Sometimes the best guides to discovering Jesus Christ are
those who can articulate the darkness they have walked in
and their revelation of the true Light.
Esther Baker is one such guide. In recounting her earnest
yet misdirected quest for truth as a Buddhist nun, Esther
gently exposes the deception of Eastern mysticism; more
than that, she reveals the unfailing love of God revealed
to her in Christ.
Esther’s profound conversion grants her that authority.
In recounting her story, she manifests a fullness of grace
and truth that invites us all to discover Jesus afresh.
Whether or not our starting point is Buddhism makes no difference.
Esther makes clear that Christ is the goal, one that all
can attain. She convinces us that he comes to us, not through
our strenuous religious effort, but through the power of
his great obedience.
His faithful love to her is his faithful love to each of
us. I especially like the way Esther recounts the role that
many different Christians played in her conversion. Each
played a specific role in manifesting Jesus to her in a
way that exposed the inadequacy of Buddhist tradition and
in turn the fullness of Jesus.
Let Esther’s story manifest Jesus afresh to you. Let the
transforming love that changed her life beautifully do the
same for you.
Andrew Comiskey
Author
and Founder/Director of Desert Stream Ministries
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(Extract from) Chapter 1
1 Rock bottom
‘Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you. Let not
your heart be troubled neither let it be afraid.’
(John
14:27 Nkjv)
It was the morning of Sunday 21 July 1991, a warm summer’s
day. The wind-battered hilltop was today pleasantly bathed
with a sunny glow. I was living in a Buddhist monastery,
north of London, England. In bad weather it often felt like
a bleak place, dotted with the wooden huts in which we lived.
The huts had a temporary look about them, built above the
ground, which seemed to encourage nasty gusts of chilled
air to blow underneath. The trees and shrubs we had planted
in the field were still very young, but were beginning to
add a bit more greenery to the surroundings.
We hadn’t had the meal yet, but I wasn’t hungry that day.
I had other things on my mind. I was one of the few ordained
members of the community left at the temple. Nearly everyone,
including the lay people and guests staying with us, had
departed early in the morning to attend an ordination ceremony
at our other monastery in the south of England. This was
one of the highlights of the year, our biggest ceremonial
event – the one day when suitable men and women could take
the higher ordination. I had relished seeing new people
ordain. It was exciting and full of meaning for me. Ordinarily
I would not have missed it. But this year I didn’t want
to be there. I had asked for permission not to go.
I had lived in a Buddhist temple for eight years, most of
that time in England as a nun (although I spent the first
six months in a forest temple in Thailand before ordaining).
I had taken two ordinations, initially as a novice and then
as a Buddhist nun (known as a ten-precept nun). I was searching
deeply for truth, and had strongly believed that Buddhism
could take me there. I had given up everything that was
necessary to follow the Buddhist way.
Some people may consider it an extreme way to live. The
life of a Buddhist nun was strict and disciplined. It involved
many ascetic practices which had the aim of giving up the
pleasures of the world in search for truth. They were designed
to simplify life and help us detach from earthly things.
Living like this was often very tiring, but it had become
normal for me and very much part of me. We slept little,
ate only one meal a day and experienced much sensory deprivation.
We didn’t listen to the radio or television, and so at some
level were cut off from the world. I was known for my strong
faith in Buddhism and hadn’t ever really doubted the purpose
of living like this. Until now.
Something had changed dramatically.
I had begun seriously to doubt Buddhism. This had never
happened before and I was inwardly shaken and somewhat bewildered
as a result, none of which I liked. I wanted and needed
to be sure. I didn’t know what was happening to me or where
the strong persistent faith that I once had was disappearing
to: it felt like sand slipping out of my fingers. Today
I was at a peak of confusion and inner turmoil. I don’t
know where I was when I made the decision to go out of the
temple.
Suddenly I found myself, with my shaven head and dark brown
robe, running down to the traditional Anglican church in
the nearby village. It was totally spontaneous. I didn’t
know who or what I would find there. I just found myself
tearing out of the monastery and rushing down the hill.
I was aware as I went that I had asked no-one’s permission
to leave. This was more urgent than etiquette! I just fled.
My head was in a spin. I thought, ‘I’ve got to talk to somebody,
I’ve
got to understand what’s happening to me.’ I felt deep down
that someone in the church would have the answer, but I
had no idea who or why. …
