I’ve commented several times before about the temples and shrines here in Japan. Some context would be helpful.
For six years, as a young boy, I went to Catholic school. Every day we filed into the church for Mass. Then, of course, as required to be good Catholics and in good standing with the Lord, we went to Mass on Sundays. Six days a week I sat through the most uninspiring, boring, frankly meaningless ritual imaginable. Back then, the Mass was in Latin. So I didn’t have a clue what was being said, and certainly didn’t care. Ugh!
It’s easy to understand that because of this forced “spiritual” exercise — which was about as spiritual as doing calisthenics — I eventually completely soured on religion, at least as it was practiced in much of the West. When the summer I turned 15 came around, I couldn’t handle priests, nuns, Sunday Missals, rosaries, confession, communion, churches, hymns, Masses, Heaven, Hell, Purgatory . . . NONE OF IT. I left the Catholic Church and never looked back.
I pretty much avoided churches from that point on. Of course, there was the occasional church wedding and out of respect for the new bride and groom, yes, I inserted myself reluctantly into the house of the Lord. Likewise, out of respect for history and aesthetics, I experienced the unparalleled scale and majesty of a host of cathedrals in Europe, even a couple in U.S., not there to pray but to fill my senses with the glory and awe of inspired architects, artists, and sculptors.
Then in 2006, I started to seriously see the world, much of my travels taking me to Asia. The spiritual vibrations were totally different. Buddhism and Hinduism pretty much set the tone for these countries. I discovered and experienced not just completely different theologies, but a totally unique — to my Western-nurtured sensibilities — psychological space. It was more personal, more introspective, more comfortable, more satisfying.
Going to a shrine or temple for me now is one of life’s simple pleasures. So last weekend, we went to Kogenji Temple in nearby Tamba. It’s not a particularly fancy or spectacular temple but it’s very popular this time of year for it’s maple trees.
It’s difficult and probably intellectually sloppy to make generalizations about religions and religious practices. I just know that spiritual sensibilities are extremely different here — about 180ยบ opposite to my “American” religious experience.
Rather than go into a comparative theological exegesis, which would be long, most likely tedious, and risk after an exhaustive trudge being unwieldy or misleading, let me make a point with some very personal observations and stories.
When I was in Los Angeles working as a recording engineer and music producer, I became obsessed with watching televangelists. I don’t have to say more. You know what that scamming is all about. “Just put your hands on the TV screen and feel the power of the Lord. Then write me a check. God will make sure it comes back to you tenfold. So the more you give me, the more you get back from the bounteous blessings of the Savior!” There was on guy in particular I loved to watch. Peter Popoff was fantastic! He got busted but I guess he’s still at it. He’s a millionaire many times over. “It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to get into Heaven.” Hmm. Who said that? David Copperfield?
Going way back . . .
I can’t say what things are like now. But when I was a boy, I remember that the Sunday services ALWAYS included collecting donations. At a point about 2/3rds of the way through the Mass, ushers would shove these collection baskets aisle-by-aisle in front of every congregant, unmistakably signaling it was time to pony up. Of course, the requisite sermons at each service also always included appeals for money.
I have to say, the final straw for me was my father’s funeral. My mother had died 2 1/2 months earlier. I was still in shock. 14 years old. Both parents dead. As if I didn’t already have a lot of grief to bear, I sat and listened to the priest give the eulogy. You’ve seen this in the movies. Coffin at the front. Holy man in robes trying to give comfort and meaning to the tragedy. Well, the priest at my dad’s funeral decided to use the opportunity — since he had a nice captive audience, trembling, crying, with their defenses down — to talk about the renovations they had planned for the church. And guess what? They needed money! Yes, a great way to pay tribute to the corpse sealed up and ready to bury — we’d go from there to the cemetery in a procession of cars with little funeral flags on their antennas — was to spring for a nice donation to the current Building Fund Drive. I can’t describe how much I hated the man.
Okay, enough of all that “context”. Now we set our time machine to ‘The Present’ . . .
While there are donation boxes in the Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines in Japan, making it easy to give financial support to their care and upkeep, NEVER does a monk solicit money. There are fees attached to, for example, them coming to your house to perform some ritual. But the rituals themselves don’t reference such material matters. Even Jesus preached (I’m paraphrasing) rendering unto Caesar what is Caesar’s and to God what is God’s. Spirit is spiritual. Money is material. If Christians knew about His teaching, then somewhere along the line, it was forgotten. Or buried. Maybe it’s in my father’s coffin.
