We
are in the midst of the Islamic holy month Ramadan. Tomorrow, April 15 this year, is both the
beginning of Jewish Passover and Christian Good Friday. Sunday is Easter. The Germanic/Norse celebration of Ēostre
the Spring Equinox was in late March, but many modern neo-pagans
celebrate it at the same time as Easter noting the symbols and customs—eggs,
hares, and flowers—were folk customs folded in the Christian
holy day. I am sure diligent investigation
would uncover additional celebrations and rituals by other faiths
observed at this time of year.
Clearly
there is a visceral connection to a season of rebirth connected
to many traditions. And despite stout
claims that each celebration is the true one, many believe they are all manifestations
of the same awe for what I have called the Greater.
Sister
Mary Lou Kownacki,
OSB reflected this view which I call small u universalism. She is the close associate of Sister
Joan Chittister, OSB as the Director of Monasteries of the
Heart, a movement sharing Benedictine spirituality with seekers.
She has lived and worked in inner-city Erie, Pennsylvania
for 40 years, and has been instrumental in developing innovative programs
that serve local neighborhoods, including founding the Inner-City
Neighborhood Art House. She served as Executive Director of Alliance for
International Monasticism (AIM) and of Pax Christi USA, the
national Catholic peace movement.
A poet
and award-winning author, Sister Mary Lou’s most recent books
are Old Monk published by Benetvision, A Monk in the
Inner City: The ABCs of a Spiritual Journey issued by Orbis, and
Between Two Souls: Conversations with Ryokan published by Eerdmans.
This
widely used prayer verse was read at the annual Martin Luther King
Prayer Breakfast this year sponsored by Faithbridge, McHenry
County’s interfaith community.
Prayer for
Dialogue with Greater Religions
I bow to the one who signs the cross.
I bow to the one who sits with the Buddha.
I bow to the one who wails at the wall.
I bow to the OM flowing in the Ganges.
I bow to the one who faces Mecca,
whose forehead touches holy ground.
I bow to dervishes whirling in mystical wind.
I bow to the north,
to the south,
to the east,
to the west.
I bow to the God within each heart.
I bow to epiphany,
to God’s face revealed.
I bow. I bow. I bow.
—Mary Lou Kownacki, OSB
Although I wrote We Build Temples in the Heart, the title poem of my 2004 Skinner House Meditation Manual collection to describe the worship experience at the old Congregational Unitarian Church in Woodstock, Illinois, it broadly honors that same universalist spirit.
We Build Temples in the Heart
We have seen
the great cathedrals,
stone
laid upon stone,
carved
and cared for
by
centuries of certain hands,
seen the
slender minarets
soar
from dusty streets
to
raise the cry of faith
to
the One and Only God,
seen the
placid pagodas
where
gilded Buddhas squat
amid
the temple bells and incense.
We have seen
the tumbled temples
half
buried in the sands,
choked
with verdant tangles,
sunk
in corralled seas,
old
truths toppled and forgotten,
even seen
the wattled huts,
the
sweat lodge hogans,
the
wheeled yurts,
the
Ice Age caverns
where
unwritten worship
raised
its knowing voices.
But here, we
build temples in our hearts
side
by side we come,
as
we gather—
Here the
swollen belly
and
aching breasts
of
a well thumbed paleo-goddess,
there
the spinning prayer wheels
of
lost Tibetan lamaseries;
mix the
mortar of the scattered dust
of
the Holy of Holies
with
the sacred water
of
the Ganges;
lay Moorish
alabaster
on
the blocks of Angkor Wat
and
rough-hewn Stonehenge slabs;
plumb Doric
columns
for
strength of reason,
square
with stern Protestant planks;
illuminate
with Chartres’
jeweled
windows
and
the brilliant lamps of science.
Yes here, we
build temples in our hearts,
side
by side we come,
scavenging
the ages for wisdom,
cobbling
together as best we may,
the
fruit of a thousand altars,
leveling
with doubt,
framing
with skepticism,
measuring
by logic,
sinking
firm foundations in the earth
as
we reach for the heavens.
Here, we
build temples in our hearts,
side
by side we come,
a
temple for each heart,
a
village of temples,
none
shading another,
connected
by well worn paths,
built
alike on sacred ground.
—Patrick Murfin
No comments:
Post a Comment