Finding New Hope by Taking Buddhist PathSunday
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July 2, 2006; 8:30 AM
The events of September 11th shook my sense of security in the world and reminded me of the ultimate fragility of life. But most of all, they made me wonder how people could be filled with so much hate that killing themselves and others in this horrible way was the answer.
This question continued to plague me for some time. I could see that something was fundamentally wrong with the way many people viewed one another. I knew that dividing the world into "us" and "them," and seeking to annihilate "them," would only lead to more violence.
While I was pondering these questions, I read that the Dalai Lama was coming to speak at Washington National Cathedral on the two-year anniversary of the attacks. I waited for several hours in a line that extended for what seemed like miles. I was unable to get into the overflowing cathedral, but I heard his talk on loudspeakers from the lawn.
He spoke about how hatred leads to more hatred, and said this was not an effective long-term solution to the problem of terrorism. He discussed the need to understand that we are all human beings with the same desire for happiness and that we all need to be compassionate with others. He was a voice of reason and hope in a dark time.
This was a turning point in my spiritual life. For many years, I had been interested in Buddhism but had not pursued it seriously. The visit by the Dalai Lama re-ignited my interest. Nothing I had heard prior to that talk had spoken to me in the same way.
His message gave me the hope that people can change and can stop the cycle of hatred and violence. To stop this cycle, I knew that I had to start with myself. I became dedicated to Tibetan Buddhist teachings and regularly attended and took classes at the Shambhala Meditation Center of Washington, D.C. Approximately one year later, I took my "refuge vows," expressing commitment to the Buddhist path.
Beth Roberts, State College, Pa.
God and Music: Intangible and PowerfulSunday
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July 2, 2006; 8:30 AM
I grew up attending a Methodist church every Sunday. But I was an inquisitive child with a strong interest in science, and by the time I reached high school, religion as I understood it no longer made sense to me. Reading the Bible on my own did not help, as I found it dense and inscrutable.
Over the next 15 years, I had many experiences that taught me humility and made me believe there was a God behind the curtain, although I never expected that I would become a regular churchgoer.
But my life has taken some unexpected turns, and now I find myself back in church as an adult. This time, I have approached the altar with an earnest desire to explore the mysteries of faith as a Presbyterian. Although I frequently attend Sunday school class and other functions, my main activities in the church are singing in the choir and playing in a church band.
Is it a coincidence that my strongest ties with the church are through music? I do not think so. For me, it is through music that I feel the closest connection to the divine. It does not matter whether the music is a Bach cantata, an African American spiritual, or "All Things Bright and Beautiful."
Like God, music is invisible and intangible, but undeniably powerful. Like God, music moves me emotionally, though often I do not understand why. Like God, music does not yield to my efforts at logical analysis, although it is infused with logic, order, and beauty. And when I want to praise God, and words utterly fail me, I can play a joyful bluegrass riff on my mandolin and trust that He knows exactly what I am trying to say.
David Bailey, Alexandria
Finding a Way Back Home
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By Diane Hayden
Hartford, Conn.
Friday, July 14, 2006; 4:28 PM
I was raised in a sheltered environment as a Christian Scientist (you know, the folks who don't go to doctors), and even attended a school for Christian Scientists. I graduated and went off to college in D.C. where suddenly no one cared if I went to class, stayed out all night or did whatever. To say I was thrown off balance is to put what happened to me mildly. By the end of my first semester, I was on academic probation, having failed two courses and barely passed the others. I had given up church attendance, was dating a fraternity guy, and experimenting with drinking and other things. And I was miserable.
One spring evening I sat behind the library almost in tears when the thought came: "Go to church."
"No way," I thought, "I'm done with that." But the thought persisted, until the next thing I knew I was sprinting across campus back to the dorm to change my clothes (those were the days when skirts and dresses were the only acceptable attire in church.) I got changed and to the bus in record time. As I walked into the building, the congregation was singing a loved and familiar hymn and I felt like I had come home. The Scripture readings that night were centered on Jesus's words, "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." By the time that service was over, I knew who I was and what was important to me.
I walked out of church that night having made Christian Science my own, and have never looked back.
And for me, the proof that I was being led by God that night came several weeks later when my beloved older brother passed on in the course of his duties as a naval officer. Had that happened prior to my "return home," I could not have borne it. But because I had found my God and my center, He brought me through unscathed.
Gospel Is Good News for the Poor
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By Gary Roth
Louistown, Penn.
Friday, July 14, 2006; 4:35 PM
The 1960s generation is often held accountable for the moral decline of the United States and typified as spoiled, relativistic, and unpatriotic. My spirituality was forged during the era of Vietnam and civil rights' marches when we were challenged to see the Gospel as an alternative history that is good news for the poor.
The Gospel is an alternative vision of life to the "The American Dream," a dream harmful not only to the rest of the world, but also spiritually stultifying to those who live in that dream world. The Gospel is a proclamation of grace to those who would be graceful, of mercy to the merciful and of community to those who open their hearts to all. It is a call to live in the hope that the "Peaceful Kingdom" proclaimed by Jesus is a reality in which we can live now and a call to create that kingdom in the world.
Faith leads me to understand the interconnectedness of things in a universe that is immense but also extremely personal -- a phenomenon which has been described by quantum physics. The movement of the universe is guided by an overarching will which, I believe, is both just and merciful. The alternative history of the Gospel reveals a God that is less concerned about the keeping of rules than the quality relationships -- with love, mercy and justice. This faith provides hope even while living in a broken world. It enables me to see more clearly the injustices I do to my neighbor, to ask for forgiveness and to work for restitution. It helps me to walk more humbly, and to be able to listen to, accept and love others; it enables me to accept life as a precious gift from a loving God to be shared in the community.
This is "bottom-up" theology - learned from people who have loved me and accepted me, despite my failings, and from people who are considered unacceptable (or see themselves in that light) by traditional religion from family, friends and parishioners. They reveal to me a God who is larger than anything I can imagine and is also more personal and intimate. A God who addresses me, holds me and challenges me through my faith community. A God who unites me with His sacraments to all people, who connects me to all of creation, and binds me to His over-arching will for creation.
The Divine Power of Nature
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By Victoria Tanski
Forman, N.D.
Friday, July 14, 2006; 4:37 PM
There are few moments in my life in which I have had an overwhelming spiritual experience. One summer's afternoon, visiting the Oregon coast, I found myself having an unexpected moment of clarity. I stood at a rocky shore with the ocean spray against my cheeks and the sun beaming down, glorious in its intensity. A chant rose from my throat only to be lost in the sound of breaking waves. It was the earth that seemed to speak to me, filling me with a peace I seemed to have lost.
When words and melody came tumbling out of me, I knew that I was in a place of enlightenment. Nature became my refuge and my mistress. I think it was in that moment when I began to fully consider myself Wiccan. It may have been the absolute presence of nature and universe that overwhelmed me. I don't even recall the chant that came to mind, but I knew that my spiritual life would be centered on finding that feeling of completion and trying to tap into that wellspring of natural harmony once more.
Whenever people look down upon my spiritual beliefs, or berate me for not having seen "the truth," I remember that afternoon and know there is not one person on the planet or god in creation that can take the gift of that experience away from me. I am forever chasing the feeling from that sunny day, but I have caught glimpses of it whenever I leave my modern life behind and surround myself with Mother Nature.
My Hindu Outlook
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By Bibrama Sinha
Boston, Mass.
Friday, August 4, 2006; 12:36 PM
I attended kindergarten at a Catholic school in Calcutta. Memories of Catholic prayers and teachings are still clear in my mind, even though I am now in my thirties. My Hindu parents were quite liberal and owned a Bible, and at age 10, I read the four gospels. I remember being moved by them. At that time, I did not like my family religion -- Hinduism. I thought it was "dirty" because of it's open sexuality.
But when I was 13, I had my true spiritual awakening.
Returning from a trip, my dad brought back two books which he handed to me -- another Bible and a copy of the Bhagavad-Gita, the "Bible" of the Hindus in some sense. Since I had already read the gospels, I decided to look into the Gita.
After reading from it, I was converted to the general outlook of Hinduism.
One particular verse struck me: Krishna assures a troubled Arjuna, saddened about impending death of his beloved family members, "Never was there a time when I [God], you, or these kings [souls] did not exist; nor shall we ever cease to exist in the future" (2.12).
This was the most satisfying answer to my deepest spiritual question -- what happens to me when I die?
This and few other verses have given me a metaphysical and moral outlook of the world that includes the validity of other faiths.
The Gita has some archaic elements, and Hinduism absolutely has some great social evils, encouraged in other scriptures. However, Hinduism also has occasionally evolved towards a better spirituality influenced by spiritual giants such as Buddha. For me this is a sign of hope not just for my Hindu beliefs, but also for beliefs of others as we live in the modern age. My faith tells me to hold sacred not just another's rights but also another's spiritual views. So I look at the figure of Christ and Buddha with enduring admiration.
As I grow older and start to understand the conflicts of religions, I see that there is no way out but to accept our differing metaphysics with respect. And my father was right to have given me the option to decide for myself.
I was relatively free of indoctrination from my parents. Thank God for that.
A Faith More Cultural Than Religious
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By Theresa Dowell Blackinton
Bethesda, Md.
Friday, August 4, 2006; 11:47 AM
I was born Catholic. Six years before I entered the world, my parents, in a traditional Catholic marriage ceremony, vowed to raise any children they might have in the Church. In a baptism ceremony shortly after my birth, my parents christened me "Mary Theresa" and began the process of making good on their promise.
Nearly 30 years after my parents married, I stood under a garden arch in front of a Unitarian, folk-singing minister and exchanged vows with my husband. Despite my parents' adherence to their promise, I had fallen away from the Church. I questioned some of the basic tenets of the Catholic faith, and I was strongly at odds with the Church's position on homosexuality, the role of women in the Church, and a handful of other social issues. My Catholic baptism and confirmation would have allowed me to marry in a Catholic church. But my misgivings prevented it. On my wedding day, I only wanted to confess to beliefs I was certain of and to make promises I intended to keep.
So I didn't make any promises about future children and the beliefs I would instill in them.
But the truth is, despite my issues with the Church, I will most likely raise my children Catholic. I may not believe everything the Church believes and may even actively oppose some of their positions. But as time has passed, I've come to see that for me Catholic isn't so much my faith but my culture. It's who I am.
It's 13 years of Catholic schooling. It's praying the rosary while crouched down in the hallway, hands over head, tornado sirens blaring. It's the Ursuline Sisters, with their quick laughs, steady guidance, and humble intelligence, who acted as teachers, mentors, and friends. It's ashes on my forehead on the first day of Lent, Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve, Stations of the Cross, summer Church picnics, "The Lives of the Saints," fish on Fridays, and "Ave Maria." It's so many pieces of me that I would not be who I am if I took any of them away.
My Catholicism is for me, in many ways, like home -- not always what I want it to be, yet often exactly what it needs to be. It is where I come from and where I belong. For my children to know me, they must know the Catholic Church.
The Preacher's Kid
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By Krista Martin
Washington, D.C.
Friday, August 4, 2006; 12:16 PM
As a child, I sat with my mother and two brothers in the very last pew every Sunday. We were PKs, or preacher's kids, and church was not optional unless we were on our deathbeds. She did her best to keep us restrained throughout the service.
My father's watchful eye as a Lutheran pastor came from the pulpit. He couldn't see everything, but I was certain God would tell him what we were doing anyway. In my young mind, my father and God were inextricably intertwined. I remember watching him prepare Sunday mornings, starching his white collar, playing the harmonica to loosen up his voice, rubbing a tiny Kiwi polish tin to vigorously shine his black shoes. The last thing he did was hang a large silver cross around his neck. I thought that cross gave him special superpowers and I was afraid of him in that way.
Being a PK added another level of parental conflict and of pressure to conform. The same person who reprimanded me for an unmade bed was also my spiritual leader. Confusing his criticism with God's disapproval, I couldn't separate my father's and God's expectations.
In that sense, my faith was never my own and as I grew to adulthood, I followed a rebellious path, finding independence from my family and from God. When I came back to the church in my 30's, it took every effort I had to squelch the all-knowing voice of my father inside my head, running through the "approved" church checklist.
One Christmas, I visited my parents in the Midwest and shared my enthusiasm about my new church. I had joined the choir and made new friends. When I returned to D.C., my pastor spoke to me after the service, noting that he had received a letter from my father regarding my attendance. Exasperated, I blurted out, "That man drives me to drink!"
The long arm of my father had reached out over 1,000 miles to intrude on my faith, something I had worked hard to claim for myself. But he was happy that I had finally embraced something he had loved all of his life. And I understood that for him, my embrace of my faith was much more about my acceptance of my father than it was about his approval of me as his daughter.
My Faith选自《华盛顿邮报》