One City, Under Gods

There's no doubt St. Louis is a town steeped in Catholic history, but here we offer a quick immersion—no baptism required—in a few of St. Louis' less familiar religious traditions: atheists, Bahá'ís, Buddhists, Jains, Sikhs, Latter-Day Saints and seekers of spiritual metaphysics.

Korean Buddhism—Peace on Earth

By Jeannette Batz Cooperman

Photograph by Dilip Vishwanat

We are seated on pillows beside the fireplace, bowls of steaming water warming our tea-cups. Handmade rice-paper lanterns filter rows of tiny electric light bulbs overhead, giving the room the soft light of dawn. Bikkhuni Sungak Sunim prepares to serve three teas: the first mild, as teenagers know life; the second very rich (“This is the middle life”); and the third slightly bitter (“Power, energy; everything has been given to children and to other people”). She carefully pours the first cup, which has its own ceramic cover. “I am going to give this one to the Buddha!”

Her brown robe unfolds smoothly as she rises and goes to the altar, smiling up at the golden Buddha statue that took more than a year for a Korean master to create. “I told him, ‘This Buddha stays in the United States; maybe in the future it will become one of the treasures in St. Louis,’” she recalls. “‘Please make him one of the most beautiful Buddhas—and make his face a mix of Korean and American faces, and in his robe—’” she points to the ties, which form the shape of the Gateway Arch.

A Buddhist monk of the Chogye order, Sungak is celibate and has formally studied Sanskrit scriptures and meditation (“to learn the heart of the Buddha”) for more than 15 years, in addition to earning a master’s degree in social work from Washington University. She had intended to go on for a Ph.D. and return to Korea as a professor, but fellow students at Wash. U. begged her to teach them to meditate. “They were thirsty for the peaceful experience,” she says. “I said, ‘OK, please come, but I don’t have any cushions.’ I thought they would give up. But for two years, every Sunday, knock! They come. So I give up. OK, Ph.D. later. I must start a temple here.”

In 2002 she founded the Buddhanara Temple and Monastery in a small, serene house in Olivette, and she is now looking for three acres on which to build a meditation center.

“If people are not peaceful, they make mistakes,” she says. “They cannot control their anger. They are very sad.” Americans, she’s noticed, lose peace by constantly comparing themselves to others—and rarely living in the present. “Some people say, ‘I was so beautiful 10 years ago’ and want plastic surgery right away. They still want to live 10 years ago, their past life!”

Sungak offers a list of 10 meditation guides, from “Why long for a life free from hardship? It only leads to self-pampering. Make worries and hardships a way of life” to “Why expect rewards for your kindnesses? This leads only to a scheming mind.” She speaks of Buddhism’s four vows: to save all beings; to end all suffering; to learn all Dharma teachings; to attain enlightenment. “To save all beings, start with small kindnesses,” she suggests, “not torturing animals, not wasting food. If you must eat meat for protein, please eat this much” (she makes a circle of her thumbs and forefingers) “and none left, and say, ‘Thank you, cow!’”

Presumably she doesn’t squash bugs?

“Sometimes I do,” she says cheerfully. “Cockroaches. But I bow to them and say, ‘I am so sorry.’ And not squashing; that is cruel. I pick them up and say, ‘I’m living here, and I’m scared of you. Your house is not here. Your house is outside.’”

Lay Buddhists follow five ethical rules: no killing, no lying, no stealing, no intoxication, no misconduct (e.g., infidelity). The emphasis is on freedom and the equality and connectedness of all living beings, not on dogma. “We don’t say, ‘Oh, you must believe the Buddha.’

“An issue like abortion, yes, that is a killing,” Sungak adds slowly, “but it is very complicated. Don’t push from the religion; think first about the mother, why she wants the abortion. Ask what is the best choice for her. Her life is important, too.

“And we never say ‘gay’ or ‘lesbian,’” she adds. “They are different species? No, they are human beings. They are Buddha nature; they can become Buddha too. No bias.”

Jainism—Forgiveness, Fearlessness and Friendliness

By Shera Dalin

Photograph by Dilip Vishwanat

“When you discover for yourself, however dimly, that you are rooted in something that is infinitely vast and potential, you have found the soil wherein you grow unconsciously into a most wonderful tree, the tree of life blended with knowledge.”—The Agamas

To be a Jain in this country is to live a life that is often at odds with the culture around you. One of the world’s oldest religions, Jainism encourages its followers to give up worldly attachments—and at times that includes even food.

“Fasting helps get rid of desire. It is your soul getting pure,” says Bharat K. Shah, an engineer at Boeing. “In St. Louis there are four or five young people who drink only water for just eight days. The first three days are the hardest. It gets easier after that.” A lifelong Jain, Shah came here in 1966 from India, where Jainism originated 2,500 years ago.

Some Jains in the United States fast for a month, only drinking water, he adds. The purpose is to detach from bodily desires, such as appetite, and thereby avoid negative karma. Shah explains karma as, in essence, the sum total of good and evil a person does over the course of his or her soul’s many lifetimes. For Jains, the goal is to use 14 steps, starting with fasting, to dispel bad karma and therefore reach nirvana, or enlightenment.

“I’m not doing much fasting, so my process is very slow,” Shah admits, laughing.

The world’s 6 million Jains are generally vegetarians. Because all living organisms must be protected, they eschew root vegetables, believing that they have multiple souls and that to eat them destroys the life of the plant.

Jains name God as Jina, which means “the Victor”—one who has freed himself from the bondage of karma by conquering deceit, greed, anger and ego. Every living being has the potential to become a God.

Much of Jain belief centers on five vows. At the core is the vow of ahimsa, or nonviolence. Vegetarianism, universal friendship, compassion and charity all stem from ahimsa. Observant Jains are encouraged to donate 25 percent of their gross income to charitable causes and to avoid hoarding their wealth.

Jains also vow to seek and speak the truth, abstain from cheating or stealing, refrain from premarital or extramarital sex and avoid materialism. Women are held in the same esteem as men.

The 40 or so Jain families in St. Louis rent a room at the Hindu Temple of St. Louis, in West County, for a monthly meeting at which they hear a lecture by an out-of-town speaker. Although some Jains go to the temple daily to pray, attendance is not required. There are no monks to lead services.

“We miss our monks, because that’s who we learn from,” Shah says. Many Jains begin the day by reciting the Navkar Mantra: I bow down to enlightened human beings; I bow down to liberated souls; I bow down to the head monk; I bow down to ascetic teachers; I bow down to the monks and nuns.

Shah recites the mantra 108 times every morning. The ritual helps him concentrate throughout the day, he says, and relinquish bad personality traits. Before bed, he prays, relinquishing attachment to the stuff of the day.

“This will teach me how to purify my soul,” he says. “It teaches you about forgiveness, fearlessness and friendliness.”

Bahá'í—The Religion That Honors All Religions

By Shera Dalin

Photo by Dilip Vishwanat

“All the Prophets of God abide in the same tabernacle, soar in the same heaven, are seated upon the same throne, utter the same speech, and proclaim the same Faith.”—Bahá’u’lláh

If you are a Bahá’í in a crowded room, what you see are not just other people but also extensions of yourself and God, united in oneness.

The sense of oneness and belief in one God are central tenets of one of the most modern of world religions, founded in Iran by Mírza Husayn ’Alí Nuri, known as Bahá’u’lláh, in the 19th century. In the 100 volumes of his writings, the prophet Bahá’u’lláh urges an independent search for truth, one embracing all people and faiths. Bahá’ís are urged to study his writings, meditate, pray and question.

That there are 500 Bahá’í families in the St. Louis metro area might be surprising, considering that members don’t believe in proselytizing. But the faith is growing, says David Landesman of Ladue, a Bahá’í since 1972. “We attract people because of the universal nature of the religion.”

Bahá’ís won’t be dragged into a spiritual or political debate. They believe that all religions are one, and all faiths and people should be respected. They believe in the revelation and teachings of Abraham, Krishna, Zoroaster, Buddha, Moses, Jesus and Mohammed. Bahá’u’lláh, whose name means “the glory of God,” taught that he is the return of Christ, but he also taught that other prophets will follow to help humankind along its spiritual path.

“We don’t believe our faith is the best faith or the last faith,” Landesman explains. “It is the faith of our age—and will bring about world peace and the elimination of all types of prejudice.”

Bahá’ís believe in the absolute equality of men and women and the harmony of science and religion. They support the use of a universal auxiliary language to ease intercultural communication and develop a world commonwealth.

A Bahá’í service won’t look the same from community to community or from one Sunday to the next. There is no ruling clergy or leadership at the community level; anywhere nine adult Bahá’ís gather, a spiritual assembly can be formed. The half-hour service at the Bahá’í Information Center in Webster Groves is filled with prayer and singing, but sometimes features poetry readings and meditation. When the children break away from the adults for educational time, the adults will hear a speaker discuss a current issue such as mental health or social justice.

Bahá’ís are prohibited from using alcohol or drugs except for medicinal purposes, and sex outside marriage is not condoned. A 19-day fast, sunup to sundown, precedes the spring equinox. And don’t look for Bahá’ís to wield guns on the battlefront. Members shun violence and, though they serve in the military, receive an exemption from the U.S. government from combat.

The religion takes no position on social issues such as abortion, stem cells or the death penalty; all such issues are left to the individual member’s conscience. Perhaps the only exception is that members are encouraged to marry interracially.

Ultimately the focus of Bahá’í practice is preparation for the afterlife, a perfected state of being which, Landesman says, does not include a belief in hell.

Spiritual Metaphysics—Building Soul-Esteem

By Shera Dalin

Photo by Dilip Vishwanat

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings of eagles; they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint.”—Isaiah 40:31

You can call the Soul-Esteem Center a church, but forget about seeing crucifixes or hearing about “sin” or “evil.” Instead, the nearly decade-old worship center focuses on spiritual metaphysics, explains spiritual director and founder Rev. Phylis Clay Sparks.

“In spiritual metaphysics, we understand God as all-loving rather than judging or hating. We think of our souls as emanations of endless light, and we are individualized expressions of God,” Sparks says. “We don’t think of anyone as being born into sin.”

The idea that we all “live and move and have our being in God” comes from traditional religion yet stands in stark contrast to Christianity’s emphasis on atoning for human failings. But “evolutionary spirituality,” or an evolving understanding of spirituality, is a key component of building what Sparks calls “soul-esteem,” or spiritual self-confidence.

When sin and shortcomings permeate religious doctrine, people feel estranged from God and from their own inherent power, Sparks believes. In spiritual metaphysics, the connection to God remains direct and unbroken, even though “we certainly do make mistakes,” she concedes. “We have gathered false beliefs that lead into doubt and defeat. It is doubt and fear that block the flow of Holy Spirit into our lives and [limit] our divine potential.”

By building up soul-esteem, the connection to Holy Spirit becomes stronger, and people can achieve more and become happier, Sparks says: “We believe in the cleansing power of God’s peace and the healing power of God’s love. When we make God’s joy the background music of our lives, everything flows better.”

Around 1,700 homes receive the Soul-Esteem Center’s quarterly newsletter, and, on average, 400 people attend the center’s two Sunday services in rented space at the Graphic Communications International Union hall in Maryland Heights.

People say they come (there are no “members”) because they are attracted to the overwhelmingly positive message. There are no “thou shalt nots” or other prohibitions. The center teaches that the spiritual laws that govern the universe, such as cause and effect, take care of that.

“You reap what you sow,” Sparks says. “If you do crummy things, your energy field is going to draw that kind of energy to you.”

Many of the SEC’s beliefs evolved from the century-old “New Thought” movement founded by groups such as Unity, Religious Science (Science of Mind) and Divine Science. The center and Sparks are also influenced by such bestselling authors as Wayne Dyer, Deepak Chopra, Marianne Williamson and Neale Donald Walsch. Core beliefs include the evolutionary teachings of Jesus, which Sparks sums up with the acronym ENUFF: eternal life, nonjudgment, unconditional love, forgiveness and Father within. The SEC does not consider itself a Christian church, although members revere Jesus as the master teacher. The SEC does not take a position on reincarnation but considers heaven and hell states of mind rather than places.

Ultimately, Sparks says, she hopes that the SEC helps people experience a life that is more joyous, peaceful and productive. Her own faith was put to the test recently, when her husband and tireless SEC cheerleader, Roger Sparks, died—or, in SEC terminology, “transitioned”—as did a close friend who had developed the church’s website.

“It is my faith that keeps that background music of God’s joy, peace and love playing in my mind while I am experiencing pain and sorrow,” Sparks says. “My faith in God is everything to me.”

Atheism—Faith in Reason

By Matthew Halverson

Photo by Dilip Vishwanat

A quote from German philosopher Martin Heidegger hangs on Roy Overmann’s wall: “We must live out the truth of our mortality without succumbing to either fantasy or despair. It’s hardly a soul-stirring mantra of hope and inspiration, but that’s kind of the point. “It’s not easy to live that way,” Overmann admits, “but it’s the challenge for all human beings if they want to face reality.”

Overmann is an atheist, and his reality—in which logic, and not a higher power, is in control—is at odds with the majority. A 2001 study conducted by the Graduate Center of the City University of New York found that although 13.2 percent of the U.S. population claimed no religion, fewer than 1 percent of Americans consider themselves atheists. It’s a subtle distinction but an important one—especially because many atheists rate one another’s convictions on a scale of “strong” (the belief that God does not exist) to “weak” (the absence of belief in God). As far as Overmann is concerned, though, the real challenge is correcting the general public’s perception of atheist beliefs. “I think the major misunderstanding is the [presumption] that an atheist knows there is no God,” he says. “That’s not true at all. Atheists believe that we learn about nature through the scientific method.”

Overmann’s own beliefs evolved in the atheist way: through logic. Reared Lutheran, he found himself drawn to religion early on, but it wasn’t the Holy Spirit that intrigued him; it was everyone else’s fascination with it. He understood the allure—even today he’s impressed by the majesty of Catholic churches—but he couldn’t make peace with the fact that people whom he considered otherwise logical could believe that a 2,000-year-old sacrifice had any bearing on their lives. His conclusion: “People are more motivated by their emotions than by their intellect.”

Without emotion to muddy the waters, Overmann has solved some of the problems that have drawn many to religion in the first place. Take the meaning of life, for example: There is none, because it was human consciousness that invented the concept in the first place. “Everybody has to determine their own meaning in life, because it doesn’t exist anywhere else,” he explains, “and, in my opinion, the best way to do that is to be happy and to do things for others and to have a clear conscience.”

And then there’s death. His thoughts on the subject don’t offer much comfort—but, then, they are in line with that bit about not succumbing to fantasy: When you’re gone, you’re gone. The upside? You don’t know you’re gone, because, well, you’re gone. The downside? Anticipating being gone. “This doesn’t exactly appeal to those with a desire for longevity,” he says with a laugh. “That’s why we don’t get a lot of recruits.”

Godless though he may be, the man’s not lacking in morals—and that may be the hardest thing for him to explain to others. Overmann, who teaches political theory at Webster University, has a standing invitation to speak at Lutheran High School South when students there are studying other religions. (Ironically, the separation of church and state is one of the main goals of the Rationalist Society of St. Louis, a loose collective of about 120 atheists, agnostics and humanists to which Overmann belongs.) Overmann’s routinely surprised by some of the questions he gets: “‘If there’s not a God, why can’t I just go out and murder and steal?’ And my answer to that is always ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to live that way. I wouldn’t be able to live with my conscience.’”

Prairie Saints—Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

By Stefene Russell

Photo by Dilip Vishwanat

If you have any impression of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints—often known as the Mormons—it’s probably the stereotype of the whole-some young missionary in a dark suit, riding a bicycle. Clean living is written into the LDS scripture; devout followers abstain from all intoxicants, including coffee, because they believe in free agency rather than original sin, and addiction is a barrier to free will.

In the 1830s, Joseph Smith, the prophet of the church, designated Independence, Mo., as “the land which I have appointed and consecrated for the gathering of the saints.” Before the church could build a temple, however, the governor issued a shoot-to-kill order, and church members were driven from Jackson County. Many found safe haven in St. Louis, where they worked and saved money before heading west to Utah.

Contrary to stereotype, Mormonism is a complex religion that was designed to evolve: Adherents believe that revelations are still forthcoming; that God still talks to humankind; that scripture, like the Constitution, is amendable as the universe evolves and changes.

If that sounds awfully cosmic, know that Latter-Day Saints are also profoundly pragmatic, with a culture that focuses intensely on family and social service. They produce and distribute hundreds of thousands of pounds of atmit, an oat porridge, to famine sites around the world. Congregations, called branches in their smallest incarnations, then wards and finally stakes, are overseen by unpaid lay clergy called bishops.

Dick Oscarson, who moved to St. Louis from Utah as a young boy in the mid-’40s, has served as patriarch in the St. Louis stake and a mission president in Stockholm, Sweden. A clear-spoken, affable man with a gentle sense of humor, he is straightforward but reverent when describing the church’s beliefs. Neither Catholic nor Protestant, but “definitely a Christian church,” it adheres to the Bible. (The subtitle of The Book of Mormon is “another testament of Jesus Christ.”)

“The Book of Mormon has to do with another group of people who left Jerusalem around 600 B.C. and came to this country,” Oscarson says. “Remember, [Jesus] said in Jerusalem, ‘I have other sheep that I must go to.’ These were some of the other sheep.”

The bedrock belief of the LDS church, he says, is that members have reestablished the church as Jesus first meant it to be. When Smith was visited by the angel Moroni, he was shown a series of golden plates that became The Book of Mormon, the scripture that revealed the original teachings and practices lost over the centuries.

 “That basic message, that the true church has been restored to the Earth, has been taken to the world since 1830, when the church was officially organized in upstate New York,” Oscarson says. “It’s grown, of course, through these years—I think we’re approaching the 13 million mark.”

The National Council of Churches says Mormonism is the second fastest-growing religion in the country, and it is certainly one of the fastest-growing in St. Louis. Between 1958 and 2006, membership increased from 1,781 to nearly 10,000. Perhaps most telling, though, was the number of people who showed up when the church opened its Missouri temple in 1997. “We had an open house for anyone interested,” Oscarson says, still a little amazed, “and we had 260,000 people come through.”

Sikhism—"We are all Sikhs"

By Shera Dalin

Photo by Dilip Vishwanat

“There is one God, eternal truth is His name; Maker of all things, fearing nothing and at enmity with nothing, timeless is His image; not begotten, being of His own being, by the grace of the guru, known to men.”—Mool Mantra, Guru Granth Sahib

The day begins early for the Singh family, and it starts in their worship room.

Prithvi Singh and his wife, Binwant, are Sikhs. They begin their day by entering the special room, or baba ji, in their Chesterfield home dedicated to prayer and their holy scriptures. They go in, singly or together, with feet bare and heads covered. They bow before a canopied altar that houses their copy of the scripture, the Adi Granth. Then they read a randomly selected passage for the day and spend about half an hour in prayer. Other members of the family, including Binwant’s parents and the Singhs’ daughter, son and daughter-in-law, also visit the baba ji.

While working with patients at their internal-medicine practice in University City, the Singhs (a traditional Sikh name) meditate on that day’s scripture. They see the care they give their patients as an extension of their love and service to God.

“All my deeds and actions I am doing to Him as I do to another person,” Binwant says, her eyes alight.

“Whatever activity we are involved in we are remembering his grace,” adds Prithvi (pronounced PRIT-we). But, he cautions, “You can’t do good deeds to reach heaven. Sikh is a way of life.”

To the Singhs and every other member of the faith, everyone is a Sikh, or learner—the spark of God, or jot, exists in every man, woman and child—but although everyone is a Sikh, it is the observant Sikh men who are most easily recognized. Beyond the requirements of seeking direct contact with God and abstaining from premarital and extramarital sex and intoxicants such as drugs, alcohol or money, practicing Sikhs were admonished by their 10 spiritual leaders, or gurus, not to cut their hair. Rather, they are to respect the creations of God as they exist naturally.

“The guru said, ‘Live your life as God has created you,’” Binwant explains.

“We cannot outsmart God,” Prithvi says, laughing, his own flowing locks concealed beneath a dark-blue turban. “Hair keeps growing back.”

A Sikh woman with her hair wound into a bun won’t stand out (some do wear the turban), but male members of the 500-year-old faith wear their hair twisted into a topknot and covered in a turban, and not just any turban—this one incorporates anywhere from three to 18 yards of fabric. Prithvi estimates that he needs only about five minutes each morning to create his turban, first using the traditional kangha, or comb, to groom his hair in a sign of orderly spirituality, then winding his hair into the topknot and concealing it and the kangha in the turban.

Then there is the beard. Sikhs in India, where the religion was founded in the Punjab province, have long flowing beards. Here, Prithvi prefers to bind up his beard in a hairnet.

Other symbols of the Sikh faith include a steel bracelet, or kara, worn on the right arm to symbolize the infinity of God; long underwear, or kacch, to symbolize modesty; and a necklace with a silver charm in the shape of a double-edged sword, called the kirpan, as a reminder to protect the weak.

“We need to help each other. There is no exclusivity in our faith,” Prithvi says, and his wife murmurs, “We are all children of God.”

The Singhs are one of 300 Sikh families in the St. Louis area, and the number is steadily growing. Members attend services at a worship center, or gurdwara, in St. Peters or at the Rose Hill Masonic Temple in Creve Coeur. The services are conducted in Punjabi, but the members willingly guide newcomers who wish to visit, Binwant says.

The point is always to get closer to God, not through ritual but through faith.

“When people get stuck and keep doing the same thing to get home, you will not get there,” Binwant says.

“We are all learning how to get home,” Prithvi finishes softly.