The Dharmic Challenge – Putting Sathya Sai Baba’s Teachings into Practice

Compiled & Edited by Judy Warner

Excerpts shared for educational and spiritual purposes with reverence to the author. This is a non-profit project dedicated to selfless service.

MY BATTLE TO SURRENDER  

Jack Scher

I spent the last seven weeks with Swami, where He thrashed and trashed my tangled karma, unravelling the very fiber of my being, renewing all that I had learned to call "me." I know now, that in order to follow my dharma, I must control my appetites and desires, accept all that happens, and surrender my will to His will. Above an, I must trust Baba completely, trust that He loves me. Then, basking in His light, I can be more loving to those around me.

In many ways, at age 67 I still act like a voracious, deprived child. My father died when I was 5, and my mother remarried when I was 8. Shortly thereafter, she was stricken with polio, which left her paralyzed from the waist down. My whole family was focused on my invalid mother's needs. There was just no time for me, no time for anyone to properly love and care for me. I grew up feeling deprived, angry, and rebellious. I felt like an indentured servant, as if I were there only to serve my mother's unrequited appetites. I was forced to look outside myself and the home for approval. As an adult, when I found the recognition I sought in a successful career in medical publishing, I thought that I alone had overcome life's trials, tests, and hardships. Little did I dream that, all this time, God had had me under His wing, taking care of my every need.

I first came to Sai Baba in 1985. I was 58 years old and I thought that now, having retired, I was reaping the rewards of my own efforts and good fortune. When I learned of His words, "Not a blade of grass moves without My will," it was extremely difficult and even disappointing for me to accept the idea that God had made all my accomplishments possible. I had to erase. the pride I had taken in my efforts, and I was fearful of losing the confidence I had earned from the battles I thought I had won; my sense of personal satisfaction from my perceived achievements was at stake. Giving all this up meant having to learn to accept the concept that, at the very least, my success was due to the miraculous combination of His grace and my efforts.

One of my greatest challenges has been to understand the doctrine that I am not the doer, as well as to accept and live by that doctrine. For me, there seems to be a paradox surrounding the concept that everything is His will, and yet it takes a combination of His grace and our personal effort to make things happen, as Baba says very emphatically.

I am beginning to realize that this partnership, or wedding, between effort and grace actually occurs on some other level. For instance, how does having an interview with Baba come about? First, you have to be in Prasanthi Nilayam. Do you get there because you choose it or because He has brought you there? Baba says that no one comes to Him unless He calls them. Let's skip that hurdle and assume that you are there. Only Swami Himself will decide whether to come over to where you are sitting. Did He or did you choose where you would be sitting?

Whenever He comes toward me, I strain to catch His eye, to plead and appeal to Him for attention. But, again, does He motivate me to move like a puppet on a string, as I reach up poised with a letter hoping to embrace Him with my adoration? We think we have to do something, when in fact all He wants is our love; He says that, as the Lord of the Universe, He has everything else.

On one miraculous day, He stopped and asked, "Where are you from?" and my heart leapt into my mouth. It took an enormous effort to say "Virginia." What part in that play did I have? My Lord Sai Baba stood before me in all His glory, and He and He alone chooses! I must remember this, for my very sanity; I must give up thinking that I have any role in this selection.

In the past, I have bathed and dressed carefully, hoping in some way to appeal to and attract the Lord. Now I see that I must bathe and dress carefully out of love and respect, but not to attract Him. He would be attracted by nothing less than an open, loving heart. If I can only accept that He and He alone is the doer! What a tremendous relief it would be to surrender and accept totally that all is His divine will.

As I breathe deeply, enjoying the embrace of His protection, my monkey mind goes back to work, asking about my partnership with the Lord of the Universe. I know that my dharma is to do my duty, to perform every act with the right motivation. I must trust my heart and not my mind. I have been taught that desire and attachments are the traps that lead to anger and sorrow, that true surrender to His will is the royal road to happiness. Yet I keep. coming back to the question of how and when I am to do my share to keep my part of the bargain. I now know that He writes the script, and He is both the producer and the director, but how and when am I to act in His play? What is my role? When, if ever, do I come on stage? True, I am just a puppet, but if I am required to put forth an effort, how do I find out when and how to fit into His drama? I know that I am not supposed to just sit back and expect that Swami will take care of everything. Yet ¥ soon as I say that I know that He does and will take care of everything. To put it plain and simple, when and how do I make, an effort?

My habits and the way I solve problems are very deeply ingrained. For most of my adult life, I worked or fought my own way to the top, or so I thought. The motto on my graduation ring from New York University was “Prestare Est Prestarus” (To persevere is to succeed). In spite of my rebellious attitudes, I accepted this rule, even lived by it. Whenever I felt insecure or undeserving, I worked harder, believing that, if I put out my best effort, I could assume my victories were well earned.

Because hard work seemed to deliver, I became dependent on it. My trust centered upon mobilizing everything I had to plan creatively, and then to follow through relentlessly until my goal was achieved. I played the game like any businessman, overlooking small slips in personal morality to win the-prize. However, in spite of my enormous drive to overcome my childhood deprivation, I never once was ruthless, nor did I ever purposely hurt anyone.

Anticipation was a central source of pleasure for me. I would enjoy planning how to win almost as much as the victory itself. Even in my personal life, the dream of how and what I would be doing was sometimes more delicious than the actual experience. I enjoyed living part of my life in the future. The important thing was that my modus operandi worked; I trusted and depended on my proven methods. Now, with Swami, all of a sudden I was learning that my entire approach to problem-solving was wrong. I realized I was not really responsible for my success and that I owed it all to Him, to God!

When I am sitting at Swami's feet at Puttaparthi, it is not too difficult to accept that God does it all, especially when He seems to be showering me with His grace, but when I am back home I can easily forget this. It is terribly hard to break old habits, especially when they have worked so well. I remember the first time I came to Puttaparthi, sitting day in and day out, week in and week out, feeling acutely the deep pains of personal rejection. Each day; Swami would walk by and seemingly ignore or look through me. I was the invisible man bemoaning my fate. Nothing I did helped. It was clear all was in His hands but, at that time, I only had an inkling that He, and only He, controlled everything.

Slowly, I began to realize that I was suffering so much because I refused to give up my old techniques for winning. He was grinding me down, bringing me to my knees, teaching me that anticipation is a killer. I had to let go. At darshan, I would put my head down when He was still on the women's side and begin to pray, “Baba, please just smile or stop or say something; please show me that You love and accept me. I will give up everything; I will surrender all my desires for an interview, just for Your smile.” My dream was for me to be sitting there with my head down and suddenly to feel His gentle hand touch the top of my head, and then to look down and see the bottom of His brilliant orange robe, His small feet poised directly in front of me. Well, it never worked. All my self-control and discipline vanished as I sensed Him approaching; my past training and dependence on expectations was too hard to throw off. Almost against my will, I would find my head rising and I would cautiously look in His direction. Then I would get caught in the throes of desire, and my dream would collapse.

On my first trip, I made eliminating anticipation and desire my mantra. Over and over I would silently repeat, “Anticipation does not work; anticipation is harmful; anticipation causes pain; anticipation is the mother of desire. Desire is the all-consuming tragedy in my life; I must eliminate desire; I must be empty to be free.” There were many variations, but the theme was the same: eliminate anticipation and desire – and surrender. During this first trip, I began to understand these truths, but I didn't realize they were just the tip of the iceberg. The real task lay before me.

On many subsequent trips, I would eventually discover and realize that is was doership that was the culprit. It is only now, after 10 years and 11 trips to Swami, experiencing His love and His relentless lessons, that I am just starting to know and accept that He and He alone is the doer. If I had surrendered earlier, I would have felt like I was relinquishing my life. Now, I am starting to see that my real life and purpose for existence is just beginning.

On my most recent trip, on the very last day, I went outside the ashram to purchase a few more Baba photographs to possibly use for the covers of some of the Sai books we were publishing. I selected about 10 photos from two shops on Chitravatri Road. They were all 7 inches by 10 inches. However, at the last minute, a larger picture caught my eye. It was too large to fit in the shopkeeper's paper bag, so I rolled it up gently and went back inside for bhajans.

In between darshan and bhajans, Swami decided to walk around, taking letters, chatting with His students. As He moved in my direction, the thought occurred to me that, perhaps, if I held up the photo with my pen clipped to the top, He might decide to stop and give me the unbelievable joy of signing the photo. As He came closer, I cautiously held up the photo, silently pleading in my heart, “Swami, please sign this. We are leaving tomorrow.” At that very moment, He stopped, turned and looked over toward me. I was sitting about eight rows back from Him. My prayer was that He would signal me to come forward. Instead, looking straight at me, He said, “When do you leave?” I said, “Tomorrow,” and He started to walk forward towards me. The sea of men in front of me parted, so He was able to walk up to me directly, smile, and lovingly sign the picture. Tears of joy clouded my eyes as I gratefully looked up and lovingly touched His foot. My love and gratitude knew no bounds.

Rejoicing now as I stroke the loving memory of this event, I dare to ask myself, what role did I play? Where was my personal effort? True, I went out and purchased the pictures, but who chose that photo too big to fit in the shopkeeper's bag? Who or what force motivated me, while sitting so far back in a sea of men, to hold up the picture and ask for His grace to sign it? Only He, the Lord of the Universe, deigned to answer my prayer. He bestows His tender, loving grace when and where He chooses. The joy that came when He stopped and graced my picture with His signature was His to give and mine to receive. My role in His play was to be there and to know, accept, and understand that He put me there. Whatever outward actions I took were in response to Him. The sooner I accept and understand that He and He alone is the doer, the sooner will I find my own peace and happiness.

I surrender all at His feet. My part of the bargain in this game of effort and grace is to keep the doors to my heart open, to act with love as my motivation, to appear at times to be a partner in the doing but to know deep down inside that He an-cl-only He is the doer, and to celebrate my total surrender to His will.

Yet how do you hold on to that clarity· and remain calm and composed when the whole world seems to be rigged against you? For example, our departure plan was to take the morning flight from Puttaparthi directly to Bombay right after darshan. This way we would avoid the long and tiring taxi ride to Bangalore and avoid worries that the mid-day flight from Bangalore to Bombay would be cancelled. We would arrive in Bombay just about noon, with lots of time to rest in a hotel, shop for a few last-minute gifts, and arrive well-rested for the 11 p.m. check-in for our flight to Rome. Instead, our plane from Puttaparthi was grounded in Coimbatore, an out-of-the-way stopover on our flight to Bombay. We were told there was a problem with the hydraulic system and a replacement part was on its way from Bangalore. It was not yet 10 a.m., and I was still floating in a blissful state from the morning darshan. Besides, we were in Swami's hands; what could go wrong? By noon, I was getting a little less complacent; the news from the check-in counter was the replacement part was due any minute and the repairs would be completed in half an hour.

Sometime after 1p.m., I began to feel that it was necessary for me to investigate further and to see if this was one of those times for me to exercise the effort part of my partnership with God. Sure enough, the duty officer told me the plane would be grounded until the next morning and that all the flights from Bangalore to Bombay were fully booked and wait-listed. At this point, I temporarily forgot my training and my faith that Swami would take care of everything. I pleaded with the duty officer to get us on the next flight to Bangalore, which was scheduled to depart in 10 minutes.

Baba was with us! The officer agreed to change our tickets. We ran across the tarmac, waving at a luggage tractor carrying our four bags, hoping they would get our bags on the plane to Bangalore. Breathlessly we boarded and, in 40 minutes, we were in Bangalore, an hour too late for the midday flight. We begged and cajoled and most of all prayed at the different airline counters, but there just were no seats available for the last flights of the day to Bombay. Our best hope was Indian Airlines, where the duty officer said he would try to get us moved up on the waiting list because of our need to connect to an international flight.

I was totally exhausted; my patience and forbearance were nowhere to be found. My only thought was, how could we be sure to get on the Bombay flight? I thought I would try to offer the duty officer a bribe. I knew this was wrong, but I felt desperate. I see now that I had completely lost my belief that everything is His will. In spite of all those lessons and my insights into the underlying principles of this game of life, I was trapped again into thinking that I was the doer. My wife, Judy, was horrified at my suggestion that we attempt to bribe the officer. She reminded me of the many painful lessons I had just learned, of how the way we act is more important than the end result. She said that I was now, hopefully, spiritually clean; it was unthinkable to consider offering a bribe. Immediately, I knew she was right, and I just sat there in the airport lounge, ashamed that I had even considered such a thing. Mind you, I have no experience in bribing, but I did feel terribly let down and fearful that we would miss our flight to Rome.

At 3 p.m., we were told to return at 6:30 p.m. to see if our wait­list position was cleared. We considered going into town for a few hours, but I was too anxious. Finally, I realized that we had to surrender to this, and I began to try to find some of the trust in Swami that had somehow vaporized. Judy went over and asked the duty officer if he would help us store our bags in a safe place so that we could go into Bangalore for a few hours. He smiled and said he would be glad to help. For some unknown reason, Judy said ever so gently, "It would be so nice if you could sign the ticket over now." Although she had asked him to do this several times in the last hour, somehow this time the man simply said, "Yes," and dutifully signed the magic letters OK on the tickets. I almost cried with relief. Swami had been there all the time. I had just lost my way and could not remember how to find Him.

Our flight to Bombay took off on time, and we were in the international airport by 10:30 p.m. We were not well-rested, as we had planned earlier, but we were terribly grateful as we boarded our 2 a.m. flight.

On the plane, too worn out to sleep, I quietly wondered why Baba wanted me to have this tumultuous exit. Was it to remind me that without Him life is unbearable? Did He create these painful trials to keep me focused on Him? Or were these difficulties just more tests to see if I had really learned the lessons I had so proudly proclaimed I knew and understood? Was the purpose of this hardship to get me to remember what I had learned? If I had had an easy departure and slipped right back into my worldly life, I may have forgotten these lessons. Or, suppose it was a miracle. Baba decided to save our lives. He knew that if the plane to Bombay took off it would crash due to a defective part, so He made the technicians aware of the fault and saved us. Perhaps it was just His way of keeping me close to Him, because He knows how adversity makes us turn to Him, at least when we have the wisdom to know and remember that He is the doer.

Whether this was a miracle or not, I was more than a bit disappointed that I failed my first test so miserably. There was no excuse; to think that I considered bribing the duty officer showed how little faith I had in the Lord, and since I am part of Him, how little I had thought of myself. I had not yet learned that all is His grace and that I must surrender to whatever He has in store for me. I thought I had resolved to surrender, to know that I am not the d9er, and to trust that all is His will. He quickly taught me that l. have a great deal more work to do, that aside from understanding with my head, I must begin to understand with my heart if I am going to live in this new and wonderful way.

I am still very shaky from this experience. I am no longer proud that I know the truth and have found important answers to life but, rather, I am humbled by the task in front of me. I now know that the first thing I must do when things seem to go wrong is to sit down, take a deep breath, and pray to Swami. In spite of what will take enormous effort and resolve on my part, I am determined now to follow my dharma and really trust that He is the doer, not I!

Two weeks after that trip home, I awoke suddenly in the middle of the night. It was as if a veil that hid my ability to see the truth had been removed. I lay there, all my previous conceptions shattered by my mind's clarity. I imme1iately understood why I had struggled so hard in my battle to surrender and accept that all is His will: I dreaded giving up a far greater attachment that was the very underpinning of my existence.

I had refused to admit that I do not have free will. I see now that my struggle with His doership was a paper tiger to keep my real terror at bay. I was feebly attempting to deny the obvious: We Do Not Have Free Will. For years, I had read everything I could find on what Baba has said about free will. There was always an element of doubt until that moment that allowed me to hide the truth from myself. I desperately wanted free will in order to avoid feeling powerless and without control. It was as if were, fighting for my very life. I needed free will to justify right and wrong, good and bad, praise and blame, karma and, last but not least, why we are rewarded when we are productive. Now, I have to give up these grandiose pretensions.

The real test of dharma comes when we know that we have no free will and yet we are still responsible for our actions, that we readily accept His doership, and yet we also embrace His basic rule that everything that happens is the result of the combination of His grace and our efforts. So we still have a paradoxical partnership where we must do our duty, where we must do our very best. We must act as if we had free will, and yet know, trust, and love that all is His will.

It was at this point that Baba decided that I needed further confirmation that we do not have free will. Swami arranged for me to hear the touching story of how a loving devotee prayed that Baba would withdraw this free will which we have been given. The story tells how shortly after the man's prayer, Swami motioned for him to take padnamaskar. In an extraordinary gesture, the devotee refused and prayed again for the answer to his plea about free will. Swami lovingly patted the man on his back and gently said, Bangaru, nothing is free will, everything is My will. This was indeed the very answer for which I had so long been searching.

Now, I am beginning to glimpse what I really am - His glorious instrument. My sole purpose in being is to find my own path to my own Divinity. Service is the route I have chosen. I will love and serve my fellow man and through them, hopefully, I will find Him inside myself. I see now that, in the end, our final surrender is really to ourselves. Only when I can face the fact that, ultimately, we have no free will, will I be able to relinquish the battle and finally begin to surrender.