Darned bodhisattvas!

      I had a friend in Berkeley who was a "sensei" (a "teacher" or "pastor") at a local Buddhist congregation.  We'd get together every so often for lunch.  I'd learn from him, and he from me.  One day he recounted the following story:  He was riding in the car with his daughter -- she was driving.  They were on a particular street in Berkeley that was heavily travelled (ironically, for those of us in Denver, Santa Fe Blvd!).  As is often the case on such thoroughfares, not all drivers were paying close attention to their main task, and she (the driver) was being cut off.  She became increasingly frustrated and started "talking" back at the other cars.  Her dad said, "Calm down, dear, they are bodhisattvas* helping you on your way to enlightenment.  You needn't be attached to arriving at your destination."  As one might imagine, however, this explanation did not completely mollify the daughter/driver.

       Several days later, the driver/passenger roles in the car were reversed, and my friend was behind the wheel.  They found themselves on the same street, and my friend began experiencing the same rude drivers that his daughter encountered.  Like his daughter, my friend became increasingly agitated, using colorful language to express his disdain of those cars.  His daughter gently reminded him that those drivers were simply "bodhisattvas helping you on your way to enlightenment".  His response?  "Darned bodhisattvas!"
       I remember too, a story from a book he loaned me about religious education from a Buddhist perspective.  The author of a particular chapter -- a "Sunday School" teacher in a Buddhist congregation -- bemoaned to another teacher the fact that her own children kept interrupting her daily practice; they were keeping her from focusing on her meditation.  Her friend reminded her that, as long as she had children her children were her practice.  They forced her to reconsider her "attachments" to her practice itself, and to refocus on the present realities:  the needs of those kids.

      "Love your enemies", Jesus is reported to have said (Matthew 5:44, paralleled in Luke 6:27 and 6:35).  I heard this passage quoted in a gathering the other night.  I know the context of the original quotation well (the original had to do with treatment of others--friend or foe), but, for some reason, the stories from my Buddhist friend sprang to mind.   I began to wonder if "loving" my enemies, or those other crazier-than-me drivers, or other distractions (such as MY children) was instructional as to what I might learn from those with whom I differ, or exclude, or demonize, or those who simply annoy me?
       My usual response, when challenged, is to set up my defensive perimeter, and then to prepare my counter-offensive (I suspect I am not alone in this!).  In so doing, I marshall all of my normal opinions, beliefs, and sets-of-statistics.  And, often, after the encounter has passed, I cling to my original position, maybe with some subtle rationalizations as to why I still hold that position -- but stubborn to the last.  I have to wonder what I miss, what opportunities for growth or compassion I've pushed aside.
       Darned bodhisattvas!  Keeping me off-balance like that!  Or, if I let them, are they really re-centering me?

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary

* A "bodhisattva", for some Buddhists, is an enlightened being who understands his/her role to delay entry into Nirvana in order, selflessly, to help others attain enlightenment.

Cats and Meerkats

      Yesterday, I attended a stimulating lecture by Rami Khouri, Director of the Issam Fares Institute for Public Policy and International Affairs at the American University of Beirut.  The talk was entitled:  "Has the Arab Spring Failed?  The Struggle for Democracy in the Middle East".* Khouri addressed many of the things that we've heard in the news about the troubles that Middle Eastern countries have faced as they have tried to establish democratic governments since the events of almost three years ago:  religion-state relationships, the role of women in government, national vs. regional authority, the role of the military, etc.
      What struck me most, however, was the "should-be-obvious-but-hasn't-been" point that these Arab nations (he mentioned Tunisia, Egypt, Yemen and Libya specifically) are trying to accomplish in a very short time what western democracies (such as the United States) took decades, or centuries, to do—and are being criticized for not succeeding.   The U.S., for example, fought for Independence in 1776, developed its Constitution over the next thirteen years, fought over slavery eighty years later, gave women the vote in 1920, and while granting African American males the vote in 1870, was still dealing with minority voting into the 1960's (let alone in the last few years!).  In short, Khouri intimated (to me, at least), we in the West cannot judge these recent efforts towards democracy from our current state of affairs:  we had to struggle, so we should not be surprised, or impatient, that others who do not have our history should have to struggle as well.
       This led me to (re-)consider the whole question of self-definition.  Defining who/what I am, or we are, always has some aspect of opposition to it.  In other words, "I am me, because I am not you!"  The Hebrew scriptures are full of efforts at self-definition. The Hebrews are exhorted over and over again not to be like the nations surrounding them; their notion of "chosen-ness" underlines that.  The same was true as early Christians had to define themselves, not only over against their Jewish forebears, but over against their Greco-Roman neighbors. Islamic laws forbad things within the Dar al-Islam (that is, within Islamic societies) that were permissible in other cultures.  All of these served their respective cultures, affirming their own self-identity over against their neighbors.
       Again, I believe this is to be a normal developmental process, whether among human individuals, or human cultures.  Where Khouri's talk hit me, however, was a realization that we often, in differentiating ourselves from others, tend to make the "other" somewhat lesser in stature; we have to build ourselves up by knocking others down a notch (or more).  Those who are not us are "barbarians" (and you know how they are!).  They may be indulged a bit, something like children who haven't reached the age of accountability, but they are really only deserving of a sidelong glance, not to be taken seriously.
       Something seems very wrong with that picture, I think.  It bespeaks a triumph of parochialism over hospitality -- hospitality being something at the root of most religious, and cultural, systems.  And, if that is so, we still have a lot to learn.  "One of these things might not be like the other", but is it any less worthy of our care or consideration?  Do not all of our traditions call us to something greater than the status quo in our thinking?  MIght we not learn to judge cats and meerkats on their own, respective, merits?

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary

*The lecture was hosted by DU's Center for Middle East Studies, located in the Joseph Korbel School of International Studies.

Letting go

   I suspect that pretty much everyone has heard the story of the "monkey trap". Depending on where you look, it can be attributed to experiences in Africa or Asia. And, who knows, maybe folks on each continent simultaneously observed that, if one puts a bit of attractive-to-monkey food in a constrained space (such as a jar, or closely-barred cage), a monkey would reach in and grasp the treat.  Of course, once the fist is formed around the treat, it can no longer be withdrawn from the trap.  The monkey's desire for the food is greater than its desire for freedom.  And the trapper can easily capture the critter.
      Earlier this week I was listening to a couple of interviews on the Canadian Broadcasting Company's show "Tapestry with Mary Hynes".  The two guests on the show both related stories of "letting go".  One was a pastor in the United Church of Canada who, in spite of the risk of losing her job, "let go" of her belief in God; she now considers herself an atheist.  And, remarkably, she hadn't lost her job, and still leads a congregation in Toronto.  In her telling othe story, her life now is more honest and fulfilling than it was before -- because she let go.
      The other guest was an author of graphic novels, born in Hungary, but living now in the US.  She, because of her experiences with the Nazis during WWII had a deep, abiding, suspicion of Germans -- especially older German adults.  So, when her son decided to move to Berlin, and re-claim his Hungarian citizenship, she faced a major dilemma:  could she let go of her past mistrust and support her son's choice, or not?
      I must say that, once I heard those two stories about "letting go," my first thoughts turned to the deadlock in Washington DC.  Intransigence on center stage!  The monkeys with their hands in separate jars grasping for treats that the others couldn't understand.  Unwilling to let go -- but willing to let the country go under -- because their "treats" were so wonderful (in their eyes). It seems that many of the legislators understand the risks they're taking, but, oh, the "treat", or prize, is SOOOO worth it.
      It is easy to point to the Washington circus, or to "like" various Facebook "status updates" that support our own point-of-view.*  But the stories of the two interviewees on the "Tapestry" show are clear examples that we only need to look in the mirror to see our own hands in the trap.  We all hold so tightly to possessions, habits, beliefs, etc., that we often are kept from living life fully, joyfully, lovingly.  And, for some reason, we are dead-set on trying to make everyone else agree with us!
      "Human nature", I suppose. We want security; we want certainty. But one thing that seems to be found throughout our religious traditions is a call to transcend that human nature, to be better than a creature that only seeks its own self-interest.  From Jesus' assertion that "to save one's life one must lose it", to the Buddha's advice, "If you see the Buddha on the road, kill him" we are counseled to examine those things that would limit us, that would entrap us. We are counseled, encouraged, exhorted, to let go.  The "treat" we receive may far exceed that which we're grasping.

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary

*By the way, how often DOES someone really update their status anymore, rather than share a video/news release opinion?

A long time ago . . .

       . . . in a univers(ity)* far, far away, there came a time of [reckoning].  I was serving on a committee at UC-Berkeley that was meeting to plan a student leadership conference.  It was our first meeting, and so it seemed appropriate to the student co-chairs that we do an ice-breaker.  Their choice:  "Mild or Spicy".  If you are new to the collegiate ice-breaker scene, this meant that each person chose "mild", "medium", or "spicy" (i.e., like salsa) -- in other words, the other members of the group got to ask questions of the subject that adhered to those categories.  So, if a person chose "mild," they might be asked, "What's your favorite color?" or "Where did you grow up?"  The "spicy" questions?  Well, you can imagine what might be asked in such a crowd.  The "medium" questions were somewhere in between.
       The chairs had allotted around 30 minutes for this exercise.  There were about fifteen of us, so that allowed two minutes apiece to be grilled.  As it turned out, I was the last in the rotation, sitting just to the left of the co-chair who started.  So, when it came to me, there remained only about 30 seconds to answer. I chose "spicy" -- just to put the students off-kilter (I was one of the only non-students there, and certainly the only one in a clerical collar).  After my declaration of "spicy", there was a deafening silence.  Finally a student, with whom I'd served before on a different committee, asked, "So why ARE you in the religion biz, anyway?"  We all laughed, and I said "In 30 seconds or less????"  Then, after a moment's thought, I responded, "It's the best way I've found of making meaning of life."  The questioner nodded like, "Okay, I'll accept that.", and the meeting continued.
       I tell this story relatively often; I may have even recounted in one of these meditation/reflections some years ago.  But I tell it because it helps open conversations about the other stories we know (either about us, or that appeal to us) that help us make sense of the world.  But more than simply make sense of the world -- they are stories that help us find meaning and purpose.
       The great religious stories of our traditions have "worked" for centuries because they function that way, that is, they help us find/make meaning.  They are true, yet they transcend "fact" (although many people might want to reduce them to that level -- either to "prove" or "dis-prove" their relevance in our "Just the facts, ma'am" world).  Of course, different traditions tell different stories to answer equivalent questions -- and the answers may not coincide.  In my opinion, that's okay.  They've stood the test of time, and so, have clearly provided answers, meaning, and hope to generations.
       We are a people who tell stories.  Clearly some are meant to be little more than entertainment.  Some are speculative, giving us a vision of a different world.  Some are meant to provide context or perspective.  Some are morality tales, hopefully to guide, or correct, behavior.  But, then, there are the stories that are told, and retold, to situate us in a much larger narrative.  They help us find our place in the grand sweep of things.  In my words to the committee, they help us make meaning of life.
       I find myself bombarded by many "stories" these days.  Whether they are of international events, congressional squabbles, scientific discoveries or weather events, I've had to remind myself that these "stories" don't make meaning; they cry out for meaning-making.  And, generally, that requires us to dig deep into our storehouse (story-house?) for those wise stories that have helped make sense to various and varied peoples for generations.
       What are the stories that help yo make meaning these days?  Share those the next 

Blessings,

Chaplain Gary

*  Yes, I know it's supposed to be "galaxy"!  Let me have a bit of poetic license!