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NOTE: This is my third article for the Communicator. I've written about my first temple experience before, but this one is a little more in-depth. I might have another post of similar nature tomorrow, as I'm heading off for a day of Buddhist fun bright and early. Enjoy!

The churches in Korea are inviting: big neon crosses affixed atop buildings that often have beautiful murals visible through huge glass entryways. The churches seem to be everywhere in Korea. It’s always seemed to me that if everyone in Korea decided to go to church at once, there’d still be plenty of seats to invite a few people over from Japan and maybe a Russian or two. Regardless of their beauty and their huge crosses inviting me to take a seat, I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t been in church in years.

And I might be the second or third to admit that I was raised Catholic. But I discovered Buddhism when I was 16 and fell in love. One of the reasons that I came to Korea was to experience Buddhism up close. So when I got here, I searched for temples right away.

In Korea, Buddhist temples are something hidden away as opposed to something flashing a neon sign everywhere you look. You rarely see a temple in the city, and if you do, it’s always tucked back in a park. But seeing the real temples requires that you find yourself some transportation, a map, and hopefully a guide.

Most of the temples in Korea are on, near, or behind mountains. Some of the most beautiful that I’ve seen have required me to struggle through a few hours of climbing (there and back again). But the first temple that I went to only required that I hail a taxi.

The temple was, not surprisingly at the base of some mountains on the outskirts of Daejon, the city I now call home. As the taxi approached the temple, I watched the city turn from a bustling metropolis to a scattered suburb to a third world country. Daejon generally looks like a city of the future with lots of tall buildings and neon, but the area near the temple looked more like a scene from a loose-with-the-details Vietnam War buddy movie. Houses are something you rarely see in Korea—most people live in apartments—but there were plenty of houses near the temple. The houses were small and generally made of brick. Many had tin roofing, and most had fences made of whatever happened to be lying around. Every house seemed to have a sandy garden, a dog, and kids playing.

Oddly, I think most people have this image of Korea in their minds: tiny ramshackle houses tucked away in the mountains. But in reality, this little scene is the exception and not the rule.
The taxi pulled us right into the temple gates. The beautifully ornate and brightly colored temple was in stark contrast to its surroundings. The main structure was huge, three very large stories, and the whole building was adorned with what I thought were swastikas. This is something that took a little getting used to: in Korea, the crooked cross that we think of as a swastika is a Buddhist symbol that adorns temples and shops and is sometimes even tiled into the floors of bars.

My friend and I entered a large central room and sat on the floor. In front of us, there were three large golden Buddha statues, each of which had offerings of fruit and rice sitting before it. Behind those statues were hundreds of tiny Buddha statues, many of which had cards in front of them. The cards, I was later told, had the names of ever person who had stayed at the temple in the last year.

That day, I had actually come to the temple for a service. Many temples have services in which monks chat about various topics, and this particular temple sponsored English language services (which have, unfortunately, stopped). While the early part of the service involved a lot of chanting and bowing, most of the service was just listening to the monk chat. It was very relaxed, very peaceful, and very open.

“Does anyone have any questions?” the monk asked at the end of her chat and smiled. The openness was in stark contrast to my Catholic roots. Even though I was pretty far out of my element, at the temple was one of the first times in Korea that I felt at home. While before the service, I would have been surprised to learn that I would be fed a nice meal by the monks afterward, after having listened, the relatively intimate meal seemed like a natural extension.

I ate quietly, contemplating what I’d just experienced. I finished, helped to clean up a little and headed home. Although the next trip to that temple wouldn’t come for another two months, when I stepped on the grounds again, I felt like I hadn’t left.