Liturgy is a strong tree whose beauty derives from the continuous renewal ~ Pope Paul VI

I have never been comfortable with liturgy. My parents were committed atheists. So, how did I end up as a Zen priest? I’ve told the story before of a dinner with Roshi Bernie and Jishu when I was still new to Zen. “Who will be your first shuso?” Bernie asked. Who would Jishu choose to serve as “senior student” during her first three-month training period as a teacher? As a Dharma Holder, Jishu had many students. She named one. “No,” said Bernie. Jishu named another. Another “no.” A third: still no. Finally, Bernie explained: To satisfy the Japanese Soto authorities, one’s first Shuso must be ordained. News to Jishu: all the students she’d named were lay people.

Was this the opportunity I’d been looking for to repay the debt I felt to Bernie as my teacher? The following Saturday in Dokusan, hardly believing I was saying this, I told Bernie I could ordain to serve as Jishu’s first shuso. “Ask Jishu,” he answered. Jishu appreciated my offer but, “No. That’s not a good enough reason to ordain.” I was surprised, disappointed, and relieved. Two weeks later, Jishu told me she’d thought about it, discussed it with Bernie. Turns out it was a good idea. That’s how I became a priest.

When Jishu died suddenly during my Shuso period, I thought of quitting, but momentum (and the speed with which Bernie was moving) carried me through to the end of the ordination process. I learned just enough “priestcraft” to get by. Those skills quickly atrophied, unused. Aside from very infrequent weddings and funerals, the Jukai ceremony was my only occasion for officiating. I didn’t think about the liturgy, just took what I’d received and passed it on.

Until now, preparing with my two Dharma Holders for their Jukai, we’ve been considering how to make the ceremony meaningful not only for them and other members of the sangha but to their friends and family.  Looking at the ceremony as a living liturgy rather than as a relic has been wonderful. Instead of my reflexive, “This ain’t me,” I’m finding something fresh and new and exciting. I never expected this.