...and they fed us with spiritual food! Eating Ethiopian near Emory University.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Yesterday along with the Canterbury Club from Middle Georgia State College, I visited the Wat Lao Buddhist Temple in Atlanta. My intention as advisor to the club was to promote listening as a path to spirituality. I like the “Columban” (St. Colm Cille) posture promoted by our Bishop in Savannah, that of working or walking side-by-side, shoulders rubbing, rather than standing face-to-face to engage in a “let me tell you”. Answering questions is more suitable to me than a mission to “tell”; if asked a question it seems OK to attempt to make an answer. The barrier to spirituality might be this, that some people seek out opportunities for telling a lot about their religion, as if they have one, including a message about its “rightness”, and thereby leave no time for listening. It occurs to me that such attempts at telling a lot end up telling very little. It is a dry crust, a brittle shell. The wet kernel is never touched. Eventually, it is absent altogether. Telling the told answer to a math problem is not the same as knowing how to arrive at the answer oneself. Process trumps product. An a priori eagerness for telling or preaching leaves little time for questioning or thinking. Here today we looked at the model of a boat in front of the Wat Lao Temple and learning about the Buddhist concept of “the journey”. Involving thinking about Buddhist teachings. Meditation, letting go, centering. If preaching is a political act, and I think it is, then listening might be a spiritual one. So we did some of that today, and talked a lot about it over coffee later in the afternoon. So everyone took a bit of a ‘journey” today. And a long step toward authenticity. And had a good day.
Well, I thought I thought I might chance to find a ‘jumping off point’ that worked for me here, at the Cathedral. I was looking for the original of the Canterbury Cross and some context for it. I found it at the City of Canterbury Museum. And I found some time for quiet reflection at St Dunstan’s, imagining Henry II’s penance for causing the murder of Thomas Beckett over at the Cathedral. And St. Thomas More’s head is here. Evidence, in a way, of things said to have happened. And then I was on my way. After a time of pensive inertia, a time of bent-kneed momentum. I sense movement that might lead, might, to an obscure spring meadow of the green man, with a statue of marble and gold. A vale of truth and discovery, no doubt. But it's the journey, not the destination, that dazzles one! But you can properly enjoy it there I'm sure....