Father
Kevin Hunt believes that perhaps the reason people of Catholic and Jewish
heritage
are drawn to Zen practice in disproportionate numbers is that both of
these have strong contemplative traditions associated with them. Catholicism,
of course, also has a long monastic tradition as well.
Kevin—as
he introduces himself—is a Trappist, and he wears the robes well. They suit
him; he has the right build. He looks the part, and he looks at ease in it. And
so he should. “I’ve known since I was 13 what I wanted to do,” he tells me. His
parents—New York City Irish Catholics—weren’t thrilled with his life choice.
Their memories of Ireland were that Trappists were the order to which they sent the kids
who couldn’t do anything else. Unfortunately, Kevin’s father died still suspecting
that was the case. His mother, on the other hand, attended a mission preached by
a Franciscan and afterwards went to talk to the friar, lamenting that her son
would soon be taking his final vows as a Trappist. The Franciscan embraced her
and said, “Madam, your salvation is assured!” She finally came around.
And if
it wasn’t bad enough that he was a Trappist, he is also a transmitted Zen
teacher.
Kevin’s
home monastery is Saint Joseph’s Abbey in Spencer, Massachusetts, but currently
he is serving as chaplain at the nearby St. Mary’s Abbey for Trappistines in Wrentham.
This convent has about 45 women whose ages range from 25 to 93. There are still
young people applying for admission both at Saint Joseph’s and St. Mary’s. The
numbers aren’t large, but, then, the monastic calling has always been a
minority one. The Trappists are at least as vital as Blue Cliff.
Kevin
first encountered Zen while helping to establish a Trappist abbey in Argentina. He
was given a Spanish translation of the German book by Eugen Herrigel, Zen in the Art of Archery. He suggests
that it wasn’t a very good translation, but it talked about seated meditation. “At
that time,” he says, “we didn’t sit in chapel. When we were in chapel, we
either stood or knelt.” The idea of seated meditation, however, called to him,
and, for the next seven years in addition to the regular periods of prayer, he
took time every day to sit cross-legged on a folded up blanket. The superior
didn’t want him sitting cross-legged in the main chapel, but Kevin was then in
charge of the infirmary and was able to set up its tiny chapel as he pleased.
Herrigel
included a koan in his book: What is your face before your parents’ birth? The
question stuck with Kevin for those seven years, but eventually he had to admit
he did not seem to be getting anywhere. So one day, as he was seated in
meditation, he decided to give it up, and he stood up. “In that act of standing
up,” he says, “I suddenly knew what my face before my parents’ birth was.”
The
order was not wholly opposed to Kevin’s Zen practice, but he was considered “singular”
which—he points out—is not a good thing in a monastic community. “However great
liberty of spirit is given for us to follow our own natural mode of prayer.”
When
Kevin returned to St. Joseph’s, the abbot was Thomas Keating, who helped develop
the idea of Centering Prayer as a contemplative practice for Christian. Keating
was open to the idea of Joshu Sasaki Roshi leading Zen sesshin at the abbey,
something Sasaki did for several years in the 70s. Kevin also participated in
three three-month work periods at Mount Baldy in California with Sasaki. But
with the installation of a new abbot, the sesshins at St. Joseph’s came to an
end.
Finally, Kevin met the Jesuit Zen teacher,
Robert
Kennedy. He began working with him in earnest and received transmission
from Kennedy in 2004. I first heard of Kevin from a short article in the
National Catholic
Reporter which reported the event. He was asked in the article what a
Trappist Zen Master did, and—as I remembered his answer—he said, “I’m not sure,
but I guess I’ll find out.”
“Have
you?” I asked. “Found out?”
“I’m
finding out,” he laughs. “It’s a work in progress.”
He
remains singular in the order; there are no other Trappists practicing with
him. But he leads two small groups, one in Connecticut—The Transfiguration
Zendo—and another which meets at St. Mary’s retreat house in Wrentham. This is
the Daystar Zendo largely made up of Catholics from Worcester who are also drawn
to Zen.
When I
ask what Zen has to offer Catholicism, he tells me a story about St. Theresa of
Avila. When she was a little girl, someone asked her what she wanted in life. She
told them, “I want to see God.” “That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do,” Kevin
tells me, “and Zen has provided the best way for me to do it.”
Cypress Trees in the Garden:
Hunt, Father Kevin – 134, 303, 308, 310-320
My wife
and I had never previously been to Boston—other than dropping people like Dosho Port off at the airport—and this trip provides our first opportunity. Our hotel
by the airport overlooks the harbor, and as I type this, a sailboat race is
taking place below us. The view isimpressive; the short city tour we did was
informative and fun. The driving . . . Well, the only way it makes sense to me
is that driving has been deliberately made as unpleasant as possible in order
to encourage the use of public transport. James Ford had a simpler explanation;
he told me that the system behind the way streets are laid out in Boston is
officially known as “Fuck you.” James [See 5/4 entry for 2013] is the teacher
of Josh Bartok. 
The
second thing that strikes me about him is that he is a man of great personal
courage. He speaks with touching frankness about his continuing struggles with
mental health issues. There are times when he pauses, looks off, and I fear we’ve
strayed into areas he would prefer not to pursue further, but then he finds the
words he wants and continues. “When I woke up this morning, I didn’t think I’d
be talking about these things, but I’m willing to.” 