Without the contemplative dimension all religions fail, because their attempts to point to the deeper meaning of their views are received at face value. This is true in Christianity and in Buddhism, like they say, “the proof of the pudding is in the eating.” The difficult situations we face give us a measure of the maturity of our practice and a corrective for delusion.

 

By Angel Roberto Puente

“There is no hope in Zen!”, yelled one of the participants in a contentious installation ceremony for a Roshi, who is also a priest.

Hope is a charged word—like love—that can have different meanings for people, and different ways of expressing it. The participant in the ceremony was probably objecting to a certain kind of hope. As Joan Halifax Roshi explained in an article:

“As Buddhists, we know that ordinary hope is based in desire, wanting an outcome that could well be different from what will actually happen. Not getting what we hoped for is usually experienced as some kind of misfortune. Someone who is hopeful in this way has an expectation that always hovers in the background, the shadow of fear that one’s wishes will not be fulfilled. This ordinary hope is a subtle expression of fear and a form of suffering.” (Lions Roar)

I saw this kind of hope in my nephew’s wife when their oldest son, a 17 year old, got leukemia.

As an Evangelical she declared his healing and posted frequently about her hope for his recovery. Sadly, he passed away. The aftermath included divorce and visible mental instability.

In Catholicism, “Hope is the theological virtue by which we desire the kingdom of heaven and eternal life as our happiness, placing our trust in Christ’s promises and relying not on our own strength, but on the help of the grace of the Holy Spirit.” This catechism definition has many different elements to consider. In practice, most believers will fall back on the desire Roshi Halifax speaks of.

Without the contemplative dimension all religions fail, because their attempts to point to the deeper meaning of their views are received at face value. This is true in Christianity and in Buddhism, like they say, “the proof of the pudding is in the eating.” The difficult situations we face give us a measure of the maturity of our practice and a corrective for delusion.

Having hope while traversing a difficult and uncertain situation is tricky.

It means holding fast to the belief that all will go well, while allowing for the possibility that it won’t, and focusing on the best action to take instead of being stuck between those two viewpoints. It’s a seemingly impossible openness that only contemplative practice can produce. I say this from experience.

In the past 6 years both my wife and I have battled cancer. My wife was informed that she had a enormous kidney tumor that had to be removed. A doctor with terrible bedside manner described the operation that would be necessary while still in the office. As we waited for the elevator all we could do was hug and cry. I immediately started looking for options and found a doctor who performed robotic surgery. The kidney was removed and recuperation time was very brief.

Four years later doctors found signs of it spreading to the lung.

She had the bottom lobe of the right lung removed. This time the operation was extremely invasive, and I nursed her until she was well. Currently, she is fully recovered and healthy. But now it was my turn.

I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. Rejecting the insistence of a doctor that wanted to remove my prostate, I studied the case with AI and discussed with other doctors until I found the best option for radiotherapy. The treatment was finished a few months ago.

I’m not afraid of death. In contrast, I observed how people around me reacted.

My four grown children were alarmed, and it was I who had to console them. I assured them that everything was going to be fine. Yes, hope. In the convoluted world we live in, it’s imperative that we cultivate it; not the needy kind—the hope that demands a specific outcome or cowers at uncertainty.

We need the kind where the experience of the Eternal gives us the conviction, that essential goodness, that true reality, cannot be permanently suppressed by evil. That there will be loss and pain and we will be able to withstand it. That we will fight the immediate battles, but in the end, we will not lose the war.

Because this deep, cleared-eye hope is not a wish; it is our strength.

 

The Tattooed Buddha is looking for articles on Hope for the month of November. Would you like to be a part of it? Send us your words to: editor@thetattooedbuddha.com. See submission guidelines here.

 

Photo: Pixabay

Editor: Dana Gornall

 

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Hope for the Present

Fireworks, Belonging and Hope for Something More

 

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