I wish I’d had this book when I began to explore Buddhism. It would have made things much easier. My first experience with Zen was like a spiritual boot camp—entirely unpleasant. The teacher barked orders, and his students tried desperately to get everything exactly right. There was never any relief from the intensity, no breath of humor. It’s true that sitting Zen can have its unpleasant times no matter how it’s presented. As a popular American Buddhist saying goes, “A mind is a terrible thing to watch.” But the mind can also be hilarious, and Zen should have its lighter side as well. Nowadays I am suspicious of any spiritual teaching that lacks humor, but then I was just beginning. Like the other students in that first class, I believed that something good would happen only if I could get everything perfectly right. But all I felt was pain and frustration, so I assumed I was doing something wrong. I was a failure.
It would have been so nice to have this book then, to touch into Kim Boykin’s gentle encouragement and good humor and to hear her assurance that getting things right is not the point at all. But I would have to wait; it was 1972, and Kim Boykin was far from her own first Zen sitting.
Like many Americans who explore Buddhism, I had a fairly solid background in traditional Western religion. My Methodist parents made sure I said my prayers and went to Sunday school. I knew the stories of Jesus and even felt I had a close personal relationship with him. As I got older, though, I grew first frustrated and then angry about what I saw as hypocrisy in the people of my church. Not only did they often use their religion as an excuse for moral arrogance, but they also resisted any questioning of beliefs. They didn’t seem to want any part of going deeper in the spiritual life.
I did not understand why, but I definitely wanted to go deeper. As an adult, I searched for a local church that would welcome my wonderings and found none. I looked for a religious community that would teach me about the inner spiritual life, about prayer and meditation, and found none. So when I began to explore Eastern religions, I carried some baggage with me. Church, as I knew it, had failed to meet my needs, and I was taking my spiritual business elsewhere. Or so I thought.
What surprised me, eventually, was that my foray into Buddhism led me in a kind of circle, back to my Christian roots. Over time, Buddhist practices somehow revealed to me the rich resources of Christian contemplative tradition that had been there all along, hidden beneath the busyness of popular religion.
I was not alone in that experience. Over my thirty years of working with the Shalem Institute for Spiritual Formation, I met many people who felt that their churches and synagogues were lacking in spirituality. Most nurtured a simple, wistful longing for “something else.” They were not clear about exactly what they wanted, but they knew they were hungry. In their searching, many turned toward the East and experienced exactly what I had—an eventual discovery of deep nourishment within their own original tradition. The phenomenon happened so frequently that we gave it a name: “pilgrimage home.”
It is here in this pilgrimage home that resources such as this book become crucially important; they provide guidance and nourishment that are not easily found elsewhere. For a person beginning a conscious interior spiritual journey, it may not be easy to tell where the true nourishment can be found. As a society, we have been inundated with quick-and-easy recipes for spiritual and psychological self-help. Although many of these are well-intentioned, they often fail to provide the real satisfaction people are seeking. A quick drive-through at a fast-food restaurant may ease one’s hunger for a while, but it takes a carefully, lovingly cooked meal to nourish the deeper places in a lasting way.
In this regard, Kim is a good cook. In this book, which she herself likens to a cookbook, she serves up nutritious recipes that will stick to your ribs. In the text of the book, Kim shares the story of her own pilgrimage. It is perhaps because of her unusual religious background that she is able to remain free of the negative baggage that so often creeps into religious discussions. She has no particular ax to grind with any religion, no psychological agenda to impose on the reader. She is able to present her material simply, clearly, and directly, with a lightness and humor that immediately put one at ease.
At the same time, she is not afraid to tackle the thorny questions that inevitably arise when Christians look at Zen. What are the similarities between Zen and Christianity, and what are the differences? What does it really mean for a Christian to practice Zen Buddhism? Does it amount to a denial of one’s Christian faith or can it lead to a deepening of it?
Kim addresses such questions more coherently and revealingly than any other writer I know, and she teaches Zen practice with the greatest clarity and lightness I have seen anywhere. This is truly good nourishment. I only wish I’d had it when I began.
| GERALD G. MAY (1940-2005) | |
| Washington, DC | Senior Fellow, Shalem Institute for |
| February 2003 | Spiritual Formation shalem.org |