The Monks
/You may have seen news coverage of the monks walking across the US.
If you haven’t yet, I want to introduce you to them.
A group of Buddhist monks started a 2,300 mile walk from their temple in Fort Worth, Texas on October 26th and they will arrive in Washington DC around February 11th.
Their mission is to raise awareness of peace and mindfulness.
Buddhists live a way of life that shows compassion for all, is rooted in interconnectedness, and offers loving kindness practices to help lessen our suffering. (If you live in Kansas City and want to learn more, I’m speaking on Buddhism from 10-11 am this Wednesday at Village Presbyterian on Mission. It’s a talk open to all, no charge, and no registration needed.)
You can follow the walk of the monks on social media platforms, just search: Walk For Peace.
You’ll see their dog Aloka, whose name means illumination. Aloka was a stray who joined the monks and hasn’t left their side. You’ll see videos with over 6 million people following the monks online. Thousands of people have come in person along their route to witness this quiet walking pilgrimage and find themselves in tears at the profound peace they feel in their presence.
“May you and all beings be well, happy and at peace.” This is their blessing for humanity.
My friend Michelle O’Neal witnessed this powerful experience and I asked her to write to me about it. Here is what she sent with a disclaimer that it might be too long, but as I read it a few times I decided every word matters.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful reflection with us Michelle.
I was sitting at my kitchen island drinking coffee when my friend in California texted me and asked if I wanted to see the Walk for Peace with her. Two days later, I was on a plane for Charlotte, N.C.—such was my desire to witness this pilgrimage and be part of something bigger than myself. Having walked a portion of the Camino de Santiago in 2024, the feat of walking 2,300 miles across the United States, day after day, in contemplative prayer for peace, personally stirred my soul and clearly had captured the hearts of thousands of Americans. We are hungry, if not famished, for something so pure.
Many of us haven’t breathed evenly in a while. Many of us feel like a heavy cloud covers our hearts. Many of us have forgotten what love and virtue look like in real life. We are starving for connection. People have asked me: Why? Why travel to see… Buddhist monks? What could you possibly gain from seeing a line of monks walk by? My answer: Everything. If you have the eyes to see:
Humility. Belonging. Compassion made visible.
Why are people moving mountains to be there? Why do Americans fall to pieces in their alarming, quiet presence?
“Because the heart recognizes purity.”
“Because we didn't know we needed it.”
“Because we feel hope again.”
“Because we remember who we are.”
“Because peace feels rare.”
I don’t know many politicians, priests, CEOS, or really anyone, who would walk barefoot for me—much less 2,300 miles—for an ailing nation, to remind us that peace and love are the way—the only way. But these men are doing just that. The monks from Fort Worth, Texas, are not just “giving peace a chance” (no shade to John Lennon), they are acting on it, at great sacrifice and cost. As spiritual beings, we are being called right now to love with that kind of intentionality and resolve.
For many, these 19 or so Buddhist monks are a living, breathing representation of Christ—a reminder of the lessons he taught, and the humility he embodied. Their faces radiate a profound peace. Every human is made in God’s image, and if you pause, you will encounter the divine. I gazed directly into the eyes of Venerable Monk Bhikkhu Pannakara for 9 seconds and exchanged words with him on a rural road outside of Charlotte. He handed me white carnations as sobs and gratitude poured out of my body. Quietly, confidently, he said, “It is going to be alright. Take a deep breath.”
Who was there? Everyone. Old, young. Republican, Dem. Gay, straight. Every color, faith, age, creed, race, and stage. We helped one another, we hugged, we cried, we cheered, we prayed. It was Dr. King’s beloved community. God’s kin-dom on earth. There were no strangers. I was surprised to see MAGA hats. Adult children bought their 99-year-old mothers swaddled in blankets. Parents pushed babies in strollers and lifted toddlers on shoulders. Marie brought her mom’s ashes to scatter at the monks’ feet.
Many moments we witnessed or experienced felt Biblical. I have a new visceral connection to the stories we read. I saw a real-life tax-collector (or businessman) Zacchaeus straining to get a better look at these curious religious teachers. We saw people who hoped to be made well, or at the minimum, receive a blessing. At lunch stops, donated food would be stretched and shared on hillsides fish-and-loaves style.
Hearts, minds, and bodies of all varieties crowded the streets of Charlotte to welcome the pilgrims. It brought to mind Palm Sunday—when Jesus entered Jerusalem, not astride a stallion but riding a humble donkey. Bouquets took the place of palm branches in North Carolina. In Jesus’ day, the people shouted, “Hosanna!” which translates, “Deliver us, save us.” We lament and we raise our collective voice now to say, “Help us,” too. “We are still here! We want to love again!”
Let’s all look for one way to contribute to peace on earth this week.
As the Miller’s song from 1955 goes, “Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.”
May that be our phrase for the week.
With love,
