A Unitarian-Universalist
Monastic Community:
by Michael Masters
I have proposed the creation of a Unitarian-Universalist
monastery and contemplative community. I see it as a spiritual
community dedicated to contemplation, selflessness and simplicity.
It would, in my conception, be a group of committed contemplatives
who, however, did not necessarily share any central theological,
doctrinal or traditional core, such as unifies and inspires all
monastic communities of which I am aware. A monastery where each
member, supported and encouraged and nourished by each other member,
dedicated themselves to their own unique spiritual practice and
path, perhaps not shared in specific detail with any other but
all together leading to a unity in contemplative living, which
would be expressed and celebrated as well in common practice.
That, of course, is the approach Unitarian-Universalism in general
takes toward spirituality, though usually in a very worldly manner.
Why a UU monastery, when there are so many other
types already in place? Because some few UUs who are in every
way in accord with the Principles of Unitarian-Universalism, and
who have found their spiritual home there, at the same time have
a strong inclination toward contemplation within their native
personality. For those few people nothing but a community such
as I've tried to describe would truly suit them, and allow them
to be true to themselves.
Monasticism is not necessarily always an expression
of specific faith, a way of bringing to life particular beliefs
and understandings. Being a monk doesn't have to entail celebration
of Christian truths only, or Buddhist, or Hindu. That would mean
all the monastic elaboration of each culture, continuing unabated
for thousands of years, just coincidentally so closely resemble
each other in tone, temper and form.
The practice and emphasis which together most often
comprise a monastic lifestyle -- conscious concentration on silence
and solitude, purity, obedience, humility and poverty, on hard
work, service and love, on selflessness and the transcending or
dissolving of self -- are ways in which any human being who is
drawn strongly enough toward what is most real, most meaningful,
most essential in human life -- toward sharing, selflessness and
love -- can be most true to their nature. The details of each
monastic tradition are certainly very different, as are the mythologies
they honor and respond to; but it seems clear that the heart of
the contemplative life itself is very similar in each case, if
not the same. That's what allows monks of various traditions themselves
to meet and benefit from each others' experience: Thomas Merton
conferring with Buddhists in Bangkok, Frs. Enomiya-Lasalle and
William Johnston exploring Zen in Japan, Bede Griffiths living
for decades in a Christian-Hindu ashram in India.
The content and techniques of individual spiritual
practices can also certainly be very different. Zen Buddhist monastics
-- as well, of course, as non-monastics -- do zazen and koan,
while Theravadins do vipassana; Hindu contemplatives immerse themselves
in yogic and devotional exercises; Catholic monks live as prayer,
chanting the offices and reading Lectio Divina. But isn't their
style of life at least close enough to each other that they can
all be identified as monks? A monk is a person who lives consciously
and purposefully alone: "all-one". A monastery is a
place where people live alone together. The purpose is contemplation:
concentrated attention, observation, awareness. That is born in
solitude and silence -- which are endurable for long only with
the loving support of others living in the same way -- and it
is cultivated in sustained personal practice, individually and
as a group.
The goal, at least for me personally, is selflessness.
The only true experience of reality in this essentially illusory
world comes at those moments when awareness of self is lost --
in concentration, in meditation, in prayer, in work, in study,
in creativity, in service, in play -- in love, of one another
and all others, and without object, as a way of life. The experience
of selflessness itself is known to us as love. Therefore, a UU
contemplative community would be designed to allow the widest
and deepest possible expression and practice of selflessness;
to embody love in all its facets.
Each member would have their own personal spiritual
practice, perhaps but not necessarily shared with other members.
At the same time, there would be a strong common practice and
celebration that would bring together all members of the community,
as its structure and foundation. Daily gatherings -- possibly
many times daily -- would at the very least be of Quaker-style
silent group contemplation, but would most likely include as wide
a variety of traditional and non-traditional liturgical styles
and observances as is conceivable. The UU Hymnal would be an obvious
place to turn first for inspiration along these lines. But any
or all of the following, and more, from any source, might easily
be incorporated: chanting, singing, instrumental music, dancing,
poetry, recitations, readings, talks, sermons, discussions, spontaneous
interjections, candle-lighting, darkness: anything that leads
to the creation of a shared contemplative atmosphere. In addition,
stemming from the fruits of contemplation, there would always
be intense, ongoing interactive contact with the wider UU family,
and with the world, if not actual outside service activity as
well.
Underlying the practice, there would also most definitely
be a common system of belief. This would be fluid, composed by
the members themselves, and changing with the coming and going
of the membership. But it would, at least, be founded in agreement
and adherence to the Principles of the UUA. The specific rules
of the community, too, would be worked out by the members themselves.
They might be inspired by the examples of the rules and precepts
of other monastic traditions, that have allowed monasticism to
thrive for those thousands of years. But there would be no slavish
imitation. Each rule would be the result of extensive reasoned
discussion, agreed upon by all in accordance with the requirements
of this group, and of this time. Most especially in the case of
such classic monastic disciplines as poverty, celibacy and silence,
these rules must be embraced not in a spirit of hardship or renunciation,
but of freely choosing a greater joy over a more shallow one.
Clearly, some sort of screening or discernment process
would be necessary. It could not be as intensive, at first anyway,
or as prolonged as those of Orthodox or Roman Catholic orders,
which can last six years or longer. But it would have to be determined
of every prospective member, without exception, that they are
truly suited and committed to contemplation and monastic life.
Economics would, naturally, be crucial. So far in
my search, I've met with a great deal of desire for a UU reflective
retreat center, not of the conference and socializing type already
serving us. It would be a place where any UUs or any others could
come for a few days or a few weeks, to benefit from the silence
and solitude to be found in a contemplative environment, to rest
and recollect and revitalize. That, however, could probably not
be the mainstay of financial support. My personal inclination
would be to follow the lead of most Catholic and Orthodox monasteries,
as well as non-spiritual intentional communities, and look to
some form of agricultural, food, craft and/or cottage-industrial
production as our economic base. Such decisions, too, though,
must wait for discussion among potential community members, and
would depend as well on their skills and talents.
Such a life would certainly not be for everyone!
Indeed, I can envision a community of this type only as quite
a small group of people. (Anyone who might possibly be interested
can reach me at the address below!) I do believe that a UU monastery
would be as true an expression of Unitarian-Universalism as any
other; and that the mere existence, and accessibility of a contemplative
center with the body of Unitarian-Universalism would both broaden
and deepen UU spirituality as a whole, and benefit all UUs of
every kind.
Michael Masters P.O. Box 144 Lyons, CO 80540 mmasters@lanminds.net
McBuddhism
by John M. Johnson
When I reflect upon my 55 years, it is possible to
identify many epiphanies, or turning points in my life, moments
when a critically important definition emerged, or changed from
one thing to another. Some of these epiphanies seem easily associated
with one dramatic event or crisis, but others emerge, drift, and
develop more slowly. Many epiphanies are associated with my home
of origin, and it is now clear that many of the adult views I
now hold stem from this context. Other epiphanies are associated
with childhood and early adulthood; early successes and failures
in school, friends, sports, organizations, and the vicissitudes
of young relationships. Early tribal, religious, and community
affiliations are important for gaining a sense of self identity,
as are the momentous events of military, war, marriage, and health
problems. Epiphanies such as these are important for the development
of our self, and for our abilities to discern how we differ from
other series and what we share in common with other selves. They
play a crucial role in who we think we are in the mundane world.
Epiphanies or turning points are grasped and defined
retrospectively. One rarely knows that one is living in or through
an epiphany at the time of its occurrence and, even on those rare
occasions when one does (such as the unexpected death of a child),
what all this will come to mean is not unambiguously clear. So
it appears to be our general human fate that we are continuously
reviewing and rewriting our "past lives," in the social
and experiential world, continuously revising the meaning of some
relatively recent or remote social experience of the past. We
commonly collude with others, perhaps brothers and sisters who
were also at the scenes of the events, or perhaps with secular
peers also struggling to grasp the embedded cultural meanings
and how their interpretations change and evolve with the fads
and foibles of contemporary secular thought. As long as we "live,"
an important part of our living consists of this continual and
ongoing revision of our life story and the meanings of its definitional
epiphanies.
All epiphanies or turning points in our social experience
are important but not all are equally important. Some epiphanies
have the potential and power to completely transform one's life,
to transform it into something altogether different. One common
epiphany which possesses this transformational power is parenthood.
The process of becoming a parent in the true (as opposed to the
technical) sense appears to begin a chain reaction of epiphanies,
an auto-catalytic process which eventually produces a kind of
"centering" for the self which is unparalleled even
in cases of the more dramatic religious conversions. In recent
years I have communicated my own sense of this transformational
potential with a "joke" I tell to my children. I tell
them that I lived the first 38 years of my life on a different
planet, a planet called "Planet for People without Children,
" and on this planet I experienced that most events were
usually intelligible and comprehensible to me by using the commonsense
knowledge and wisdom I had gained from my culture and worldly
experience, as adumbrated by the theories, methods, and empirical
data of modern and classical social though and literature. But
then, beginning in 1980, I began the process of becoming a parent,
and in this process I have been transported to a different planet,
one called Planet for People with Children, and on this planet
modern and classical social thought, and even commonsense, pales
in grasping the wonders, mystery, awe, uncertainties, and joyous
consummations with divinity which are so common in parenthood,
for those who care to take the time to notice- These experiences
are so world-shattering that I feel no need to "prove"
this point with any evidence or data; as a reader you have either
"been there," and visited this other planet, in which
case you know what experiences my words are pointing to, or you
haven't visited this planet, and thus will find fault with the
empirical adequacy of my allusions.
Even during infancy, when the dependence of my children
was greatest and the asymmetrical nature of my superior power
most evident, it was clear to me that, in the most fundamental
way, small children are the teachers and adults are the students.
During these years I worked long hours at many tasks, billets
and assignments which I considered of great importance, and yet
I could spend hours down on the floor playing with my daughter,
where the entire world centered on Strawberry Shortcake or Chutes
and Ladders. The lesson was how to be in the Here & Now, and
I wish I could report that I always did it well, but the truth
is that it took quite a while for me to gain some mastery on this.
But small children are unwavering Teachers when it comes to this,
and for adults it is critical to learn this lesson well in order
to pass on to the hundreds of subsequent lessons which lie beyond
infancy. These early lessons teach parents about the world of
love which lies beyond the ego, the selfless love which centers
the ego for all which is to follow. Siddhartha Gautama, later
known as Buddha, you will recall, left his young wife Yasodara
and infant son Rahula at precisely this time in his life, and
spent six years wandering the Terai plains with various ascetics
seeking enlightenment, a time when he could have likely learned
the same lesson playing Gobots with Rahula on the palace floor.
But, as we've learned from the Buddha's teachings, there are indeed
different paths to the top of the mountain, so it is unimportant
how one path differs from the others.
My Buddhist initiation happened during a series of
life-changing crises, when I worked three jobs in order to be
the McMom my parents never prepared me to be, all while being
the Brownie Leader, Soccer Coach, short-order cook and chauffeur
to all places in the American Burbs. I didn't practice on a daily
basis, but I did say my empowerment every now and then at soccer
games, in the hopes that it would help Kyle score a goal. None
of my days included long devotional puja to the White or Green
Tara, but occasionally they did involve invoking the Buddha's
name in vain when someone did something hurtful to my kids. When
I did begin sitting more or less regularly, several years later,
I did so for the crassest and most pragmatic reasons, namely,
to try to find a small place of quietness and solace somewhere
inside which would deliver me from the pain, confusion, conflict,
evil, and chaos I experienced on the outside. The ways I have
embodied Buddhist practice in the world were never envisioned
at Tasho Gang Monastery near Paro, or anywhere else for that matter.
I haven't taken the 253 laws of a Khenpo. I have taken one vow,
to do what I can to raise my children in a context of love and
the principles handed down to me by those who loved me. I call
this indigenous form of American Buddhist practice "McBuddhism."
It is a high-calorie, high-fat, high-sodium, fast food kind of
spirituality for those superficial non-monastics who are centered
on doing what is best for their children, in a de-centered culture
lost in the throes of topsy-turvy social change. Today my practice
tends to be more focused, more systematic, more regular, and more
centered, but perhaps still grounded in the vast pretenses of
my incorrigible ego. While my commitment to Buddhist practice
remains high, in recent months on three occasions I elected to
go to a hockey game with my son Kyle rather than go to zazen,
which I found instructive of the priorities of my current life.
My present plan is to keep all of this a vast secret from the
Buddhist authorities, so that they don't take away my membership
card, and thus the discount privileges at Dharma Crafts.
About the Authors
The Reverend James Ishmael Ford is minister of the
Valley Unitarian Universalist Church, in Chandler Arizona.
The Reverend Wayne Arnason is minister of the Thomas
Jefferson Memorial Church, in Charlottesville, North Carolina.
The Reverend Sam Trumbore is minister of the Unitarian
Universalist Fellowship of Charlotte County in Port Charlotte,
Florida.
Michael Masters
John Johnson is president of the Valley Unitarian
Universalist Church, in Chandler, Arizona. He is a professor of
Justice Studies at Arizona State University. John is an initiate
of the Karma Kagyu tradition of Vajrayana Buddhism.)
