Zen Baptist Book Intro

Long years ago I packed my metaphysical bags and left Troup and Fulton counties and the Baptists behind to go see what the Buddhists were up to. I could not have stated it clearly at the time but I had a definite sense of mission and purpose. Little did I know that I would learn the rudiments of Zen through the martial arts at Tatsuo Shimabuku's dojo behind his house in Agena, Okinawa. Now I am reporting back to the Baptists as some kind of rebound missionary with my gained perspective. But they may not trust me. Am I still a Baptist? 

I am a Zen Baptist -- a peculiar sort of Baptist to be sure. Buddhists of old were horrified by the Zen Buddhists chopping up wooden likenesses of the Buddha for firewood because they were way too cold. This Zen Baptist has no problem with chopping up the icons that we Baptists get too comfy with, too attached. But then neither did Jesus in his day. The rigid ones gave themselves holy hell over his words and ways.

Marcus Borg writes eloquently and well of the pre-Easter Jesus (the human historical Jesus) and the post-Easter Jesus (the experiential Jesus of Christianity). I write of the post-Christian Jesus, who has escaped the mindset, dogma, and doctrines of Christianity, who has gone beyond human consciousness structures, who cannot be captured by a net of moral values and triumphant righteousness. I know and love all three. 

I was looking at a book my Mom gave me a few years ago: George MacDonald’s “The Highlander’s Last Song.” On the title page, she wrote in her fine penmanship, “Just wanted to share with you such deep-thinking and good words. So much like you. Love always, Mama.” She then inscribed “p. 53, 54 bottom paragraph.” The paragraph, marked by her with a line in the margin, says: 

“Ian was one of those blessed few who doubt many things by virtue of a larger faith—causing consternation among those of smaller faith who wrongly see such doubts as signs of unbelief. But while his roots were seeking a deeper soil, his faith could not show so fast a growth above ground. He doubted most about the things he loved best, while he devoted the energies of a mind whose keenness almost masked its power, to discover possible ways of believing them. To the wise his doubts would have been his best credentials; they were worth ten times the faith of most. It was truth, and higher truth, he was always seeking. The sadness which colored his deepest individuality could be removed only by the conscious presence of the Eternal.”

Thanks, Mom.