Hinduism

     Twenty-five years of academic effort culminated last month with the unveiling of the Encyclopedia of Hinduism at the University of South Carolina.

     Featuring some 7,000 articles on one of the world’s major religions and its spiritual practices, philosophy and beliefs, the 11-volume encyclopedia conveys the depth and diversity that is Hinduism. While I knew the encyclopedia was in the works, I had no concept of its complexity.

     The encyclopedia’s associate editor, Hal French, called its publication a “milestone in research for this culture and religion, reflecting the very best in India and Western scholarship.” French is an emeritus professor with USC's religious studies department.

     French was one among approximately 1,000 scholars from India, the United States and Europe who wrote, edited and compiled the encyclopedia. It represents the first standardized and objective presentation of the vast diversity that is Indian culture. 

     In one work, the encyclopedia includes more than 7,000 articles that span Indian history, civilization, language and philosophy; architecture, art, music and dance; medicine, sciences and social institutions and religion, spirituality and the role of Hindu women.

     The encyclopedia, also called the “Project of the Third Millennium,” began in 1987 under the leadership of Sadhvi Bhagawati Saraswati, managing editor of the encyclopedia and president of the Divine Shakti Foundation. The offices for the project were located at the University of South Carolina until 2003 when they were moved to India for the final stages.

     “The Indian cultural and spiritual traditions, encompassed within the religion known as ‘Hinduism’ offer some of the deepest and most universally applicable insights, truths and teachings. Unfortunately, these tend to be misunderstood in the West,” Saraswati said. The encyclopedia brings together in an accessible, comprehensive form the depth and breadth of the “ancient yet timeless heritage” that is Hinduism, he added.

     Last month's events launched the international edition (English) of the Encyclopedia of Hinduism. The Dalai Lama launched the Indian edition in April 2010 in Rishikesh, India.  Conceived, compiled and produced by the India Heritage Research Foundation, the encyclopedia was published by Mandala Publishing. About 3,000 copies comprise the first printing. The volumes each run 600 to 700 pages with around 1,000 colorful illustrations in the entire encyclopedia.

Contemplation--Blog 4

I had hoped to go quietly into widowhood, accepting the unexpected death of my husband from a heart attack suffered while he was sleeping.  But two years later, I am not very quiet about it all. I’m confused and at sea about being without the man I had counted on to be my life partner. About facing the day-to-day and the difficult times without a life partner.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not suggesting I’ll jump at an offer of a relationship. In fact, I’ll likely be as slow moving as a turtle. That’s what I was like years ago when I divorced. I did not want to remake mistakes, nor jump into a rebound love.  Instead love came along and sort of jumped into life.

I’m cautious by nature, preferring lots of “considering time” when I do something momentous such as changing jobs, changing geographic locales, going overseas. Yet I’m also a risk-taker, the kind of person who will kick herself in the rear and make herself do something that seems frightening or unnerving. Even if I wait to take the last seat on the boat to an unknown future, I’ll still make the journey.

So that is part of how I’ve made this journey. The journey into and through losing someone I loved very much. Early on, a wise fellow writer made me face the fact that I was not going to find a “how to” book for this life passage. I did not like learning that truth, though I believed her.

Nowadays, I find that well-meaning friends and family try to say comforting things, and do their best to listen when I am sad. One person reminded me that my father died after a long illness, and that then my husband died unexpectedly. “That’s two deaths,” she said. “You had no warning, absolutely no warning.” Well, I knew that then and I know that now. But the reality is I have to keep living and I find myself seeking ways to enjoy living not just meander miserably through it.

Someone else suggested I “keep busy.” I have followed that advice, but sometimes find myself staring straight ahead in the midst of my busyness, thinking fearfully about the future and trying to hold onto the past. Then I remember to live in the moment and return to what is right in front of me. I know all we really have is now.

Recently, when I confessed that the grief often was still with me, another friend quoted Shakespeare to me in a text message, noting: “It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” I was touched, not offended. I believe the bard’s words. I just wish I could have kept the love and forgone the loss.

For grief is an unpredictable thing – impossible to program. Not controlled by logic, chronology or reason. It comes upon us sometimes when we least expect it, and may linger for hours, days, even weeks.  I think it lingers until we find a way to release a small piece of it.

For awhile and still sometimes, parties were hard for me. I lost too much psychic energy trying to be in large groups of people. I needed to be alone, a lot. I still do sometimes. And I honestly believe I’m getting a bit more introverted.

But I still make myself go places. The other day I went to an anniversary party for two friends. They had been married 50 years. As I watched their pleasure in each other and saw how much their marriage meant to them, I felt a deep pleasure at sharing their joy. Every time I let myself share someone else’s joy, I release part of my own sadness. There is no workbook for the process of grief, but there are—I  have discovered—ways to join in joy.

Reflections of a Christian

For the first time in years, I was sitting in a pew with a good view of the image I so loved as a child. It is the central stained glass window above the altar in Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in downtown Columbia, S.C., my hometown and the city where I now teach and write.  The window depicts a loving Jesus holding a small child with other children surrounding him. Traditional in an artistic sense, the window still remains mind-boggling to me.

      As a small girl, I remember gazing at that image and knowing – deep inside my young soul – that this Jesus loved me. I often went to church with my parents; I sometimes went alone with my Daddy. For several years I sang in the choir. And, always, I gazed with wonder on that stained glass portrait of the Redeemer.

      This Jesus, the Prince of Peace, the Almighty One, the liberator of the lowly, the friend of sinners and tax collectors, the anointed one. This Jesus, I realized, finally as an adult loved me as his “beloved.”

      It was Ash Wednesday, and my usual harem-scarem fashion I had zipped into the cathedral for the last service of the day. I struggled to focus, to pray, to remember why I was there. And then I looked at that window. As I was intent on observing one of the holiest days of the church’s liturgical year, God has other things in mind.

      The sermon was preached by a good friend, a woman priest whose sense of personal call, social responsibility and community compassion always moves me. It was no different this time. She put the seasonal sacred story simply. This is Lent, she explained, a time when Christians – especially we baby boomers who were kids in the 1960s and 1970s – used to “give up” something. Sacrifice is well and good – and it was probably a good idea for youngsters to give up candy, she said.

      But too often that “giving up” of chocolate, candy or bubble gum became something of an ego-centered competition of who was “the best” at giving up, or who might be the holiest.

      Instead, she suggested her listeners consider all of the opportunities open to them during Lent, chances for growth and renewal in this sacred season. In her own life, the priest said she meant to increase her morning prayers and devotionals, reading from a meditation booklet before she checked phone messages or emails. (What a concept! God and faith before technology.) She also intends to practice self-denial and to do something for others. As a single woman, she thought she would bring a sandwich for lunch and save $10 to $20 to give to the local food bank, she said. And she urged us to learn something new, read a new book or something of that sort.

      As she preached, my heart slowed down. My mind quieted. My soul sought peace. And I recognized that all that I am, all that I have and all that I can and will be spring from one simple, certain reality: being beloved by God. Being beloved by Jesus. That truth has shaped me as a journalist, as a teacher, as a Christian, as a human being dedicated to peace and justice and interfaith cooperation. How could I possibly have forgotten something so important? This Lent, as Christians recall the 40 days Jesus spent in the wilderness, I will follow this priest’s advice. But I will also try to remember what I should never forget, and that is how much we are all beloved by God.

The Season of Light and Love

Wonder Baby

Too often I’ve learned there are no answers, no certain answers, anyway to life’s deepest questions. Why is one person comfortable and another dirt poor? What is it that pushes us to seek answers where there are none?
      I often find myself doing that. And in this, the season of Light, the season of the coming of love, light and joy in the form of a tiny infant, I wonder often how to live in that light day in and day out. For were I not to live from that light, I do not think I would have the courage to get up out of bed in the morning.
      Perhaps I’ve seen too much uncertainty, loved too many people living in physical or psychological pain, lost too many people – whom I loved with my whole heart – to death. I really believe that living in the Light and encouraging others to do the same is critically important. So in this season of light, I cannot promise anyone, least of all myself, to never forget the light. It seems obscured, taken from me, by loss and fear. And then I find myself rediscovering it, yearning for it. Seeking it with my whole heart.
      I am, you see, an Epiphany baby, born on Jan. 6, the date most western liturgical churches celebrate as the time when the three Magi visited Jesus. Advent, Christmas and Epiphany always been times of searching, reflection and rediscovery for me. So as the New Year begins, I embrace the light, letting it flow over, bedazzled by the possibilities I see ahead. I would bow into the light, head bent in gratitude and offer prayers of Thanksgiving for all the hope it offers me, and the rest of the world.

God and World War II's GI Joes and Janes

Honoring the Men and Women Who Serve

Perhaps nothing is as important in the world of journalism, to me, at least, than preserving the stories of people who have served and served well. So I feel a deep calling to help tell the stories of the World War II veterans I have been privileged to interview. Some I interviewed alone. Some I met with my senior level college journalism students. Some I interviewed with my late husband, Jace Holloman.

And one particularly important veteran in my life was my father, the late James G. Holmes. I learned my dad's story over decades. But its centerpiece, his devotion to his country and to serving well in the U.S. Army during World War II,  echoes the stories of so many men and women I've met. What I first learned about my father's service was the fascination for Italy and its people that he brought home from the war. Like so many young Americans, he served because he was asked to serve. Going to war wasn't really appealing to most of the young men and women who entered the service, whether they volunteered or were drafted.

What mattered was the call to service which came so naturally to the men and women who've come to be known as "The Greatest Generation." They shrug off questions about why they served. They dismiss entreaties about whether it was difficult or demoralizing. Instead, they admit to being afraid sometimes, cold other times, and, often homesick. One of the unusual viewpoints my father brought home from the war was an aversion to camping. When I ventured the opinion that there must be something "to camping" because my college roommate's family had camped across Europe, my daddy simply shook his head. "Sorry, honey," he said. "I spent enough nights in a tent during World War II to last me a lifetime!"

I'm sure the sons and daughters of other World War II vets and the offspring of veterans from other wars have similar stories to tell. And, maybe sad stories, too. As I write, I'm working on a new book about these veterans, hoping to dig beneath the surface and find out what many of them never told their children. Like so many who have served and served well, these men and women were -- and are -- quiet heroes. They gave greatly of themselves during the war, came home, got jobs and had children. Service, to them, was routine. Their stories are portraits of greatness from which I hope my students and other young people --the next generation of American leaders  -- will draw inspiration.