The Witness of the Marks of Myanmar

They have defied the arrogant generals who have devastated their country. They have faced down armed soldiers with their only “weapon” - wooden bowls.

We have all read the stories of the Buddhist monks and nuns who have taken to the streets of Burma (now Myanmar) to challenge the 20-year rule of the brutal junta that has sunk the country further into poverty and repression. The monks have been detained, tear-gassed, beaten and shot by government troops, but the barefoot, saffron-robed religious continue their nonviolent march for democracy. They have been joined by thousands of Burmese citizens who have been inspired by the witness of the monks. As they walk through the streets, many carry banners reading “loving kindness”; the monks and people chant “Do-aye” - “It is our task.”

In better times, monks and nuns—revered by the Burmese people as the country’s highest moral authority—walk through the streets carrying wooden begging bowls, collecting alms and donations. To place a gift in a monks bowl is considered making a gift to God. But during the pro-democracy demonstrations of the past few weeks, the monks have refused to accept alms from members of the military, a refusal known as “turning over the rice bowl” that amounts to a gesture of excommunication. The message to the military: Your brutality and oppression have put you at odds with the ways of God.

During their march, monks have been seen holding their begging bowls upside down, the black lacquer surfaces reflecting the light. In the Myanmar language, the word for boycott comes from the words for holding the bowl upside down.

By the quiet witness of their peaceful march, with the simple “weapon” of a bowl, the monks and nuns of Burma are risking their lives to bring down a cruel reign of fear and replacing it with the reign of God.

The monks of Myanmar, in their witness to justice and equality in their homeland, mirror for their people and the rest of the world the justice and equality of the reign of God. It is for that kingdom that Jesus gives his life on the cross. Inspired by the humility of Christ the Messiah—King, moved by the sacrifice of men and women like the monks and nuns of Myanmar, may we embrace the sprit of justice, integrity and humility of the cross and proclaim the truth revealed in the Gospel event” the uncompromising love of God for all men and women; the moral authority of humble servanthood that resonates long after fads fade and self-interests prove empty; the never-failing hope of Easter resurrection over Calvary’s cross.

Unforgiveness Keeps Us in Prison

Two veterans visit the Vietnam War memorial in Washington, D.C. With tears in their eyes, they touch the names etched into the black marble” the names of their brothers with whom they served in Southeast Asia and with whom they were imprisoned by the Viet Cong.

As they leave the memorial, one of the ex-POWS asks, “Have you forgiven your captors yet?”

“No, never,” his friend replies.

His buddy pauses for a moment, looks behind him again at the wall, and then says, “Then it seems they still have you in prison, don’t they?”

On this last Sunday of the liturgical year, we stand on the edge of paradise; we look through the doorway of heaven. In his promise to the “good thief,” Jesus opens the door to true freedom; he invites us to enter Paradise here and now; he has established the reign of God in our time and place. All we have to do—and it is no small thing—is put aside our hurts and slights, drop our demand for restitution and vengeance, realize our need to be re-created in the love of God. The thief crucified with Jesus recognizes that need in himself and calls out to Jesus—and Jesus, in the last, painful moments of his own life, responds with compassion and hope. In the shadow of the cross, we are able to finally admit our need for healing, for peace, for God. In acknowledging our own need to forgive and be forgiven, to love and be loved, to give and be ministered to, Christ’s promise of Paradise is ours.