One of my friends wrote a poem about a Buddhist monk who in 1963 to protest the treatment of Buddhist by the Vietnamese government burned himself alive. When I saw the picture, the only thing I could think of is an article I had read about how some monks go through this multi-year process to mummify themselves. At the time, I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t focus on my friend’s words in his poem.
Today, I read some more about the monk. His name was Thich Quang Duc. (I am missing the extra punctuation on his name.) His story is amazing because the story shows how one man’s protest can touch the entire world. However, as I continued to read, I found out that after his protest. Others copied his action. Not just other monks. The practice of self-immolation has a long history in Buddhism, but other protestors of the Vietnam war did this as well.
I don’t think I can understand it. If someone kills you because of your faith, then I understand becoming a martyr. You have given your life for your faith. However, to commit an act of suicide in protest doesn’t work for me. It doesn’t honor the life God gives to us. I understand that what this monk did was a brave and courageous act, but he decided when his life would end, and he died in a violent way.
The world doesn’t seem to understand how precious life is. It is the one thing that binds us all together. It is like the force from the movie “Star Wars”, except it is real. It was there before the first human lived and it will be even after we are gone. It moves all around us and binds us to one another from the very first human until the very last. We are all one. We are all human.
Today, I accidentally burned my fingertip. I think it is probably going to be a second-degree burn. Those few cells at the tip of my finger are hurt and some of them died. My finger tip is never going to be the same again. When it happened and ever since, I have been very aware of the pain and loss. I’m not going to die from it. The pain isn’t that bad, but my entire body knows that a small part of me has been injured. In the same sense, every time one of us dies, whether it be from age, accident, disease, war, etc, the rest of us should feel something. A part of us, has suffered an injury and will no longer be alive. There’s pain there whether we realize it or not. I know in a day, thousands of people die, but I have to be able to understand they are a part of who I am.
When I see that picture of the burning monk or any violence, I guess it hurts inside because as much as everyone wants to see differences and belong to groups, all I see, and feel is how we are all one. We belong to one life, and we should honor it and glorify God.
My faith saved me. May God’s peace reside in all of our hearts.
