Temples

One of the difficult things about my work schedule is the absence of "normal" weekends, and therefore the absence of a regular church time.

 In 1988 in Ge'ermu, religion was something eyed with suspicion or ridicule--at least that's what it felt like.  There were no signs of Christianity out there; there were a sprinkling of Buddhists and a few Muslims.  That was it.

I was hopeful about the idea of Catholic churches being in Shanghai.  However, my schedule in Shanghai is such that I work Saturday evenings and Sunday mornings--there are no English masses at other times that I can find, and I'm not even sure there is mass in Chinese any other day of the week.  My days off have changed three times in about six weeks, so mostly I'm just trying to get used to that!

I have had time to visit some of the local Buddhist temples, though.  Because they are tourist attractions, they're open all the time.  I'd like to share a little of that with you.

I thought Jing'an Temple (across from the park I mentioned in an earlier post) would be a total tourist trap.  The temple was almost smack on top of the line 2 and line 7 metro hub, and located near my employer's main offices.  The area was chock full of large modern buildings hosting Burberry, Michael Kors, Hugo Boss, and other luxury brands.  There were American restaurants, French patisseries, and a general sense of wealth and fashion. 

It was a surprise when I paid the entrance fee and stepped into the main square.  I was the only white person, and although everyone was dressed in modern clothes--shorts, sneakers, etc.--the main thing I noticed was the seriousness with which people were praying. 

To do this, a person made a donation to obtain sticks of incense, and lit them at a sort of oil barrel sink.  It was like a grease fire, with hot orange flames licking the breeze and trying to chase our hands away.  Once lit, people held the incense in their hands, palm to palm in front of their chest, bowing, chanting, eyes closed.  I prayed too, thinking about my grandparents and wondering what others prayed for.  In the center of this main square was a huge black tower.  Bells banged about in the breeze and people tried to toss jiao coins into the tower's cutout holes for luck.   

After prayer, I strolled around.  There was a peaceful courtyard with two trees and a couple of guys eating bowl Ramen and drinking green tea out of plastic Tupperware containers.

The main attraction at Jing'an Temple, of course, was the huge silver buddha statue.  He was a bit tarnished in this climate, as you might expect, but was simple and peaceful, as you'd expect a buddha to be.  There was a 50-gallon bowl in the same room.  People approached this bowl with reverence, touching their palms and the backs of their hands to it, then touching their faces.  Their touch was firm, as if the bowl belonged to them.  I learned later that this bowl was possibly the copper Hongwu Bell from the Ming Dynasty, weighing 3.5 tons.  I am still unsure why the bell is treated with such respect.

One of my favorite parts, though, was the Guanyin Bodhisattva.  Do you know the difference between a buddha and a bodhisattva?  My basic understanding is that a buddha achieves enlightenment and melts into Nirvana, while a bodhisattva achieves enlightenment but chooses to remain on Earth, helping others to do the same.  The closest thing we have in Christianity are guardian angels, perhaps.

I have a special feeling for the compassionate goddess--I sometimes wear a jade carving of her around my neck (a gift from my parents, the jade coming from Qinghai where we lived), and when I worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, I always enjoyed working in the Asia exhibit, where I could feast my eyes on Buddhist sculptures and architecture.

The Guanyin Bodhisattva at Jing'an Temple is carved of light-colored camphor wood from Myanmar (a.k.a. Burma), shined to glowing.  Her expression was one of bliss and compassion.  A slightly mentholated tinge to the air seemed to purify my lungs as I took a few deep breaths.  There were plenty of red pillows to kowtow at; however, since I am not Buddhist, I refrained.

Temple architecture and traditional Chinese housing are almost the complete opposite of American suburban living--our lawns and yards surround our houses, while traditionally, the courtyards of Chinese structures are inside.  There is a serenity that comes from this type of design; noise reduction plays a part, as does security--a mother telling her children to play outside knows the walls of the house keep them safe.  The interior is enriched and beautified, not the outside. 

Even with the absence of Catholic mass in my regular schedule, I know that my interior spiritual life is something that can continue to grow and develop.