No More House of Blues

We spent most of last week in Los Angeles, partly to go see Jeff Beck at the El Ray in Hollywood, but mostly to go to Disneyland for a few days. The concert was awesome, of course, and even more so since Rod Stewart came out to sing "People Get Ready" and "Ain't Superstitious." As much as I may be a Clapton fan, I still have to admit that Jeff Beck is in a class all by himself.

Disneyland was a non-stop marathon of riding Indiana Jones, California Screamin', and Space Mountain, with a few turns at some of the other rides to catch our collective breath. In Downtown Disney, you'll find the famous House of Blues. We went one time a few years ago to the Gospel Brunch there, but we've never been back. Now every time we are within sight of it, my family has to endure my tirade against it. The food wasn't all that bad, as I recall, and the music was good. Believe it or not, the issue is actually the decor. Let me explain.

For whatever reason, painted on the wall right above the stage are symbols of the major world religions, and in the center are three words: "All Are One." I'm sure by now my family is tired of me asking this question, but I'll ask it one more time: just what exactly is that supposed to mean? If it means all of the different faiths are one in the sense that they share a common ethic, all is well and good. But then why not simply paint "Love your neighbor as yourself" up above the stage instead?

I tend to think it is supposed to mean something much different, along the lines of all religions essentially teaching the same "truths" but they may use different words to do so. To illustrate why I object so strongly to such an idea, let me describe one other incident during our trip to LA last week.

It happened at an In-N-Out Burger near Anaheim. A homeless guy walked up to our table while we were eating, and he started talking about how the next Great Depression isn't still to come, it's already here. He's about my age, unshaven, eyes reddened and clothes reeking of alcohol, and he's going on and on about the economy. It suddenly occurs to me (I'll be the first to admit, I'm more than a little slow) that he's trying to explain his destitute situation to me so he can get a little help.

I have to preface what happens next by saying, you'll just have to take my word for it that I didn't buy the man dinner (his name was Art, by the way) just so I could feel good about myself. And I sure didn't say to my boys, "Hey kids! Look over here! Dad's about to perform another act of righteousness!" I'm not trying to pat myself on the back or toot my own horn here.

In fact, the real reason I got him a double meat-double cheese burger and a chocolate shake is because I thought it would be a good idea to practice what I preach. Sometimes when I tell people that I work in a homeless shelter, they say that they feel guilty about not handing out money to anybody who happens to be holding up a cardboard sign. I tell them that their money would be much better spent if they made sure it went to actually feed and house people. So instead of giving Art a few bucks and sending him on his way, we both went up to the counter and I placed his order. He then began to ask me about Boise State, and he offered his many opinions about the Western Athletic Conference.

Later, long after we have left the In-N-Out, something else occurs to me, and it all comes down to why I object to what's painted at the House of Blues. Buying a burger for Art is nothing more than a drop in the bucket. I'm not at all trying to discount the many worthy donations that people make to help the homeless (obviously, the Lighthouse Rescue Mission where I work depends on them) but the question is, how much would ever be enough?

Now I realize that even though one fast-food dinner may not make much of a difference to the world hunger problem, it still made a difference to Art that night, and that has to count for something. What I'm trying to get at here is really, who's doing the counting? And how many drops would it take to fill the bucket? A million? A billion? How many acts of righteousness would it take? How many random acts of kindness would ever be sufficient?

The short answer should be obvious: no amount of "being good" would ever be enough. Christianity is very clear on this point - if it all depended on our doing the right and avoiding the wrong, we'd be in real trouble. The Apostle Paul even goes so far to say that religion itself can be the problem, because it can give us this false sense of security that deep down inside, we really are pretty good people.

But the cross ought to be convincing evidence that we're not. The Gospels claim that Jesus was the Lamb of God, offered on the cross as a sacrifice because all of us have utterly failed to live up to God's standards (including, perhaps most especially, the Golden Rule). Any good that I do, like buying a cheeseburger for a stranger, is only another way of saying thanks to God for giving me as a gift what I could never accomplish on my own.

So what's that got to do with the "All Are One" at the House of Blues? I tell students in my religion classes that in order to truly understand the various traditions, it's necessary to be aware of both similarities and differences. And the central doctrine of Christianity, the notion of grace in the sense that God has already done for us what our own "acts or righteousness" never could, is indeed different than other religions.

To draw a parallel, does Buddhism teach that although every one of has accumulated a karmic debt over many lifetimes, someone else has stepped in and paid the bill in full, no strings attached? No. Does Islam say that the Five Pillars ought not to be performed in order to make us righteous, but instead should be done out of gratitude to Allah for already graciously declaring us to be righteous? Again, no. All are certainly not one; it is not the case that every religion teaches the same thing in this regard. And that's the long story behind my decision to avoid the House of Blues.

The Rat Hole

Money pit. Good money after bad. Money down a rat hole. Notice a recurring theme? You’re looking at a 1969 Volvo 145S station wagon, which is currently in the shop, and which has been the recipient of way too much of my money lately. Fix the turn signal? Sure, we can do that, but in the process, we’ll have to replace the hazard flasher (which almost caused a fire) and re-route some of the wiring. That’ll be $200, please. Replace the oil pan gasket? Of course, we can do that, but it requires removing the front axle. Another $300, please. This is getting redonkulous, as my son would say.

One of my students in Eastern Religions class re-stated Buddhism’s Four Noble Truths by saying, “Don’t get your hopes up and you’ll never get disappointed” (that’s a paraphrase of his paraphrase). I think the concept of non-attachment probably goes a little deeper than that, but it seems to be on the right track.

Still, I think Jesus said it much more profoundly than anyone when he said, “Do not store up treasures for yourselves on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (Matthew 6:19-21).

As far as the Volvo goes, I don’t lose any sleep worrying about the thieves, but it’s too late for the rust. Anyway, the simple truth is that it’s just a car. Now if you’re a car guy, hearing that is like fingernails on a chalkboard. Car guys don’t like facing that fact. But it’s true. It’s just a car. And as someone once very wisely observed, you shouldn’t love anything that can’t love you back.

Paul, Ringo & TM

This week we started another class in eastern religion, and it’s going to be a good one, I can tell. I will have occasion during the next few weeks to mention TM. Other than the fact that it is a contemporary form of Hinduism, there are two other reasons why Transcendental Meditation is a useful example for us to consider in a college course like this one.

First, as I usually mention on the first night of class, it illustrates the importance of the First Amendment with regard to the non-establishment clause. This was the basis for the court’s decision not to allow TM to be introduced into public schools, and I think it was a good call.

I want to stress that I don’t really have an axe to grind as an ex-TM practitioner, although it may seem that way. The non-establishment clause protects all of us, or at least it is supposed to. By way of example, it would be hypocritical of me to agree with the court decision in this case on the one hand, but then somehow insist that those same public schools observe sectarian prayers on the other hand. I’m aware that this is a controversial issue for some, but I hope you understand the point I’m trying to make. That’s why I don’t support much of what I have heard in favor of “school prayer.” The law of the land doesn’t make exceptions somehow when it’s the “good guys” who are on “our side.”

At the risk of beating a dead horse, the second point is that critical thinking is more important when it comes to the subject of religion, not less. For years now, I’ve heard the claims about TM and how if a high enough percentage of a given population meditates, crime rates go down. The studies are simply not true, and the fact that so many of the reports come from Maharishi University ought to be reason enough to raise eyebrows. Sometimes in class I mention best-selling author Deepak Chopra – he was one of the authors involved in promoting TM along these lines. You can read more of the story here (as long as the link is active):

http://www.aaskolnick.com/naswmav.htm

But again, I want to point out that fair is fair, and if I were to encounter incredible claims of “miraculous healings” from a church or ministry organization, then it would only make sense that I would apply those same principles of critical thinking in evaluating them. Skepticism is not a bad place to begin, even (maybe especially) when it comes to groups with whom you may tend to be sympathetic.

The following is a letter to the editor, sent in this week to the Idaho Statesman. Maybe they’ll publish it, maybe they won’t. What prompted me to write it was a picture I saw in the paper of a recent concert.

The picture in Monday’s Statesman of Paul and Ringo reuniting onstage only tells part of the real story – the rest of it has to do with the millions of dollars David Lynch is raising to promote Transcendental Meditation within public schools. The David Lynch Foundation website proudly displays a “Today Show” video clip about how hundreds of Detroit middle school kids have already been trained in TM. To claim that their goal is simply “teaching at-risk youth to meditate,” as Monday’s article implies, is disingenuous at best and downright deceptive at worst, especially since the New Jersey Supreme Court already declared in 1987 that TM was undeniably religious and therefore could not be taught in public schools.

The First Amendment guarantees our rights as Americans to follow our chosen religion (if any); it certainly does not allow for proselytizing in public schools with the Maharishi’s form of Hinduism, or my form of Christianity, or any other faith. In spite of Lynch’s claims to the contrary, TM is indeed a religion. I should know – I mindlessly made offerings of fruit and flowers to Guru Dev myself before receiving my mantra back in the seventies. You can find out more details at www.suggestibility.org.