The Storm of People and the Lesson on the Purpose of Festivals

The atmosphere on the mountain that afternoon was unusually stifling. Crackling loudspeakers issued urgent announcements, mingled with the noise of thousands of footsteps trampling over the rocky ground. At Phat Quang Pagoda, a place usually quiet amidst deep green forests, suddenly transformed into a vast sea of people. It was the full moon of the seventh lunar month, the Vu Lan Festival for filial piety.

The abbot stood before the reception table, his eyes gazing far toward the temple gate where crowds continued to pour in without end. His heart tightened, and cold sweat dampened the back of his kasaya robe. In his mind, only one number repeated itself: eighteen thousand. This figure vastly exceeded all initial projections. He had prepared for about seven thousand vegetarian meals, thinking this would be more than sufficient. But reality proved much harsher. Within just a few short hours, the rice stores ran dry, food supplies were exhausted, and not a single vegetable remained. Large pots sat empty at the bottom, reflecting the gloomy light of the setting sun.

"Master, I have a report," a young disciple rushed in breathlessly, his voice trembling. "The kitchen staff says they have run out of ingredients. Outside, thousands of people are still waiting. The temple fund has also been nearly depleted by prior preparations."

The abbot sighed deeply, his trembling hand gripping his prayer beads tightly. Confusion enveloped the entire organizing committee. No one dared leave their post to go shopping for more supplies for fear of losing control of the crowd, yet if there was nothing to eat, the ceremony would become a disaster. Anxiety and unease spread everywhere. He asked himself, "Is this a failure? Or is it because our karmic conditions are not yet ripe?"

In the midst of this deadlock, a small truck approached from outside the gate. The driver stepped down, holding a large cardboard box, his face radiant with joy. He said to the monk guarding the entrance, "I heard the temple was facing shortages, so I hurriedly brought some extra rice and dried goods as offerings. Please accept this gesture from my family’s heart."

Those words were like a miracle that dispelled the tense atmosphere. When the abbot heard the news, tears rolled down his cheeks. He understood that while the Triple Gem is always sacred, its sanctity is manifested through human hearts. Without thorough preparation and the right intention, even with divine blessings, a ceremony can still descend into chaos.

After that storm of people, the abbot sat down to reflect with his disciples. A fellow monk who had traveled from a distant province to visit, seeing last year’s crowded scene, remarked admiringly, "Master, organizing three major festivals each year—Buddha’s Birthday, Vu Lan, and Enlightenment Day—with such lively attendance must mean the offering funds are abundant. You must be comfortably supporting the monastic community now."

The abbot smiled gently and shook his head. "You are mistaken. Each time we finish organizing, the temple becomes... poorer. The costs for sound systems, lighting, food, and personnel to serve thousands of people are enormous. The temple fund is almost entirely gone."

"Then why do you still do it?" the visiting monk asked in surprise.

"Because our purpose does not lie in the donation boxes," the abbot replied seriously, his gaze steady. "Our sole purpose is to ensure that when each Buddhist leaves the temple, their heart is filled with love, and their spiritual aspiration grows. They remember the Buddha, wish to practice better, and live more virtuously. Our true gain lies in people’s hearts, not in the safe."

He shared other examples as well. There were ancient temples where senior monks passed away gradually over time, resulting in memorial services every month. Initially, Buddhists participated enthusiastically, but over time, they grew tired and even avoided attending. "If we organize too many events, or do so carelessly, merely to attract attention or material benefit, we will eventually lose the trust of the community," he emphasized. "Festivals must hold significance and convey profound teachings; they should not become a burden for believers."

Through this story, the abbot drew a valuable lesson: Organizing festivals is not just a skill in crowd management, but an art of planting seeds of connection. The root of success lies in the accumulation of merit, in small actions such as attending funerals for the poor, teaching small groups, or providing disaster relief. When the roots are strong, the leaves flourish. And when unexpected difficulties arise, these wholesome connections will provide support, helping the ceremony overcome challenges.

The Meaning of the Story

The core lesson that Venerable Thich Chan Quang wishes to convey is the importance of correctly identifying the goal of Buddhist festivals. Festivals are not occasions to display prestige, raise funds, or satisfy the ego of the organizers. The ultimate purpose is to nurture the spiritual growth of the community. Every activity, from logistical preparation to program content, must revolve around inspiring faith in the Triple Gem, compassion for others, and the ideal of enlightenment and liberation for participants. If this objective is distorted, no matter how grand the ceremony may be, it remains a failure in terms of spiritual progress and blessings from merit.

Compiled from the dharma talk of Venerable Thich Chan Quang