“Far is near; near is far. There is such a case: ‘It is dark close by the lighthouse.’ So goes a saying.
“Those who sit and listen to Dharma talks every day, as they enjoy a comfortable life, are prone to take such things for granted and they become negligent of True Entrusting Mind.
“Persons of distant places hunger to hear the Dharma. Therefore they listen intently with each opportunity.
“The Way can best be heard only by a reverent heart.”
-- The Words of Rennyo Shonin
(Rennyo Shonin Goichidaiki Kikigaki)
Jodo Shinshu members who reside in Kyoto, the center of Japanese Buddhist culture, usually do not avail themselves of the wonderful opportunity to attend service at our main temple on a daily basis. Yet, at the same time, there are reverent followers of Nembutsu who, after having attended early morning service at Nishi Hongwanji, will also walk, ride bicycles or take the bus each evening to hear a Dharma message given by a guest priest. During the week-long activities of Ho-Onko, the death anniversary of Shinran Shonin, thousands of Nembutsu followers will make a pilgrimage to Kyoto to attend the very special and elaborate ceremonies, and to listen to the all-night Dharma messages. The large auditorium is filled with elderly men and women, many of whom continue to intently listen throughout the night with their eyes closed, but their hearts and minds open, as their tired bodies force them to take a short nap during the Dharma talks.
The opening passage cautions us against taking the Buddhist teachings for granted. When our life seems most comfortable, it is relatively easy to listen but difficult to truly hear the words of the Buddha. When our life is such, however, that we see ourselves amidst human suffering, we then begin to listen closely to the teaching. What matters is how diligently we listen to the Dharma. Yet listening, as Rennyo Shonin has said, doesn’t pertain merely to paying attention to a Dharma talk with one’s ears. True listening comes about when we are able to hear the flow of life which is Dharma itself with every fiber of our entire existence. Hearing Dharma, then, is understanding the constant change of life.
This time of year, eleven years ago, marked the 50 year anniversary of the liberating of Omaha and Utah Beaches in Normandy, France during World War II. Known as D-Day, June 6, 1944 was the fixed date for the Allied landing in northwest France, which began the invasion of Europe. Over 5,000 ships delivered 90,000 British, American and Canadian troops to the battlefield. Twenty thousand more were dropped by parachute and glider. After some initial difficulties, the Allied forces linked up in a solid front by June 11, 1944 and began the invasion of Europe.
World War II Veterans, who attended the special ceremonies commemorating the 50th anniversary, intended to bring back sand from the beaches where many of their fellow soldiers had died. One vet, who was landed on the beaches of Normandy as a young man, now in his seventies, while holding a handful of wet sand, remarked: “It’s the same beach, but not the same sand; too much water has washed ashore.”
Like the ever-changing waves rushing to the shoreline where they displace innumerable grains of sand on the beach, life itself is constant change. Change allows for renewed friendships, new acquaintances, and opportunities for new memories. The death of our loved ones deprives us of new opportunities with them to build future memories of them. Death seems to deprive us of change. Therefore, all we seem to have left is our old memories. And so we cling tightly to them. Yet, our memories are fallible, for time changes our remembrance. We forget at times. We truly meet and come to know our deceased loved ones, therefore, not through our remembrances, but through the dynamic movement of absolute Wisdom/Compassion which embraces all humankind, and allows for a non-forsaking, ever-present connection with them.
We have a preconception of when death (our death, my death) is “acceptable” — when it is “natural” for us to die. But death can truly come unexpectedly in the very next moment. While working in Texas for a Japanese firm, a young Japanese father, mother and 11 year old son were hit head-on by a drunk driver who crossed the middle line of a country road. The mother and son were killed instantly. The father, who was initially taken in critical condition to an emergency hospital, was later flown to Los Angeles for the funeral service of his wife and son. Attended by a nurse, he was brought to our Los Angeles Betsuin in an ambulance, where he was transferred from a stretcher to a wheelchair, and then seated before the two closed caskets during the ceremony.
In a similar incident, a Japanese-American woman and her Italian-American daughter-in-law were both killed together in a car accident in California when a drunk driver caused a head-on collision. At a joint funeral service conducted by a Catholic priest and myself at the Catholic Church, once again, two coffins were placed side-by-side, as mourners from two faiths and cultures wept as one family due to the tragic sudden and unexpected loss of their loved ones. No one had expected them to die under such circumstances and in such an “untimely” manner. Truly, as Rennyo Shonin has written, “We may have faces radiant with life in the morning, and by the evening be white ashes.”
Let us reflect deeply, therefore, this Memorial Day on the sanctity of human life. May we each remain mindful of all that we have been allowed to receive through the innumerable sacrifices of generations who literally have given their life so that we may be given this opportunity to seek truth and meaning in our life. Let us become aware this Memorial Day that “freedom is not free,” that it is achieved at a very heavy cost. May we each reflect on the great debt we owe to all humanity, and let us not forget that we stand on the pinnacle of all human history. We are accountable for what we have been given. We are responsible for what we leave behind. May the Light of Wisdom/Compassion in our life not merely guide our gratitude on this Memorial Day, may it become it. Namo Amida Butsu
