Thursday, August 31, 2017

Kairos, Koans and Conversion 9: I sing of Buddha, fat and happy.

Careful distinctions are called for if Under the Influence is to avoid the charge of proof-texting, and that from the triply offensive perspective of 3 major world religions at once.  Granted, Eastern religions are better than Western ones at accepting the legitimate wisdom in other traditions: to Western religions, equivocation is a problem to a degree not echoed in their Eastern counterparts.  But for the sake of being equally robust in identifying differences and similarities, before we unpack St. John’s “Book of Signs,” let me admit something: comparing Jesus’ Jewishness to Buddhist ideals could be as fishy as discount sushi.   

KKC 8’s rousing cry that Jesus is the bodhisattva of bodhisattvas very nearly forgets the uniquely Jewish aspects of his status as “mediator.”  In the Jewish Scriptures, covenants—which were made in blood—were binding to the death, and transgressions of covenant called for blood to be shed.  Jesus is one whose suffering has payouts for his people as a whole.  The “communal benefit” of redemptive suffering is uniquely Jewish, and no amount of emphasis on the the Bodhisattva’s compassion for others can put one at ease with simply equivocating Buddhism and Christianity.

That said, there is precedent for equating buddhism with its predecessors, and it yields an image that will help us. I’m speaking of the iconic snapshot of a seated Buddha.  He’s laughing, fat and happy.  The fact is, such depictions are not originally buddhist.  The figure is actually the Chinese folkloric figure Buddai.  He was eventually identified as Maitreya, the future buddha, and the enlightened one has been horrifically overweight ever since.

There is room in Buddhism for the perspective that enlightenment is not simply stoicism, it is fulfillment.  Fat and Happy Buddha is helpful to us because John’s “Book of Signs” depicts legitimate fulfillment as the terminus of Jesus’ Miracles.  Their message might be “trust that reality is plenty.”  Let’s take a look at each miracle, and why that might be the case.

In John 2:1-11, Jesus turned water into wine.  It should be noted that Jesus didn’t turn water into “acceptance of lack of wine.”  Fullness, not stoicism is the goal.  In John 4, Jesus heals an official's son.  This was done from a distance.  The official was not present for his Son’s healing, and it bases “attribution of the miracle to Jesus” forever on the official’s trust that it’s so.  Jesus healing of a lame man in John 5:1-18 is perhaps the most “buddhist” of the Johanine signs.  The curative powers of the pool are famous, and smack slightly of superstition, because when the the waters ripple, they’re accessible only to those who are first to submerge themselves. Jesus orders the man simply to stand and walk.  He’s cutting out unnecessary steps between potential and realized healing.

When Jesus Fed 5,000 in John 6, most striking is the contrast of perspectives.  The Apostles were concerned about the mechanics of providing a meal to that many using 5 loaves and 2 fish.  Jesus sat and gave thanks.  The food was multiplied in being broken, and it’s distributed.  Jesus is teaching us that, for those with the disposition to witness it, reality is ample and generous.  This is echoed in the “walking on water” incident.  The apostles are in a storm-tossed boat, and when Jesus walks toward them on the water, their initial terror is replaced by peace of mind.  When Jesus enters the boat, not only are hearts and seas both calmed, “immediately the boat reached the land toward which they were going.”  A successfully solved koan eliminates the distance between aspiration and fulfillment.  This story gives that maneuver a divine face.  The Fullness at the other side of Emptiness is henceforth and forever named Jesus.  

When the Jews question his healing of a blind man in John 9, they accuse Jesus of “being a sinner.” The healed one says “i don’t know if he is a sinner.  What I know is, I was blind, and now I see.  If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.”  The Proof, apparently, is in the pudding.  This is ultimately true in the case of raising Lazarus from the dead.  Jesus tells Martha “I am the resurrection and the life” making the renewal reserved for “the last day” present in a reanimated Lazarus.  In many ways, the Jesus of Johanine miracles is quite “buddhist”: he makes aspirations immanent—as all good Koans do.  He cuts out self-made human solutions for the sake of more expedient divine ones. 

 Jesus is the embodiment of mu.  Putting a personal face on the core of transformation, along with the notion that there is something to be resurrected from nothingness, all of this is perhaps more Jewish than it is buddhist.  In the final analysis, we have a messiah who is celebratory, whose authority engenders trust that’s unavoidably Jewish. I am reminded of the tidbit I picked up in college, that in Judaism, failing to enjoy the goods of the earth compromises one’s eventual access to Abraham’s bosom.  The Porrisover Rebbe of later Jewish tradition would say “When God sends sadness, we ought to feel it.”  

Fr. Feliciano, my old novice master, summed it up well.  He used to say “Salvation is not simply about Kenosis, but kenosis for the sake of Pleroma.”  In english, that’s “emptiness for the sake of fullness.”  If you’re like me, and your sad little neuroses tend to give anti-self language too much play, the fullness at the end of the journey means much-needed potential rest.  All of this is to say: mahatman is a refuge from samsara.  Mahatman is also Jesus, and Jesus is us.  Emotional equilibrium is impossible for those who end-run around feelings.  Life is to be celebrated, and wept-over, an abundance to be drank to the dregs.

Flouting Islam’s prohibitions against alcohol, the poet Rumi tells a story about Allah.  Allah and his follower go out drinking one night, and as the evening waxes late, the God’s devotee becomes falling-down drunk.  In the end he speaks the line of lines: “The one who brought me here will have to take me home.”  Emptiness dies, and rises as a fullness called Christ.  In him we weep and laugh and have our being.  If we can call the chinese god of overweight hilarity an enlightened one, then we can certainly do the same, thank you Jesus, with ourselves. 

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