This North American’s Buddhist Journey

This is a talk that I gave to the Institute of Modern Religious Studies at the Nichiren Shu headquarters in January 2011. They had asked me to share my own experience as they wanted to learn how I came to Nichiren Buddhism and about my current ministry in the San Francisco Bay Area. Here is the talk:

I am going to tell my personal story. I hope that in doing so I can convey what Buddhism is like in North America for someone who comes to Buddhism as a convert and not as part of the culture of my birth. I am under no illusion that my story will give a complete picture of North American Buddhism. However, I hope to bring some balance to those perspectives that only look at statistics and broad trends, and in some ways overlook the actual situation “on the ground.”

My own religious situation growing up was a bit ambiguous. My father is a third generation Irish-American from New England. My mother’s family is mainly Anglo-Saxon with many other Western European ethnicities who have been in North America since colonial times, primarily in the South. They both grew up in religious households, my father’s is Catholic and my mothers’ is Protestant. I understand that when they married in the 1950’s there was some conflict because of this “mixed” marriage between a Catholic Christian and a Protestant Christian. In the end, my mother had to promise to raise me as a Catholic and I was baptized as a baby. My parent’s moved to Pennsylvania, just outside Philadelphia, hours away from either my father’s Catholic family in the North or my mother’s Protestant family in the South. For their own personal reasons, neither of my parents ever went to church except for midnight mass on Christmas Eve at the Catholic church, and this was primarily to hear the choir and to enjoy the solemn beauty of the service. Consequently, I never went to church as a child though my mother did occasionally enroll me in various Sunday school programs to learn about Christianity and the Bible, though I recall that these were at Protestant churches. When I was around 11 years old I was enrolled at the Sunday school program at Mother of Divine Providence, a Catholic church that also had a grade school and middle school. I was very impressed by the nuns who taught there and the discipline and orderliness of that environment. I liked it so much that I actually enrolled in the school itself starting in 6th grade. From there I went to a Catholic high school where I was taught by a Catholic monastic order called the Christian Brothers. After high school I attended La Salle University in Philadelphia, which was also a Christian Brothers run school.

During the time that I was at Mother of Divine Providence I became deeply interested in the Bible and religion in general. I was serious enough that the nuns actually sent me to talk with the priests about perhaps becoming a priest myself some day. I would have considered it, except that even then I knew I liked girls too much to consider becoming a celibate priest. For at least the first two years of high school my interest and commitment to Catholicism continued. In fact, I used to attend the noon services the chaplain would hold in the school chapel. This interest faded about midway through high school for a couple of reasons. One was that I was getting more involved with my friends. Secondly, I liked the first chaplain, but he was replaced by someone who I found to be more rigid and nowhere near as compassionate and understanding as the first chaplain, so I stopped attending services simply because I no longer felt a personal connection to the presiding priest.

I first encountered Zen Buddhism at Arch Bishop Carroll High School. I should first explain why I was so open to Zen Buddhism and why it struck such a chord in me when I did encounter it. When I was growing up my mother at various points was very interested in metaphysical theories like reincarnation. I would not say it was a very serious interest, but she did read books that would be classified as part of the New Age movement. The New Age movement started in the 1970’s though its roots went back to the Spiritualist and Theosophists of the late 19th century. It was basically a merger of bastardized teachings from various Asian religions with positive thinking, self-help techniques, and a very liberal (one might even say extremely heretical from a Catholic or mainstream Protestant point of view) form of Christianity. At some point, it may have been when I was in junior high, I picked up some of these books and was most intrigued by the ones about Edgar Cayce. Edgar Cayce (1877-1945) was a Protestant Christian and in fact a Sunday school teacher. He found that when hypnotized he was able to tell people how to overcome their personal problems and even physical illnesses. Most of his prescriptions involved adjusting one’s attitude or using various folk remedies. What was really interesting about him, to me, was that at a certain point he began to tell people how their present day problems were the results of things they had done in their past lives. He did hundreds of these past life readings and later writers came up with their own explanations of how karma and reincarnation work based on their interpretation of the archives of these past-life readings. The results were much more in line with Hindu teachings or Theosophy than Buddhism, and they were all very Christian in orientation (despite the fact that reincarnation is considered a heresy in mainstream Christianity). In Edgar Cayce’s system Jesus Christ took on the role that would be assigned to Amitabha Buddha in Pure Land Buddhism. However, Cayce also taught that other religious teachers, like the Buddha for instance, were also teaching the truth and that one need not be explicitly Christian to be saved. This was also what my mother taught me, and my dad never talked about religion. So from that time on I was convinced that the Christians, whether Catholic or Protestant, were wrong about two very important things: 1) that one could only be saved through Jesus Christ (though certainly among many more liberal Christians there are different ideas about what this might mean, including the concept of “anonymous Christians” who are not outwardly Christian but their hearts are aligned with Christ even if they do not know it); 2) that you only live once and are then either allowed into heaven for eternity or consigned to hell for eternity. As far as I was concerned, sincere and good people of any religion could be saved (whatever that might mean), and that we have many lifetimes to get it right and until we do we will have to face the consequences of our own karmic activity. It did concern me that I couldn’t square this with the teachings of the Catholic Church, but that is why I all but converted to Zen Buddhism when I heard about its teachings.

During the early 1980’s there were still many Catholic clergy who were very interested in Zen Buddhism, esp. because of the writings of Thomas Merton (1915-1968), a Trappist monk who was one of the first non-Asian-Americans to write in a positive way about Asian religions and in particular about Taoism and Zen Buddhism. I do not know if he is still popular in Catholic circles, but at the time many Christian Brothers were admirers of his and of Zen Buddhism, which they hoped would inspire a deepening of Catholic spirituality and a renewal of contemplative traditions. A couple of the teachers at my high school even went so far as to read to us Zen koans or stories from a book called Zen Flesh, Zen Bones, an anthology of Zen stories that also contains a translation of the koan collection called the Gateless Gate (J. Mumonkan). I was hooked as soon as I heard these stories. I had always loved the parables of Jesus because of the way they thwarted one’s expectations and caused one to think more deeply about life. To me, finding out about the koan collections and stories was like discovering a treasure trove of hundreds of parables, one’s that were even more thought provoking than the parables of Jesus. I devoured books by Alan Watts (1915-1973), D.T. Suzuki (1870-1966) and others who had popularized Zen Buddhism in North America during the 1960’s. The Zen teachings seemed to challenge one to go beyond rigid unthinking adherence to religious dogma and rote ceremony. This seemed to be what was missing from the Christianity I had been exposed to. From what I could gather from these books, Buddhism seemed to believe in many of the things that I liked about the Edgar Cayce material – karma, reincarnation, and a truth that was not confined to any one tradition or institution but was part of the true reality of life that has been taught by many teachers all over the world at different times and places.

In high school, when I was gorging myself on books about Zen Buddhism, “the teaching beyond words,” I became painfully aware that I needed to learn what Buddhism actually believed and how to practice it. While I knew what Catholic teachings were and how to practice Catholicism through prayer and confession and attending Catholic mass, I had no idea what Buddhists really believed, nor did I have access to translations of the Buddha’s actual teachings in the sutras, nor did I have the first idea how Buddhists actually practiced Buddhism. Looking back on that period, I think I was just being lazy. There were certainly instructions in those books about how to do zazen, but I never even attempted to try it. In fact, I was, or believed I was, unable to sit still for more than a minute anyway. My mind and hormones were on overdrive at that time in my life, which of course made me no different than any other teenage boy. What I needed was a teacher or a Sangha who could give me personal instruction and help encourage me to actually take up practice. But in the suburbs of Philadelphia in the early to mid-eighties there were no Zen Masters on hand.

In the Bible, Jesus teaches that if you ask you shall receive, and if you knock the door will be opened. This was certainly true in my case, though the way that opened for me took several twists and turns. In my senior year in high school I found myself drunkenly wandering the streets of Philadelphia. A woman approached me and handed me a card on which were the words “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo.” She asked me if I had ever heard of it. Of course I had not, so she invited me to come to a Buddhist meeting at an apartment just down the street. That was how I ended up attending a meeting of Nichiren Shoshu of America, which is what Soka Gakkai was calling itself at that time. The meeting was a very strange experience for me. It was in a small apartment that was filled with about two dozen or more men and women of many races and backgrounds, a true cross-section of North America. There were European-Americans, African-Americans, Asian-Americans, perhaps even Latinos present at that meeting. They were of all ages and of different classes and levels of education. They were also all barefoot and sitting on the floor in front of a butsudan and chanting the Hoben-pon and Juryo-hon (the whole chapter) very rapidly in Sino-Japanese and then of course the Odaimoku. They all seemed to be very happy together practicing Buddhism and were very enthusiastic in the discussion that followed in sharing their experiences of how Nichiren Buddhism had changed their lives for the better. Let me pause to tell you how very odd this is in North America. In the northeast of the USA in the 1980’s it was very rare to find North American Buddhists, and much rarer to find a religious group with such a diverse cross-section of people. It has been said that Sunday in America when people go to church is the most segregated time in the USA. This is still true today. I remember my father telling the story of how there were two Catholic churches where he grew up, one for the French and one for the Irish, and how upset the Irish church got when they were sent a French priest. Things were a little more mixed where I grew up, in that Mother of Divine Providence seemed to have a congregation of both Italian and Irish-Americans with a couple of Vietnamese Catholics. My high school was 90% Irish and Italian as well. So this was the most diverse group of people I had ever encountered. It reminded me of the dream of Martin Luther King Jr. (1929-1968) wherein people of all races were able to live in harmony together. The sound of all these people chanting these strange words so rapidly made me think of a hive of bees, but the more I listened the more I was touched very deeply by the harmony of their chanting and the power of it. I was not so impressed by what followed, though again I appreciated their enthusiasm. They spoke of the Odaimoku as a kind of magic spell for getting whatever you wanted in life: money, a job, a car, a girlfriend or boyfriend, anything at all. This kind of materialism struck me as the very opposite of the selfless compassionate spirit of Zen Buddhism and I doubted that this was Buddhism at all. It seemed to me like they were trying to sell me their version of Buddhist practice and recruit me into their organization. I came away with the feeling that this was a New Age cult.

Despite my bad impression, I did have a very positive feeling about the Odaimoku. In point of fact I was being hypocritical in my judgment of the Soka Gakkai members. I was no freer of attachment or aversion than they were despite my pretentious high-mindedness and my aspiration to be a Zen Master when I grew up. In fact, over the following year I found myself chanting the Odaimoku whenever I felt anxious or needed to feel in more control over my life. I would say now that it was a practice motivated by the craving and ignorance of the lower worlds, but nevertheless the seed of Odaimoku had been sown. Now at the time I was enamored with Japanese culture in general, and still am, and so I started to come across the Odaimoku in different places. In a translation of Eiji Yoshikawa’s book Musashi I read of a Nichiren priest who wrote the Odaimoku on rocks to memorialize the samurai that were killed in a battle. I saw the movie Zatoichi to Yojimbo in which Zatoichi the blind swordsman began chanting the Odaimoku in order to fool the bad guys into thinking he was praying.  I realized that the Odaimoku was not something made up by a New Age cult but was a real part of Japanese religion, even though Alan Watts and D.T. Suzuki had never mentioned it. I had assumed, like many Americans to this day, that all Buddhists in Japan were Zen Buddhists. I now began to suspect this was not the case.

When I began college my curiosity about Buddhism was stronger than ever, but now I wondered about the Odaimoku. What was it all about really? One of the first things I did was to go to the religion department and ask Dr. William Grosnick, who taught Buddhism, about this. He told me, as best I remember, that the Odaimoku was a practice that was begun by a Japanese monk in the 13th century who had a rather eccentric interpretation of the Lotus Sutra. He invited me to take his survey course on Asian religions in the spring semester so that I could learn more about the Buddhist tradition in general and be able to put Zen and Nichiren Buddhism in a broader perspective. I was very happy to take such a course, but in the meantime I felt a little more assured that Nichiren Buddhism might be legitimate and worth exploring.

In my first year in college some friends that I personally respected happened to be members of Soka Gakkai, and they convinced me that there was more to Nichiren’s teachings than what I had witnessed at that meeting and that I should give the practice a real try. I specifically remember one of them saying to me, “You’re studying Buddhism academically, so why don’t you see an actual Buddhist ceremony?” So I went to the Soka Gakkai community center to witness the Nichiren Shoshu priest conferring the Gohonzon on new members. While there, the Soka Gakkai members convinced me that I should take advantage of the opportunity and receive one as well. That is how I ended up making a pledge to uphold the Lotus Sutra and how I received the Gohonzon that was being issued by Nichiren Shoshu.

My parents were at first very startled and concerned about my conversion to Buddhism. At that time, many Americans had the idea that becoming a Buddhist meant joining a religious cult. The idea was that the convert would shave one’s head, don robes, leave home, become a vegetarian, and live in a monastery. I think many people still have this idea. In the end, my parents saw that I was not going to leave home or quit school, and that “becoming a Buddhist” meant setting up a butsudan in my bedroom (basically just a box with the Omandala inside) and chanting in Sino-Japanese for half an hour in the morning and half an hour at night. This kind of eccentricity they could put up with, if not completely understand. I suppose it seemed harmless enough, and I think it did help me calm down and become more disciplined.

From the Soka Gakkai, I was finally able to learn how to practice Buddhism. I was able to read translations of Nichiren’s writings, and thereby learn about the three thousand worlds in a single thought-moment (J. ichinen sanzen), the mutual possession of the ten worlds (J. jikkai gogu), the nine consciousnesses (J. kushiki) and other important Buddhist concepts. I finally knew what Buddhism believed, apart from the mystification of the koans and D.T. Suzuki’s rather confusing way of presenting Zen Buddhism as a mystery that cannot be explained in words (though he wrote lots of words explaining this inability to explain). This was the time when I really delved into T’ien-t’ai philosophy as Nichiren understood it. It was quite a revelation to me. I saw that many of the things that I thought were Zen teachings were actually common to East Asian Buddhism, and/or they had originated in T’ien-t’ai. I also saw that these concepts did not have to be presented in a mystifying and irrational way, that in fact the T’ien-t’ai teachings made a lot that was confusing about Zen much clearer. The teachings about the nine consciousnesses (which Soka Gakkai pushed at the time, but which I now know are very peripheral to Nichiren Shonin’s actual teachings) and especially about the storehouse consciousness, seemed to corroborate and clarify the things that Edgar Cayce had said in his trance states. Most importantly, the teaching of ichinen sanzen and jikkai-gogu provided me with a very different way of understanding my life, one that gave me hope but also made me realize that I was responsible for the quality of my life. The impression I had from Christianity is that all humans are sinners, and without the help of God’s grace we are all damned to hell. If we believe in Jesus, however, we will be saved and can enter heaven. It is very much an either/or situation. Either one is damned or one is saved. Furthermore, one’s “good works” are not enough to win salvation, since our own efforts are not enough to overcome our sinful nature or make us acceptable to God. Only through the grace of God can we become truly good. And yet, I had prayed, I had confessed my sins, I had attended Catholic communion services, I had accepted Jesus, and yet I still felt that I had not received the grace that would make me a good person, or a happy person. I felt no assurance that I had been saved or could go to heaven. When I learned about ichinen sanzen, however, I learned that heaven and hell are all within my life and that in fact there are much higher aspirations than just seeking rebirth in heaven after death. I learned that it was up to me to make the causes that would determine whether I sank into the lower worlds, or attained the higher worlds. I compare the impact of these teachings on me to someone entering a vast shopping mall who feels overwhelmed and lost, but who then finds a map and store directory. The person then knows where they are and where they need to go. That is how the teaching of ichinen sanzen affected me. I felt that I had found a map of my life. Furthermore, the practice of gongyo and the chanting of Odaimoku provided me with a way of taking this teaching into my life in a practical and prayerful way. I did not know how or why, but I knew that when I did the practice it made me feel calmer, more in control, less anxious, and able to aspire to buddhahood. At the very least it helped me raise my self-esteem, gain more confidence, and helped me see that I couldn’t just conceptually subscribe to the idea of selfless compassion, I had to overcome my own egoism and negativity and feel it and live it.

I left the Soka Gakkai two years later. I will not go into all that occurred as it would take too long, but the important thing is that I was convinced that Nichren’s teachings and the Lotus Sutra were an authentic form of Buddhism, but I was not convinced that Nichiren Shoshu (and thus Soka Gakkai) teachings were in line with what the Lotus Sutra and the gosho actually taught. I was also very turned off by the arrogance of Soka Gakkai members, and their dismissive or even hostile attitudes towards other philosophies and religions. This was the kind of intolerant and closed-minded attitude that I did not like in Christianity, and it was discouraging to find it in Buddhism as well. I began to explore other options in my area. I found the teachings of the Tibetan teacher Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche (1939-1987) to be of particular help at that time. Two things about his writings impressed me: 1) they approached the Buddhist teachings as a form of depth psychology or perhaps one could even say existential psychology, 2) he insisted that being a Buddhist did not mean becoming something you are not and mimicking someone else’s culture. Inspired by his teachings I visited the Philadelphia Shambhala Center a few times and finally learned how to do tranquility and insight (J. shi-kan, S. shamatha-vipashyana) meditation. To my surprise I discovered that my daily practice of gongyo had given me the calm, discipline, and focus to be able to sit for long periods of time (I once sat for 3 hours because I had lost track of time and felt that only a few minutes had gone by). In the end, however, I did not feel a strong affinity with Tibetan Buddhism and so I did not join them.

My primary interest was still the faith, study, and practice of Nichiren Buddhism. I learned about Rissho Kosei Kai, and had in fact read Nikkyo Niwano’s (1906-1999) commentary on the Lotus Sutra (that I later learned was based on Nichiren Shu commentaries). I contacted the Rissho Kosei Kai center in New York city and even visited there once, but they were too far away for me to practice with, though the minister there helped me a great deal by providing me with articles in English about Nichiren Buddhism by Yoshiro Tamura (1921-1989). I also discovered the Nipponzan Myohoji and even stayed at their peace pagoda in Amherst, Massachusetts after I graduated from college, but they were also not able to help me practice Nichiren Buddhism in Philadelphia. It would not be until I moved to Los Angeles in 1990 that I would encounter Nichiren Shu.

In the meantime, through Dr. Grosnick, I found out that the Philadelphia temple of Won Buddhism was holding meetings for English speakers. He knew about it because they had sent a flyer to the local universities. I had known about this temple for some time as it was on the same block as the home of one of my college friends, but I had been hesitant to visit an ethnic temple of Buddhism where I might not be wanted and where the clergy might not be able to speak English. The invitation in the form of a flyer was all I needed. It was then that I met Rev. Bokin Kim and learned about the Korean new religion called Won Buddhism that had been founded in 1916 when its founder Sot’aesan (1891-1943) had attained what he felt was the same awakening as the Buddha on April 28 after practicing without a teacher. Sot’aesan established a Society for the Study of Buddha Dharma that was renamed Won Buddhism after his death. Won Buddhism’s teachings draw heavily upon the Diamond Sutra, the Heart Sutra, Korean Zen teachings, and also Neo-Confucianism, Taoism, and even Christianity (in its emphasis on social service). Won Buddhist practice consisted of chanting the Heart Sutra, some of the teachings and verses of Sot’aesan, nembutsu, and especially tanden meditation. They also stressed Buddhist ethics and utilized a small selection of koans for those who wished to contemplate them (though this was not stressed by them and I never did any koan training with them). I found the broadness and tolerance of their practice very congenial, especially since Rev. Kim accepted that I preferred to chant Odaimoku rather than nembutsu. She also helped me learn more about the Korean way of doing Buddhism and in particular I learned the about Wonhyo (617-686), who taught a syncretic view of Buddhism inspired by the Flower Garland Sutra; and Chinul (1158-1210) who taught the way of sudden awakening followed by gradual practice. I also read a complete English translation of the Flower Garland Sutra and read as many books about the Flower Garland teachings as I could find. The result of this was that I came away with a much better picture of the nature of East Asian Buddhism and the differences between Japanese Buddhism and Buddhism in Korea, China, and Vietnam. I often compare Chinese, Korean, and Vietnamese Buddhism to the Korean dish bibimbap, which literally means “mixed meal,” as their temples are a mixture of Pure Land piety and devotion for the lay believers, Flower Garland and sometimes T’ien-t’ai teachings for those interested in Buddhist theory, and Rinzai Zen for the abbots and those interested in a deeper and more existential approach to Buddhist practice. Japanese Buddhism, on the other hand, seems to me to be more like a bento box, wherein each item is walled off in its own corner so that they cannot mix, as in Japan the various schools specialize in a particular teaching or practice and do not mix with each other. I will grant that this is an oversimplification, but it is nevertheless the impression I have.

It was on the West coast that I finally encountered Nichiren Shu. The Nichiren Shoshu and Soka Gakkai had done their best to make sure, in the pre-internet age, that none of their members even knew that there was such a thing as Nichiren Shu. I first learned of it through a group of ex-SGI members who had joined the Los Angeles temple in the early 90’s and had formed a small practice and study group under the guidance of Ryobo Fujiwara Shonin. I saw an advertisement in a local newspaper and soon joined their group, though at the time I was not yet ready to join Nichiren Shu. My impression, however, was very positive. Rev. Fujiwara was very kind and helpful in answering my questions. I always felt welcome there. I was also very impressed by the practice of shodaigyo. I came away with the feeling that Nichiren Shu was authentically upholding the teachings of Nichiren Shonin and the Lotus Sutra. If I had stayed in Los Angeles any longer than I did, I am sure I would have joined the L.A. temple.

What did happen was that I went to Holy Names College in Oakland, California, in order to earn a masters degree in spirituality. One thing I wanted to accomplish at that program was to really explore Western spirituality and philosophy in depth. For years I had felt conflicted about whether I was a Christian or a Buddhist. I would often say that I felt like I had Buddhist eyes but a Christian heart, by which I meant that philosophically I believed in Buddhist teachings but I still had a heartfelt connection to Christianity and the teachings and life of Jesus (though I would also say that I was as much inspired by the rock musical Jesus Christ Superstar and fond memories of celebrating Christmas with my family as I was by the Bible). In particular I delved into what is called Process Theology that had been inspired by the process philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead (1861-1947). I felt that Process Theology came closest to the views presented in the T’ien-t’ai and Flower Garland teachings of the total interpenetration of all phenomena. In the end, though I enjoyed the program, I did not find anything in Western spirituality or philosophy that could compare to what I had learned and practiced in the various traditions of East Asian Mahayana Buddhism that I had been exposed to. At that point I realized that I was wholly a Buddhist, and that Mahayana Buddhism actually more than accounted for anything that I had found admirable and inspiring in Christianity. I saw that there was much I had never accepted about Christianity, such as its exclusivity or its teaching that one has only one life followed by an eternity in either heaven or hell; and at the same time what I did accept was also taught in Buddhism and in a much deeper and richer context. I would not say that at that point I rejected my Catholic heritage or Christian background, but I would say that I saw that it was then that I realized that all these things were truly part of the One Vehicle of the Lotus Sutra.

In 1994 I moved to San Francisco to be with my fiancée. While there I continued my association with Won Buddhism and even hosted some meetings in my apartment. I also became friends with two American Zen Masters, one of whom had received transmission in the lineage of the Soto Zen pioneer Shunryu Suzuki (1904-1971), the founder of the San Francisco Zen Center and Tassajara Monastery. With their help I learned the Soto Zen method of “just sitting” (J. shikan-taza) and also received some training in koan practice. During that time I also began an in-depth study of the Pali Canon (in English translation) as I wanted to learn what the Siddhartha Gautama of history had taught in addition to what was taught in the Mahayana sutras by the Shakyamuni Buddha of faith.

What I really wanted, after moving to San Francisco, was to make a connection with Nichiren Buddhism again. I called the number for the Nichiren Shu in the phonebook and spoke to a Japanese priest who was performing services in San Francisco twice a month for a couple of Japanese-American families. He recommended that I call the San Jose Temple and speak to Ryusho Matsuda Shonin. I found this odd, since I lived an hour away from San Jose, but I did not want to give up as I remembered my more positive experience in Los Angeles, so I called the San Jose Temple. Ryusho Matsuda Shonin was very gracious and provided me with directions. The first time I went to the San Jose Temple they were holding their monthly silent meditation practice, in fact a practice that focuses on the tanden just as I had learned in Won Buddhism. I found this surprising. I did not think Nichiren Buddhists ever did silent sitting meditation (at least apart from shodaigyo). I remarked on this to Matsuda Shonin who replied, “Of course we meditate, all Buddhists meditate.” I was very happy to hear that. The meditation was followed by a study of the Lotus Sutra, and at the end of the session Matsuda Shonin turned to me and asked me to present the next chapter of the Lotus Sutra the following month. I was very surprised by his request but I agreed. All in all, I felt very welcomed, and I felt also felt a real affinity with Matsuda Shonin. I would also note that the group there, while small, was also representative of the kind of cross section of people I had seen at the Nichiren Shoshu of America meeting so many years before.

In the end, I received Jukai from Ryusho Matsuda Shonin, and in 1997 I underwent the Tokudo ceremony and became Matsuda Shonin’s disciple. I took that step because I had become determined to learn and practice Nichiren Buddhism as deeply as possible by undergoing the training to become a priest. I also wished to be able to teach others about Nichiren Buddhism, not as an amateur scholar and lay practitioner but as someone who had received the education and training that the Nichiren Shu requires to entrust someone as a priest qualified to teach others. In 2001 I completed my training. Since that time, I have done all I can to spread the teaching of the Lotus Sutra and Nichiren Shonin through my online articles, the maintenance of a Nichiren Shu discussion group on yahoo, by assisting my sensei and his son at the San Jose Nichiren Buddhist temple, and through a 2 hour program I run every Sunday in San Francisco at a small dojo that a group known as the Faithful Fools have made available to me.

Let me briefly describe this program. The Faithful Fools is a “street ministry” that was founded in 1998 as an educational and charitable organization by a Unitarian minister and a Franciscan nun. Their community center is located in the Tenderloin, which is a poverty stricken section of San Francisco. In their community center is a zendo that was set up by Soto Zen Buddhists where people in the community could practice silent sitting meditation on weekday mornings. In 2003 I approached them and volunteered to lead a meditation group on Sundays if I could also hold a study group and a Nichiren Shu service as well. They were very happy to have me do this, and so I was given keys and I have been using the Faithful Fools zendo to hold a 2-hour meeting every Sunday afternoon since. Strange as it may seem, there are liberal Christians who are more than happy to allow small Buddhist groups to use their facilities for practice meetings. Before the meetings begin I install an Omandala that I keep over the altar (on which is enshrined Kannon Bosatsu). I would like to permanently enshrine the Omandala but I cannot as I am only borrowing the use of the space. The meeting begins with forty-minutes of meditation, that I teach in accord with the Great Master T’ien-t’ai’s teachings concerning the sudden and perfect method of tranquility and insight meditatation (J. endon shikan). The meditation begins and ends with Odaimoku sansho, so even those who come just for the meditation will be exposed to the Odaimoku and so that it will be clear that our practice is ultimately an expression of faith in the Lotus Sutra. I then give a Dharma talk followed by a discussion of how the Buddha’s teachings can inform and guide our practice and daily life. Over the last few months, for instance, we have been discussing the meaning and implications of the teachings about buddha-nature. In the final half hour I hold a traditional Nichiren Shu service. In American Buddhism people do not just want to watch a priest practice for them, so all those who are present participate in chanting and singing the shomyo. We also recite everything together, not just the sutra recitation and Odaimoku but also the invocations, dedications, and vows. Participants have also been taking turns ringing the bell (J. kin) and I may eventually teach them how to use the mokugyo (I do not use the mokusho as the sound is too loud and high pitched for a small room). I also have a taiko drum, but have not used it because, again, it is a small room and one of the regular participants has tinnitus, so I do not wish to aggravate his condition. I usually have around four people who attend these meetings. Two of the regulars are Zen Buddhists who come because I am one of the few places that offer meditation practice on Sundays, but they also stay for the discussion and service. I have one regular participant who wishes to become a member of Nichiren Shu, and he had formerly been a Soka Gakkai member so he was specifically seeking a more authentic form of Nichiren Buddhism.

I would now like to say something about the current state of Nichiren Buddhism in North America and my hopes for the future. One thing is that the temples established by Japanese-Americans have, with a couple of exceptions, never been very welcoming to non-Japanese Americans. Immigrants in North America have always tended to use their places of worship as ethnic community centers where they can feel safe and secure in the environment of their culture of origin. For that reason, immigrant temples have never been attractive to or welcoming of those of other ethnicities. Nichiren Shu’s temples are no exception to this, and in fact the situation was exacerbated by the internment of Japanese-Americans during World War II, that created a feeling of intense alienation from and occasionally even bitterness towards the rest of American society. The problem that immigrant churches and temples face is that they begin to dwindle away if no further waves of immigration continue to come from the place of origin to keep up the membership, as the founding members grow old and pass away and the succeeding generations assimilate away from the ethnic enclaves. The only way for an immigrant church or temple to survive is if it opens its doors to those not of the ethnicity of the founders. For instance, in San Francisco, St Patrick’s Church was founded in the 19th century by Irish-Catholics, but the original membership is gone. The church survives because now it is a place of worship for Asian and Latino Catholics, there no longer seem to be any Irish-Americans there. To be frank, I do not think that the aging memberships of the Japanese-American temples have the ability to successfully attract and welcome non-Japanese-Americans who are curious about Buddhism. I think there is still a great desire to maintain the temples as Japanese-American community centers, too much suspicion towards outsiders, and a lack of interest in those aspects of Buddhism that are attractive to other North Americans.

The most visible forms of convert Buddhism, if one judges by the media and the kind of Buddhist books and Buddhist magazines found in the bookstores, are Zen, Tibetan, and Vipassana. The membership in these groups is overwhelmingly white. They tend to be from the middle or upper class, and a large proportion of them hold college or post-graduate degrees. These are the so-called “elite Buddhists.” I actually fit into this profile myself. Many of these Buddhists were disillusioned by the religions they grew up in, or perhaps they grew up in non-religious households. For them, the practice of meditation is free of religious dogmas and conflicts and has proven therapeutic benefits. Zen is attractive because it was presented in America as a teaching that had gone beyond the dogmas and sectarianism of Buddhism as a religion. The practice of Vipassana has been taken out of its original context in Theravadin Buddhism and presented as a non-sectarian form of mindfulness training. While Theravadin teachings are utilized, those who practice it do not become Theravadin Buddhists. Tibetan Buddhism is a bit of an anomaly in that its teachings are not at all separated from the esoteric and metaphysical teachings of Vajrayana and even Bon shamanism. There has, however, always been an attraction among some Americans for the exotic and esoteric, from the Theosophists and Spiritualists of the 19th century up to and including the New Age movement of the latter half of the 20th century. Among these groups of people, it is hard to find those who would be attracted to Nichiren Budhdism, as it appears to be a very sectarian and devotional form of popular Buddhism. Those attracted primarily to Zen and Vipassana do not realize that Odaimoku is also a contemplative practice founded upon the psychologically deep teaching of ichinen sanzen, while those attracted to Tibetan Buddhist esotericism and scholasticism do not realize that Nichiren Buddhism also has a very sophisticated and I would say streamlined and efficient form of philosophy and esotericism focused on the Lotus Sutra.

There are those among the “elite Buddhist” demographic who are beginning to explore Nichiren Shu, as I did. Many were former members of Nichiren Shoshu or Soka Gakkai. I would say that at present the great majority of North American members of Nichiren Shu who are not Japanese-American were formerly members of those groups and who outgrew what they were offering and teaching. Now, thanks to the efforts of the Nichiren Shu priests in North America who have opened the doors of their temples and made their presence known through the internet, or through participation in interfaith groups, or community festivals and events, or by simply advertising regular temple events and practice sessions in local media and national Buddhist magazines there have been others who have begun to take an interest in Nichiren Shu. Just as in my own case, there may be people who might wish to visit a temple, but do not feel that they would be welcomed at an ethnic Buddhist temple unless they are specifically invited in the form of some form of public announcement, like a newspaper ad, a flyer, or even an internet posting.

In speaking to my fellow North American priests and after corresponding on the internet with people from all over North America and also Europe, Latin America, and other parts of Asia besides Japan, I am heartened to see that Nichiren Shu is becoming attractive not just to the “elite Buddhist” demographic but to a much broader cross-section of people of various ethnicities, classes, and levels of education. I believe Nichiren Shu is and should be attractive because ours is a practice that people can practice as part of their daily lives. The chanting of Odaimoku and even a daily practice of gongyo does not require expensive empowerment ceremonies as in Vajrayana Buddhism. It does not require long hours of meditation in a monastery or practice center, or long retreats that people do not have the money or time to attend. It is also a practice that is devotional and heart-felt, a faith-based practice that does not depend upon complex or esoteric teachings, though certainly those are there for those who like that kind of thing. The chanting of Odaimoku and even the temple services are also far more family friendly than the meditative practices of the other currently popular schools of Buddhism. In short, there are many things about Nichiren Buddhism that could potentially give it a much wider appeal than other forms of Buddhism – if more people were made aware of them.

Let me close with my thoughts about the future of Nichiren Shu outside Japan. I think that Nichiren Shu does have all the elements that have attracted the “elite Buddhists” to Zen, Tibetan, and Vipassana Buddhism. Our primary practice of Odaimoku is at heart a contemplative tradition (as per Kanjin Honzon Sho). Nichiren Shu also has the practice of meditation in the context of shodaigyo and we can also claim the sudden and perfect tradition of tranquility and insight practice as part of our heritage. Nichiren Shu also has its own esoteric teachings and practices focused on the Lotus Sutra. Of course many of our ministers are also capable of teaching the basics of Buddhism such as the four noble truths and the six perfections. Most popular books on Buddhism in North America do not go beyond these basic teachings. So I do not think there is anything that Nichiren Shu is lacking that would attract people who are interested in Buddhism. We also have things that the other schools do not have. I do not think we should underestimate how attractive our practice of chanting the Odaimoku and the Lotus Sutra can be to many people. I have marched with the Nipponzan Myohoji and met several people who expressed their love of the sound of the Odaimoku even though they had no idea what it meant or what its about. It was the power, rhythm, and harmony of the practice itself that initially attracted me. In addition, I think that the teaching of ichinen sanzen and jikkai gogu are psychologically astute, existentially profound, and if conveyed correctly can provide people with a deep sense of the richness and possibilities that lie within the depths of their life that the practice of Odaimoku can give voice to and empower them to bring forth. For all these reasons people of many backgrounds all over the world have responded positively to Nichiren Buddhism, even in distorted forms. I am hopeful that if Nichiren Shu can successfully get its message out on the internet, in magazines, on the shelves of bookstores, and in the local communities where there are temples and practice groups, then it can flourish outside of Japan. To do this we need to open the doors of the temples and ordain those people who can teach the Dharma in the language and style of their home countries. I think that now in the beginning of the 21th century we have a real chance to reach out to a broad spectrum of people who are ready to hear what they have not had a chance to hear before, the profound message of the Lotus Sutra and the sound of the Wonderful Dharma – Namu Myoho Renge Kyo.