Ancestor Appreciation

Ancestor Appreciation

by Kris Ladusau and the Oklahoma Sangha

This we know: All things are connected like the blood which unites one family. All things are connected. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the children of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life. He is merely a strand on it. Whatever he does to the web he does to himself.
--Chief Seattle

When I first decided to write an article about our practice of "ancestor appreciation," I thought about comments that I have heard through the years from American members. Some will tell you that they have had positive, even cathartic experiences from this practice, while others display honest aversion. Whether it stems from difficulty in addressing significant issues within their own family or concern that we are alienating newcomers to Rissho Kosei-kai by requiring the continuance (as they see it) of a specifically "Asian practice," there has been some resistance. It has given us the opportunity to look deeply, work with it, and find out if it is a good practice for those living in the United States.

As practitioners, we see the Lotus Sutra as a guide for daily living. In chapter 17 (The Threefold Lotus Sutra, p. 262), it says, "As meritorious gifts to the Buddha-way." This line is interpreted by Rev. Nikkyo Niwano in Buddhism for Today (pp. 272--73). He explains it this way: "'Meritorious gifts' means 'merit transference' (eko), the idea of transferring one's own merit to others for their attainment of buddhahood. For instance, by reading and reciting the sutras, the Buddha's teachings become deeply rooted in one's mind, which in this way is purified. From this standpoint, sutra reciting is originally a religious practice for one's own attainment of buddhahood. When we recite the sutras in a memorial service for the spirits of our ancestors, we transfer the merits that we should receive to our ancestors so that they may attain enlightenment in the spiritual world. For this reason, sutra reciting in the memorial service for the spirits of the dead is called 'merit transference.' . . . This is a much more self-sacrificing and sacred deed than to give monetary or other material offerings to others. Merit transference is the supreme act of donation."

With the full intention of transferring merit to our ancestors, merit is returned to us, and we are further purified. This is part of our spiritual growth. Since we are all interconnected, it is beneficial to all beings. These are the workings of universal law.

The Native Americans have a great understanding of this connection. LaDonna BlueEye invited us to be a part of her family's drumming circle on several occasions. There was a warm comfort and a deep respect present at these traditional ceremonies. With three generations of the family represented, the ceremony began with offerings to the four directions. Ceremonial tobacco was placed on the four corners of the family drum, with additional offerings up to the sky and down to Mother Earth. The steady beat of the drum was matched by singing the prayers. After a while, I looked over at the grandmother, who had closed her eyes but was not asleep. I gradually noticed that the room felt very crowded energetically. Later, when I asked her if she felt it, she nodded and said, "Yes, all the ancestors were here with us. They love the sound of the drum."

During this time, my uncle was terminally ill, slowly slipping away. As we began the last song, my pager began to buzz. Instinctively I knew that he had just passed away, and they were calling to tell me that he had died. So, in my mind I said, "This song is for Uncle Lou." It felt right--a prayer for his journey home.

I have asked several members of the Oklahoma sangha to share their thoughts. This is part of Helen Ogilvie's Dharma journey:

"My family lived in the rural northwest corner of Missouri on a two-lane blacktop road. We had to drive up a very steep hill to go to a small town. In the 1950s, the road was gravel, deeply rutted, and difficult to climb. My grandfather would travel six miles one direction in a wagon pulled by two large, white horses to come to our farm. One day on his return home, one of the horses fell and died going up the hill. About two years later, the road was reconstructed into a two-lane blacktop road. In 1970, my parents and my younger brother moved to Oklahoma on a very snowy day in January. My father had his truck loaded. He left expecting my mother to follow without any problems. He would pave the way in the snow. He was up and over the steep hill without any problems. My mother and brother were following him in a big 1969 Oldsmobile we called 'the Tank.' My mother crossed the bridge without difficulty, but then she stepped on the gas too much, which caused her to slide off the road to one side. She maintained control by staying on the wide shoulder of the road, only to overcorrect, cross the road, and go off on the shoulder on the other side. She persevered. Somehow she managed to get 'the Tank' back to the middle of the road, finally easing her way safely up and over the steep hill. I could see everything from the doorway in our farmhouse. It was very scary to watch. I was relieved to see her make it safely. My father was out of sight. When my mother got to the small town, she called to tell me everything was okay, and she added laughingly, 'Don't tell your father that I went off the road.'

"This seemed to be my parents' life: steep hills, Father out of sight--paving the way and expecting that everyone would just follow without any problems. We were to follow him with blind faith. My mother was silent; she did not use her wonderful voice to tell him that she needed him to slow down or to ask him for guidance. As I began to understand ancestor veneration services (life appreciation services), I began to chant for my father to slow down, turn around, look behind him, help guide us through our problems, and wait for the family that is hurrying to catch up with him. For my mother, I began to chant that she use her beautiful voice and not be afraid to tell him if she had made a mistake, to stop appearing so strong and courageous. I chant that they climb the steep hills together. I chant that they have compassion for each other.

"From this practice, I am able to understand and appreciate my parent's hard work and efforts. I am able to know that my dad is close. He is holding my mom's hand. They are connected and they support each other. They have compassion for each other. With this awareness, I am able to change. I am connected to them. I am confident in asking them for guidance to help solve problems. I am happy for their support to improve my relationships. These days, my life is easier; the hills don't seem so steep."

Here are Kim Miller's thoughts:

"On February 20, 2006, my mother, Mil Pumroy, died. She had joined Rissho Kosei-kai in January 1998 as a way of showing her support for our plans to build the Rissho Kosei-kai Dharma Center of Oklahoma. Her favorite job at the Dharma Center was greeting people as they came in and directing them to the kitchen for coffee or to a chair in the sanctuary. She became interested in the teachings, and at the age of eighty-two she began to study the Dharma. She was eighty-seven when she died.

"Since I joined Rissho Kosei-kai in 1994, I have participated in several memorial services, but this was the time my sister Ann (also a member) and I had the opportunity to honor our mother in the traditional Buddhist way. We held a service every evening for the first seven days; the fourteenth, twenty-first, twenty-eighth through forty-ninth days; the one hundredth day; and the first-year anniversary, in addition to the monthly service on the twentieth. We put flowers on our altars and things she liked to eat and drink. On the one hundredth day and first-year anniversary we had friends from our sangha come and chant with us. On those occasions several people remarked that they felt like she was in the room with us.

"I often think that without any of us knowing it, my mother was the first Buddhist in my life. She taught me to see things through the other person's point of view, and she taught me cause and effect. I cannot find the words to say how much I miss my mom. Sometimes when I chant for her I can hardly see the words through my tears. Often on Sundays I can hear her greeting people. The way in which I am dealing with this tremendously difficult time in my life is through the practice of ancestor appreciation, and I am so grateful for it. It is the reason that it seems I can still hear her or we might feel her in a room with us. It keeps us connected."

Kim's sister, Ann Rinehard, feels a special connection to her grandfather:

"My biological grandfather died before I was born. So I grew up knowing my grandmother's second husband as my grandfather. He was an artistic, creative, and passionate man. As a child, I never wondered why my grandfather began each day with a shot of whiskey or why we often stopped in the bars around his neighborhood. He and my grandmother would dance and drink, and I would play games. I never realized he had a second love. Besides painting, my grandfather loved whiskey.

"For a while, he sold enough paintings to make a living. But gradually, the work ethic became less and the love of alcohol grew to the point that there were fewer paintings. He went back to work, as a sign painter. My grandmother died when I was nineteen. I noticed that my grandfather began to move often. His paintings were disappearing. I learned that he was trading art for food and whiskey.

"Finally, there was a time when I couldn't find my grandfather for a few months. Then one morning I got up to find his car, which had obviously been in a wreck, in my driveway. In court, the judge had told him he could join Alcoholics Anonymous or go to jail. He'd been living on the streets and had come to ask for a place to stay. I was married by then, and my husband, daughter, and I were on our way out of town for the weekend. I told him he could stay the weekend, but then he would have to go to the mission, since I could not trust him to stay sober around my daughter. I think my heart broke as I said those words. We got rid of all the alcohol in the house and left him with food and enough money for a pack of cigarettes. When we came back, he was gone. My grandfather went to the mission, and he joined Alcoholics Anonymous. He kept his sobriety for several years, until he died.

"When I think of my ancestors, I'm grateful to my unknown biological grandfather, since without him I would not be here. And I'm grateful to the grandfather I knew, for the beauty I learned to see through his art. I am also grateful for the lessons he taught me through his struggles with alcohol and his strength in overcoming that Devadatta part of him. One of his paintings hangs on the wall next to my altar, and these days when I chant I can see the beauty and the strength of his spirit in that picture."

Another member, Carol Ewer, expresses it this way:

"One of the most important lessons I have learned since joining Rissho Kosei-kai is how much my family did for me. In the past, I could not see it because I was so busy thinking about what they didn't do for me. Now, I appreciate them more. I think about their suffering and chant to heal it. I say "good morning" with love in my heart as I finish my morning recitation. As they are healing, I am healing, my children and their children are healing, and there is so much less suffering."

Kara Morrow added these reflections:

"For me, the ancestor appreciation services have made forgiveness much easier. When I chant on a memorial day, it helps me to be more mindful of the positive aspects of my relationship with the person who has passed. This has been especially true in regard to my mother. We had a difficult relationship, and I have done a lot of work on forgiving her for the ways in which I felt hurt. The life appreciation services, along with my Buddhist practice in general, has helped me to be mindful of the fact that she did the best she could. The services also help me to understand that whatever happened, I am the primary cause, even in childhood. Nothing could have happened to me without my participation, regardless of the fact that it happened when I was a child.

"The practice in general has helped me to understand that even as a child I was a willing participant, because reincarnation and karma have in some way made the issues of this lifetime a choice. So now I am able, more often than not, to see that my mother loved me enough to help me balance karma and see the illusions or delusions that I hold in this lifetime or carried over from other lifetimes. The practice is, in fact, an opportunity to roll the wheel of the Dharma. Now when I chant on my mother's memorial day, I have the opportunity to thank her and to appreciate what she did for me, knowing that the merit will transfer to her and help her on her path."

When Jeanell Jordan became a practicing Buddhist, she was not comfortable putting her hands in gassho. As a child, her parents would make her put her hands together and pray every night, and she felt that if she forgot her prayers, people she loved would die. I recommended that she find an alternative expression that was meaningful for her. She made an adaptation and has continued on her spiritual path. These are her conclusions:

"I'm very blessed that I have always been thankful for the family members that have come before me. Without them there would be no 'Jeanell.' I may not always agree with the things that they said and did, but they got me here. As a thinking person, I don't have to accept the things that I was taught. Wasn't it the Buddha who said, 'Believe nothing, no matter where you read it or who has said it, not even if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense'? There are so many people who spend their lives living someone else's expectations instead of living a joyful life. You don't have to agree with your ancestors or even like them, but you can be grateful for their having brought you here.

"Being alive is so awesome. . . . There have been many things in my life that were painful and that could have made me a bitter, resentful person. But it's all those things, good and bad, that have made me the person that I am today. Every day I am thankful for being here. I think being ill as a kid helped me to be more compassionate toward other people. I'm grateful to wake up every morning. Through Buddhism, I know that nothing is permanent. On the days that things aren't so good, I know that that too shall change, so I'm grateful for every day."

I would describe my own personal experience with life appreciation services in this way:

My mother died when I was twenty-nine, and my father, when I was thirty-nine (he had been ill with silent strokes and Alzheimer's for twenty years). It was on the occasion of my mother's death that I was first introduced to Rissho Kosei-kai by a friend. By the time my father died ten years later, I had been practicing and chanting for a while. The night before he died, my mind continually heard, "Mizukara Hotoke ni kie shi tatematsuru! [I take refuge in the Buddha!]" I couldn't tell you if I was saying it, hearing it, or both. (This was before we started the English-language meetings and my body knew the vibration of the Japanese chant.) In a very interesting way, this sustained and strengthened me--almost like "bridging" me into the next phase of my life--the adjustment to life without my father.

I had always felt close to both of my parents; in life, and after they were physically gone. So when I learned about life appreciation services and transferring merit to my family and close friends that had died, it was an easy process for me. I always feel connected to them--not just while chanting. The memorial book on my home altar gives me the opportunity to connect every month with those who now live in my heart. (It is a different experience from when I was growing up and making an annual trip to the cemetery on Memorial Day.) Because of my continued study and practice, I see changes in myself and the world around me every day. The longer I practice this Path, the deeper and more expansive it becomes.

Although my parents raised me in the Methodist Church, I know that when I pray and transfer merit to them, they are joyfully receiving my heartfelt gratitude and appreciation, with a clear vision of "Oneness." I am eternally grateful.

Whether ancestor appreciation services are an integral part, an auxiliary part, or not a part of your personal faith and practice, it is important that we continue to maintain a broad respect and appreciation for life in general. From the Universal Aspect to nature to our families to farmers and those who produce the foods that keep us alive, we can acknowledge on a daily basis that we live in the Universal Truth of interconnectedness shown to us in the Lotus Sutra.

Humanity is one living body. What touches one part of this body touches all. Touch one strand and the entire web vibrates. Humanity shares a single destiny. This network of interdependence is as infinite in scope as the reflections from a jewel. My life and yours are completely autonomous. Yet, we each exist only in total resonance with all other beings.

--The Buddha

Kris Ladusau is a member of the Rissho Kosei-kai Dharma Center of Oklahoma in Oklahoma City. She is one of the core members who started an English-speaking group there. On being asked by Dharma World to write on how paying respect to ancestors has been adopted and is being practiced by the Oklahoma members, she collected their ideas and included them in the present essay.

This article was originally published in the July-September 2007 issue of Dharma World.


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