Why a journey from Zen to Methodism? Two friends embark on a dual path of discovery while driving from Portland to Denver. The miles take them through the beautiful scenery of the Pacific Northwest as their souls traverse the spiritual landscapes of a lifetime. The journey begins in the San Francisco Bay Area of the 1960s with the nascent American Zen movement led by Shunryu Suzuki. From there it winds through the years, passing through Christianity and pop culture, John Cage and avant-garde music, the haunting beauty of Taize worship, Celtic Christianity, spiritual naturalism, the painful failures of the modern church, and the promise the church may still hold. The barren landscape of southern Wyoming becomes a fitting backdrop for one friend's growing skepticism as the spiritual past seems more and more disconnected from the present uncertainty. Unexpectedly, the practical theology of eighteenth-century theologian John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, offers the possibility of merging these disparate spiritual experiences together into a single pathway. Transformation, however, inevitably involves loss when the friends find their roads diverging as the destination approaches: one branching towards hope, and the other towards despair.
Оглавление
John D. Hiestand. Falling Through the Ice
Falling Through the Ice
Prelude
Part I: Themes
Chapter 1: Zen
Chapter 2: Nature
Chapter 3: Music
Chapter 4: Christianity
Part II: Dissonance
Chapter 5: Family & Zen
Chapter 6: Art & Authenticity
Chapter 7: Relationships & Religion
Chapter 8: Nexus I
Interlude
Chapter 9: The Choke
Chapter 10: Credo
Part III: Counterpoint
Chapter 11: Passages
Chapter 12: The Guilt List
Chapter 13: Death By a Million Flea Bites
Chapter 14: Nexus II
Chapter 15: One Road Home
Postlude
Chapter 16: Starbucks
Chapter 17: Beginner’s Mind
Acknowledgments
Bibliography
Отрывок из книги
The Path of a Zen Methodist
J. D. Hiestand
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It was good to see my old friend again. We were about the same age and approximately the same height and build, but he seemed much healthier than I—I really needed to work out more—and his red hair and neatly trimmed beard gave him a distinctive look. He had also acquired the knack of looking really natty in just about anything he was wearing, which on that night was a simple blue polo shirt and Dockers. My button-down and jeans had started out wrinkled in Denver, were not improved by the flight nor the rain, and actually did smell a little like a rotten fish.
He sat on the floor while I occupied the sole chair, and we talked for some time, catching up on life events and common acquaintances. The coffee maker and teapot were on the truck, so we just sipped water from paper cups. But after a while it was clear that both of us were wearying of the superficial conversation, and I finally broke the ice.
