It started out so innocently.
Our church, a Religious Science or “New Thought” congregation that follows the Principles of the Science of Mind, was invited by the Buddhist monastery across the street to participate in their Bathing the Buddha ritual. The City of the Dharma Realm is an orthodox order of Chinese monastic nuns that ironically inhabits property formerly known as the El Rancho Hotel, which began as a Spanish architecture destination resort in the 1950s before joining the many motels catering to down-and-out, pay-by-the week tenants along West Capitol Avenue in West Sacramento. Our minister described the opportunity to Bathe the Buddha as especially enjoyable by young children.
So Barb & I & Jeremy joined the small herd of members from our Center for Spiritual Awareness to make the trek from our church over to our Buddhist hosts. When our crowd arrived, the Buddhist service had already begun, so we quietly floated into the meditation hall as the saffron-robed, bald-headed nuns chanted in Chinese. While the chant unfolded, we were able to gaze upon the ornate altars in the hall dedicated to Buddha, Kwan Yin, and other gods and bodhisattvas important to the Buddhist faith. We taught Jeremy to hold his hands as the Buddhists do while they pray and offer respect to the Buddha.
After some minutes, a nun spoke in broken English, welcoming us as neighbors and spiritual friends. She explained to the congregation that for our benefit, she would be introducing the Bathing the Buddha ritual in English rather than the native tongue. She then explained the Bathing the Buddha ritual as an annual celebration of the Buddha’s birth, and as an opportunity for remembering the Buddha’s teachings to purify our inner selves. She reminded us to use our bodies for good, and not for evil. She invited each of us to take turns to approach the altar, offer bows of respect, kneel before the twelve-inch-tall statue of a standing Buddha, and then ladle three scoops of fragrant water on his shoulder to wash away our sins.
The nun then began singing a simple mantra, and we all joined her, singing the mantra over and over and over … and over … as dozens of people took turns Bathing the Buddha. The hall was filled with peace and reverence. Jeremy relaxed in my arms, his head on my shoulder, and chanted along. After about twenty minutes, our turn was nearing. Barb took Jeremy from my arms. I haven’t asked why, but I like to think that she did so to allow me to fully experience the ritual unencumbered, knowing of my affinity for Buddhist teachings.
Jeremy had other plans, though. As he often does, he decided that the three of us should be joined at the hip as we Bathed the Buddha.
Barb had already approached the altar with Jeremy when he turned back to me and implored me to come. To avert an outright protest in front of Buddha, I rushed forward, offered my bows quickly, and then endeavored to kneel to the left of Jeremy and Barb. The kneel board, however, was built for one, not three, and only the outer half of my right knee was solidly planted. Barb was holding Jeremy firmly with both hands, probably to keep him from plucking the petals off of the hundreds of carnations skirting the Buddha’s feet. Holding onto Barb with my right hand for stability, I grabbed the ladle in my left and dipped it into the lavender water. And then, as I lifted the scoop up towards the Buddha’s shoulder, it happened. The ladle bumped the Buddha. And in the slowest of motion, the Buddha began a stiff fall forward and splashed into the drink.
I froze. Barb froze. Thank God (or Thank the Buddha) that Jeremy froze. With lightening speed, several options raced through my head, none of them good. One thing I knew for sure was that no hands other than a nun’s of the highest precept should touch the water or the statue. Swiftly and silently, and thankfully, a nun swooped in to rescue the soggy Siddhartha. As she righted him back up into his vertical pose, I felt the giggle begin in my toes. It rumbled up my legs and through my gut, full of humility, irony and timid horror. The only reason it didn’t explode is that I stifled it somewhere deep in Jeremy’s hair. I did not look at or acknowledge Barb, because I knew that the instant I did, we would be rolling on the floor in uncontrollable laughter.
Instead, silently, we tried completing the last two ladle-fuls (yes, the first ill-fated one counted). By this time, Jeremy blurted out his newest two-word phrase: “Take turn!” as he lunged for the ladle. That nun was onto us, however, and was not about to let the beloved Buddha get a second dunking. With a disciplined “No!” she took the ladle away from all three of us. We scooped ourselves upwards, bowed to the dripping statuette, and shuffled quickly to the nearest exit. Not a word between Barb and me. No glances between us. Just shuffling quietly, purposefully, quickly, to the place where we left our shoes. I slipped on Jeremy’s sandals. As Jeremy began prancing down the Spanish-tiled hallway like Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer after Clarice tells him he’s cute, I finally shared eyeballs with Barb. Our embarrassed laughter burst out and propelled us out of the Dharma Realm, across the parking lot and over the wide boulevard to the sanctity and crazy safety of our own church where our spiritual clumsiness will be considered whole, perfect and complete.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
