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By Kenny Smith 

Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez has appealed to indigenous spirits and deities for aid in healing his cancer.   San Francisco’s Yoda statue draws pilgrims from around the globe.  Are we all Jediists at heart?  (May the Force be with you.)

According to the Prison Literature Project, inmates most frequently request books on Buddhism, Wicca, and Islam.  Practitioners of minority religions continue to face many different forms of discrimination throughout American culture.

One writer recalls the Church of the Subgenius’ Prophet Bob and the balmy days of the 1980s.  

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qt9MP70ODNw

Rather controversially, volunteers from the Church of Scientology have been seen on the streets of London after recent outbreaks of violence.   Religious disagreements and the religious education of their children (at a Scientology school) may be to blame for the breakup of Jennifer Lopez and Marc Antony.  

Fifty Pro-Islamic billboards go up across the U.S.  

Who would Jesus nuke? Apparently anybody.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c2Vkj0mLI2M

The popularity of religion comes and goes with the times, a new study says.

Self-identified American Buddhist Geeks gather in Los Angeles for a conference.

Former Senatorial candidate Christine O’Donnell, infamous for her negative comments regarding Wiccans, (apparently) finds herself the victim of an online prank, hence her many vibrators and witchcraft books listed for sale on Amazon.

Is V for Vendetta functioning religiously for Anonymous members?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1K3XzzEICw

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By Joseph Rosenthal, Georgia State University 

“Man shall not live by bread alone,” responds Jesus defiantly in the Gospel of Matthew (4:4) to Satan’s entreaty to break his forty-day fast.  This phrase has been used variously by Christians throughout history as a tribute to the virtues of moderation and as a justification for some of the most extreme forms of asceticism.  Dietary practice is the second most popular domain of religiously motivated self-denial, surpassed only by matters of sex and human intimacy.  The diversity of rituals, laws, and red tape surrounding the consumption of food ranges from prohibitions of basic food types (e.g. shellfish, pork, alcohol, etc.) to extended periods of fasting.  The religious preoccupation with what goes into the body goes well beyond hatred of gluttony, sometimes verging on total caloric restriction. Although usually nothing more than a quirky inconvenience, at its extremes, religious dietary practice is virtually indistinguishable from an eating disorder, and at least as deadly. 

The history of religion abounds with stories of holy men and women claiming to have gone months or even years with little to no food or water.  The theological explanation for such dietary feats is always the same: spiritual nourishment meets all the metabolic needs of the non-eater.  In medieval Europe, voluntary starvation for god went by the name of anorexia mirabilis, or “miraculous loss of appetite,” an affliction—or charism, according to most pre-Renaissance clergy—that almost exclusively affected women.   

Women were particularly drawn to the fast-based lifestyle known as inedia, which often accompanied lifelong virginity, self-flagellation, and a host of other ascetic practices.  Angela of Foligno spurned almost everything but Holy Communion and the puss of the sick, which she described as rivaling the sweetness of the Eucharist.  When force-fed by clergy despairing for her health, Catherine of Siena would induce vomiting by pushing a branch or twig down her throat, in perhaps the earliest recorded case of bulimia.  In actuality, many of these “miraculous maids,” as they were sometimes known, starved themselves to death. 

Today, the Catholic practice of inedia is dead, but the spiritual pursuit of a calorie-free lifestyle persists in many parts of the world.  Claims made by religious people to the effect that they can survive without food are hardly unique to Christianity.  In fact, the majority of such claims come out of Eastern traditions.  In his 1946 book Autobiography of a Yogi, the Indian guru Paramahansa Yogananda describes a yogini by the name of Giri Bala who has allegedly lived without food or drink for over fifty years.  As the yogini explains, her prayers as a youth to tame an uncontrollable appetite were answered in the form of a guru, who taught her the “kria technique which frees the body from dependence on the gross food of mortals.” 

For years, highly publicized accounts of Indian monks and sadhus claiming to have survived without food and water for impossible stretches of time have regaled Western audiences.  In the last decade, images of bearded mystics in dusty robes, who starve yet are not consumed, have appeared frequently in newspapers.  In fact, fantastical stories of what Yogananda called “God’s hungerless touch” appear to be so commonplace in India that it would seem long-term foodless survival is something of a banality. 

Shri Hira Ratan Manek is a mechanical engineer from Calicut who claims not to have taken any food since June 18, 1995, save for the occasional glass of tea, coffee or buttermilk (for social purposes only, he insists).  Since 2002, the mutton-chopped yogi has been the subject of international headlines.  According to Manek, all humans can learn to live without food by deriving their energy directly from the sun through the act of solar gazing, a supposedly ancient Jainist practice he claims to have rediscovered, citing Lord Mahavir as his main inspiration.  HRM, as he is known to his followers, lectures around the world to worshipful audiences on the miracles of solar healing and the follies of Western medicine.  But HRM’s inediate (person who lives without food or water) feats pale in comparison to those attributed to Prahlad Jani, an 82-year-old Indian sadhu who denies having had any food or water since 1940.  As Jani explains, a religious experience at the age of 11 acquainted him with the Hindu goddess Amba, who sustains him by pouring heavenly nectar through a hole in his palate. 

Enchanted stories of hunger-less yogis streaming from the East have spawned a number of copycat cases abroad.  In Western countries, most but not all of the religiously-motivated individuals claiming to subsist on, or working towards the fulfillment of, a foodless diet call themselves Breatharians.  While there is no official Breatharian doctrine, most practitioners believe that humans, while equipped to digest food, can be sustained entirely by prana, which is harvested from the air by the act of breathing and from the sun by the act of sungazing (according to the Aryuveda, the main sources of prana are air and sunlight).  In Vedantic philosophy, prana refers to the life-sustaining, vital energy that suffuses all reality.  If anyone could be said to qualify as a figurehead or spokesperson of the Breatharian movement, it is either Wiley Brooks, founder of the Breatharian Institute of America, or Jasmuheen (formerly Ellen Greve), a self-styled Breatharian guru who has authored books such as Pranic Nourishment – Living on Light. 

Breatharianism is not explicitly a Hindu practice (most Hindus would probably prefer to distance themselves from the Breatharian community, if they are even aware that such a thing exists), nor is it associated with any particular religion.  Rather, it is an amalgam of Hindu philosophy, Yogic and Aryuvedic practice, and various New Age currents.  It has also caught the attention of certain quasi-religious dietary movements, most notably Raw Foodism. A popular practice among many raw foodists is “juice fasting,” wherein the only thing consumed for weeks or months is freshly pressed vegetable or fruit juice.  Some of the more diehard practitioners have tried to transition into a full-fledged Breatharian lifestyle, while others are content to join fellow dieters on periodic “fasting retreats.”  Even further along the spectrum of dietary extremism, Breatharianism holds an obvious appeal to the pro-Ana community, an online support network for individuals with eating disorders, where “support” means egging on and mutual encouragement.  Accounts of solar-powered yogis and the teachings of Jasmuheen serve as regular “thinspiration” on pro-Ana forums and other thinspo-themed websites. 

Not surprisingly, Breatharianism in America has had a number of muddy run-ins with the law.  Three deaths have been definitively linked to the starvation cult and to Jasmuheen’s publications in particular, but many more are suspected.  These cases have forced legal experts to grapple with the familiar question of where religious freedom trespasses onto public safety.   

In 1998, after reading Jasmuheen’s book, Lani Morris, a 53-year-old mother of nine, recruited Jim and Eugenia Pesnak to guide her through a 21-day Breatharian initiation program.  During the course of the program, her health deteriorated to the point that she lost the use of her limbs and began to cough black liquid, which the Pesnaks attributed to the effects of spiritual detoxification.  Morris died on July 1 of severe dehydration, kidney failure, and the effects of a stroke.  On November 19 1999, the Brisbane Supreme Court found the Pesnaks guilty of manslaughter.  Earlier that year, the semi-naked body of Breatharian enthusiast Verity Linn was found dead at a remote camp site in the Scottish Highlands.  Her only belongings consisted of a sleeping bag, a copy of Jasmuheen’s book Living With Light, and a diary detailing her descent into starvation. Jasmuheen has denied all responsibility for the deaths in connection with her writings, and expresses doubt that these victims indeed died of hunger.  As of this writing, she has not been officially charged with the deaths of any of her followers, though authorities have seized control of her website. 

While no less fervent in their claims, Western Breatharians have not achieved the same level of “popular legitimacy” enjoyed by Eastern inediate yogis.  And unlike Dr. Sudhir Shah and his team of investigators at Sterling Hospital in Ahmedabad, India, who have devoted thousands of government-funded man-hours attempting to validate such claims (for which they have incurred the censure of organizations like the James Randi Foundation and the Indian Rationalist Association), most American scientists won’t even give Breatharians the satisfaction of their time.  The fact that so many Indian physicians and scientists, including the Indian Defence Institute of Physiology and Allied Sciences (DIPAS), consider inediate claims a worthy subject of medical investigation constitutes a profound failure of their basic scientific and medical educations, and should be a point of national embarrassment.  As it turns out, there is such thing as starvation without hunger.  Breatharian mania at home and abroad is yet another bitter reminder that in the 21^st century, large swaths of the human population are positively starving for rationality, a kind of hunger that can’t be felt, that consumes without always killing its victims, and for which the only known treatment is a sound scientific education.

*********************************

Joseph Rosenthal is very near the completion of a B.A. in Religious Studies at Georgia State University, with a minor in Chemistry. His main areas of interest in Religious Studies are the historical and contemporary relationship between science and religion, the cognitive science and evolutionary psychology of religion, memetics, and the so-called New Atheism. He intends to pursue a Masters degree in Chemistry at Georgia State University, where he currently works in a research lab as a synthetic chemist.  

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By Melinda Rothouse

From the moment I stepped into the van, I knew I had entered a different world. The other passengers were already well-acquainted with the weekly O’Donaghue bus from Cork to Castletownbere, a little town somewhere far out on the Beara Peninsula in West Cork, Ireland.

Heading home from a day of commerce in the city, many passengers carried loads of shopping bags that filled the narrow aisles while others were making a weekend commute to the Peninsula.  A musty odour permeated the vehicle, smoky—dusky, an infusion of cigarette smoke and body odour, perfume and food.  Aromas left behind by the countless passengers who made the trip many years past.  The seats worn and threadbare, the windows smudged with breath and oil from the many heads that rested upon them.

By the time we reached Castletownbere, most of the other passengers had disembarked at various points along the roadside. “Can you stop just there, at the next crossroads?  Thank you, thanks so much! Goodnight,” passengers imparted before disappearing up wandering side roads or into neat modern homes.  Exiting the van in Castletownbere’s tiny square, I looked around helplessly for a taxi, finally asking the driver of the van where I might procure one last mode of transportation to my destination.

“Where are you headed, then?” he asks.  ”Dzogchen Beara,” I reply.

Another voice joined the conversation; I turned and found the man who had sat behind me on the van, whose accent I had earlier struggled to decode as he talked on his cell phone. “Oh, yes, I’m going that way—a lad is on his way to collect me. He should be able to drop you off if he’s got room—he’ll be going right past there.” He assures me.  “Wonderful,” I reply.

As we wait, we introduce ourselves, and it turns out he’s just back from Galicia, Spain, where he completed a three-month pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela.  My impression of him shifts drastically from country bumpkin to world traveller—religious pilgrim…And so I hitched a ride with him and Gert (Gurd?), his German friend who cheerfully rearranged the back of his car to make space for me: “Feckin’ sold me other car!” he shouts.

They asked if I have previously been to Dzogchen Beara?  ”No, this is my first time.”

“Well, whatever they say, don’t sign anything,” says Gert, wryly.

“What, you think they’ll ask me to sign my life away?” I inquire laughingly.

“Just don’t sign anything!” Gert insisted, slightly suspicious of the strange Tibetan Buddhist retreat center residing in their midst.

I arrived around 9:00 p.m. at the international hostel, where, like some post-millenial contortion of Tabard’s Inn from the Canterbury Tales, the party is just beginning.  Gathered in the kitchen were a zany lot of merry Buddhist/hippies, cracking jokes about death and reincarnation, and celebrating the departure of Anna, a willowy, wise, gracefully aging and painfully kind guest. Though she’s the guest of honour, she jumps up when I walk in, welcomes me, and shows me to the women’s dormitory. Settling my bags, I returned to meet the other guests: There’s gentle Richard from Holland, who gave up his career in the theatre after his parents’ passing to come and live among the Buddhists, shrewd Cynthia from New Zealand, a widowed retired former hostel-owner (the Buddha’s Abode, it was called), three cheerful Italian students on summer holiday, waifish Clare-the-Mermaid from France, and Tim from who-knows-where, strumming the ukulele in a vintage three-piece suit with flowers in his hair, leading a call and response to: “Who’s got the love?” “We got the love!” Damien, the social worker-turned-musician from Dublin, whaling on his digerideedoo and a local Corkonian, Brona thrilling us all with her oven-rack-and-shoelaces-turned organ of the gods (just put those little loops at the end of the shoelaces into your ears while I run this fork across the oven rack, and prepare to be amazed—note to self: must try this at home; great party trick).

In the midst of all this mayhem, I craved a quiet evening curled up with a book, but soon accepted that there was nothing to do but join in. As Ross, my beloved dharma buddy back in Austin would say, “don’t hesitate; just say yes…”

Though Buddhist rather than Christian, this place seemed somehow in line with the long and storied Irish monastic tradition, or at least some 21^st century version of it.  Being at Dzogchen Beara, I felt that I had entered a living breathing community along the lines of St. Enda (father of Irish monasticism), who lived all those centuries ago on the desolate Aran Islands, an emphasis on simplicity, quietude (certainly not always observed), communal living, recycling and composting, meditation and study.  Yes, in the hostel we slept in bunk beds with ten to a room rather than in individual beehive huts, but during my long walks along the craggy hillsides, and hours spent in meditation looking out over the broad, vast sea, I felt a sense of the contemplative life.

Not only did I feel a connection with the Irish monastic tradition, but also with the worldwide Buddhist community.  Dzogchen Beara is one of the main retreat centers of the Rigpa sangha, under the direction of Sogyal Rinpoche, a Tibetan lama who fled Tibet after the Chinese invasion.  After coming to the West and studying comparative religion at Cambridge, he founded a network of Buddhist centers all around the world. Rinpoche’s international students gather at retreat centers like this one to practice intensive meditation, study, receive teachings and spiritual transmissions, and deepen their practice.  You can feel the dedication in their stories and the incredible distances they have traveled to be here. Several visitors tell me of their hometown Buddhist communities in places like Dublin, Nelson (New Zealand), and southern France, and I marvel at the flowering of this tradition of non-violence and compassion.

Chris, a longtime Rigpa member and engineer, who was helping to revamp the center’s communication systems, told me of the Rigpa center in South London, where he assisted with renovations.  In its former life, before being purchased by Rigpa, the building served as the courthouse where many of the IRA trials of the 1970′s and 80′s took place. He spoke of cells where IRA members were once held, under maximum security, while awaiting their trials.  These same cells are now dormitories and meditation rooms—talk about poetic justice.

During my last evening at Dzogchen Beara, a group of us journeyed into town for an evening of music at the local pub.  Sitting at a street side table with the cool ocean breeze nipping at our shoulders—it’s Saturday night and the whole town, people of all ages, are out to relax and socialize—my international Buddhist friends broached the topic of religion in America.  Dubliner Edward observed that Americans seem to be more religious than Europeans, who retain a post-Enlightenment skepticism about religious dogma and the intolerance it can foster.  Perhaps it is this skepticism that makes Buddhism, with its pacifist and non-theistic stance, an appealing alternative for Europeans to the religious traditions of the West.

And what of religion in Ireland today? Although religious matters suffuse the tempest of Irish history, many 20^th century Irish writers, most notably James Joyce and Edna O’Brien, have written about the oppressive nature of Irish Catholicism and searched for possible alternatives.  Both seem to be asking, can you be Irish and neither Catholic nor Protestant?  Is there another alternative?

My sense of things is that, despite Ireland’s legendary Celtic past and its staunchly Catholic identity, these days many Irish people, like Joyce and O’Brien, are skeptical, if not downright cynical, about religion.  Even people who drop into Church every now and then for good measure, don’t find much that’s “deep and meaningful,” especially among the younger generation.  Of course, that’s not always the case, as my friend who walked the pilgrimage route of Santiago de Compostela could attest.  Traversing the countryside, one sees endless ruins of ancient churches and monasteries, some lovingly restored and touted as tourist destinations, and many more slowly decaying in the middle of fields, but go to mass at a contemporary church and you’ll find it maybe a quarter full.  It makes me wonder whether religion, at least in the Christian sense, isn’t regarded as a relic of a violent and socially-repressive past that the Celtic Tiger is all too ready to leave behind.

And what of the ancient Celtic/Pagan tradition that’s so identified with Ireland in cultural imaginings?  Sure, you catch glimpses and hear whispers, especially in the odd women’s retreat advert promising a reawakening of feminine power and sexuality, but it’s not really a living, viable practice as far as I was able to observe.  What about alternative/Eastern religions?  Well, as in America, people are looking for an alternative way to connect with the spiritual without all the cultural and historical baggage of Christianity.  Yoga studios and Buddhist meditation centers are popping up all over Ireland, as a brief Google search will reveal.  And, as my experience at Dzogchen Beara attests, although they do not appear to be as ubiquitous or as mainstream as they are in America (at least, not just yet), some people claim that religion is dead, that it has no place in the contemporary world, and yet people are turning to various spiritual traditions (often not the ones with which they were raised) in record numbers, especially in the wake of 9/11, war, economic recession, and a general sense of disconnection and spiritual malaise.  If my time at Dzogchen Beara is any indication, spirituality still flows in Ireland, and indeed across the globe.  Though we may not immediately recognize it, religious traditions are crossing borders as quickly as any commodity, revealing the true depth of humanity’s interconnection.

*******************************************************************************

Melinda Rothouse is a writer, teacher, musician, and performer based in Austin, TX. She holds a B.A. in Biopsychology from Vassar College, a Master’s degree in Religious Studies from Indiana University, and a Master’s in Performance Studies from New York University’s Tisch School for the Arts.  Her research and academic interests focus on religious experience, embodiment, and performance. She has taught courses in academic writing, composition, and creative non-fiction at Tulane University in New Orleans, and has worked in writing centers at Tulane, Texas State University, and St. Edward’s University. She is the founder of Austin Writing Coach, currently teaches in the religious studies program at Austin Community College, and has worked as a freelance educational and travel writer for a number of years. She keeps a blog on religion, culture, and travel.

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By Suzanne Degnats

On September 22, 2010, I attended a blessing service given by Pope Benedict XVI at Vatican City in Rome.  One month later, I attended two sessions with the Dalai Lama in Atlanta, Georgia during his visit to Emory University. Being an outsider both to the Catholic religion and to Buddhism, I found many similarities at the events surrounding these two political and religious leaders.

I’m an outsider, sort of.  As a toddler, my 16-year-old cousin baptized me into the Catholic faith at the behest of my mother.  She feared that our plane to England would crash and that her five un-baptized children would be destined to hell for eternity.  Before boarding the plane, my mother spoke by phone to a priest, who assured her (since he was unavailable on short notice), that ‘in a pinch’, any Catholic can officiate a baptism and that the baptism would be recognized as legitimate.  However, I did not keep up with my catechism, so I am not sure where this leaves me (Purgatory?). 

Likewise, I am not a Buddhist.  I am, however, a dues paying member of the Drepung Loseling Buddhist Center where I sometimes attend services and festivals and have my statues consecrated.  I joined as a way to support the monks and the temple, which is located in my neighborhood (I figured a temple was better than a crack house, so I needed to do my part).  Therefore, I enjoy the benefits of both religions: the pageantry, the chanting at services, the ornate beauty of the sacred space, and the beauty of religiosity, without having to sell my soul or sign on the dotted line.  According to the beliefs of some, I am obviously not going to make it into heaven or become enlightened in this lifetime.

Enough about me, let us turn to the two special men I have recently encountered.  And I mean MEN; the Dalai Lama spoke of the possibility of future incarnations in the feminine, but the Pope has made no such promises.  The current Pope, Benedict XVI, is the 265^th in a lineage (but not a patriarchy as the Pope is not supposed to be married or have children) that began in the year 32 AD.  Since 1059, the death of a Pope initiates the meeting of the College of Cardinals in a ritual laden and secret conclave whose purpose is to elect the new Pope.  Before 1059, papal selection was by appointment of (secular) European rulers, sealing an historical legacy of association with church and state in Rome (to this day, the Vatican is a sovereign city-state; the Pope is its ruler).  

The current Dalai Lama is the 14th incarnation of the leader of the Gelugpa branch of Tibetan Buddhism, and the leader of Tibet in exile.  There is a correspondingly similar, yet somewhat more mysterious process for choosing the Dalai Lama.  By tradition, it is assumed that His Holiness will reincarnate and to this end, each Dalai Lama leaves hints for where and how he will be found in his future incarnation.  A few years after the Dalai Lama dies, certain children (boys, to date) are tested to see if they are the latest incarnation.  Unlike those who hold the Papal office, the new incarnation of the Dalai Lama assumes the office as a child, and like the Pope, holds the appointment for a lifetime.  Both of the current leaders are elderly men; the Pope is currently 83 and the Dalai Lama is 75 (neither are married nor, to public knowledge, have any offspring). 

Both events had the requisite security procedures that you would anticipate in order to be in the presence of a world, and religious, leader.  The security at the Vatican however, was much simpler and quicker.  The Vatican service included thousands of people filling most of the vast expanse of St. Peter’s Square.  Tickets were required but were free of charge (in contrast to the sessions with the Dalai Lama that started at $25-$40 and up per session).  At the Vatican, attendees and pilgrims were queued up through a metal detector, and bags were searched before entering the square.  When the Pope made his entrance in his Pope-mobile, his physical person was out in the open, not behind glass, bulletproof or otherwise. 

For the Dalai Lama’s visit, security was much tighter.  DeKalb County police, Emory University police, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, and the FBI were numerous and highly visible.  Privately hired security personnel had a variety of rules that were randomly enforced.  Cameras & computers were not allowed; some people were forced to carry their too large purses back to their cars, any food and drink had to be thrown in the trash.  The differences in security and procedures between the events may be due to the fact that the Pope was on his home turf, and the Dalai Lama was a visiting dignitary.  As such, he had the requisite Diplomatic Security Service detail and motorcycle/black car motorcade wherever he went.  I could not help but think how all of this must have amused a man who has dedicated his life to simplicity and peace.  Security lines have become a strange norm in the world in which we live.  Catholicism and Buddhism both have strong lineages of peace and non-violent activism, and yet the advisors and bureaucrats feel a need to protect their leaders from potential violence.  Regardless of their religious offices, they are both political figures who need to be protected from perceived enemies.

Who exactly are these men who require such complex modes of protection?  Both figures can be considered ‘holy’ men; pious robe clad religious and political leaders.  In my experience, the persons before me did not appear holy; I saw no halos or mystical auras.  

In my experience, the Dalai Lama came across as a highly intelligent, yet a very simple person.  His simplicity struck some as signifying ignorance, and I heard more than a few people around me express their disappointment at his physical person and his words; they expected more.  I enjoyed his simplicity, humor, and innate happiness.  It felt healthy and healing to be in the presence of someone who laughs with every other sentence, and exudes an understanding and acceptance of human folly.  Questions addressed to him elicited responses that showed he is simply on a different plane.  One man asked: “If you were mute your entire life and you could finally speak and give one message, what would that message be?”  The Dalai Lama answered, “That’s a silly question.  If I were hungry, I’d say ‘I’m hungry.”  NOT the answer anyone expected, but this was an excellent example of a person who is in the moment, who is present and mindful.  It was hard for me to distinguish between the personality of Tenzin Gyatso and the representation of the 14th Dali Lama.  

The theme of this year’s conference was compassion.  After the chanting and procession of Tibetan Buddhist monks onto the stage, the Dalai Lama addressed the audience and described the levels of compassion.  The first level of compassion is biased and based on attachment: we show love and compassion to our families and to the people to which we are close.  Buddhism, on the other hand, can teach a second level of compassion—compassion for all sentient beings (especially the ones who cause us trouble, according to Dalai Lama), and this compassion is learned by training of the mind and education.  He talked about negative and positive emotions, and about the commonality of human experience.  His lessons were not earth shattering or new, and not unique to Buddhist doctrine; however, they were a good reminder of generally accepted human principles that tend to be, in my personal experience, forgotten. Although the Dalai Lama has had his share of controversy, for this occasion he was the messenger of a non-confrontational and non-controversial message; a message that appeared larger, at least to this non-Tibetan Buddhist American audience, than his physical presence.  

Seeing and hearing Pope Benedict XVI speak was a compelling experience in a different way.  Many of those that gathered in St. Peter’s Square came for his blessing (not a mass or a catechism) and the opportunity to experience a community with the thousands of Catholic pilgrims in attendance.  

I am well aware of the scandals involving the Pope and the Catholic Church, and I empathize with anyone who has been negatively affected. Nevertheless, my honest experience of him was that of being in the presence of a sweet little old man, not a God or an ordained being who had superior consciousness, but a human being who was conscripted to hold a very high office.  After circling the crowd several times in his “Pope mobile” and allowing, unlike the Dalai Lama events, the audience to take pictures, the Pope made his way up to a simple covered stage.  The Pope addressed the audience in Latin and described his recent trip to England in the manner of a travelogue, recounting how he spent his time, with whom, and spoke specifically of the recent Beautification of Father Newman.  Following his address, nine priests from different countries came up to the podium and spoke to the crowd in their native languages.  Groups of pilgrims, who had journeyed to Rome for the event, were then introduced to the Pope.  Each group stood when introduced, most in matching hats or shirts, cheered, and waved as the Pope waved back in acknowledgment.  The priests explained the blessing in their language, and then gave the Pope a paper to read (in their language) which turned out to be a shorter version of his original speech.  When all of the priests had finished, the Pope gave his blessing to the crowd, which was explained as,

A blessing for each of us that extended to our families, particularly our children, and especially anyone who was sick or struggling.  Additionally, any religious items that we had in our possession were also blessed. 

In my experience, the men I observed were not so much charismatic leaders but were in essence, two human beings chosen to, temporarily, hold the highest positions in their particular religious tradition.  Social systems are usually based on levels of hierarchy, from schools to corporations to governments.  Likewise, many religions are based on this hierarchy, and someone (however they are chosen) has to hold the essential position or top office.  We are so used to this paradigm of organization that it can bring stability and a sense of normalcy to know that someone is in charge, regardless of whether or not we like them personally.    

I enjoyed hearing the Dalai Lama’s inspirational words, and being ‘blessed’ by the Pope; these were both positive events within establishments that are oftentimes wrought with controversy.  Being with and observing the participants of the events, knowing that many if not most were followers of the respective religions, was fascinating. Those in attendance at both events came voluntarily, from all over the world, in anticipation of the event (children dragged in by their parents notwithstanding). 

The audience at Emory University was very quiet—more staid; the crowd at the Vatican sometimes resembled a sporting event.  People came to experience and receive something positive: a message, darshan, a blessing.  It is wrong to essentialize their motives; I have no idea of the personal beliefs of the attendees at either event.  However, the experience of being in a place where thousands of people are giving their attention to the same person is humbling, and anciently human.  It is easy, for some, to be cynical and to say that these men (one or both) do not deserve the respect, adoration, and devotion that the crowds directed towards them.  However, I think that for many attendees, the primary attraction and experience was not the physical person of the Dalai Lama or the Pope but the office that each holds—a representation of their faith bound up in an historical moment. 

I didn’t convert to either religion, but I appreciated the events as cultural, historical, and artistic experiences.  There is a pageantry and solemnity in religious tradition, a continuation of human mythology from the past into our modern present.  As an American, I appreciated witnessing adoration directed at someone other than a politician or a rock star.  Countless people over hundreds of years have come together to listen to and see these representations of their faith; there is something to be said about letting yourself just get into the stream of history, regardless of your beliefs.

Postscript:  I am aware that some may think that I am glamorizing or glossing over the crimes committed by officials of the Catholic Church.  I am not, but I also feel that we must not “throw the baby away with the bath water.” The Dalai Lama made a few statements that are relevant to this topic.  He spoke about not turning your back on crimes—that people must be made accountable, but he also talked about forgiveness in relation to Tibet’s struggles with China.  He said that Tibetans were finished with being victims and that their main concern now, regarding the Chinese, was the compassion they felt as they knew that, someday, China would feel the repercussions for the atrocities committed against the Tibetan people.  At the end of day, forgiveness is what heals victims and even their perpetrators, not retribution.