13th century in those of the Catholic church.
Saints Barlaam and Josaphat, Jacques Callot’s Calendar of Saints, c.17th century. Harvard Art Museums/Fogg Museum, Gift of William Gray from the collection of Francis Calley Gray, by exchange

In the book we know as The Travels of Marco Polo, published around the year 1300, Marco gave the West its first account of the life of the Buddha. He declared that — were the Buddha a Christian — “he would have been a great saint […] for the good life and pure which he led”.

Read more: Netflix ‘Chinese Game of Thrones’ charts the life of Marco Polo – so who was he?

In 1446, an astute editor of the Travels noticed the similarity. “This is like the life of Saint Iosaphat”, he declared.

It was, however, only in the 19th century the West became aware of Buddhism as a religion in its own right. As a result of editing and translating of the Buddhist scriptures (dating from the first century BCE) from the 1830s onwards, reliable information about the life of the founder of Buddhism began to grow in the West.The Sacred Bodhi Tree. Smithsonian American Art Museum, Gift of Chicago Society of Etchers

Then the West came to know the story of the young Indian prince, Gautama, whose father – fearful his son would forsake the world – kept him secluded in his palace. Like Josaphat, Gautama eventually encountered old age, disease and death. And, like Josaphat, he left the palace to live an ascetic life in quest of the meaning of suffering.

After many trials, Gautama sat beneath the Bodhi tree and finally attained enlightenment, thereby becoming a Buddha.

Only in 1869 did this new-found knowledge in the West about the life of the Buddha lead inescapably to the realisation that, in his guise as Saint Josaphat, the Buddha had been a saint in Christendom for some 900 years.
Intimate connections

How did the story of the Buddha become that of Josaphat? The process was long and complicated. Essentially, the story of the Buddha that began in India in the Sanskrit language travelled east to China, then west along the Silk Road where it was influenced by the asceticism of the religion of the Manichees.

It was then transposed into Arabic, Greek and Latin. From these Latin versions it would be translated into various European languages.

Years before the West knew anything about the Buddha, his life and the ascetic ideal which it symbolised were a positive force in the spiritual life of Christians.
Gautama Buddha seated on a lotus throne, c.1573-1612. © The Trustees of the British Museum, CC BY-NC-SA

The Legend of Barlaam and Josaphat demonstrates powerfully the intimate connections between Buddhism and Christianity in their commitment to the ascetic, meditative and mystical religious life.

Few Christian saints have a better claim to that title than the Buddha.

In an era where the Buddhist spirituality of “mindfulness” is very much on the Western agenda, we need to be mindful of the long and positive history of the influence of Buddhism on the West. Through the story of Barlaam and Josaphat, Buddhist spirituality has played a significant role in our Western heritage for the last one thousand years.

History
Religion
Christianity
Silk Road
Saints
Buddha
Sainthood

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===
CAN A CHRISTIAN BELIEVE IN NO-SELF?
ON BEING ENGLISH TEACHER FOR A ZEN MASTER

​Can a Christian be a Buddhist, Too?
Jay McDaniel


Many years ago, when I was in seminary, I had the unusual experience of living in two religious worlds simultaneously: one Christian and one Buddhist.

In the mornings I would take classes on Christianity under the guidance of gifted seminary professors, all of whom were preparing me to become a minister.  And then, in the afternoons, I would serve as the English teacher for a Zen Buddhist monk from Japan, who had recently completed his monastic training in Kyoto, having had the satori (enlightenment) experience with help from his Zen master.

For a young seminarian fresh out of college, my year as an English teacher for this Zen monk – now my good friend - was a very intense year.   I would leave morning classes thinking about the self's relation to God as understood in the Gospel of John, deeply steeped in the richness of a Christian path.  Then I would visit with a Zen monk in the afternoon, talking about Zen, and wondering if the self and God even existed.  He is pictured below.

One day in seminary illustrates the whole year.  I remember going to chapel in the morning, before class, and singing Amazing Grace along with my fellow seminarians.   I felt enveloped in God’s love.  That afternoon I then discussed with my Zen friend the meaning of the well-known koan "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"  He explained that there is no rational or formulaic answer, but that there is an "answer" and that it has to do with not having a self separated from the world.  He and I were always talking about the Buddhist idea of no-separate-self, or 
anatman.

I left our discussion wondering if Jesus had a self in the first place, and if God had one as well.  Maybe they, too, exemplifiedanatman.  Maybe they could hear the sound of one hand clapping because their selves, like that of a good Zen Buddhist, were empty of substance and completed by the world.  It seemed to me that the whole year was like this: trying to link the amazing grace of God’s love with the sound of one hand clapping.  

Of course this year did not emerge in a vacuum.  For me, it emerged as the outcome of a rather deep search, not simply for Christian identity, but for a living Christian faith.  I was myself surprised to find that Buddhism might help me find that faith.

I had first become interested in Buddhism during my senior year in college.   I was looking for an alternative to a form of fundamentalist Christianity into which I had briefly fallen; and I found that alternative in the writings of the late Catholic writer, Thomas Merton.   You will see photos of him on the right.  He was a monk living in a monastery in Gethsemane, Kentucky, who wrote voluminously on many topics, including war and peace, social justice, contemplative prayer, mysticism, and Buddhism.  Merton’s interest in Buddhism struck a chord in me because I, like he, was drawn to forms of spirituality that emphasize "letting go of words" and "being aware in the present moment."   Protestant Christianity often seemed too wordy to me.  Buddhism pointed to a world beyond words.

One reason I especially liked Merton was that he was sensitive to the fact that Christianity, too, points to a world beyond words.  It points to the world of other living beings who are to be loved on their own terms and for their own sakes, who cannot be reduced to the names we attach to them; and it also points to the world of divine silence as experienced in the depths of contemplative prayer.  Merton turned to Buddhism as a way of deepening his own understanding of the wordless, trans-theological dimensions of Christianity, and with his help I did the same. 

Under the influence of Merton's writings, then, I began to take courses in world religions during my first year in seminary, even as I also took course in biblical studies, the history of Christianity, and Christian theology.   At this stage, my interest in Buddhism was satisfied primarily through books and lectures in these courses.  Growing up in a middle-class Protestant setting in Texas, I had not really known a Buddhist, much less a Zen Buddhist, in a personal way.  I had known cowboys.

All this changed when I was asked by one of my professors to be the English teacher for the monk from Japan.  My professor was a professor of world religions named Margaret Dornish, and I was taking a course on Buddhism under her.   Her request, and my acceptance of it, changed my life.  The monk’s name was Keido Fukushima, and he was being sent to the United States by his master in Japan to learn English and to learn about America.   My assignment was to meet with him every day for one full year, teach him English, and also take him to numerous sites throughout southern California, from malls to monasteries.  Indeed, I myself was to be part of the experience for him.  In meeting me and getting to know how young people think, he would be meeting an "American."  I tried my best to be an “American” for him, but I am sure that I was, at best, a middle-class Texan.   I worried, along with Dr. Dornish, that I would be teaching Keido Fukushima to speak English with a Texas accent.

I quickly learned that my student, whom I was told to call Gensho, had already had seven years of English as a student in Japan.   I later learned that Gensho means young monk and that I was calling him "young monk" the whole time.  This was odd, because he was ten years my senior, but it never seemed to bother him.   In any case, he was being sent to the United States, not to learn English, but rather to brush up on English, so that he could return to Japan and field questions from Americans about Zen.  Given his facility with the language, our agreement was that I would teach him English by having him explain Zen to me.  Thus, we spent hours upon hours talking about Zen and Buddhism. 

As soon as we began talking about Zen, he explained to me that the best way to understand Zen is to undertake a daily practice of Zen meditation, or zazen.  Under his guidance I did take up that practice, and I have been doing it ever sense.   It introduced me to that world beyond words -- the world of pure listening -- that had led me to be interested in Zen in the first place.  Twenty years of Zen meditation is at least part of the experience that I bring to this website.  The other part is twenty years of teaching Buddhism and Asian religions to college undergraduates.

But Gensho's explanations of Zen did not stop with discussions or with zazen.   The wisest teachings he gave me in those days were the gleam in his eye, his ever-present sense of humor, and his kindness.  These activities were for me then, and are for me now, living Zen.  Dead Zen is what you get in books, and perhaps even books like this.  Living Zen is what you get when you are face to face with a Zen person or, still more deeply, with life itself.  As Gensho would often say, the ultimate koan is not the question: "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"   It is life itself.  It is how you respond to what presents itself: the birth of children, the death of loved ones, the caress of your beloved, the beauty of sunsets, the murder of innocents, the laughter of friends, the hunger of the child.    When you respond with wisdom and compassion in the immediacy of the moment, you have become living Zen.  Your life is your sermon.  You are like the dog and cat in the photo: present in the present moment, true to your Buddha-nature in all its particularity.

With his help, then, I came to realize that Zen is not about arriving at another place called nirvana, but rather about arriving at the place where we start -- namely the present moment -- and living freely in the here-and-now of daily life.  Zen is among the most down to earth and concrete religions I know.  It is very bodily and practical.  For this reason I think Zen can enrich the incarnational emphasis of Christianity, which likewise finds the infinite in the finite, the sacred in the ordinary, the word in the enfleshedness of daily life.   Living Zen can help Christians enter more deeply into that form of living to which we aspire: life in Christ.

As I was spending my afternoons and many an evening with Gensho, my more conservative friends in seminary worried a little about me.  They knew that Zen Buddhists do not often speak of God and that faith in God is not part of the Zen world.   And they worried that I myself was falling into a dual religious identity.  One of them called it "double religious belonging."

I was not comfortable with this phrase.  Even as I felt like I was experiencing two different worlds each day, I did not feel that I belonged to two countries and had two passports.  Rather I felt like one person who was receiving nourishment from two intravenous tubes: one the dharma of Buddhism and the other the wisdom of Christ.   I borrow this metaphor from a wonderful Zen teacher in the United States, Susan Jion Postal.  Intuitively I knew the two medicines were compatible, but I was trying to figure out how they were compatible with my mind.  Moreover, I knew that if I had to choose one medicine over another, I would choose Christ.  I was not all Buddhist and all Christian, or half Buddhist and half Christian, but rather a Christian influenced by Buddhism.  Fortunately, the two fluids did indeed feel compatible and mutually enriching, so I wasn't forced to choose.  Each had a healing quality that could add to the other.

What, then, was the healing quality of Christianity?   Of course it has a lot to do with God and with the healing power of faith in God.  Part of this healing quality can be described if I go into greater detail about the chapel service in seminary, when we sangAmazing Grace.   When I sang along with the others, I felt that there was indeed a grace at hand, both in the lyrics and the melody and in the people singing it.   We were somehow together in a communion of love, even as we were different persons.  I sensed that there is a mysterious and encircling presence -- a sky-like mind -- in which we live and breathe and have our being, and that this mind is amazingly graceful.  We can live from this grace and even add to it.

For my part, I felt this grace most vividly, not in ideas learned from books, but in the gifts of personal relationships, in the beauty of the natural world, in the depths of dreams, in hopes for peace, in the silence of the soul, in the eyes of animals, in the mysteries of music, and in acts of lovingkindness.  There is something beautiful in our world, even amid its tragedies.  For me, this beauty is God.  God is the lure toward beauty in the universe, plus more.  And God is in the beauty, too.  The beauty of the world is God's body.

Admittedly, even in seminary, I did not always envision God as a male deity residing off the planet.  Neither did my professors, especially those who were process theologians.  With their help I arrived at a way of thinking about God that has made sense to me ever since.  They helped me see that the universe is not outside God, like a servant seated far beneath a throne on which sits a king; but rather inside God, like developing embryos are inside a womb, or schools of fish are inside an ocean, or clouds are inside the sky. 

My professors called this perspective pan-en-theism: a phrase which was coined in the nineteenth century, and which literally means that everything-is-in-God even as God is more than everything.  It seemed to me then and seems to me now that pan-en-theism is closer to the truth of amazing grace.   Grace is not something we approach from afar, like a throne on which sits a king, but rather something that is "always already here" as pure gift.  Just as the ocean is "always already here" for a fish swimming in it, so grace is "always already here" for human beings.  Our task, as humans, is to awaken to what is always already here.

I have said that from a pan-en-theistic perspective God is more than everything added together.   This is certainly the case for process theologians.  Just as an ocean is more than all the fish swimming in it, so God is more than our experience of God.  Imagine a fish swimming off the coast of the Gulf of Mexico in North America, and imagining that he knew everything about the ocean, including what it is like off the coast of New Zealand and South Africa and the Arctic.  This fish would be equating its own experience of God with the whole of God. 

Unfortunately, this is what I did during my senior year in college when I was a fundamentalist.  I was pretty sure that I knew the whole of God and that others who disagreed with me were wrong.   And this is why I am so glad to have discovered Thomas Merton, who helped me realize that the divine ocean is always more than our experience of it and we can lie back gently into its waters.   From Merton I learned about God the more-ness, and about how silent listening was profound way to be connected with this God.

Oftentimes in seminary before I went to sleep at night, I would pray to the divine more-ness.   Not only the contemplative prayer that Thomas Merton describe, but also the more traditional prayer of address that is at the heart of so much lived religion.   I would open my heart to the divine ocean and say “Please be with them O Lord” or "I am so sorry, God" or "Thank you, it is so beautiful" or "May all beings be happy."    Indeed, in times of sadness, I would also pray the harder prayers, the lamentations and protests, such as "Why did you let this happen?" and "Where are you, anyway?" and "Why have you forsaken me?"  These were for me a kind of primal speech of the heart, more like poetry than prose.   They were reaching out into the vastness of a mystery beyond my imagination, yet present even in its absence.

At first I felt a little guilty about these harder prayers.  I knew that you find this kind of praying in the Bible quite often, in the Psalms for example, but for some reason I thought I was supposed to be nicer to God than the biblical authors.  Thankfully, my professors explained that all these ways of praying are authentic if they come from the heart, because the divine ocean is big enough and powerful enough to receive and absorb all doubts, pains, sufferings and even all sins. 

How did they know this?  Most of them appealed to experience and also to Jesus.  In the minds of most of my teachers, Jesus was not a supernatural figure who descended to the earth from above, but rather a man among men whose opened heart revealed a special aspect of God: namely God's open-hearted reception of the world into the divine life, with a tender care that nothing be lost.  If we imagine God as an ocean, they said, then let us imagine Jesus as a fish among fish, whose opened heart reveals the Empathy and Eros of ocean itself.  Jesus was, as it were, a window to the divine.  I liked to think of Jesus as one of those fish with especially shining eyes.   You would look into his eyes and see the ocean.  Its name was not power or control or fear.  Its name was compassion.   You could feel this ocean every time you listened to other fish and cared for them.  You could feel it when you had compassion for yourself, too.  It was a very wide ocean, without boundaries, and somehow people saw it in the eyes of Jesus.   Not his alone, of course, but also in the eyes of others.

Of course not all eyes reveal compassion.  Some are all about power and control.  People with power-hungry eyes have somehow lost sight of their capacities for vulnerable love.  Their victims need our special love and care, and our hope that somehow the journey of live continues afterwards, so that their hearts find peace.  And those with power-hungry eyes need our love, too.  This is a teaching of Buddha and Jesus.  We must not draw boundaries around love.

I think that the ocean of compassion is also an ocean of listening.  It is affected by everything that happens all the time: omni-vulnerable, like a man on a cross.  I had a few friends in seminary, and I have many friends now, who do not believe in prayer.  Some of my friends in the college where I teach don't believe there is a divine ocean in the first place.  They believe that the great receptacle in which the universe unfolds is an empty space rather than an amazing grace, more like a vacuum than an opened heart.  And, of course, they may be right.  When it comes to the mystery within which we all swim like fish in the sea, we all see through a glass darkly.   No one can grasp the ocean, not even Christians.

Additionally, I have more religious friends who do indeed believe in a divine mystery of sorts, but who do not believe it receives prayers.  They see the mystery more like an energy or force which can act upon things, but which cannot be acted upon.  It has the power to give, but not to receive.  Our task, they say, is to do the will of God, they say, cognizant that God does not need us in any way.  For these friends, God is more like the male deity residing off the planet than an ocean of compassion.  He stands above the earth, watching from time to time, and intervening from time to time, but he would do just fine if the earth and the whole universe ceased to exist.

For my part, I have no objection to other people imagining God as a male deity residing off the planet.   I think we need many different images of God in our imaginations, and that this image is one among many that can help us.   I have met people whose lives have been empowered to deal with great suffering, with great courage, through this image of God.  But I do indeed have a problem with people who imagine this male deity as having the power to give but not to receive; the power to issue commands but not to empathize; the power to act in the world, but not to be acted upon by the world.   When God is imagined in this way, we have, as the philosopher Whitehead once put it, rendered unto God that which belongs to Caesar.   

I'm with Whitehead.  A God who lacks the power to receive, who doesn't need the world in any way, is too monarchical.  He is a lot like Caesar but not much like Christ.   When I say "God" in this column I mean the Christ-like God as opposed to the Caesar-like God.   I mean the God who is present to each living being on our planet and throughout the universe with a tender care that nothing be lost.   I mean the God who is filled by the universe, just as an embryo fills a womb, or stars fill a dark and starlit sky, or fish fill the sea.  I mean the God whose face is compassion not power, whose body is the world itself.  I mean the God who is an ocean.  The God whom Christians see revealed, but not exhausted, in the healing ministry of Jesus.

Faith in God is trust in the availability of fresh possibilities.  And life in God lies in being present to each situation in a kindly way, open to surprise, honest about suffering, and seeking wisdom for daily life.   I saw this kind of faith in "Gensho."  He did not have an image of God in whom he placed that faith.  When God becomes an ocean, we must sit loose with images, too, lest we make idols of them.  Still we can have faith in something more, maybe even someone more: someone who listens and seeks our well-being.   This is a faith to which I am drawn, moment by moment, as I try to walk with Christ, with help from Zen.

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A Look at Christianity, Through a Buddhist Lens

By Peter Steinfels
Oct. 9, 2009

https://www.nytimes.com/2009/10/10/us/10beliefs.html

Five decades ago, Paul F. Knitter, then a novice studying to become a Roman Catholic priest, would be in the seminary chapel at 5:30 every morning, trying to stay awake and spend time in meditation before Mass.

Last Wednesday, at the same hour, he was sitting on his Zen cushion meditating in the Claremont Avenue apartment he occupies as the Paul Tillich Professor of Theology, World Religions and Culture at Union Theological Seminary in New York.

A few hours later he was talking about his pointedly titled new book, “Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian” (Oneworld). The book is the outcome of decades of encounters with Buddhism — and of struggles with his own faith.

Born in 1939, Mr. Knitter began his path to the Catholic priesthood at age 13, studied theology in Rome during the years of the Second Vatican Council, was ordained in 1966, completed a doctorate in Germany and began a long and influential career as a scholar addressing questions of the relationship between Christianity and other world religions.


He received permission to leave the priesthood in 1975, taught for many years at Xavier University in Cincinnati and after his retirement was invited to Union Theological.

“Am I still a Christian?” he asks in his new book. It is a question posed over the years by others, including some unhappy officials in the Vatican. But the question, he writes, is also “one I have felt in my own mind and heart.”

“Has my dialogue with Buddhism made me a Buddhist Christian?” he writes. “Or a Christian Buddhist? Am I a Christian who has understood his own identity more deeply with the help of Buddhism? Or have I become a Buddhist who still retains a stock of Christian leftovers.”

The struggles Mr. Knitter is writing about are not the familiar ones about sexual ethics, the role of women or the failures of church leaders.

His focus here is on what he calls “the big stuff”: What does it really mean for Christians to profess belief in an almighty “God the Father” personally active in the world, or in Jesus, “his only-begotten Son” who saved humanity through his death and bodily resurrection, or in eternal life, heaven and hell?

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However much he tried, Mr. Knitter found that certain longstanding Christian formulations of faith “just didn’t make sense”: God as a person separate from creation and intervening in it as an external agent; individualized life after death for all and eternal punishment for some; Jesus as God’s “only Son” and the only savior of humankind; prayers that ask God to favor some people over others.

Mr. Knitter’s response, based on his long interaction with Buddhist teachers, was to “pass over” to Buddhism’s approach to each of these problems and then “pass back” to Christian tradition to see if he could retrieve or re-imagine aspects of it with this “Buddhist flashlight.”

He was not asserting, as some people have, that religions like Christianity and Buddhism are merely superficially different expressions of one underlying faith.

On the contrary, he insists they differ profoundly. Yet “Buddhism has helped me take another and deeper look at what I believe as a Christian,” he writes. “Many of the words that I had repeated or read throughout my life started to glow with new meaning.”

Those new meanings will unsettle many Christians, as Mr. Knitter recognizes, even as they address difficulties felt by many others. This will vary, of course, from issue to issue. Mr. Knitter’s translation of Buddhist meditation into a call for a Christian “sacrament of silence” may be readily welcomed. His search for a “non-dualistic” understanding of God and the world may be only leading him through Buddhism back to Thomas Aquinas.

“Perhaps I could have come onto these insights without Buddhism,” he said Wednesday. Yet even in those cases he often expresses these insights in language that will be debated, like God as “InterBeing” or “Connecting Spirit.”

When his comparison between “Jesus the Christ and Gautama the Buddha” leads him to conclude that both are “unique” saviors but not sole or final ones, he is treading, as he well knows, in a theological minefield.

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One can predict that this book will receive instant condemnation from people who feel their duty is to protect Christian doctrine from wandering off course.

One can also predict that those condemnations will, in turn, make others hesitant to voice more nuanced, thoughtful criticism out of fear of piling on.

Mr. Knitter and his book deserve better. It is easy to draw up a list of substantial criticisms. For one thing, Mr. Knitter’s Christianity comes laden with all the impurities of popular piety and workaday theology while his Buddhism seems to be that of the best and the brightest.

Some readers may detect the reflex of the lifelong recovering cleric in his recoiling from whatever might appear to be patriarchal or excluding. And most important are questions about the nature and use of religious language for pointing to a mystery that can never be captured in human words.

Yet serious critics, no matter how major their differences, will not be able to ignore the enormous, almost disarming honesty of this book. Mr. Knitter admits his painful puzzlements and conducts his search for answers out in the open. He does not hide behind academic abstraction but writes clearly and personally and leaves himself open to correction.

Although he argues for a kind of religious “double-belonging,” he does not hesitate to ask whether this is ultimately a kind of promiscuity — or, as one of his students put it, “spiritual sleeping around.”

Mr. Knitter doesn’t believe so. But he has written his book in part to see whether fellow Christians agree.

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Will his “double-belonging” resonate sufficiently within his own faith community that he can continue to consider himself a Buddhist Christian? Or if not, as he explained this week, will he feel obliged to recognize himself as a Christian Buddhist?

One need not have a stake in that outcome to find “Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian” a compelling example of religious inquiry.

A version of this article appears in print on Oct. 10, 2009, Section A, Page 20 of the New York edition with the headline: A Look at Christianity, Through a Buddhist Lens. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe