Digital
Darkness
The centuries old Buddhist practice
of spreading compassion and well-being
by hand-pushed wooden wheels has
taken a leap into the new millennium.
Now it can be done digitally. By
downloading the chants, a computer’s
spinning hard-drive becomes the ultimate
mega-prayer wheel. Peaceful prayers
of digital compassion are sent in
all directions.
Digital Buddhism is big business
in many parts of the world but not
everywhere is the same. As the faithful
mumble through their mantras, Tibet,
that hotly disputed, desolate and
windswept Chinese outpost, has become
home to a resurgence in its own highly
distinctive brand of Buddhism.
The ever-smiling Dalai Lama is the
(perceived) hero of the modern Tibetan
story, of course. Cooped up in Indian
exile, this diminutive Nobel Prize
winner courts kings and presidents
from across the globe. He’s
the archetypal freedom fighter, the
apple of Hollywood’s eye and
a charismatic advocate for world
peace. He’s put Buddhism, and
in particular Tibetan Buddhism, onto
a new plain, a much bigger media
and marketing platform. The Dalai,
however, is also a god-king, a devout
leader of a deeply devout people
who yearn for his touch and personal
blessing. But beyond the saffron,
his is an empty world with empty
counsel and empty hope. His nonchalant
leadership advises “If you
think my teaching is nonsense, then
forget it!” Now, how helpful
can that be?
Today, there are an estimated 700
million professing Buddhists. They
live among diverse people groups
that, by 2010, just five years from
now, are expected to number 1.87
billion. Does it all seem unreal
to you? These are tough people to
get to and even harder to penetrate
but no matter how fast they spin,
Tibetan prayer wheels are of no help
to the Kham people.
One of the largest sub-groups in
Tibet is the migrating Kham people.
Determining just how many believers
there are scattered across Tibet’s
provinces is easier said than done.
Separated as they are by huge mountain
passes and mammoth canyons, unforgiving
rivers and treacherous roads, some
place the number of Kham believers
at 60,000. Others, more experienced
and possibly more widely travelled
in Tibet, speak of maybe just 1000
Christians among the Kham people.
Perhaps even as few as 50. Among
the Northern Kham people, there may
well be no believers at all. Not
one. That’s real.
Whatever the figure, this is stony
terrain for the Gospel. Buddhism
separates into all sorts of shades
in Tibet but everywhere you look
there are specialists in sorcery.
The shamans writhe and moan and sweat,
screeching in the weirdest of voices,
all the time showing extraordinary,
even superhuman strength. They are
experts in trances, exorcisms, curses
and weather control and then they
compel the spirits into doing human
bidding. This is an occultist world
of malignant, aggressive and violent
spirits lurking in life’s shadows,
waiting for the chance to strike.
Some of Tibet’s more devout
monks are said to transport themselves
spiritually, appearing in places
far apart and doing it on the same
day. This is a dark place to be.
It’s little wonder Tibetans
live by fear and no surprise to see
them crawling prostrate, weary and
bloodied, before their gods. No pilgrimage
is too far, no sacrifice too great
to appease their offended deities.1
AsiaLink partners are working away
in these most isolated of settings.
Snow Mountain Radio has begun broadcasting
specifically to the Kham of Tibet
and the transforming message of the
powerful reign of Jesus Christ is
being received in one of this earth’s
most remote, inhospitable and hostile
environments.
And you’ll be surprised at
who is listening in. “We
were travelling on the Tibetan border
to a community that was 98% Kham.
That day the road had been washed
out and so we went by motorcycle,
through rivers, over bubbling hotsprings
and frozen glaciers.
Four hours from the nearest
town and from any electricity,
we came
across a Buddhist monastery in the
high, rocky mountains at about 14,000ft.
Across the monastery courtyard, we
noticed what looked like tin cans
hanging from the roof line. We discovered
they were solar panels collecting
electrical current. The team were
invited into the 4’x 5’ room
where the monk on duty lived during
the winter. The wires from the solar
panels came through the window and
charged two oversized batteries and
connected to the batteries was a
simple short wave radio. We asked
if they were able to tune into any
programming in the Kham language. “Of
course,” they replied, “Snow
Mountain Radio from 9.00 to 9.30
every evening. We tape it and listen
to it together.”
It took everything to contain
our excitement!”
|
