1.
A friend of mine is an ardent meditator. She belongs to the Soka Gokkai sect of Buddhism, also called Nichiren Buddhism. The two main practices of this sect are regular chanting, often together as a group, and the veneration of an altar, called the Gohonzan, located at home, in a temple, or at any Nichiren gathering; the altar contains excerpts from the Lotus Sutra, including the famous chant, Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, which is a Japanese translation of the Sanskrit title of the sutra, Saddharma Pundarika Sutra. Another core belief is that chanting not only changes the chanter, but affects the environment as well. One is encouraged to expect good things to come to one from both the inner and outer worlds.
When I was recently in France, I met a couple each of whose families had emigrated from Japan a few generations back. During a walk through lovely Provence countryside, we discussed many things; at one point, I abruptly changed the subject. What do you think of Nichiren Buddhism?, I asked, knowing that this sect has had a long and notable history in Japan. The husband told me that he had never heard of it, and that they were both Presbyterians! Maybe a little background of this sect is in order, since many are quite unfamiliar with it. (It is not a small group. I was told by a group member that the number of current adherents world-wide is about the same as the number of Jews.)
Nichiren, 1222-1282, was an iconoclastic Japanese monk who founded this eponymous sect of Buddhism. He taught that everybody has a diamond of enlightenment within, however much covered in mud, which is everyone's central nature. All are able to uncover this gem in their present lifetime. The most efficacious way of doing this is chanting the title of the Lotus Sutra, which, along with the Heart Sutra, are the chief sects of Mahayana Buddhism. (Nichiren reminds me a little of Bal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism; in each case, religion was brought directly to the people, bypassing those in authority, whether they be rabbis or monks.)
I hadn't meditated in a while and was feeling somewhat agitated. (I was a little like the man in a Woody Alan film, who, in a state of panic, was trying to reach his guru from a phone booth. "Somebody's gotta help me," he said, in a very agitated voice, "I forgot my mantra!")
My friend invited me to the New Members Meeting, which meets every other week at a member's house in Baltimore.
2.
There were eight present at the Nichiren gathering; two of those present were visitors, including myself. An orientation was given. One of the members had a large pasteboard, reminding me of presentations by followers of Chinmaya Swami, which I had heard on occasion in India; important points were written on a poster and presented to the audience by a speaker wielding a large pointer. (The speaker at the Buddhist gathering,, somewhat younger than I, mentioned the Five Aggregates, a core teaching of all schools of Buddhism. This has inspired me to write an essay about these five aspects of individuality, of which I am very familiar. I think the five aggregates, or skhandas, are very important and are very much unknown. Other members of the group, when questioned about the skhandas, were completely unaware of their importance. I hope this essay will be helpful to them and to others; it will be posted soon.)
We chanted the famous mantra and excerpts form the Lotus Sutra in Japanese. After that, members presented personal testimonies of how chanting changed their lives and environment, helping to make the world a better place. (This reminded me of testimonies given in group meetings of evangelical Christians; chanting made such and such happen in one case, Christ made such and such happen in the other.)
As you might expect, I remained a doubting Thomas regarding such aspects of Nichiren Buddhism. I had no doubts about the beneficial effects of meditation--scientific research, after all, is in complete agreement. I do not, however, believe in any form of supernatural intervention--science agrees with me here as well. I needed to meditate again, however, so I made the following "scientific" proposal to the host of the group. I would meditate, chanting nam myoho renghe kyo, for twenty minutes twice daily and would return to the group in a few months with a report of any internal or external changes in my life for the better. At least I would be meditating again.
3.
It's been about two months since that meeting, and with only one or two exceptions, I have kept my promise. (Well sort of--I didn't chant the prescribed mantra during most of my meditations. Some were breathing meditations, mindfulness meditations, silent meditations, etc. Each time, whenever possible, I sat down in a half-lotus position. At home I sit half-lotus on a Muslim prayer rug I bought in Turkey. Before me is a lit soy candle from Target, burning before a statue of Shiva Nataraja which I obtained in India. I also have a little picture of the aunt of my Indian brother-in-law, who was canonized by the Catholic Church and is now known as Saint Alphonsa. Yes, I am quite ecumenical.)
I must admit that not only did I become calmer, as one might expect, but some good things did happen in my life. (I make no claims, however, that the occurrences were "statistically significant.") But this article isn't about them. It's about what happened one morning when I chanted Nam Myoho Renge Kyo in a Catholic Church in Provence.
4.
A few days after the Buddhist meeting, my wife and I were off to Aix-en-Provence, France, for a three week stay. The program, sponsored by the University of California, provided us with an apartment in the heart of Aix. We were with a very congenial group of people, mostly around my age, and mostly affiliated in some way with the University of California; the main aspect of the program was classes in French at a local school for foreigners.
Aix is a wonderful town. Its yellow-colored buildings, many hundreds of years old, and narrow streets were always full of--but never crowded with--(mostly) young, well-dressed pedestrians having a good time. (Aix is a very pedestrian-friendly city. The food, as you can imagine, was great. Nearly everything about our stay there was, well, magical. We had free time to travel about--we took the rapid train (TGF) to Lyon one weekend with a couple from the group--but that's another story. The people we were with were not only very interesting, but good, friendly, people as well. Our program director, Carlotta, was exceptional.)
Aix is small. The main avenue is called the Cours Mirabeau, lined with stately plane (sycamore) trees, the "Champs Elysées of Aix"--an exaggeration, of course. Our apartment hotel was located near one end of the Cours; our school was a few blocks away from the other end. In this part along the Cours, just opposite the famous statue of King Rene, the last independent king of Provence, was the Catholic Church in which I chanted.
I meditated each morning and night at the apartment. On the morning in question, I decided to do my meditation in the church, which I had visited previously. I left the apartment at 8 a.m.; classes would begin at 9.
The name of the Jesuit church is l'Église de la Mission. It is a Baroque church, nothing special--that is, for France. Like most churches in France, they provide excellent space for meditation--beautiful structures with very few visitors. (Church attendance in France is so low that even in the villages, where a Catholic Church is almost always located in a prominent position, Sunday services often do not take place at all, due to lack of interest and due to an acute shortage of priests. One village, often on a rotating basis, offers services on Sunday, to which people from several surrounding villages must travel. Times have changed! You may recall, that Pope John Paul II, on a visit to France, wondered aloud what happened to the country that once was "the first daughter of the Church." (The answer: plenty.)
The church in Aix, like many others, was almost always empty, despite being at the center of a bustling town. It could seat hundreds. The undecorated stone walls rose to a height of about 60 feet; the central dome, with a plain glass window at the top, rose another twenty-five feet or so above that. To the right of the transept was a larger-than-life statue of a man in a robe holding a cross, which was larger than him, the base of which rested on the floor of the niche. (I had seen pictures of men like these; they were the missionaries, who declared that the land they were visiting was now Catholic, whether the native population liked it or not.) On the opposite side was the statue of a saint. On the altar, was a brass statue of the crucified Jesus wearing a gilded loin cloth. His head was lowered; he looked very dead.
Nobody was in the church when I entered at around 8:15 a.m. I sat on the left side of the church, not far from a large cross before which a young man was kneeling on stone for a very long time the day before. I began to chant to myself.
No one was around, so I began to chant aloud. As I became aware of the echoes which the church walls provided, I chanted louder and louder--and louder. Soon NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO reverberated and filled the entire church. I had the feeling, during this chant, that the missionary guy would have been more than a bit miffed if his stone-cold ears had been real; I also felt that Jesus would have smiled.
Twenty minutes had passed. I stopped and felt great. I still had a few minutes to "come down" for class.
At this moment, a light came on to the right of the altar. Then a little lady came out of the sacristy door and proceeded to light two candles on the altar. (The door is clearly visible in the picture.) After this, she promptly left. I was taken aback--There was no chance that she hadn't heard my loud chanting! A few stragglers came in--about four old ladies, half as many old men, and one rather desperate-looking young man. I figured that there would be a nine o'clock mass and that this was a typical congregation for a weekday service. I thought that she must have been quite irritated with me. If she was, I certainly couldn't blame her. I was prepared to apologize.
A few more of the faithful came in. Then the little old woman came out of the sacristy again and headed in my direction. I'm in for it, I thought; then I noticed her lovely smile.
When she reached the place where I was sitting, she spoke to me in an angelic voice with the expression I would imagine that many of the statues of the Virgin Mary would have, if statues, like the picture of Dorian Gray, aged as we do--The lady's face was quite wrinkled.
"Monsieur, je voudrais que vous feriez la lecture pendant la messe." ("Sir, I would like you to give the reading during the mass.")
I was dumbfounded not only by the invitation, but by her presence, which exuded rays of kindness and serenity in my direction.
I told her. in French, that it would be a great honor, but that I'm neither French nor Catholic, and had to leave presently for a class in conversational French.
She smiled again. "J'espère que vous revendriez, Monsieur!" ("I hope you will come back. Sir!") Without another word she left, still looking very pleased.
(I did return several times, but never saw her again.)
At the school, our teacher asked me why I was late. (Our advanced class had only three students.) I explained. She thought I refused the old lady's request for some religious reason. I told her that I respect people of all religions--I also respect atheists. I told her that I interpret all religions symbolically, and, on a symbolic level, they all make sense.
D'accord, she replied. "Now let's turn to the subject of the day,"
--French pop music. She proceeded to show us videos of her favorite contemporary French singers, including two featuring an African-Belgian rapper. Both were first-rate.
For some reason, the incident at the church had made me feel like a man of twenty again--combined with the wisdom of a man nearly seventy. I had the distinct impression that it had a similar effect on the old lady.
The Nichiren Buddhists teach, as previously mentioned, that chanting has a positive effect not only on the individual, but on others, too. I learned my lesson in a Baroque church; they're absolutely right.
A friend of mine is an ardent meditator. She belongs to the Soka Gokkai sect of Buddhism, also called Nichiren Buddhism. The two main practices of this sect are regular chanting, often together as a group, and the veneration of an altar, called the Gohonzan, located at home, in a temple, or at any Nichiren gathering; the altar contains excerpts from the Lotus Sutra, including the famous chant, Nam Myoho Renge Kyo, which is a Japanese translation of the Sanskrit title of the sutra, Saddharma Pundarika Sutra. Another core belief is that chanting not only changes the chanter, but affects the environment as well. One is encouraged to expect good things to come to one from both the inner and outer worlds.
When I was recently in France, I met a couple each of whose families had emigrated from Japan a few generations back. During a walk through lovely Provence countryside, we discussed many things; at one point, I abruptly changed the subject. What do you think of Nichiren Buddhism?, I asked, knowing that this sect has had a long and notable history in Japan. The husband told me that he had never heard of it, and that they were both Presbyterians! Maybe a little background of this sect is in order, since many are quite unfamiliar with it. (It is not a small group. I was told by a group member that the number of current adherents world-wide is about the same as the number of Jews.)
Nichiren, 1222-1282, was an iconoclastic Japanese monk who founded this eponymous sect of Buddhism. He taught that everybody has a diamond of enlightenment within, however much covered in mud, which is everyone's central nature. All are able to uncover this gem in their present lifetime. The most efficacious way of doing this is chanting the title of the Lotus Sutra, which, along with the Heart Sutra, are the chief sects of Mahayana Buddhism. (Nichiren reminds me a little of Bal Shem Tov, the founder of Hasidism; in each case, religion was brought directly to the people, bypassing those in authority, whether they be rabbis or monks.)
I hadn't meditated in a while and was feeling somewhat agitated. (I was a little like the man in a Woody Alan film, who, in a state of panic, was trying to reach his guru from a phone booth. "Somebody's gotta help me," he said, in a very agitated voice, "I forgot my mantra!")
My friend invited me to the New Members Meeting, which meets every other week at a member's house in Baltimore.
2.
There were eight present at the Nichiren gathering; two of those present were visitors, including myself. An orientation was given. One of the members had a large pasteboard, reminding me of presentations by followers of Chinmaya Swami, which I had heard on occasion in India; important points were written on a poster and presented to the audience by a speaker wielding a large pointer. (The speaker at the Buddhist gathering,, somewhat younger than I, mentioned the Five Aggregates, a core teaching of all schools of Buddhism. This has inspired me to write an essay about these five aspects of individuality, of which I am very familiar. I think the five aggregates, or skhandas, are very important and are very much unknown. Other members of the group, when questioned about the skhandas, were completely unaware of their importance. I hope this essay will be helpful to them and to others; it will be posted soon.)
We chanted the famous mantra and excerpts form the Lotus Sutra in Japanese. After that, members presented personal testimonies of how chanting changed their lives and environment, helping to make the world a better place. (This reminded me of testimonies given in group meetings of evangelical Christians; chanting made such and such happen in one case, Christ made such and such happen in the other.)
As you might expect, I remained a doubting Thomas regarding such aspects of Nichiren Buddhism. I had no doubts about the beneficial effects of meditation--scientific research, after all, is in complete agreement. I do not, however, believe in any form of supernatural intervention--science agrees with me here as well. I needed to meditate again, however, so I made the following "scientific" proposal to the host of the group. I would meditate, chanting nam myoho renghe kyo, for twenty minutes twice daily and would return to the group in a few months with a report of any internal or external changes in my life for the better. At least I would be meditating again.
3.
It's been about two months since that meeting, and with only one or two exceptions, I have kept my promise. (Well sort of--I didn't chant the prescribed mantra during most of my meditations. Some were breathing meditations, mindfulness meditations, silent meditations, etc. Each time, whenever possible, I sat down in a half-lotus position. At home I sit half-lotus on a Muslim prayer rug I bought in Turkey. Before me is a lit soy candle from Target, burning before a statue of Shiva Nataraja which I obtained in India. I also have a little picture of the aunt of my Indian brother-in-law, who was canonized by the Catholic Church and is now known as Saint Alphonsa. Yes, I am quite ecumenical.)
I must admit that not only did I become calmer, as one might expect, but some good things did happen in my life. (I make no claims, however, that the occurrences were "statistically significant.") But this article isn't about them. It's about what happened one morning when I chanted Nam Myoho Renge Kyo in a Catholic Church in Provence.
4.
A few days after the Buddhist meeting, my wife and I were off to Aix-en-Provence, France, for a three week stay. The program, sponsored by the University of California, provided us with an apartment in the heart of Aix. We were with a very congenial group of people, mostly around my age, and mostly affiliated in some way with the University of California; the main aspect of the program was classes in French at a local school for foreigners.
Aix is a wonderful town. Its yellow-colored buildings, many hundreds of years old, and narrow streets were always full of--but never crowded with--(mostly) young, well-dressed pedestrians having a good time. (Aix is a very pedestrian-friendly city. The food, as you can imagine, was great. Nearly everything about our stay there was, well, magical. We had free time to travel about--we took the rapid train (TGF) to Lyon one weekend with a couple from the group--but that's another story. The people we were with were not only very interesting, but good, friendly, people as well. Our program director, Carlotta, was exceptional.)
Aix is small. The main avenue is called the Cours Mirabeau, lined with stately plane (sycamore) trees, the "Champs Elysées of Aix"--an exaggeration, of course. Our apartment hotel was located near one end of the Cours; our school was a few blocks away from the other end. In this part along the Cours, just opposite the famous statue of King Rene, the last independent king of Provence, was the Catholic Church in which I chanted.
I meditated each morning and night at the apartment. On the morning in question, I decided to do my meditation in the church, which I had visited previously. I left the apartment at 8 a.m.; classes would begin at 9.
The name of the Jesuit church is l'Église de la Mission. It is a Baroque church, nothing special--that is, for France. Like most churches in France, they provide excellent space for meditation--beautiful structures with very few visitors. (Church attendance in France is so low that even in the villages, where a Catholic Church is almost always located in a prominent position, Sunday services often do not take place at all, due to lack of interest and due to an acute shortage of priests. One village, often on a rotating basis, offers services on Sunday, to which people from several surrounding villages must travel. Times have changed! You may recall, that Pope John Paul II, on a visit to France, wondered aloud what happened to the country that once was "the first daughter of the Church." (The answer: plenty.)
The church in Aix, like many others, was almost always empty, despite being at the center of a bustling town. It could seat hundreds. The undecorated stone walls rose to a height of about 60 feet; the central dome, with a plain glass window at the top, rose another twenty-five feet or so above that. To the right of the transept was a larger-than-life statue of a man in a robe holding a cross, which was larger than him, the base of which rested on the floor of the niche. (I had seen pictures of men like these; they were the missionaries, who declared that the land they were visiting was now Catholic, whether the native population liked it or not.) On the opposite side was the statue of a saint. On the altar, was a brass statue of the crucified Jesus wearing a gilded loin cloth. His head was lowered; he looked very dead.
Nobody was in the church when I entered at around 8:15 a.m. I sat on the left side of the church, not far from a large cross before which a young man was kneeling on stone for a very long time the day before. I began to chant to myself.
No one was around, so I began to chant aloud. As I became aware of the echoes which the church walls provided, I chanted louder and louder--and louder. Soon NAM MYOHO RENGE KYO reverberated and filled the entire church. I had the feeling, during this chant, that the missionary guy would have been more than a bit miffed if his stone-cold ears had been real; I also felt that Jesus would have smiled.
Twenty minutes had passed. I stopped and felt great. I still had a few minutes to "come down" for class.
At this moment, a light came on to the right of the altar. Then a little lady came out of the sacristy door and proceeded to light two candles on the altar. (The door is clearly visible in the picture.) After this, she promptly left. I was taken aback--There was no chance that she hadn't heard my loud chanting! A few stragglers came in--about four old ladies, half as many old men, and one rather desperate-looking young man. I figured that there would be a nine o'clock mass and that this was a typical congregation for a weekday service. I thought that she must have been quite irritated with me. If she was, I certainly couldn't blame her. I was prepared to apologize.
A few more of the faithful came in. Then the little old woman came out of the sacristy again and headed in my direction. I'm in for it, I thought; then I noticed her lovely smile.
When she reached the place where I was sitting, she spoke to me in an angelic voice with the expression I would imagine that many of the statues of the Virgin Mary would have, if statues, like the picture of Dorian Gray, aged as we do--The lady's face was quite wrinkled.
"Monsieur, je voudrais que vous feriez la lecture pendant la messe." ("Sir, I would like you to give the reading during the mass.")
I was dumbfounded not only by the invitation, but by her presence, which exuded rays of kindness and serenity in my direction.
I told her. in French, that it would be a great honor, but that I'm neither French nor Catholic, and had to leave presently for a class in conversational French.
She smiled again. "J'espère que vous revendriez, Monsieur!" ("I hope you will come back. Sir!") Without another word she left, still looking very pleased.
(I did return several times, but never saw her again.)
At the school, our teacher asked me why I was late. (Our advanced class had only three students.) I explained. She thought I refused the old lady's request for some religious reason. I told her that I respect people of all religions--I also respect atheists. I told her that I interpret all religions symbolically, and, on a symbolic level, they all make sense.
D'accord, she replied. "Now let's turn to the subject of the day,"
--French pop music. She proceeded to show us videos of her favorite contemporary French singers, including two featuring an African-Belgian rapper. Both were first-rate.
For some reason, the incident at the church had made me feel like a man of twenty again--combined with the wisdom of a man nearly seventy. I had the distinct impression that it had a similar effect on the old lady.
The Nichiren Buddhists teach, as previously mentioned, that chanting has a positive effect not only on the individual, but on others, too. I learned my lesson in a Baroque church; they're absolutely right.
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