Bondage to Buddha

Yesterday I was taken to a Buddhist Temple with the lady I'm staying with to say prayers for the Dalai Lama's birthday. The man enshrined in the picture isn't even the Buddha or the Dalai Lama - it's the "Jampa Ling" Centre's teacher. Yeah, what these people call "respect," I'm sorry...quacks like idolatry to me...I don't want to offend anyone, but Tibetan Buddhism is really the most ridiculous thing I've ever experienced. Not only is it obviously idolatry - no, no, I will not touch my head to the floor three times and raise my hands to a huge picture of some man or be careful about where I point my feet or how high I sit (you must be lower than the Buddha) in the chanting room - but it's just...well, it made me angry actually. The lady I'm staying with, who used to be a practicing Christian, says that Buddhism, which is more of an educational system than a religion (really, who are all these prayers of long life and the end of suffering and "may I attain the great status of a Buddha" to, then?) is the most logical way of explaining reality she's come across....
Logical? I couldn't figure out half the stuff they were saying - all these names of dieties and gods and whatever, and these magical places and this obscure language so poetic I'm not sure it actually refers to anything at all. Karma and reincarnation? Take about a discontinuity of identity... The thing that really got me, though, was that, contained in every prayer was the plea for the end of suffering for all sentient beings. I'm sorry, but that is actually the most illogical thing I've ever heard. Have we been on planet earth for more than 5 minutes? As if the more you know the less you suffer? Right. Suffering is the one thing we all have in common on this planet and there is no way out. In my opinion, Christianity is the only religion that correctly identifies the causes and duration of suffering, to say nothing of its view of Christ.
Speaking of that, though, I think I WILL say something of its view of Christ. In an apologetics class I took a few years ago, just after I'd moved to Seattle, the teacher said, "How we know the Bible is right is because it is the only book that correctly identifies Jesus Christ. And how we know its identification is correct - that is, the son of God - is because he rose from the dead." And then, he went into the four proofs of how we know Christ was raised from the dead. I think what's incredible about all of this is that those things are no longer stumbling blocks for me. I put my full weight down on Christ. Death renders this life meaningless - the Apostle Paul even says so - unless Christ really was raised from the dead, as the FIRST fruits of new life.
Here's the tricky thing, though. While I was sitting in a room full of chanting in another language (having flashbacks to a really awful prayer time with someone who was praying for me in a language I did not understand [French, not tongues]), I was whispering "Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ" to the rhythm of the chanting. (The dog in the room got up and trotted over to me, putting both paws on me...interesting...). I noticed, though, that with every argument that I came up with to prove that this whole thing was "ridiculous", I saw a similarity in the Christian religion. The devil certainly has played a nasty trick. For example, in my head I was thinking, "This is idolatry. These people are worshipping a MAN." Well, Jesus Christ was a man, too - people lost their lives defending his humanity. Then, I thought, "they are bowing down to a PICTURE and manipulating materials around to show their devotion to Buddha." Well, what of the icons in the Orthodox tradition, and the communion table, and the flags we use for worship? It's not exactly the same, but, I see The Enemy's deception all over this...it is a dirty little monster anyway.
Rich Nathan has a great sermon on the response to religious diversity. How do we respond? There were other religions in the ancient world, too - people, specifically GOD'S people, were chasing hard after idols. The FIRST Commandment deals with this: You shall have no other gods before me. (Whether or not this implies the existence of other actual "gods" is still a question in my mind). How do we respond? WE LIFT JESUS EVEN HIGHER. Rich Nathan also talks about the challenge of plurality. C.S. Lewis in his book, "The Screwtape Letters" talks about one of the best tactics to pull people from Christ - "Make them think that Christ is not enough - so that it becomes "Jesus AND...", "Christianity AND....". This calls into question the efficacy of the cross, and harkens back to why we're in this mess in the first place:

A serpent winds its way around
before its banished to the ground,
hisses in the woman's ear
that in her God is something to fear:
"He's holding out on you" the line
that cuts human from divine.
"Eat the fruit - you won't surely die!";
Even stretched out her hand in lies -
"Become like God" the promise sung;
she'd forgotten that she already was.

This group of Tibetan Buddhists do do some good. This wall details a program they've got in Mongolia that teaches sustainable living - things like how to grow vegetables - they're digging wells, they're providing training in cottage industries such as sewing, slipper making, etc and lifting a small village out of poverty. They're also "reconnecting Mongolia" with its roots and sending in the Buddhist teachers. The main problem I see in this Buddhism - obviously besides nothing but "respect" for Jesus Christ - is that it all seems to rely on people. It all seems to rely on how much you can work yourself up and out of suffering into "enlightenment" - I mean, they think the reason people suffer is because they do not understand ultimate reality. As if education were the answer. Education has NEVER been the answer: If Hitler were smarter, would we have avoided a war? NO! If Hitler were any smarter, I'd be writing this in German. I think that's the only example I need there.

It is NOT about what man can do to alleviate suffering in this world, "for in this world, you will have trouble." It is about Jesus Christ, who has overcome the world. It is not about attaining the state of Enlightenment, for that the Fall-Old lie that says we can become like God. It is about embracing who we are in Christ, as creatures that ALREADY ARE like God in that we are to image Him forth on the Earth. It is not about rituals, sacrifices, motions, symbols, prayer routines or chants. It is about how all things hold together (no matter what we do or don't do) in Christ Jesus, the Risen Son of the Living God.

Belfast, Part 2: Hook, Line and Sinker

(Happy 4th of July!!) In Belfast, I also got to see "LittleLea", the grounds of C.S. Lewis' stomping grounds. Everyone thinks he was an Englisman, but he was actually Irish - er, well, British and Irish...so, sort of English. Anyway, the actual house he lived in was torn down and rebuilt (can you believe that? All in the name of progress I guess...), but it is said that most of his inspiration for the Chronicles of Narnia came from the view out his bedroom window of those singing-green Irish hills. They are, I've found, called "Drumlands" - it's the English-ized Irish word for "mountain." Actually, I can understand this inspiration; we've got some laughing drumlands are where I'm staying, too (written 6-30-09):

“The Ministry of Rolling Hills”

Since I was a youth…ashes to ashes…
flesh clasped by flesh…we all fall down.

Singsong innocence veneers
a deep shadow of realness underneath…
we all – this all – does fall down
and out of life eventually:

All kinds of posies pocketed in hopes of delaying
the future which bears all of us away,
in our smallness we realize not
the limit to our days.

And so in my youth…ashes to ashes…
hands in tight hands…we all fall down…

The current current of creation
is, by boundlessly misunderstood grace,
toward a thing whose only side
we know from our side is death.

Even yet as all decays
still what it offers for the seeing
is missed by our growing up,
and before that in our whirring.

With my failing youth…ashes to ashes…
Hands in loosening hands…we all fall down.

Our spinning circle of kids
a micro circle of life…
if only we’d realize just how
rosey our ring really is:

Mountains blue with laughter,
rippling under babbling sunlight,
splashes of birdsong and wing,
persistent cicadas dot the night.
Even as such particulars wither, wilt and lie:
that they’re part of a larger dancing
means they’ll never fully die.

We also got to see Queen's University (built around 1800 or so) and the Stormont, government buildings of Northern Ireland (the equivalent of a state capitol in the US). I love how everything is so old here - they've probably got park benches older than my country! We also breifly drove by the place where the Titanic was built, but I couldn't get a picture. It's probably just as well - for you Seattlites, it looks pretty much like the stuff around the West Seattle bridge - cranes, piles of dirt and all - only, well...European - so, instead of dirt, bricks, and instead of normal cranes, only two REALLY BIG cranes.
Belfast, to me, felt culturally heavy, and really in need of break-free healing. I'm glad I got to see it, though - this is the kind of stuff I wanted to see. Not people's pain, but people's story, and the process of finding their own. (And it didn't hurt to see my favorite writer's (EVER) home). God seems to know what He's doing, aye? (Around here, they say 'aye' for 'yes', 'yeah','sure', 'of course' and any derivative of affirmative.).

Belfast, Part 1: "Throwing rocks at Catholics"

The lady I'm staying with took me on a driving tour of Belfast yesterday. The city's history is painted all over the town. The curbs in West Belfast are painted red, white and blue (the colors of the British flag) and in East Belfast, everything that is in English is also in Gaelic (or Irish). This is street graffitti that is common to the area urging people to vote for the Irish Language Act - the reason it's "needed now more than ever" might be because people are attempting to re-write their stories, and, if you're a Nationalist, Gaelic is part of your story. Let me explain...

Some of you have undoubtedly heard (maybe even lived through) the "stuff" that gives Belfast it's "crazy city" reputation. Basically, there's been fighting and para-military control and violence for a long time, heightened over the last 30 years. There are two MAIN groups (though there are, of course, divisions within each of these groups that complicates matters even further). There are the Unionists, or Loyalists. These are typically Protestants who live in West Belfast (or little Protestant "wedges" in East Belfast -and everyone knows where the boundaries are around here), and they are loyal to the British crown (not necessarily the British government). There is a strong sense of abandonment in these people - neither the Irish want them (mostly because they have rejected Irish for British citizenship) and the Brits don't want them (they have poured so much money into this place only to have it languish in poverty. Then, there are the Nationalists, or the Republicans. These are mostly Catholics living in East Belfast (or bordered ares in West Belfast) and they are loyal to the Republic of Ireland and Dublin. There has been senseless beating, bar bombing, guerilla warfare, violence and murder here for over thirty years - so much so that Shankill, an area of West Belfast has a "peace wall" running through it - it is only open for a few hours during the day. The friend who I know the lady I'm staying with through grew up in Shankill, "throwing rocks at Catholics" (the way she tells the story). I don't think she did particularly, but I now believe that this actually happened - over the peace wall, Protestants threw rocks at Catholics, and Catholics (even up to this day) kick Protestants out of their homes.

Identity is really, really important to these people. There are these types of paintings ALL over Belfast, letting you know where you are and whose the people you are around are. "Gable End" (the side of a store or shop) graffitti is incredibly common - most are memorials to the dead - either particular people (like "5 Protestants killed in cold blood"), a particular person such as Edward Carson who was a politician that signed the covenant to keep Northern Ireland part of the UK, or in general and each side presents itself as helpless victims of the other (at least, that's what it seemed like to me).

All of the murals are this blatant with their own message, depending on what side you are on (can yu tell which side this mural was found on? Oh, and the red lettering says "90 years of resistance"). Honestly all this urging people to never forget the past struck me as propoganda keeping people stuck in stories that may or may not fit with who they are today.

Identity is actually so important that every year, for their 12th of July Parade - they have a huge bonfire. This is the trash heap the people have been saving up for nearly a month. And, if you look closely, at the top of the pile, they've actually got a guard stationed there so people don't steal the trash. There are British flags zigzagging across the air connecting Loyalist telephone poles, and anything they can paint red white and blue (the curb stays that way all year, but fences, parts of buildings, fire hydrants, etc. get decked out - it was an eerie sort of 4th of July-esque feeling, only much much more vehemence behind the symbols and colors).


It's not all drudgery, though. There are signs of hope beginning to emerge - I saw one Suicide Awareness Clinic in the West, and one in the East. The fact that there even has to be "awareness" about it makes me realize just how entrenched these people were (and in some ways still are) in para-military control and rigid, boundaried, identity-loaded ways of thinking. What's important to note here, though, is that people are realizing that the story they've been handed - the story these murals tell (they are on shops, apartment buildings, public squares, etc) - are not who they really are, or who they want to be.

The personal parallels are, in my opinion, more than coincidence. The past filled with violence (ok, mine not as blatant, obviously), the scarring of control (real or perceived), and the quest for identity (basically, the entire reason I'm halfway around the world right now...) are rumbling within my own heart just as they are displayed for all to see around this city. What an intricate crochet-er God must be to bring me to such a place as this...

Vineyards, Airports and Groceries

I visited the London Vineyard in Putney on Sunday and it was really incredible. I walked in and was greeted with a green welcome basket, and two lovely English-accented people. They asked about Seattle, a bit of my story, etc. I went to sit down in the "sanctuary" - they meet in a school so I'm guessing this room is the cafeteria - and immediately started crying. I cried the entire way through worship, the 5 minute break (where they came around with donuts), the message (which was on Acts 17:16-34 and touched on just about every major area of my life that needed speaking to) and the word time (in which the pastor and his wife each got words pertaining to me and a lovely English woman came up to pray for me).
What was the most incredible about this was how it made me feel - really feel - for the first time my need and indeed my desire to be part of The Church (not specifically this one, but the Church as the Bride and Body of Christ in general). The last sermon I heard at the Seattle Vineyard was my pastor talking about how the culture's message to the church, lately, is "shut up" and how he doesn't want to be ashamed of the church - he doesn't want to be caught on That Day with the attitude akin to saying "Jesus, you're bride is an ugly hoe" (yes, he actually said this!). The last sermon (called "What's in a Name?") they've got up on the website at my church is about naming, and in it there is a line that says "It is not accident that you are part of the family of God." I was overwhelmed with "thank you" that I am part of this family. I have never connected in worship the way I connected there, and am ever grateful for that, since that whole worship thing is something I've been struggling a lot with. The worship also made me miss my church back home - not becuase it was worse (or better), but because it was similar. It opened my eyes to what a extravagent blessing the Seattle Vineyard really is in my life. Thank you Jesus.

Indeed it prepared me a bit for a slight-turned-large mishap. I stayed afterwards for tea (of course) and had a lovely conversation about the (lack of) separation of church and state with an Englishman. He then helped me get back on the right tube to go catch a flight. I got back to Notting Hill, prayed with Marta for a bit (she got a word for me: "beaty for ashes", among other amazing things) and was off to the Gatwick Airport...sort of. I stood at the bus stop for about 45 minutes, knowing that the train from the London Victoria Station (45 minutes away from where I was) takes half an hour and the close of my check-in time was fast approaching. Two buses of the number (but not the destination) I wanted passed by. I finally caught a "52 to Victoria" and began to realize, as traffic blocked the route at every turn, that I was going to miss my flight. I caught the 5:00 Gatwick Express and arrived at the airport at the close of my check-in time, getting to the counter two minutes too late. They had to change my flight (and of course, charge me a fee) to the next available flight with room, leaving me with about 15 hours at the Gatwick Airport. What was amazing is that I did not freak out. I simply called the lady I'm staying with, informed her that I would not be in Belfast again until the next morning and wandered around the airport for some food and...a chapel! I read a lot of their brochures and, since sleeping, if you're traveling alone, is technically leaving your baggage unattended, I began to pray. I remembered that the friend who dropped me off at the airport in Seattle gave me a church directory for 2008 so I began praying for each person in there as well.
After check-in and security the next morning, they pretty much turn you loose on the plane and you can enter either the rear or the front, and it's a free-for-all to find a seat (they do not assign seats). I, of course, wanted an aisle so I'm not trapped in by two strangers in case I want/need to get up. I got back to Belfast around 11am and, after a 45 minutes drive to Saintfield (where I'm staying), Sally took me "foodstuffs" shopping.
My reward for my crazy ordeal: fruit that has not been messed with - it is smaller but SO much tastier and I can feel that it is healthier, rice milk (rice milk and almond milk are the more common (and more YUMMY) alternatives to "soya" (soy) out here), and goat's cheese (a cheese I cna eat WITHOUT at stomacheache!), hummus from a tin, IRISH potatoes and four kinds of fruit juice. Teehee.

London's Highlights

So, I didn't get to Big Ben (although, according to my little brother, that is how/where the universe began) or Westminster Abbey, but I'm actually alright with that. I am not a tourist; I wanted to see what my heart would have me do out here, and so, I spent most of the on day Friday at Hyde Park, reading, and praying. I actually started reading and really enjoying the Bible (that would be a first for me!)

I wandered around the city, a bit, too, because I needed to exchange an old bank note a friend gave me (from her trip to England 12 years ago) for a new one - they are, despite their obsession with spending money, rather finicky about it. A lot of stores wouldn't take the pounds I got in Northern Ireland because they had a bank stamp on them that was not, technically, English. I was all, "I'm trying to give you MONEY - YOUR money - and you won't take it!" Weird. But anyway...that night, Marta and I had, apparently, some girlyness to get out of our system. We painted our nails and she dyed my hair...purple!
We went out with some of her friends to Canary Wharf in East London, which is, apparently a rough-and-tumble part of London; to start off the trip, a group of people - two girls and a guy had a bottle of Bacardi, Jack and Coke on the Tube and were pouring themselves (and anyone who wanted some) drinks and singing dreadfully out of tune to the one iPod they had between them, ocassionally attempting to switch listeners by trading the earpiece.
We had dinner at another YWAM leader and went out to celebrate a birthday - "traditional English" style - which means going to a really posh (upscale) bar and ordering even more posh drinks (here "posh" means "unpronouncable") and sitting around talking about politics or other people's business. Marta and I talked about church. (Sometimes I wonder who I am becoming - seriously, three years ago next month I would never have dreamed of doing any of this - not only was I scared out of my mind to deviate from the path I thought I was supposed to be following, but I was one of those people who was "never going to become a Christian").
On Saturday, I walked up and down the Portobello Road Market - which is like a crazed version of the U-District Street Fair. I usually LOVE the Street Fair, but this was WAY too overwhelming and hyped up. I did enjoy seeing Portobello Road and I found more falafel for lunch! I found a part of the Road that was calm - except for the bright colors - but I LOVE that they find freedom enough to do that here. It sort of reminded me of Seattle, and how they've splashed art of many forms all over the city. I love it! Denver - where I'm from - didn't do that, and I wonder if part of the tight-cornered, smooth-haired way I've lived with all these "rules" (about how to live, what to do, how to make decisions, even about what to wear) either real or perceived, stems, partly from that. I mean, I am AMAZED at the freedom people have here! It's really causing a relax-all-out in me that I never knew to even hope for! So now, I just want to say (this is surprising even myself!), "Ahhhhhh." (Taken rather prophetically the first day I was in London having just met Carrie and found these AWESOME chairs!)

I also spent more time in reflection, journaling and writing - which is something I've regrettably not made time for in the past. That is one of the joys of not having a super-packed vacation - I have a lot of free time to really explore the inward journey that hopefully is cataylized in this rather spontaneous outward journey.

When I first arrived in London, I did NOT want to be there. But, with all this introspection, I've come up with a comforting and important discovery: that is the same reaction I have to most things that are new. I'm sort of like a cat - I hate change and am resistant to it no matter what it is because I just want things to be safe (as in, the same) no matter how miserable I am. This has caused me to never be where I want to be, and never want to be where I am. But that, by the grace of God, is changing. It's not like I made a Decision to change it, it just has started. I spent the first few nights here just wanting to go home, and the first night in London wanting to go back to Northern Ireland. I also spent a lot of time freaking out about wasting my life and realized that rejecting where I am at present (most of the time as a result of the decisions I have made) is in fact doing the very thing I fear. You see, I would spend all the time I had at a certain place or with a certain person not wanting to be there and then missing it or them like crazy when it was over - it really made no sense. So now, I have to say, I am really enjoying myself out here, and am glad I've got the rest of the summer for this. Thank You Lord Jesus - for this was surely nothing I did on my own, or even at my own initiative (which is another really dear thing to me!).