Walking around the Buddha.

An Episcopal priest sees herself and her faith in a new way in the landscape of Thai Buddhism.

Recently, I went to Thailand for a two-week tour that emphasized culture and close contact with Thai and hill-tribes people. Our tour guide, a native Thai and practicing Buddhist, was mild-mannered and invariably good-humored. When I told him that I teach World Religions and that my chief motive for being on the trip was to learn more about Thai religion and culture, especially the beliefs and practices of ordinary people, he seemed especially delighted to facilitate my quest and to enrich the trip with several "extras."

Much later, after we had developed mutual trust and respect, I revealed that I am an Episcopal priest. At that, he became more open to sharing on a deeper, more spiritual, level. Slowly, during the trip, I not only learned about Thai religion and culture, but also more about myself and my religion, and about the spiritual quest as it transcends the particularity of religious tradition and my own particularity. The trip became for me a real pilgrimage and opportunity for finding God in the ordinary life of a different culture and in the unhurried reflection that such a trip made possible.

One of the first things our Thai Buddhist tour guide said as we started through the streets of Bangkok was, "Thailand is full of temples" - and, indeed, it seemed to true. In almost every direction, a temple was visible from our minibus, if not at one minute, then at the next. I wondered if our major U.S. cities are as full of churches as Bangkok seemed to me filled with temples. I thought about Philadelphia, where I lived more than thirty years ago, and its many large, beautiful churches, and multitude of storefront churches; I also thought of rural Virginia, where I have lived all but one of the intervening years, with its numerous churches of all sorts; and I concluded that we may have as many churches per capita as Thailand has temples. In Thailand, however, I noticed the many temples, the beauty of some, the seeming gaudiness of others, the blatant disrepair of many, whereas in the United States I drive by churches without thinking about them. In fact, were I a tour guide in the United States, I doubt that my first comments to foreigners would be about our large number of churches. How often I take sacred places for granted!

Sometimes I noticed that our tour guide unobtrusively clasped his hands in front of himself and inclined his head in greeting as we arrived at a temple. I remembered from my childhood that some Roman Catholic classmates made the sign of the cross when they walked by a church - but only a Roman Catholic church. It is ironic that we often fail to acknowledge the sacred in our midst because we are used to our own churches, but also fail to greet the sacred enshrined in another religious tradition. Either way, the sacred often gets ignored not only in temples and churches but also in nature and in other people.

As we rode through Bangkok and into the countryside, I noticed several old, seemingly deserted temples and wondered what function they might serve - dilapidated structures that, in my view, "deserved" destruction because they detract from the beauty of their surroundings. Perhaps the problem (insofar as there is a problem) is in my thinking that these ugly scraps need justification, that they need to have a function, rather than accepting their being - or in my preferring instant recycling to creative transformation. How much creativity is lost in such natural preferences, but how cluttered my life becomes when I indulge my inclination to be a "pack rat" who saves every scrap. Should I simply delight in the being of these decrepit structures and value their historical testimony regardless of how much they seem to clutter the present, even, at times, rendering it ugly? Perhaps the combination of the beautiful and even the sublime with the dilapidated and the grotesque is a fitting mirror of human life, human culture, religious institutions, and even human spiritual quests.

On the human level, we need to value more the beingness of those whose life is no longer useful - and of our own lives when we arrive at that condition of consciousness of being no longer useful in the world's terms as producer, consumer, or even ornament. Perhaps that applies in some sense to religious objects as well, at least until they are reverently burned or buried. Genuinely prizing beingness is different from clinging to it for ourselves or for others when the very being itself is trying to die to self in the larger life of the divine attractiveness. How possessive we are of life when we spend catastrophic amounts of money to extend life briefly (I've seen estimates as high as 80 percent of one's lifetime medical costs), exhausting a person's tolerance for pain, a person's dignity, and a person's self-respect, if that person is even conscious enough to have these feelings. We need to reverence being, apart from utility, and to develop true valuing apart from possessiveness, as in clinging to earthly life that is, except for heroic medical intervention, over.

Such reflections continued when, later, I saw piles of what seemed to be junk in temple compounds, even on the grounds of active temples. These broken Buddha images, chipped religious statuary, fragments of shrines - even entire spirit houses- were thrown haphazardly into a pile. There they await re-creation as new objects of devotion. Perhaps for the Thai people this process of use, discard, and reuse mimics the cycle of reincarnation; for me, it suggests life, death, and resurrection.

One of the functions temples serve in Thailand is as repositories for the old and worn. Even sick, diseased, unwanted animals are taken to these temples, where they are fed and, according to our tour guide, given birth-control medication. Two things, at least, seem to me significant about these collections of discarded religious objects and the animals. It's a curious mix: Buddhist statues, with an occasional object that seemed more Hindu than Buddhist, and the spirit houses, leftovers from the ancient animistic religious traditions of the Thai ancestors. When another Buddha image is needed, the monks may well recreate animist-Hindu-Buddhist objects as Buddha images. Why should this strike me as unusual? It is very much the way we are: whatever our religious traditions and those of our most immediate ancestors, in some ways we are blends of the traditions of humankind. God's creative and re-creative Spirit has been leading humankind from the moment of our creation, guiding humanity and remolding us into the image in which we were created, redeeming us from the ugliness and waste we make not only of our own lives but of the lives of those around us, near and far, now and in the future, and inspiring us with the Spirit who is sanctifying and leading us toward God's very Being. This is, of course, a Christian interpretation, but Thai Buddhists seem to accept readily the amalgam that is Thai Buddhism, whereas Christians often forget the origins of, for example, Christmas trees and the solar imagery of Christ the Son of God.

A second reflection on Buddhist temple animal birth control: what a big step that must have been; also, the way was paved, so I was told, for human birth control by the monks' example. Our Thai guide said that, for a long time, Thai people were reluctant to practice birth control because that practice seemed to conflict with their reincarnation beliefs, but now they realize the importance of birth control and have small families. He also mentioned how belief is changing. The "younger generation" do not believe in intangibles, so, for many, reincarnation beliefs are disappearing and karma is seen as earthly consequences for one's actions. One consequence of this trend is that old people are now asking that their ashes be taken to the Buddhist temple rather than buried near the family. They realize that the young people will not tend the place where their ashes lie. Although I do not believe in reincarnation, the trend away from this belief somehow seems sad if it is replaced only by a belief in "here and now." How can intelligent people today, raised in a culture pervaded by scientific ideas of light beyond the humanly visible spectrum, sound beyond the humanly audible spectrum, the relativity and uncertainty principles, continue to believe only in what they see, hear, touch, taste, smell, and think or feel?

One of the profound dilemmas for people of all spiritual traditions in the twenty-first century will be how to respond to the Spirit's guidance (under whatever name we evoke it) so that spiritual evolution is not outpaced by material and scientific evolution. With the rapid rate of change in all "earthly" levels of our existence, this question becomes a bigger challenge than it has ever been. How can all of the human family be led to a profound respect for other people as carriers of the divine? In Judaism and Christianity, this identity is called creation in the divine image and (in Christianity especially though not exclusively) being filled by the Spirit of God. Such spirit-consciousness is reflected in the Muslim dhikr, in various Hindu concepts of god-possession, and in indigenous religions' ideas of spirit-possession.

How can religious peoples be faithful to their own traditions and their truths without denigrating those of other religions? Perhaps here the gentle Thai people have it easier than many of us. Buddhism does not claim to be "revealed," but rather to be discovered - a formulation by enlightened human teachers of truths anyone, in theory, could discover, given sufficient time and concentration. Those whose religious traditions present the most problems in this regard are, of course, followers of monotheistic, universal (at least in theory and missionary thrust) religions: Christianity and Islam. God has spoken, each affirms, in a final and superior revelation, whether that embodied in Jesus the Son of God or in the Qur'an. How much Muslims and Christians need the gentle spirit of the Thai people so that religion does not become a veil for cultural imperialism, so that we remain true to God's revelation as we each understand it without burying that revelation under the hatred and ignorance of religious zeal. Sometimes others need to learn that lesson as well. For example, although Orthodox Jews in Israel do not view their religion as "universal," in the way Christians and Muslims do, they surely need more humility, even simply vis-a-vis other Jews, in their practice.

To Buddhists, the lotus which has roots in the mud and rises through mud and murky water to blossom in great beauty is a symbol of enlightened being. One fruit that Thai people especially value is the durian, which we were repeatedly told "smells like garbage and tastes like heaven." Its notorious odor makes it impermissible on public conveyances and certainly hinders export. Our tour group wanted to try it. Only a few of us liked it, even though when it is peeled and sliced, it has none of its noxious odor. It tasted like slightly sweetened whipped cream - an odd flavor for a fruit! (The ancient Greeks thought the divine food was ambrosia, which also, at least as recreated in American kitchens, is full of whipped cream mixed with fruit.) This durian seemed similar to the lotus in its lowly origins (or at least the lowly resemblance of its odor) and its sublime suggestiveness as well.

Our guide arranged that on New Year's Day (the western calendar's date - Thai like celebrations so much that they observe at least three New Year's Days during the year: the western, the Chinese, the Thai) a group of local Buddhist monks would visit the Thai resort where we were staying, a place frequented mostly by Thai people. He stressed that, even though we read in western literature that monks beg, they do not beg. They never ask, they come only if invited, they take only what is freely given. We were each given a large packet of things, canned salmon, detergent, toothbrush, fresh flowers, etc., to give the monks, if we wished to make a presentation. We were also instructed most carefully that, under no circumstances, should a woman even accidentally touch a monk or his robe or even his bowl. To do so would subject the monk to an elaborate purification process. I asked our guide if the same "rule" forbade men touching the person or robe of a nun. To my regret, even though I do not like this idea of pollution, it does not. Nuns are not ordained and thus are inferior. Men may casually touch them. How often in the world are women's bodies considered "available" in ways that men's are not! Curiously enough, Thailand is, according to western standards, one of the more "advanced" countries for women. They got the right to vote in 1933 - about thirty years earlier than Swiss women got the same right, if I remember correctly, and not very long after women in the United States.

I was reminded of the traditional tale of two Buddhist monks who came to a river and saw a woman in distress who was unable to cross it. One monk picked her up and carried her across, putting her down on the opposite shore. The monks continued walking. Later that evening the other monk remarked that he was amazed his brother monk had carried a woman across the river. The first monk observed that he had left the woman on the shore after carrying her but that his brother monk had been carrying her (in his mind) ever since. Strict observance of "exterior" rules does not necessarily result in internal observance - and there is a mental possessiveness just as destructive as physical possessiveness. I began to ponder what internal "baggage" I carry with me.

One day we came to a very large Buddhist temple in the country, a temple westerners rarely see but one frequented by the Thai people: Wat Chantaram in Utai Thani. Indeed, our group of sixteen were the only westerners I saw during our two-hour visit. Our guide remarked that he thought this temple compound is about to go in the Guinness Book of Records for having the most restrooms side-by-side: a hundred of them, or so he claims (I saw many, perhaps 30 to 50, but there may well have been another row or two of them). What an odd "record" for a temple, and yet how welcome for the tourist and pilgrim. This temple also has two wax statues of monks. Our guide told us it would be interesting to see if we mistake the wax monks for the "real" monk who is telling fortunes and giving advice. How much spirituality involves the ability to distinguish the real from the copy!

I thought of a curious temple we had visited earlier, Wat Palalai, at Suphan Buri, which features two large reclining Buddha figures. The large meditation hall was closed, but through the windows one could see perhaps fifty or sixty life-sized wax statues of monks. Seated in the lotus position as if meditating, they looked "alive." Were these statues created as the monastic community dwindled in numbers? Could they in some way set the kind of example real monks used to set? How do art and imitation relate to life? When does imitation become parody?

I also wondered why Wat Chantaram preserves its founder's body in a glass coffin instead of following the usual Thai Buddhist cremation custom, one so common that most temples in the north have their own crematorium. What amazed me most, however, was the vast amount of silver hanging down from the high ceiling, like great wads of Christmas tree tinsel, and the mirrors everywhere, even though this temple was built recently. Our guide commented that one million Thai visit a year. If each leaves a gift of only ten baht, or about twenty-five cents, that still results in hundreds of thousands of dollars per year. The silver and the mirrors give this temple an amazingly simple and yet gaudy appearance, at least to my eyes. How can something be both simple and gaudy at the same time? I wondered if that's how much human religious practice must impress God, as an expensive missing or obscuring of the real point. So often we ornament to hide unpleasant truths that call our self-centered perspectives into question.

Visits to several Hill Tribes - the White Meo (or Hmong), the Karen, the Lisu, among others - raised more probing questions. How can these people who are animist have engaged in devastating forest "slash and burn" practices as they moved from place to place? Does finding the sacred in all of life not relate to its preservation? Is the Thai government's desire for these nomads to settle down producing the equivalent of American Indian reservations? Is it a kindness to encourage them to preserve their simple way of life minus the nomadic wandering? As we visited these tribes, I noticed how clean and neat the simple mud huts, thatched cottages, etc., are. Except for one doll made of rags and feathers, however, I never saw anything that appeared to me to be a religious object. Is that because I failed to recognize the sacred in their midst, or is it that, since everything is alive with spirit, they don't need special objects or structures?

Earlier our guide had explained that the Thai people have been very blessed. They have a beautiful country with many fruit trees, plentiful fish, good weather. These blessings are slowly being eroded as cities become over-populated, rivers are over-fished, and forests are destroyed. All of these things, in our guide's judgment, have contributed to the Thai disposition: the calm joyousness, the non-competitiveness, the enjoyment of life. Even the poor have a few "luxuries" in the abundant flowers available almost everywhere. When we took a day trip into Laos, things were different. Smiles and friendly greetings were less frequent, and many of the children looked malnourished, unlike even the poorest Thai we had seen. The Laos have indeed been devastated by political upheaval, civil war, and repressive government. Was their traditional Buddhism also destroyed? How much of the Thai temperament comes from not having to struggle for the basic necessities of life - from never having been colonized by Europeans - and how much comes from their interpretation of Buddhism? Indeed, their religion stresses "getting along" more than doctrine. Its practice has not rejected the animism of spirit houses, which even many Buddhist temples have, nor has it discarded remnants of Hinduism. Our guide commented that Americans prize self-expression most highly, while Thais prize "getting along" much more. Many Thai would prefer to shade the truth, or even lie, than create a conflict

Back in Bangkok toward the end of my trip, we went to the Temple of the Emerald Buddha or Wat Phra Keo, the Chapel Royal. The emerald jade Buddha-image, now clothed in its "cold season" cloth of gold cloak, even though it was about 90 degrees outside, is enshrined in a lofty position, surrounded by various other statues and decorations. The atmosphere was conducive to meditation. People sat quietly on the carpeted floor. One of the guidebooks had suggested that, in visiting a Thai temple, one was quite free to pray to one's own god - a phrase I did not like, as it seemed to imply that each person has a different god, rather than worshiping aspects of one God. Nevertheless, I found myself seated on the floor, thinking about the similarities between this chapel and a Christian one, and, ultimately, praying to God. For me, this was a deep, spiritual experience. How different from my experience of Wat Phra Chetuphon, or Wat Po, with its large Reclining Buddha, 150 feet long. That Buddha filled its temple. There was no room for sitting in meditation; instead one circumambulated the statue, never seeing the whole, always close to a portion of the statue so its chipped paint and plaster was visible. Around the walls were many monks' bowls into which people were continually throwing coins which made loud noises as they clanged against the metal of the bowls. This temple was not, at least not to me, at all conducive to thought, meditation, or appreciative awareness.

Later I mentioned to our guide that I liked the Emerald Buddha but that I did not like the Reclining Buddha, which seemed ungraspable. One could never possess the entire image simultaneously in one's mind, nor could one get far enough away to have a perspective on the whole. He paused a minute, then commented that that was precisely the point. The ungraspability, unpossessability, is important. Over and over, I found myself pondering this point, wondering what my response to the image said about my relationship to God, about issues of spiritual control, about the relationship between sensate spiritual experience and mental spiritual experience - and, on a more mundane but still spiritually influential level, about possession, mental and physical, and self-centeredness. At least according to several Thai with whom I spoke, the Thai sense of natural abundance and blessedness has been vital not only to their dispositions but also to their sense of the holy, so that the Buddhism the common people practice is life-affirming. What will happen to them spiritually as contemporary culture and business intrude?

As I look back on my trip, I am conscious that in Thailand I felt closer to God than I usually would feel in any other two-week period. At first this feeling seemed curious to me. I was away from church and sacrament, in a heavily Buddhist culture. Further reflection made me realize how appropriate this feeling of divine closeness was. God is everywhere and thus as present in Thailand as in any other place. The difference was in me. I was less hurried, less stressed, and even vaguely in a state of "empty mind," open to whatever happened rather than in control. So much of spirituality is availability, created, in part, from free time, silence, space, and restfulness, which restores the wonder of life, the wonder of all that is, ultimately the mystery of a God who is always Other, yet always near, and never able to be possessed. We are created, upheld, redeemed by the One who possesses us, not by what we possess. Spiritual "possessions" can be as detrimental as physical ones. It is possible to hold lightly without grasping - and to appreciate the pieces of that Reclining Buddha without seeing it all at once. Indeed, its feet with marble inlay depicting the 108 "auspicious signs" of a buddha were beautiful.

CAROLYN CRAFT is a priest in the Episcopal Church and a member of the Board of Advisors for Cross Currents; she is a professor at Longwood College, where she teaches World Religions and English.