Dedication

1. NO ONE WITH MORAL CHARACTER IS LAZY

The word "dedication" brings to mind someone who works away patiently, bears hardship and is diligent. But unlike the diligent effort of cultivating one's inner life, and unlike striving for one's own career, dedication clearly means diligence for the sake of everyone else.

For example, our effort in study, or the hard work of a farmer who ploughs deep and digs the soil, soaked by rain and scorched by sun, are also called diligence and effort. But first of all, that is diligence for oneself and for one's own family. Such effort and diligence are not yet called dedication. Dedication is hard work and diligence that has meaning for others, not for oneself. In this sense dedication is close in meaning to a life of living for others. Even so, the two concepts differ in some respects. Unlike living for others, dedication evokes the image of a person who toils wholeheartedly for others' benefit, quietly and out of sight.

Dedication has a moral character. This is so obvious that we do not need to prove it, only to affirm one thing: no one with moral character is lazy, content to do nothing and to enjoy leisure. People who like doing nothing and enjoying leisure are surely lacking in morality.

In life, many jobs that our basic needs require keep appearing: cooking, washing clothes, cleaning the house… Each person alone already has a great deal of work that must be done. When many people live together, needs multiply and become shared needs. For example, when we cook, we do not cook only for ourselves; when we clean the house, we are aware that it is not our own house but a common home. That is, the tasks connected with our needs arise by themselves, in great numbers, and when we live with others, our needs are also everyone's needs. If we do not do the work, we have left it to someone else. So we can affirm that a lazy person is a person without morality. Some even say: "a lazy person is an evil person." That is a little extreme, but it is not untrue. When we live together in an environment with many shared needs to attend to, to be lazy and leave the work undone also means making others do it. That is the same as selfishness. A person of moral character never accepts that way of living. They will be eager and ready to do the work in place of others. That is a life of living for others.

As our moral character grows, many other tasks arise through which we can help people. These tasks have nothing at all to do with us. For example, when we go out and see that a road is damaged, we invite others to repair it together even though we never travel on that road. Or we see that a neighbour's house leaks but the household is short of hands and no one mends it, so we go and ask for planks and thatch to re-roof it for them… That is how life is: we must know how to endure hardship. Never think that stepping onto the path of spiritual practice means looking for ease and leisure. Happiness comes only when we bring joy and happiness to others and do something that benefits them. Happiness is not enjoyment. The musician Thế Hiển composed a very fine and meaningful song, "Stories of Today and Long Ago" (Chuyện đời nay đời xưa). The song opens with a story of long ago, about a princess who lived in wealth and silk but whose heart was heavy with many sorrows, because that princess needed happiness. The wealth and comfort of the palace did not bring her true happiness. Even when a prince asked for her hand with countless jewels, she took no notice; her heart remained sad and yearning for happiness. The song goes on with a story of today, about young men and women who go into the wild forest to build a life, with the song focusing on the Trị An hydroelectric project. They live among green mountains and forest trees in endless joy, a bright smile always on their lips. The song ends with the affirmation: Life is happiness, no one lives for themselves alone; life is happiness, we must live for everyone. Indeed, people feel true happiness only when they know how to live for everyone.

Worldly happiness comes in many kinds. There are fleeting kinds of happiness brought by a selfish life of enjoyment. Seeing someone else in a beautiful outfit, we have one made just like it. Having got it, we feel pleased and happy inside. But that happiness does not last; it only increases selfishness, and suffering follows afterwards. Such is worldly happiness. The happiness that comes from satisfying the need to enjoy is only fleeting and short-lived, and at some point it will leave us weary. The author of the song also shows us that happiness is not enjoyment, and that happiness does not reign where material life is abundant. Happiness comes only to those who love work, who know how to live for others and bring benefit to others.

For this reason, when we leave home to ordain, we do not look for a life of leisure but for a life of hardship. That is, when we ask our families' permission to go to the temple to practise, we must have the resolve to give up our former leisurely life and understand that the road ahead is more thorny and difficult than it was when we lived in the world. Understanding this, we must sacrifice more, bear more hardship and never accept any kind of happiness for ourselves.

People whose moral character has grown, besides diligently dealing with the needs they share with others, also think of things to do for others' benefit. Those who have the heart and the conditions can even organise larger charitable works such as: relief efforts, cleaning the streets, caring for the elderly, planting trees along roads, building and repairing roads, educating street children, and so on.

Why, in order to do charitable work, must we have the conditions as well as the heart? Because if the heart urges us to do good but the conditions are not there, it is very hard to carry it out. For example, we may have the heart to rescue all the disabled children in the world and bring them joy to make up for the disadvantages they suffer, but how could we have the means to leave the country and do that? We can do it only when the conditions are complete. That is why people often make a vow so that they can fulfil it in a later life. Or we see an elderly person who is frail and want to support them and help them live their last days in peace, yet that is not easy to do either. Or when some region suffers a natural disaster or flood, and we want to call on many people to contribute goods to organise a relief trip, that too can be done only when the conditions are right. Nevertheless, let us keep nurturing a good heart; when the conditions come naturally and conveniently, we will be able to do what we hope to do. That is cause and effect. Our thought is the cause and the action is the result. To do something good, we must first nurture good ideas and good causes in our minds. In fact, those who manage to do good works did not first have these thoughts only recently; they thought them in previous lives.

Elderly people who cannot do large good works, but go out in the evenings to sweep and pick up rubbish on the road, are also doing a good work. This does not mean doing the sanitation workers' job for them; it has an educational meaning. Many people who lack awareness throw rubbish carelessly in the street because they think there are people paid by the state to do the sweeping. If we are not sanitation workers yet still take the trouble to sweep and pick up rubbish on the road, many people will be surprised. Gradually they will understand that we do it for the beauty of the street, and they will stop throwing rubbish out. The educational meaning of that act is very great.

Caring for the elderly is also a great good work. In the new era, old people are often lonely because they have few children and grandchildren, owing to family planning. Their children are busy studying or working far away and rarely have the chance to look after them. Seeing this, five or seven people can gather together to visit them, chat with them, wash their clothes, cook their meals… for them. We can also invite a nurse to look after the health of the frail elderly. Such acts help comfort old people in the evening of life. When they have come to hold us dear, we can encourage them to practise and recite the Buddha's name so that their lives are peaceful. This is called doing good first and the Way following after.

Planting trees along the road is also a meaningful good work. In the lesson "Loving nature", we already understood the role of trees in human life. So we must plant trees actively. On stretches of road that still have no trees, we can bring trees to plant, which both gives shade and helps regulate the air.

At present, the situation of children living on the streets, in difficult circumstances, has become a concern of the whole of society. Most of them, receiving no care or education from their families from an early age, have gone astray. They may do anything to live: sometimes snatching, sometimes begging… and end up becoming criminals. We can find ways to get close to them, advise them and educate them to become good people. This too is a good work that we can do only when the conditions are there, because this work is not simple and is often very dangerous. To give moral education to such people, we must gather many people and we must have health and patience.

Such good works make us busier and more tired, yet we still try to do them in order to help others. This acceptance of hardship is called dedication, sacrifice and living for others.

2. IF MONASTICS LIVE IN LEISURE, THE BUDDHA'S TEACHING WILL DECLINE

If we are disciples of the Buddha, we must not live in leisure. Living in leisure and relying on others is a sign of a person without morality. Such a person is wicked and cruel. Quite a few people think that life in the world is too hard and so turn to the monastic life in order to be at leisure. That is a wrong idea. We must be clear that to become a monastic is to close the leisurely life of the world and commit ourselves to a path of more hardship, sacrifice and service… than before.

Monastics are a symbol of morality and so have no right to live leisurely. When monastics live in leisure, the Buddha's teaching declines. For the Buddha's teaching and for sentient beings, there is still so much that we have not done. Each of us must try to do it. For example, today the Buddha's teaching is still divided into many schools and traditions. As we know, the truth is one; it can be compared to a pencil point, where the slightest shift will put it off at once. Precisely because each person's view is not yet right, we do not arrive at the common truth. So what we need to look for is the common truth, so that the differences in the Buddha's teaching no longer exist and everything is unified and in harmony. Only when we have found the common truth will we have the strength to persuade others. For example, when we bring this truth to the Southern tradition, the Southern tradition's followers will let go of some of their fixed views and develop. When we bring this common truth to the Northern tradition, the Northern tradition's followers will give up whatever has made them fall into outside paths and return to the true Dharma. When we go to the Mendicant order, to Hòa Hảo Buddhism, to Cao Đài… we will make everything clear. People will give up their long-held differences so that they can join hands in harmony. Finding that common truth is an important and arduous task that we need to do.

That is within the scope of one religion. Today in the world there are so many religions, so many ideas, so many prejudices, so many philosophies… full of differences. We must work out how, one day on this earth, the whole of humanity will have just one common truth. That idea is truly vast, and not everyone can see it. Only people with wisdom see what needs to be done for this world and for this humanity. What needs to be done is called a vow or aspiration. So when we have wisdom, we will have aspiration and will know what more we must do for people and for the Buddha's teaching in the future. People without wisdom know only as much as they have studied and heard taught, and cannot think of anything more. Such people rarely have great aspirations.

As monastics, we try to practise and study because there is still so much that is imperfect, and so much that must be done for sentient beings and for this world. People are still divided, still hateful and still jealous of one another because of differences. The truth is still hidden somewhere nearby, and people have not been persuaded so that they can join hands and love one another. Seeing this, we resolve to go in search of that truth. That determination is called resolve (chí). It is this resolve that gives us wisdom. That is, when we nurture a certain ambition, the ambition produces cause and effect and merit that make us concentrate on practice and see many issues. So aspiration also opens up wisdom.

Recently in America there have been cases of schoolchildren taking guns and shooting into crowds of their classmates. They killed not out of selfishness or revenge, nor to rob anyone, but simply for the fun of shooting and killing, and then put the gun to their own heads. A culture like that is in truth a great collapse. Western culture, the so-called Western freedom, is not something humanity can lean on, because little by little it has produced dangerous "patients". It destroys humanity itself, ruins character and brings disaster on communities.

The world still has so much decline and so much that is not good. We must not merely listen to know, or listen for amusement; we must ask ourselves what we will be able to do for people. It is precisely these worries that give us aspiration. From now on, let us always be aware that we must not live a leisurely life. Monastics who live in leisure are greatly at fault toward sentient beings. Besides aspirations and moral qualities, we must also try to practise. The time of practice is an important stage that prepares us with the strength and spiritual power to do the great things we have always hoped for. A person without such strength can hardly accomplish great things. For us, that strength comes from diligent practice over a long period.

Following the course of history, we see that for a long period, from the end of the Trần dynasty until the French colonial period, Vietnamese Buddhism became passive, lacking in vitality and weak. Of course there were many causes, but one important cause was that monastics liked leisure: playing Chinese chess, roaming carefree, strolling, tending ornamental plants and miniature landscapes, trading verses, and so on. In the past, when travel was still difficult, if the monks heard that a place had beautiful scenery, they would shoulder a bag and walk there to enjoy it, to visit a teacher or visit fellow monks. That took up a great deal of a practitioner's time. Thinking more deeply, monastics who lead a leisurely life and love to roam, "one bowl for a thousand households' rice, alone for ten thousand miles of wandering", simply hugging an alms bowl and going off on outings like that, are failing in their responsibility to life and to the Buddha's teaching.

At present, in some temples, monastics occasionally organise outings or pilgrimages here and there. This is not at all advisable. We should go only when it is necessary for the temple or for the Sangha, and we must limit pointless outings. In whatever we do, we must first think of the common good and never satisfy our own fancies. Although we know that travel is a real human need, we should not waste time and money on it.

The same is true of trading verses. Among us, many people love to write poetry and write very well. Of course these are only poems about the Way, praising nature, mountains and rivers… but such activity is both impractical and a great waste of time. We should write poetry only when there is a need that serves a common purpose, or write verse chants so that lay Buddhists can remember and recite them easily. That is, whatever we do, we must think of others' benefit and never do something merely for amusement.

Speaking of valuing time and living for others, we still treasure the story of Master Dương Kỳ. We know that when the Linji (Lâm Tế) school was transmitted to Master Từ Minh, it split into two branches. Master Từ Minh passed it on to two outstanding disciples, Master Hoàng Long Huệ Nam and Master Dương Kỳ Phương Hội. But Master Dương Kỳ held the main line of transmission, while Master Hoàng Long was a side branch, although the two masters' attainments were equal. Reading the story, we understand why Master Từ Minh passed it on to Master Dương Kỳ.

Master Dương Kỳ was famous for having attained the Way, yet his dwelling was extremely simple, with a leaking thatched roof, so that in winter snow blew in and covered his bed and he had to endure the cold. Moved by this scene, he composed a poem:

Dương Kỳ xạ trú ốc bích sơ

Mãn sàng tận tản tuyết trân châu

Xúc khước hạgn ám ta hu

Phiên ức cổ nhân thọ hạ cư.

Translation: Dương Kỳ lodges in a bare little thatched hut. Snow scattered across the bed glitters like pearls. Knees drawn up, head bowed, I sigh quietly. I long for the man of old beneath the tree. (The man of old beneath the tree is the Buddha.) A lay follower who saw this came to ask to rebuild the leaking hut for him. The Master asked:

• Have you awakened to the Way?

The lay follower answered:

• No, Venerable.

• If not, you have no time to build a hut for me.

A famous Venerable, with boundless merit, would not let his own dwelling be properly rebuilt because he valued the practice time of another, even though that person was only a lay follower (not yet a monastic). He valued other people's practice that much. That is a heart of sacrifice, an attitude of dedication to others that is deeply worthy of respect.

People of old lived like that. They prized their time for practice. They did not live for themselves but always wanted to do something for others. Not only did they not waste their own time, they did not allow others to waste theirs either, but wanted everyone around them to practise earnestly and diligently in order to awaken and be liberated.

In the sacred scripture of Judaism (the Old Testament) there is a day of rest called the Sabbath. According to the scripture's tradition, God created the human world in six days, that is, from the creation of heaven and earth to the completion of Adam and Eve took six days, and the seventh day was a day of rest. The Jews call that day the Sabbath, God's day of rest. By that sacred meaning, everyone who follows Judaism must rest on the Sabbath, the seventh day of the week. Even now Jews take care to rest on Saturday, and no one is allowed to work on that day. On one such day Jesus was busy healing others, and followers of the Jewish faith came to make trouble for him. He said: "My Father, God in heaven, never rests, and so I too may never rest."

We do not have enough of the Way's vision to see through the three thousand worlds and through all the heavens to know what it means that God never rests. We can only understand that the God Jesus spoke of is like those heavenly beings who teach the Bodhisattvas, who not only teach in the Tushita heaven but also manifest in countless other realms to benefit sentient beings. Such manifestations truly never rest. And the kings of the heavens, such as Indra (Đế Thích) and Brahma (Phạm Thiên), likewise never rest. Their spiritual power and compassion cover sentient beings, and they are always occupied and busy arranging affairs. This is nothing like the picture the Great Sage Equal to Heaven painted: "Heaven sits watching the fairy maidens dance and sing." They are all Bodhisattvas who are always diligent, always busy and full of dedication. We do not yet have enough of the Way's vision to know how great and how continuous the practice of such a great Bodhisattva is; we can only tentatively understand Jesus's words in this way. But clearly he broke the attachment of the followers of Judaism and did not accept the Sabbath they had set. For a person of moral character is dedicated and never rests. Jesus was such a person too.

3. TO PRACTISE MEANS TO WORK, TO WORK MEANS TO PRACTISE

Why do we say that to practise means to work, and to work means to practise?

We know that work is an action that stands for what is tiring and hard. Practice is a matter of the inner mind. It is also tiring work, such as sitting in meditation, contemplating compassion, reciting the Buddha's name, looking for faults in the mind… From outside we may seem to be at leisure, but inside it is very hard work, unlike the leisure of people who do not practise. For example, practitioners sitting motionless in meditation seem to be doing nothing, but in fact they are suffering greatly. Anyone who has sat in meditation will understand that toil and hardship. Hour by hour, minute by minute, the practitioner must struggle with wandering thoughts, the mind sometimes entering concentration and sometimes falling back into disorder.

Or when practising the contemplation of compassion, practitioners contemplate spreading loving-kindness to all sentient beings not only while sitting in meditation but in daily life too. These things happen quietly in the mind where no one sees them, yet they are very lofty and very hard. That hardship and toil we also call work. Or a person reciting the Buddha's name keeps the recitation firm in the mind hour by hour and minute by minute, with a respectful heart. That too is very hard. Only those who have practised through hardship and toil know how to respect practitioners. Those who have not practised often look at practitioners with contempt, thinking they do no work and simply chant sutras and strike the wooden fish all day, waiting for lay Buddhists to come and make offerings.

Likewise, struggling with one's own faults is a tremendous task. As we know, each of us is full of faults, and overcoming them in a lifetime is not simple. Yet practitioners must go step by step deeper into the spiritual life, finding ways to overcome their own faults. That is why we must know how to respect practitioners. This toil of practice we call work.

Practitioners must not waste time. It is precisely these moments of struggle in the mind that prepare the wonderful Dharma talks of later. When we are grown, we can take the Buddha's teaching to proclaim and teach everywhere. But do not think it is the result of what we learned from books. In truth, to speak the subtle teachings of the Buddha we must go through a process of practice and accumulation, of struggling with our own minds, of seeing our faults hour by hour and minute by minute today.

There are people with little fortune and merit who could not study much because of difficult circumstances, yet they read on their own and practise. They always try to find their own faults. With each step of practice they see a few more faults, and in their hearts they always hope that others will not fall into their faults, hope that others can overcome their faults as they have overcome them. When they overcome a certain fault, they have the experience to help others escape that fault too. With only such a sincere, loving heart and awareness of their faults, they have succeeded and can bring the Dharma to many others.

I say this so that we see that, besides studying to enrich our knowledge, we must make every effort to practise in the mind, struggling hour by hour and minute by minute so that the inner mind grows in compassion and humility. Later, the words we speak will become wonderful Dharma talks with the power to persuade others to practise as we do. That is why we say that to practise means to work. The inner toil of the practitioner is seen by no one, but it creates the result that can later transform the world.

So it is no accident that in a poem for his teacher, written on the occasion of returning with him to his old home village, a disciple wrote with emotion:

You stand there, at peace and serene

Beneath the tree that once shaded your childhood

The old ground of your small, innocent years

Where you lived through your youth

Oh how precious, this wondrous land

That cherished your time of dreams

So that today it resounds everywhere

Becoming an unbroken Dharma voice across the human world.

(Chơn Quang)

The poem also reminds us to prize the hard hours of practice in the mind so that later they may become "an unbroken Dharma voice across the human world".

As for working meaning practising, it means that we work for others and not for ourselves. Such work is also tiring and hard. In working, the young can do voluntary service in the temple, doing it with a heart of sacrifice for others. The older can do voluntary service for the Sangha and for the benefit of sentient beings. All work tirelessly, all bear hardship, dedicated to others.

The motive of each person's work should always be to live for others, to sacrifice and to make offerings. That is true happiness. If to practise is to work, to bear hardship so that it later turns into Dharma talks that transform the world, then working with a motive of living for others (that is, practising) also has its karmic result. Later, it is that life lived for others that will bring our mind into concentration. We know that the power of concentration in the mind is formed by merit, and merit comes from a life lived for others. In this world there is no method that can help a practitioner attain that wonderful state in which the mind is always alert and clear. There is only one factor that can do it: merit. That is, we must live in such a way as to create enough merit. When merit is sufficient, any method can keep us constantly alert without losing it. When merit is sufficient, if we recite the Buddha's name the mind will enter concentration; or if we gather the mind in the breath, the mind will become concentrated in the breath.

We must understand that the root behind it is merit, but to speak of merit we must speak of wrongdoing (this was covered in the lesson "Remorse"). So when wrongdoing is exhausted and merit increases, the mind will easily enter concentration. But how do we exhaust wrongdoing? Repentance is the best way to help us do so. Many practitioners pay attention only to lofty methods and look down on repentance. In truth, repentance is very important, above all repenting of one's own particular faults. Everyone has faults, and faults are usually not the same. So whoever sees that they are prone to anger should repent of anger; whoever is guilty of greed should aim at greed in repenting; the arrogant should take their arrogance as the subject of repentance… In this way, when the faults are exhausted, the mind will gradually enter concentration.

Alongside repenting of our faults, we still create merit. It is precisely a life lived for others, working with dedication, toiling for others and bringing them benefit and peace, that turns into a result that lets concentration arise in the mind. This is what we call working meaning practising.

4. WORKING WITHOUT WORKING

This is a very lofty idea. To work without working means that although we labour hard, we still feel as if we have done nothing. We must avoid feeling entitled because of our contributions or clinging to our achievements. We may be very diligent and dedicated in working for others, but if after doing it we keep remembering it and telling everyone about our labours, the mind that clings to its achievements will gradually grow. The more we do, the more our clinging to achievement increases. Clinging to achievement produces arrogance, and in the next life two results appear: what benefits others brings us glory, but arrogance brings us overbearing pride, conceit, self-importance and contempt for others… All of this prepares a collapse in many lives to come. This is very dangerous.

So to work and see oneself as having worked is a calamity. Although there is merit in the present, collapse, suffering and lowliness await us in many later lives. In fact there is no need to wait for many later lives; even in this life, if we keep clinging to our achievements, remembering them whatever we do, and the mind keeps boasting of what we have done, the result occurs right away. We will fall into some circumstance, either illness or a sudden accident…so that we can no longer work. Then we can only rely on others, repaying our own thought of clinging to achievement.

The sense of entitlement based on one's contributions is so dangerous that we must avoid it. There are two ways to avoid it, to work yet not see oneself as having done anything. The first is to do every task while always keeping mindfulness in the work. If we always keep the mind in mindfulness and in right concentration, then naturally we work without seeing ourselves as working. This is very subtle and strange, and cannot be explained.

For example, one day there is work in the temple, and lay Buddhists come to do voluntary service: cooking rice, splitting firewood, cleaning… but while working they keep the recitation of the Buddha's name in the mind throughout. People like that, if they have merit, will enter concentration right away. Or sometimes we may work hard all day, but when someone asks what we did today, however long we think about it, we can see we did something, yet somehow we no longer feel that we did it. This is not some lofty doctrine; it is natural because concentration has been attained. Concentration is truly wonderful! Our own Buddha taught for the whole of his life, 45 years, and in the end said of himself: "In 45 years I have not spoken a single word." He said so because he taught in right concentration.

So a person who keeps the mind in mindfulness and right concentration when working and speaking will not have the thought of clinging to achievement. Understanding this, we try to work with dedication for everyone but must keep the mind of practice, keeping the mind in meditative concentration at all times, according to the method we are practising.

The second way to eliminate the mind that relies on or clings to achievement is to give deliberate thought to it. Even if we have accomplished something, we should think that what we have done over the past years is nothing compared to the holy ones, the Buddhas and the Bodhisattvas. Over countless lifetimes they have done so many things that benefit sentient beings. By thinking in this way, we do not fall into the thought of clinging to achievement, and we avoid its later consequences. These are the two ways that let us do a great deal yet still not see ourselves as having done anything at all.

To preserve the meaning of dedication, we should also take care to do everything quietly, avoiding the wish for others to know about our good deeds. Only then will the work we do last. If we cling to our achievements, are not discreet and boast of our deeds so that others know, then in the long run we will not be able to sustain our merit-making and everything will collapse. So dedication implies diligence, but a diligence that is silent.

5. THE WORK MUST BRING REAL BENEFIT

Although we work with dedication, we must examine whether that work brings real benefit to people. Some work is very hard but pointless, carries no meaning and benefits no one. In fact some temples still fall into this. Looking closely, we find that some ceremonies in temples today are quite meaningless. Saying this may touch some temples and some teachers, but we should not avoid it. The younger generation especially must look at reality so as to be aware of the need to correct it.

Let us consider the meaning of some Buddhist ceremonies, and we will see which are necessary and which are not. First, the temple inauguration ceremony. It is held after the temple has been fully built. Usually temples hold an inauguration ceremony in the sense of thanking everyone for their help. This is a meaningful ceremony and temples should hold it. A temple is built thanks to the contributions of very many people. When it is finished, this is the occasion for the monastics to invite everyone to gather as a way of giving thanks.

Second, the ceremony of laying the first stone. Some temples hold this ceremony when they begin to lay the first stone. It is a ceremony praying for the Buddhas' protection so that the project will be completed successfully, and it also serves to announce it widely so that people can help support it.

Many temples hold one ceremony after another, leaving the monks and nuns of the temple exhausted by the preparation and worry. Just cleaning, borrowing tables and chairs, preparing bowls and chopsticks, shopping and cooking… is enough to make everyone dizzy. The ceremony is indeed lively and crowded, but it is too much work. If a temple keeps holding one ceremony after another, with such toil and loss of time, then in terms of cause and effect the abbot will suffer very heavy loss of merit. For it is the abbot himself who has made the community of his temple lose time for practice and study, running after ceremonies of form that have no depth.

People of the world are also governed by customs and ceremonies that cost a great deal, especially in organising weddings. They often like to hold a lavish wedding, so that the young couple then spend three or four years without finishing paying off the debt. They do not know that a lavish wedding is not a condition that guarantees a hundred years of happiness for the couple. A hundred years of happiness comes from morality and love, together with the affinities and debts of many lives.

At present, relief trips and charity work in some places are still a matter of form. Some people organise a relief trip where the money for goods is less than the money for the vehicle. That is not practical; it is showy and boastful. Whether such a trip, heavy on form, creates merit we cannot tell, but for now we can only see that it is waste. So whatever we do, we must think and weigh it. We must understand that we are dedicated and diligent for the real benefit of people and not for show.

In short, when we are dedicated in benefiting others we must judge it on two main grounds: whether it raises people's morality or helps people reach deeply into meditative concentration. For example, when we educate street children, we aim to increase their morality. Or when we go to help the elderly, we also encourage them to recite the Buddha's name and practise so that they may be at peace in this life and the next. Those are truly practical works in the Buddhist view. If we stray too far from those two purposes, we must reconsider. If we are not careful, our diligence and dedication will drift away from the Buddha's teaching and become works of form, without meaning.

6. VALUE TIME

There is a very fine Western proverb:

To lose money is to lose little

To lose time is to lose much

To lose health is to lose everything.

Time is infinitely precious to people and to all things, because time that has passed never returns. From the story of Master Dương Kỳ, we see that he valued time very much and always set aside time for practice and study. So we too must value time. At all times and in all places we must make full use of time to practise, study and work, and never let time pass in waste. We must always be aware of our duty. Even when we are tired and can no longer do manual work, we lie down to rest but still keep the recitation of the Buddha's name, not wasting time. As practitioners, we never accept a state in which we are not practising within the mind and have nothing to do outside. At times we may do nothing outwardly, but inwardly we still watch over the mind and let no moment be empty. What a practitioner must avoid is falling into emptiness and boredom and then seeking someone to confide in. If we let the heart feel empty, not knowing what to do, we have already made a mistake in our duty as a monastic.

To use all our time for practice and study, we try to avoid cumbersome rituals that waste time. In Buddhism there is often the ceremony of offering a meal to the Sangha (trai Tăng). In truth this ceremony is not necessary, because when lay Buddhists offer a meal to the Sangha it takes a great deal of the monks' time. Sometimes the monks live very far away, but invited by lay Buddhists, they must still return to attend. If we spent that travelling time on something else, we could do many meaningful things. Do our ancestors not say: "Eating one memorial feast costs three days of ploughing"? The reason Buddhism likes the meal offering is the belief that offering a meal to the Sangha brings merit. In truth, merit is yet to be seen, and I fear there may be wrongdoing in having tired the monks and cost them practice and study time. In present circumstances, the most practical thing is for lay Buddhists to bring their offerings to the temple. Whether the money and rice are little or much, they are valued, and it does not cost the monks time. Doing so will bring more merit.

Of course, for ceremonies that need solemnity in order to imprint certain good impressions and ideas deeply on people's hearts, we must hold them properly and not perfunctorily. For if we hold them carelessly we will incur wrongdoing. For example, the refuge ceremony for lay Buddhists is an important ceremony, and temples must not hold it carelessly. For the moment of taking refuge is the moment when people step into a new life and become disciples of the Buddha. The refuge ceremony must have a solemn, sacred meaning and must leave a good impression that they remember for life. Yet many temples hold the refuge ceremony very carelessly. This leaves not a few people with the feeling that those temples simply want to add names to their list of lay Buddhists, and that is all. For there are cases where lay Buddhists have taken refuge but, asked their Dharma name, cannot remember it. Asking further, we learn that the person had an acquaintance go to the temple and register their name for refuge on their behalf, and the next day send them the certificate, so they have no impression at all of having taken refuge.

The ordination ceremony is the same. This is an important turning point in a person's life. The decision to ordain means leaving family, friends and loved ones, and giving up the dreams of one's youth to enter the life of practice. Their duty is to practise well and bring benefit to sentient beings. From this moment they are no longer a worldly person drifting about, no longer an abandoned child wandering in endless rebirth. From now on they have a kind Father, a great teacher, have the monastics to rely on and the teaching to learn from. So temples must hold the ceremony so that it is not too elaborate yet truly meaningful, so that the person remembers their duty for the rest of their life.

Because time is the most precious capital people have, we must know how to economise and make the most of it. A person who wastes time will not live long (although we know that lifespan also depends on many other causes). This is also easy to understand. For according to the law of cause and effect, "whatever we waste, we will lose". For example, those who habitually cook more rice than is needed and throw it away will suffer the consequences. Often the merit is still there, yet at some moment of dire circumstances they still go hungry. And when merit is exhausted they fall into poverty and hunger, unable to earn money, and even if they beg, no one gives. So if there is leftover rice and no one to give it to, and no dogs, cats, pigs or chickens around, we should still find a way to give it to birds and mice to eat. Although the action is the same as throwing it away, inwardly we do not have the mind of throwing it away; we always think of giving it to the birds and mice. Such a mind is a mind of giving, and there will be no wrongdoing and no karmic result.

In today's age, many people who hold rank and power and make money like water do not hesitate to throw money out of the window. They are immersed in all-night drinking bouts and debauched revelry. Sometimes they drink a bottle of foreign liquor worth the entire fortune of a poor labourer. Sometimes at the end of one party they have wasted several tens of millions of đồng. Yet this sum is the lifetime dream of poor people. With just that, a poor person could raise capital to do business and change their life. Not to mention that in the excitement of the moment, those wealthy directors may tip hostesses hundreds of dollars. Such acts are far too wasteful. And the karmic result has come right in the present. Not a few of them end up "with empty hands" or enjoy a rest in prison, where they have time to recall the days when they once swaggered through the world. Meanwhile, a person who knows the Way never wastes. They are very frugal yet very generous. When necessary, they are ready to spend their wealth to help people without counting gain and loss. Only in this way can they keep their merit for the long term.

In the same way, whoever wastes time will receive the karmic result that time is no more. Time being no more means no longer having the opportunity to exist in this world. Such people often die young. Of course many causes lead to early death (among them having killed a great deal in previous lives), but an equally important cause is wasting too much time, so that these people are no longer worth keeping alive and their lifespan ends early. This too is very strange. Even so, we need to understand that the question is not whether one lives long or short. The essential thing is that we hope to live only in order to benefit others. If there is work that needs to be done to benefit the Buddha's teaching and sentient beings and we have not yet done it, then we must live. And to have the merit of a long life, we must never waste time and must live in a reasonable way.

In life we must work diligently and be dedicated to others. However, we must be skilful: we should not work ourselves ragged until we are exhausted and can do nothing afterwards. As people who understand the Way, we know that this body is not ours. Once we have chosen the path of practice, this body belongs to the Buddha's teaching and to sentient beings. Before, thinking this body was ours, we either indulged it excessively or tormented it excessively by working ourselves ragged to earn money. Now that we understand the Way, have the ideal of practice, know how to love all sentient beings and know how to hold the Buddha's teaching dear and close, we also know that this impermanent body is no longer ours but belongs to the Buddhas. From here on our lives are placed in the Buddha's hands and we are only the Buddha's servants. Therefore we have no right to indulge or torment it. We must treat our body skilfully so that it is a tool and a means that lets us do the Buddha's work for a long time. Only then can we do moral works and beneficial things that bring happiness to sentient beings. That is, we still work and still sacrifice for everyone. But everything must be done skilfully and without excess so that the work can be kept up over the long term. Of course, that long-term work is not for ourselves but for the Buddha's teaching and for sentient beings. We always remember one thing: the deepest motive is still for others, but how to handle our efforts and our health reasonably is a mark of wisdom and intelligence.