Abstract
I must warn you at the beginning that what follows is an embarrassingly personal reflection-a confession even-and not a scholarly essay. I cannot be dispassionate about the Buddha, to whom in a roundabout way I owe both my status as an ordained Christian minister and perhaps the greatest joy of my life, the study and practice of the Christian scripture. How? In February 1970 I was given a copy of Hesse's novel Siddhartha, a fictionalized account of the Buddha's life. Already an active Christian, it was this gift, received my senior year in high school, that introduced me to Buddhism and to the reality of spiritual journey and the possibility of enlightenment. While I know the Buddhist meaning of that term, it serves for Christians as well, because our God could not leave us in darkness but made light the first creature (Gen. 1:1-5) and came among us as light (John 1:1-5).1 When in the fall of 1970 my brother traveled to Japan, the memento I requested was a small statue of the Buddha. It is beside me as I write. In 1983 when we moved to Germany, the second book I bought in German was Siddhartha; the first was the New Testament.
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