Practicing in the Places That Hurt

When I became ordained as a priest, I imagined my life would look like other priests. I thought I'd take care of 'the hearts and minds of the people,' within the configuration of a monastery… doing all the ordinary things that Zen priests and monks do.

In reality, the Dharma... what some might translate as 'Grace,' in Western culture, has a way of leading us into spaces that need Dharma paramedics… places we never expected to find ourselves.

For me, Dharma AKA grace led me to be a "gutter monk." It's being in the village with helping hands... kinda like Hotei... without the precise forms... ritual... ceremony... or training that are in abundance with monastic training... but endless encounters with people struggling to not just survive outwardly... but inwardly too.

Most of my practice has unfolded alongside marginalized communities… people who, in most cases, would never set foot in a Zen monastery. Not because they lack Buddha-nature (Loving-kindness), but because they often don't have the time… the resources… or, frankly, the luxury of devoting themselves to a rigorous practice that refuses to be transactional. The Dharma kept leading me toward people who could most benefit from being seen, heard, protected, and treated with dignity. Really… anyone who would benefit from the promises embodied in the Fourteenth Amendment. Believe it or not… that includes people suffering from addiction and/or addictive personality.

Working in those spaces has made one thing abundantly clear to me.

It isn't difficult in our culture to find something divisive to say or do simply for the sake of being divisive. Sometimes it gives people the temporary illusion of control… or power… or certainty. It's low-hanging fruit. It doesn't require much wisdom. Mostly it requires grievance, a little meanness, and a willingness to poke at someone else's wounds.

That's a potent combination.

What's genuinely difficult is helping people compare 'in' instead of compare 'out'. Helping people discover that community isn't built by everyone being the same… it's built by making room for people who aren't.

Sometimes that begins with something as simple as sliding over on the bench to make space for someone we don't know… or someone we never imagined we'd intentionally choose to sit beside. That can feel surprisingly awkward because the mind is so well trained in artificial distinctions and superficial judgment. It spends an extraordinary amount of energy convincing us that separation is safer than connection.

The real work asks something entirely different of us. It asks us to listen deeply… to learn from one another… to respect differences… and to honor the inherent dignity of people whose lives, histories, and experiences may look or be nothing like our own.

It's stunning how difficult we can make loving one another with unconditional positive regard.

Perhaps that's precisely why the bodhisattva path requires such intentionality, discipline, and depth of commitment. Left to our own devices, we tend to drift toward separation rather than relationship, toward judgment rather than curiosity, toward fear rather than goodwill.

We don't have to be particularly talented to invite discord. We mostly have to be willing to be unkind… perhaps harsh… and, for human beings, that doesn't seem to require much practice.

Cultivating goodwill is another matter altogether.

It takes maturity. It takes humility. It takes courage to remain open when it would be easier to put people out of our heart. It takes the willingness to be transformed by encounter instead of merely confirmed by opinion.

And perhaps most of all, it takes L.O.V.E. expressed as action… especially when doing so is inconvenient, uncomfortable, and offers no promise of recognition or personal reward.

For me, that's where the real practice has always lived… not only in the zendo, but in the places where suffering is loud, dignity is fragile, and compassion has to put on work boots.

一Dignity and Grace