越戰老兵回越南找尋他當年(1968)參訪的寺廟
Easter Sunday is a very significant day for me, but maybe not for the reasons you might think.
I was raised in “The Church”.
I attended Episcopal services at St. James in Kent, Washington regularly as a child AND served as an Altar Boy, and at an older age, was The Head Altar Boy in our parish. I used to carry the parish cross to lead the processions at St. Mark’s Cathedral in Seattle during the annual gatherings of Cathedral Day.
I was very serious about my faith. I was dedicated. I was a believer.
My faith began to fracture in 1957 after my near fatal experience with bi-lateral pneumonia. I had been hospitalized for the whole month of April of that year at Seattle’s Children’s Hospital. At one point, the hospital summoned my parents, who had gone home for a much needed rest, and said they should return immediately because “I might not make it through the night”.
Shortly after that, when the annual “Parish Pledge season” came around, my folks explained to Rev. Warren P. Frank, that they were very sorry but that they could not afford to pledge that year, due to excessive medical bills. Father Frank, in addition to being our parish priest, was also our next door neighbor. We shared a common fence. We used to share hellos and conversations that normal neighbors did in those days.
For their sins, they were ostracized. The priest turned a cold shoulder. He became distant. He shunned my parents for not being able to pledge to the church. He was no longer a friendly neighbor. This action hurt me so much. That was my first wake up.
In later years, I happened to spend a lot of time around “Born-Again” “Holier than Thou” Fundamentalist Christians and was exposed to the hypocrisy of faith: Living one way, professing another…..all the while denying the hypocrisy. I was even gaslighted into believing I needed to become “Born Again’ if I was to have any real worth as a human being.
I continued in the church until I was 18, but I remember, as I sat in the sanctuary while assisting the priest in the service of Holy Communion, the thought kept recurring to me that there is “something more”. Something deeper. I had reached point where the belief system was just too unrealistic and implausible for me.
I quit going to church on a regular basis, but continued to attend on major religious holidays like Christmas and Easter more out of habit than faith.
My interest and faith in Christianity wained, and by the time I turned 20, I no longer considered myself a member of the church.
On Easter Sunday, April 14, 1968, at the age of 21, while serving with the US Army in Vietnam, possibly out of habit or in an attempt to try to make sense of my current situation, I attended Easter services at The Chapel of Peace in Qui Nhon, Vietnam.
As I left the Easter church service at The Chapel of Peace that sunny, warm Sunday morning in Vietnam, I was immediately thrust back onto the streets of a war torn, poor country and the reality of chaos, suffering, uncertainty and fear surrounded me. The tranquility and solitude of the church had vanished in a flash. The all embracing, loving, but very judgmental, God seemed to as well.
But from that chaos emerged another kind of peace. A sense of peace that accepted the reality of that chaos and a philosophy of how to live within it. There was a sense of acceptance, resilience, tenacity and hope I had not seen before. And from the middle of that chaos were so many warm, smiling and happy faces. There WAS something more. Those were Buddhist faces looking back at me.
That day would end up being the last day I attended a Christian church as a believer.
For a few months prior I had been frequenting many Buddhist temples in Qui Nhon with my Korean Army Tiger Division Taekwondo martial arts teachers. Being that they were all Buddhists, they liked to visit the temples on their days off and invited me to go along. One temple in particular, Long Khanh Pagoda, was one that was almost surreal. Something about being there made me feel very familiar and comfortable with it all. It was like I had been there before. I became very attached to Long Khanh Pagoda.
I started visiting Long Khanh pagoda on a regular basis. I also began to read Alan Watts and D.T Suzuki and shortly after, converted to a Zen Buddhist.
Thus began my journey back to Buddhism, returning to a place I had existed in a former life.
Through all the tough times my life, the teachings and philosophy of The Buddha have carried me on a path of enlightenment and clarity, that was lacking in my experience with Christianity.
I have never doubted or regretted it.
I had been back to Qui Nhon two times since 1968. I had spent days looking for Long Khanh pagoda but was unable to find it. The combination of time, change and memory had failed to help me.
In 2015, at the very end of my second visit to Qui Nhon, after having spent two days looking unsuccessfully and preceded by a very strange series of circumstances, I found myself instantly back at Long Khanh Temple. It was totally unplanned, but it was clearly no accident. It was predestined.
Long Khanh Pagoda had grown and was much more beautiful than before. I met with some of the monks and explained my past relationship with this temple. I was warmly embraced by the community.
For me, it was a very emotional and uplifting experience, as if I had been guided there purposely by an invisible force. I was welcomed home. I was shown that my journey was validated. I was bathed in the spirit. It was one of the most amazing feelings of fulfillment and enlightenment I have ever experienced.
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