I've been giving talks on the fate of religious belief and practice in a secular age based on my reading of Charles Taylor's fantastic book A Secular Age. Among the factors I describe that exposes how we are so different that 500 years ago either in America or back in the Old Country, one stands out as particularly relevant for congregations to understand. And the New York Times yesterday offered me a fantastic example. Let me have a go at it briefly, though there is lots more to say here.
In another time, even a century ago but for sure if you go back five, the coherence of faith, institutions and their religious practices were of a piece. One was born, say, into a Christian family, brought to the church, baptized, and through daily life that included participation in the church one learned the practices of faith--prayer, singing, Eucharist, bible reading, confession, home devotions, whatever. As a result of the dramatic changes in our social imaginary ( a complex way to speak of all that makes up our assumptions about what life is, our unacknowledged understanding of how to get around) we are faced with a society in which these are unconnected. Faith, institutions, and practices are disconnected. People have no faith, are suspicious of institutions, and practices are free floating. But the longing for community and meaning are huge, perhaps more pressing, and so people find practices that act to help ground them and give them meaning yet they are often incoherent practices, severed in dramatic ways from the tradition and its institutions that have giving them deeper meaning.
So enter Dharma Punx. In New York City just a block from the former site of the revered punk venue CBGB, people gather for a session of Buddhism-influenced mediation and reflection. Let by Josh Korda, the group began three years ago and offers open gatherings focused on "dissatisfaction with the way things are, a desire to live in the present, and a thirst for peace of mind." Says one attender, "I can't stand meditation classes where they charge you $10 to walk in the door--plus, I don't like candles." Says another, "There is this allergy to anything that is religious or culty out there in my demographic and age group. This is a nice antidote to that." The sessions begin with guided meditation, a talk, and then questions and answers. Korda keeps his pierced and tattooed style in his talk, including references to his favorite bands "Suicidal Tendencies" and "Cro-Mags" as well as freely using four letter words. Regular attenders like (and represent) the combination of git and Zen. "The trouble with organized religion is that I felt like I could never live up to it. I can live up to this," said an attender named Doug who works as a carpenter in New Jersey.
So the open practice of mediation, done in and for a micro-community in a style that fits them, is open to these people quite profoundly disconnected from institutional religion in general and traditional Christian faith in particular. Through the practice they seek meaning, grounding, a sense of peace. Korda emphasizes that happiness comes from within. Yet this is not a Buddhist community in the strict sense. It is disconnected and reconfigured around accessible bits--mediation, some beliefs, statues--and out of it comes, perhaps, community and a way of life. The hidden gift of congregations is that they already have practices that are embedded in a coherent and deep understanding of a way of life but they don't know how to offer them in accessible enough ways. Sarah Miles' book Take This Bread makes the case about how St. Gregory's in San Francisco made the Eucharist as a practice accessible in this way. It is a beautiful and haunting challenge how we in 'traditional religious communities' can break ourselves open enough to let our practices be accessible to the margins of spiritual seeking but then also provide a route through that practice into a coherent and deep way of life we might in insider language call discipleship.
Jesus often met people on the road. We too often expect to meet them in the temple. Oops.
Peace,
Chris
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