Of peach blossom and much besides ... a sermon by Shanta Premawardhana inspired by themes of inter-religious dialogue

II Timothy 3: 14 – 4:4

It is not often that I will recommend a book from the pulpit, but I am going to do so today. Without the Buddha I could not be a Christian, by Paul Knitter is not just a book with a provocative title, but it’s a profoundly reflective spiritual journey of a highly respected theologian and teacher. Knitter, a former Jesuit, and now Paul Tillich professor of Theology at Union Theological Seminary in New York is a long time supporter of our work in Interreligious Dialogue at the WCC. In fact, he played a leading role at a Buddhist-Christian dialogue on Engaging Structural Greed that was jointly sponsored by WCC and LWF, in Chiang Mai, this August. The reason I bring this to your attention is that the fundamental premise of the book, how Buddhism helps to bridge the gap between context and revelation (my words) is I believe a critical question for our reflection in the ecumenical community, and is the theme for my reflection today.
I have been wrestling with God (like Jacob which is our other lectionary reading today) with an issue that has been fundamental to my faith formation, growing up Baptist in Buddhist Sri Lanka. It is the same issue Paul Knitter addresses, and before that another Asian theologian, C.S. Song helped me articulate: the connection between context and revelation.
Let me begin with the story of how a Chinese Zen monk, Shou-hsun reached his enlightenment. Shou-hsun began to study Zen under Fo-chien (a Zen master). He went to Tai-ping and resided with the master, but was at a loss how to take hold of Zen. One day, he put a seal on his bedding and made his vow: "If I do not attain the experience of Zen in this life, this bedding will never be spread to rest my body in." So, he sat in meditation during the day, and he passed the night standing up. Seven weeks went by. One day Fo-chien gave a sermon saying, "A world of multiplicities is all stamped with the One." This opened the eye of Shou-hsun. Fo-chien said, "What a pity this lustrous gem has been carried away by this lunatic," and said to Shou-hsun, "Since I once saw a peach blossom, I have never again cherished a doubt. You are all right as far as you go, but you have not really penetrated. Now tell me, where is this unpenetrated spot?" And Shou-hsun replied, "I most appreciate your grandmotherly kindness!"
That of course, is a typical Zen story. If I have to explain it to you, you have not reached the point of satori or enlightenment, you have not penetrated the stubborn spot. But since most of us are in that place, let me say a couple of things in explanation. For Shou-hsun, the world of multiplicities was hidden behind an unpenetrated spot. The realities that can be seen only by the enlightened ones were covered by the spot. All the solutions to his questions, issues, concerns and problems were there. So, as unenlightened ones do, he made a vow not to sleep or eat and to remain immobile until he penetrated the unpenetrated spot -- until his spiritual exercises transformed him.
How we all struggle to get through the unpenetrated spot? We may pray without ceasing, some may fast, others like Shou-hsun may deprive themselves of sleep, and nothing seems to work. But then suddenly, their eye catches the sight of a peach in full bloom: a common place sight, an ordinary phenomenon of nature. And something clicks! The unpenetrated spot is penetrated, the world of multiplicities is opened, the mind is enlightened, the mystery is disclosed, and context and revelation are linked up.
That’s my Buddhist context. It does not expect revelation to come from somewhere out there way beyond the clouds and the stars -- God's words booming through in Charlton Heston’s voice. No, revelation can be found in the most ordinary, mundane, even human things of life -- even a peach blossom.
This is not just another cute story from an exotic place. Had this been a Zen meditation class, you all will be seated on the floor in meditation trying to break through this mystery like Shou-hsun, and I will be going round with a cane, ready to whack you if you were not taking this seriously! Well, you should thank God this is not a Zen meditation class! But nevertheless, I believe this is critical to our ecumenical journey. Here’s why:
Our ecumenical theology is still stuck in an old paradigm. Let me illustrate it this way. The prominent Sri Lankan ecumenist D.T. Niles once confronted Karl Barth. Having heard Barth say that there is no divine revelation in Hinduism, Niles asked if Barth had ever met or made friends with a Hindu. To which Barth replied that he had not met one in his life. If you have never met a Hindu in your life, asked Niles, how can you say that there is no revelation in Hinduism? “A priori” said Barth. There is no need to ask. We know this already from Christian scripture.
And to drive the point home, here’s another. You all know that foundational to our work on interreligious dialogue is the 1938 International Missionary Conference held at Tambaram. Its preparatory text, The Christian Message in a Non-Christian World was written by the Dutch theologian Hendrik Kraemer. Revelation became a serious point of the assembly’s discussion. Kraemer framed the question this way: “From the standpoint of the Christian revelation, what answer can be given to the question: Does God—and if so, how and where does God—reveal Himself in the religious life as present in non-Christian religions?” How do we go about answering this question, asks Diana Eck in her presentation at the 50th anniversary celebration of Tambaram in 1988. “If we want to know what God has been doing in the religious life of Muslims, or what God has revealed of God’s self to Hindus, it would seem imperative to ask a Muslim, or a Hindu, ‘What have you discovered? What have you seen, or what has been shown to you? What is your struggle?’” In other words, engage Muslims and Hindus in a theological conversation about the content of revelation. But, she points out, despite having lived for years in Indonesia among Muslims, Kraemer does not engage Muslims in this way. When he talks about Islam, the voices of Muslims do not enter in. “His method for answering the question, ‘Does and, if so, how and where does God reveal himself to Muslims?’ is to consult Christian revelation, Christian scripture and Christian theology”
Now, you will of course say these are old stories. Surely the ecumenical community has progressed from these early attitudes. Yes we have. But many, perhaps most of our churches are still stuck in the old paradigm. Our churches are still worried about contextual theology (theology coming from the ground up which challenges top down theology), syncretism (which challenges the somehow “pure” Christian tradition) and the perception of a loss of mission (which is a threat to Christian illusions of hegemony).
This is why I chose this text to read today. I have been wrestling with God with this text given to me by my Baptist formation, to instill in me the idea that all scripture is divinely inspired and inerrant. It is revealed, and therefore not to be questioned. This works with Barthian and Kraemerian theologies. But it does not fit with the Sri Lankan Buddhist context.
It is as jarring as a sign that’s in front of a Pentecostal church a in very prominent intersection in the heart of Colombo -- a sign that points to a revelation that will come from above. In big bold letters that lights up the night sky, the sign says, "Jesus is Coming, Are you ready?" One day somebody had written another sign on the wall under that sign, in big bright red letters, "We are ready, when is he coming?" That was some time ago, but when I visited more recently that was painted over, but now, there was yet another piece of graffitti on that wall, which read, "Have coke while you wait!"
It just does not fit. We smile, not just because it’s funny but we who are schooled in contextual theologies know that this does not fit the context. Here’s what might fit the context: During Vesak, the Buddhist celebration of the Buddha’s birth, enlightenment and death, alongside all the pandals, lanterns and flags, you will also see dana sala (salles of almsgiving) -- where Buddhist organizations will provide free food and drink to anyone who comes. Some years ago, an order of Catholic nuns decided that they are going to open a year-round dana sala. It was a simple diaconal ministry with no strings attached. It was Sister Karuna’s idea and she was put in charge. After all the food is prepared, Sister Karuna would gather all the volunteers around to pray. They would pray, in thanksgiving for God's bounty even in the really small things, and she would pray for the workers who volunteered many hours preparing the food, and Sister Karuna would say, "Lord Jesus. we know you are going to come in this line today; when you come in here, Lord, help us to treat you right."
Wouldn’t it have been much easier if Jesus had worn a name badge? No, you remember, how the righteous will answer, "Lord, when did we see you hungry, or thirsty or naked or in prison or a stranger and did not minister to you?" Sister Karuna knew to see Jesus in the people who came in the food line: revelation is in her context. "When you did not do it to the least of these my sisters or brothers, you did not do it to me." I think God is not interested in making things any less ambiguous; rather, God is interested in making us more perceptive.
So, let me come back to our text. As you can imagine, I have a love-hate relationship with this text. It’s a text that has been used to bludgeon people with the question of inerrancy of the Bible. Those who hold that position, of course, are the same ones who hold that revelation comes only from above and beyond, that context has nothing to do with it. They are the ones who look for Jesus to come on the clouds and not in the soup kitchen line.
Let me suggest to you that the Bible is a confessional book. It is a book of faith and love. This is the key to understanding it. The purpose of the biblical authors was to take human communities from places of arrogance, and dependence on human power and might to humility and dependence on God; to inspire faith in a new order, to motivate us to love across boundaries of hate and indifference.
My colleague and predecessor Wesley Ariarajah illustrates it this way: when my daughter tells me that I am the best daddy in the world, and there can be no other father like me, she is speaking the truth. This comes out of her experience. She is honest about it; she knows no other person in the role of her father. But of course it is not true in another sense. For one thing, I myself know friends who, I think, are better fathers than I am. Even more importantly, one should be aware that in the next house there is another little girl who also thinks her daddy is the best father in the world. And she too is right. In fact at the level of the way the two children relate to their two fathers, no one can compare the truth content of the statements of the two girls. For here we are not dealing with absolute truths but with the language of faith and love. The problem begins when we take these confessions in the language of faith and love and turn them into absolute truths. It becomes much more serious when we turn them into truths on the basis of which we begin to measure the truth or otherwise of other faith claims. My daughter cannot say to her little friend in the next house that there is no way she can have the best daddy in the world, because the best daddy in the world is right there in her own house. If she does, we will have to dismiss it as child-talk.
This turns my Baptist formation on its head. The Bible is not about uncompromising, unambiguous, absolutely certain, written in stone, revealed from the sky truth claims. It is about people dialoguing with God, like Jacob wrestling with God, trying to penetrate the stubborn, unpenetrable spot. If the Zen master can be our guide, it might be wise to look to a peach tree in full bloom, if Diana Eck might be our guide, it might be wise to talk to a Muslim whose story we’ve never considered, or if Sister Karuna were our guide to see Jesus coming in the food line.
And when we see that, it might be like seeing the peach blossom for the first time again. Something might click. The world of multiplicities would open up. We might find that we are the ones writing on the wall, “Have a coke while you wait,” or retorting back to our teacher, “I most admire your grandmotherly kindness!”

copyright (c) Shanta Premawardhana/ WCC