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VOLUME X:2
July-December 2020 
One or more religions
This article originally appeared in Mondo e Missione (August 2020). The translation is published here with permission.
A lifelong Catholic woman by the name of Chantha has often spoken to me about how uneasy she feels when she—as is frequently the case for all Christians in this part of the world—is invited to participate in Buddhist rites in pagodas or at the homes of her friends.
She feels obliged to take part in these ceremonies, if only to be respectful toward those who have invited her. These rites may a special ceremony for an individual, the blessing of a new house, a funeral, or a wedding. The problem is that participating in these ceremonies sometimes involves making ritual gestures that Cambodian tradition prescribes for Buddhist believers. Catholics are usually advised not to refrain from performing them, for to do so would be offensive and embarrassing from both a religious and human point of view. It would be like going to a party and refusing to smile!
Imagine the scene, you are surrounded by dozens of Cambodians doing what their tradition tells them is to be done. When your turn comes, you can't just stand there and do nothing. You go along with the practice and take part in these rituals and gestures fully aware of what you are doing. But it is exactly at this point that Chantha feels her faith in Christ clashes with the gesture she is making. One of these gestures, for example, is reverently bowing towards the monks who are often present during these rites. She feels that to do this would be a sin and that she should confess it. I have told her many times that to bow to a monk is only an expression of respect, and that I know how much she loves Jesus Christ and only Jesus Christ. Yet my words are not enough; she thinks she is betraying Jesus. Nonetheless, I urge her to continue to participate in these rituals if she is again invited because it is important that she not allow herself to be marginalized. Furthermore, it would really be mean-spirited to avoid these occasions, because they are the foundation of the people’s social life.
In reality, however, the problem is not all that simple. Chantha is a very devout Catholic and faithful to the Eucharist; I understand how much her conscience is troubled. The fundamental question comes down to this: Is it possible to belong to two religious traditions, to attend two temples, to love two Masters, to honor two or more deities?
For quite some time, theologians been reflecting on the possibility of double or multiple religious belonging. Living in contexts where different religions coexist can be confusing, generating undue syncretism. On the other hand, it can suggest a modus vivendi in which experience and faith are brought together in such a way that one can embrace two or more of the co-existing religions.
The experience of some missionaries in this country indicates that for many Cambodians one faith is not enough. In the face of varying circumstances and challenges, it is normal to have recourse to several deities in the hope that at least one will respond!
I once asked two young Cambodian women, Sray Lay and Khana, whether for them too, as for Chantha, involvement in another religious tradition means “betraying Jesus.” Or is it possible, as was the case for the renowned monk Thomas Merton, to move towards such a deep mystical understanding of another faith that Christian and Buddhist identities interact in a complementary way? We know that Merton, at the height of his spiritual quest, no longer felt any contradiction between Buddhism and Christianity. But how many of us can reach such an understanding? Here I do not intend to deal with the question of the truth of God from a theological point of view; rather, I want to address the question from the point of view of the experience of the believer.
I want to do so because in the pure and sincere heart of Chantha, who is afraid of “betraying Jesus,” I find a particular kind of discernment that I would call modesty, the modesty of wanting and being able to belong to only one experience, to one Master, to one God. If there were many other divinities, one could treasure them all, but in the end conscience itself demands an uprightness that means giving oneself totally to one God alone. Failure to do so would increase your sense of regret. And it would continue to be your conscience that would signal this reluctance, this sharing of your allegiance, as a sign that you are not fully committed.
Sray Lay and Khana both converted to Christianity after a Buddhist upbringing. As they put it, for them “faith is not a doctrine but a love.” The God who called them, listened to them, desired them, wants them to be his brides. “He is a jealous God” (Ex 34:14).
They are preparing for their first profession of vows in the congregation of the Lovers of the Holy Cross. While this mystical and eternal adventure of marriage with Jesus certainly has about it elements of the “void” that is so dear to Buddhist spirituality, it is motivated by “an act that is not ours.” It is something similar to what the poet R. Barsacchi speaks of when he says, “You have entered me / without being noticed, as if through a half-open / the delicate lover who remains behind / so as not to disturb the dream that dreams of him / but you are alive, more alive / than the absent one I invoke . . . I have a premonition of you / in the wonder of all love... in the glance that catches my eye. . . .” [2]
Translated by William Skudlarek
Notes
[1] Quoted in M. Nicolini-Zani, «‘Imparare in profondità dall’esperienza buddhista o induista’. L’itinerario di Thomas Merton in dialogo con le spiritualità orientali», in Archivio Teologico Torinese 26:1 (2020), pp. 155-178. Translation in Dilatato Corde, Vol X:2 July-December 2020
[2] R. Barsacchi, Marinaio di Dio (Firenze: Nardini, 1985), p. 712. |
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