Jesus and Buddha Walk into a Bar

For a while now, I've been working through how I feel about my faith. At first, I wondered if I was experiencing what many people call, "a crisis of faith," but that didn't feel quite right. And then I read a beautiful book about grief and I realized my crisis wasn't about my faith but about my culture. The truth is, most people are so ignorant of grief that all they can do is stand impatiently patting their pants leg and then say something completely unhelpful like, 

"Everything happens for a REASON," 

or, "God has a PLAN," 

or my personal least favorite, "HIS WAYS are higher than our ways."

What do any of these popular phrases even mean when submitted to or around people experiencing deep grief? Sure, you believe God has a plan for you and your family. But when we sit down and bear this out logically, what does that mean for our child? Did God not have a plan for Liam and that's why he died? Did he get bored and decide on a shorter story because he had the munchies? I'm not looking for answers to these questions. What I want is for readers to take a critical look at why we are so quick to say these things (or say nothing) and why our culture might be actively poisoning our souls.

Here in the United States, particularly in the Bible Belt, there is a concept floating around that only good things happen to good people. We see it in the #BLESSED paraphernalia which decorates our homes, clothes, and bumpers. Too often, those sporting this blessed attitude view it as an acknowledgment of abundance (always of good things).  Too few correlate it to the beatitudes. Blessed are the poor in spirit. Blessed are the grievers. Blessed are the persecuted. And many run as fast as they can in the opposite direction when confronted with the difficult parts of the beatitudes. I first saw this deep misconstruction  when Liam was diagnosed prenatally with HLHS. Within my own church walls, I received multiple encouragements from folks that went like this, "Well, it's so great that you guys live close to Duke. He will get the best care." As if his earth-shattering diagnosis was somehow invalidated by the quality of the medical care our son would receive. Are we even listening to ourselves? Why can't a situation just be awful? Why does it always have to be turned into something positive? I think acknowledging deeply terrible events that are random upsets the delicate facade we've built in our minds about how the world works. When we confront the tragedies our world hands to people around us, we begin to realize we aren't lucky or "blessed"- it's just not our turn yet. Which is, admittedly, terrifying. So in an effort to restore the delicate balance, we dress tragedy in religious garments and we walk away satisfied that our world view is still true and we are still safe.

What if the way we ignore or outright suppress suffering is actually making our faith less true? To my eyes, Western Christianity's dogma looks a lot more like Karma much more than it resembles the actual teachings of Jesus. This karmic lens is how Joel Osteen, and many televangelists, have become so prolific (and obscenely wealthy). At the source of it all is this sense that we can control our lives by doing good. And when we fail to do good or knowingly do bad, that's when God yanks a knot in our tail. I don't like that god. He seems like a real dick. That is the god so many people see presented by Christians in the world. No wonder they reject him. 

Faith can provide meaning and substance to our lives, but it does not change the course of events that we experience. Jesus doesn't promise His followers a prosperous life. Quite the opposite, He consistently reminds them that it will be hard and that all they will have to show for following him in this life is death. So if control and unopposed happily ever after is off the table, what do we get? 

For me, I think the one constant, predictable thing in this world is suffering. Joy and happiness exist, too. But suffering is guaranteed. I don't believe in Karma, but I do think Buddhists understand how the world works when it comes to pain and suffering in a way Western Christians can only dream. We humans spend such a great deal of time focused on what is right now and what we do or do not have. Our social media are full of attempts to prove to the world and ourselves that we are happy and "blessed." Both Jesus and Buddha saw beyond this tangible world into a larger universe and tried to help us realize this physical space is not meant to be forever. Living in this world as if it is will leave a person's soul shriveled and bitter. "Woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort." 

I think what I get out of my faith is the knowledge that suffering is a part of living, but it's not forever. Perhaps one day when another suffers like I have, I will be able to sit alongside them and let them yell and shout and cry and wail and I won't feel the need to say something that soothes my own soul rather than acknowledge the bottomless pain being felt. Perhaps what I get out of living this life fully aware that Hollywood's "happily ever after" is not meant for this world is a truer path to becoming more human, more empathetic to the suffering of others. And in this weird paradoxical space, I find joy and happiness as I walk fully in grief. In things all of us so often take for granted: a bird's song or the giggles of my girls chasing each other around the house. Because I know these, too, are not forever. These tiny, perfect moments cannot be bottled and sold at a local shop. To fully understand our own impermanence is to embrace suffering, but it also allows us to fully embrace joy. 

It's so wild that the one thing we seek in this world is the very thing that perpetuates our dissatisfaction. In the context of my culture, the beatitudes have always been perplexing. The trouble has never been with the words of Jesus, it's been with the lens I've been given to view them.