Bhagavad Gita Reflection
When I began my yoga training, I never imagined that the Bhagavad Gita would become such a profound part of my journey. Although I studied art history in college, I realized with disappointment that I had never been introduced to Hindu art or philosophy—a silence that felt like an erasure. Coming to this text for the first time, I carried both apprehension and curiosity. My Christian background and the cultural biases that shaped me made me cautious, yet my lifelong attraction to yoga and Eastern thought gave me a deep desire to explore. Opening the Gita was not just an academic exercise but a spiritual step into unfamiliar yet strangely familiar territory, one that invited me to wrestle with new ideas while holding close to my faith.
I had certain expectations for this text. I anticipated strangeness—though that was a foolish expectation—and I imagined an intangible quality, as if it would only discuss spiritual concerns far removed from daily life. I worried that the blue-skinned man I saw on the book cover was so “other,” “holy,” and “sacred” that his concerns would not match my own. My understanding of Hindu thought was extremely limited. As a Christian, I knew how American Christianity is often perceived: unreasonably closed off, unapologetically ignorant, and dismissive. Some of that cultural training had seeped into my own thinking, leaving my heart apprehensive.
However, beneath that apprehension was both curiosity and excitement. Even as a child, I was drawn to Eastern thought, especially Yoga. Yoga has come in and out of my life, and I always felt called to it despite my mother’s strong cautions. Yet, in this season, I felt released by God and led by the Holy Spirit to explore and learn from the Bhagavad Gita. I was eager to stand in my adult prerogative, read for myself, and begin a study of Yoga.
The text was not difficult to understand, but it was easy to forget that it is framed as a story with a narrator speaking to a blind king. Its beautiful poetic language unveils the expansive and enchanting meta-narrative of Krishna. The Gita wrestles with the human condition, offering insight into life after death, good and evil, duty, devotion, and more. These passages shifted my perspective, particularly on being content with life by living into the responsibilities given to me. The intimate dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna added a richness: Krishna genuinely listened, showed compassion, and patiently addressed Arjuna’s concerns.
Reading this book stirred my emotions and inspired me. My heart opened to expand my humanity. I felt the Holy Spirit tap me on the shoulder—perhaps even shake my arm—reminding me, “I told you I’m everywhere.” Yet I also wrestled with frustration when certain verses did not sit right with my intuition. In particular, the notion of continual life cycles until one reaches a spiritual threshold felt difficult to reconcile with my Christian worldview. Still, I can hold that tension. Even in this life, I feel I have lived and died many times. Each metaphorical or spiritual death draws me closer to God and closer to “getting it.”
At the same time, I felt convicted. I struggled with the idea that, in yoga philosophy, pain, joy, suffering, and peace are to be received as the same—that stability exists in both joy and sadness. Christian teaching also insists that, in pursuit of Christ, we become unmovable by the world, sustained by self-control and devotion. Yet I struggle to accept this wisdom because of my tendency to indulge and serve myself, trying foolishly to make myself into my own god.
The dialogue between Krishna and Arjuna left me with a sense of clarity and understanding. It gave me a mission to carry forward and opened my ears to receive wisdom not only from this text but also from my pastors (my own gurus), encouraging me to live with greater contemplation and awe for God.
The Gita’s teachings on duty, selflessness, and detachment deeply resonate with my life. I am an art teacher by trade, a Christian children’s director by service, and a woman, wife, mother, and daughter by calling. To know that all of this is nothing without devotion at the center strikes the core of my being.
Reading the Bhagavad Gita changed my perspective spiritually and philosophically. Broadly, spirituality is the human search for meaning, purpose, and connection to something greater than oneself. The Gita influenced my practice and deepened my religious engagement. My service to my community feels more intentional, and my meditation has fostered a richer relationship with God. I have always struggled with philosophy, which often seemed like an abstract concept reserved for academia, yet my heart longs to know whether my reality is true and whether my life reflects a good person’s values. My philosophy may align more closely with the Christian text of Ecclesiastes: “Everything is meaningless, all is a vapor.” Yet even there, devotion, service, and discipline provide direction, meaning, and form to life.
I would recommend the Gita, but only to select individuals. I believe this text must be encountered at the right season of life, with one’s heart prepared. I trust that the Holy Spirit will make it known when it is the right time to recommend it.
I see myself returning to this text again and again. I expect to read its words and let them wash over me, holding onto what resonates in each season, wrestling with its wisdom in meditation.
My first encounter with the Bhagavad Gita was both challenging and transformative. Some passages stirred discomfort while others inspired awe, leaving me with a renewed sense of devotion and purpose. I see now that spirituality is not confined to one tradition but reflects the human search for meaning, stability, and divine connection. For me, the Gita’s wisdom echoed truths from my Christian faith: the call to selflessness, discipline, and service. This sacred text has opened me to new ways of listening for God’s voice—whether through Scripture, yoga, or community. I know I will return to the Gita throughout my life, allowing it to shape my practice, deepen my meditation, and guide me as both a teacher and a seeker.