Jesus of the Plastic Injection Molding Machine

Posted on March 23, 2004 in Myths & Mysticism

Updated: Click on More

When Buddhism first shivered me with the recognition of the plight of my soul, I found it easy to refer back to Christian myth and Christian belief as reference points for the concepts which began to liberate me. Once I saw in myself a suffering Buddha, I could look at others and see the same. I can’t say that I have mastered the life: for one thing, I still allow anger to get the better of me sometimes. I have, on the other hand, come to cherish the sense of joy and compassion which ensues from dropping attachments. What I breathe when I take the time to meditate is the realization of the reality and the illusion of my uniqueness. The more I read Christ, the more I realize that the wisdom of the Buddha informed those words, either directly or through access to the same indescribable fount of wisdom.

As I seek peace, I am finding that I must step away from many Christians I know. They seem entirely uncomfortable with my departure from the American Orthodox Church (which has both its Catholic and Protestant forms). One concept that threw me for a loop recently was the insistance of a self-identified theologian who said that salvation depends on “conforming ourselves to Christ”. Jesus of the Plastic Injection Mold? I thought. Jesus the disrupter of individuality? Jesus the-you-have-to-mirror-me-exactly-or-you-are-going-to-hell?

This feels like the nails that Mel Gibson is hawking to those who go to see Passion. “Come and mount your own cross! We’ll put you there!”

When I point out these implications, the people in question whine and say “But that’s not what we meant!” Then why use the word “conform”? Buddhism has taught me a hesitancy about my use of language that I don’t see in too many Christians. The other day an African Methodist Episcopal Minister asked me to describe what Quakers meant by the Holy Spirit. I found myself spewing some trite metaphors and then sighed. “We’re talking about things for which language is totally inadequate,” I said to him. He nodded. He’d heard me.

I don’t know that Christ wanted his followers to turn into scripture lawyers who wanted everything defined. He spoke in poetry not the language of philosophy and theology. I do not read of a parable of the potter’s wheel or the clay mold. I read allergories of growth. When I look at Christianity, however, I see granite edifices, cathedrals that once set on their foundations do not change in color or startle us with new configurations. Again and again to regain my sanity in this stonecut world, I return to this point: Christ spoke of lilies not artificial flowers.

And here I run into a pool of stagnant water. Inside of it I see my own reflection, the sinews of the cheeks a little strained. So I relax. I take a deep breath. The point is that happiness does not ensue from becoming like an idol — whether that sculpture depicts Christ, the Buddha, or some other god — but from knowing that you, though unique, remain a part of all that is about you, that you are not alone in the suffering this world causes. We are born on the cross.

My friend Yule put it well when she said:

It’s balancing to think that there is a vast universe out there that exists according to a much larger tic-toc clockwork than anything human spawn could muster. Thank you, cold full-empty all embracing carefully non-tactile hotly isolating universe for being there, because otherwise I might just go insane.

To which I can only say “Yes”.

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Elsewhere, in response to a rant on The Gutless Pacifist for people to “be nicer”, I wrote:

“People may not remember exactly what you said, but they will remember exactly how you made them feel.”


Michael, I’ve been reflecting on this comment for several days and I have to say this:

I am not a Christian but a Buddhist/agnostic. Your declaration that this blog contains ‘Progressive Christians’ effectively brands me as an outsider.

It’s very difficult to talk about my personal beliefs and spiritual discoveries in a place where Faith is implicitly defined as Christian. It feels like a spear to the side to brave stating my feelings on this matter.

All your life you have been in the majority. There’s been no call for you to do as you preach here, to think before you speak out of consideration for others. (I, on the other hand, am continually pressed to be conscious of Christians.) It’s not the central message that I question: it’s the irony of the context. By your words, Michael, you have limited what is reasonable discourse on these issues to what is Christian. You have rejected without hearing my perspectives. I feel singled out by the narrowness of your perceived focus.

Your words, whether measured to mean what they say or miscalculated, hurt me.

UPDATE: The response I received is telling. Michael Bowen says “Oy Vey” and Pen rushes in to say what he “really” meant. They do that a lot at Gutless Pacifist, particularly when I point out something heavy as I did in an exchange with one of their favorites recently over the question of how we should treat reports of sexual abuse at Camp X-Ray. (My position: too much caution is a bad thing.)

Pen says that the nonChristian voices such as mine are what “draw the least traffic, the least comments, and don’t advance the central point of the site — that is — to change the church’s thinking on faith, politics, and peace.” Fair on the surface, but a slap in my face nonetheless. Read it again: it all comes down to numbers and Pen’s perceptions of what is popular. Michael Bowen posts many personally insulting, low substance pieces. His Mr. Manners article strikes me as a classic diversionary tactic: look for splinters in other eyes. Aside from his “Mr. Manners” piece, you can count on him to dig up mawkishly anti-Bush articles without adding much commentary of his own. But Pen says “He’s popular.”

Are my feelings hurt? Yes. Will this affect my feelings towards the Gutless Pacifist blog and its writers? Yes. Will I think and write about my feelings? If necessary. Mostly in private unless I feel the thinking can benefit others. Is the fact that I am unaccepted there going to prompt me to a vendetta to prove myself as a spiritual, thinking person? No. Why should it?

I say what I say and move on. Just not at the Gutless Pacifist.