By Dayna Mason

Although the number of Americans who identify as Christian has declined, they still make up a majority at about 65%. So it isn’t surprising that Buddhist monks would encounter resistance during their 2,300-mile walk for peace, simply because they don’t share the belief that Jesus is the only way. What’s more disheartening is that people who claim a faith rooted in love would choose to respond to strangers with hostility.

In some places, people shouted at the monks, yelling, “You are going to hell.” During one stop in Georgia, a monk invited the crowd to close their eyes and observe their minds. Someone yelled: “Do not partake in the demonic ritual of silence.” That sentence alone tells you something about the moment we’re living in—when silence is seen as a threat.

When the Loudest Response Is Kindness

 The walk was part of a months-long peace pilgrimage ending in Washington, D.C. The monks’ intention was to “raise awareness for peace, loving kindness, and compassion across America and the world.” No protests. No demands. Just walking and invitations for people to pause and connect with kindness.

When confronted with insults, they responded with the same words, over and over: “May you be well, be happy, and be peaceful.”

 No sarcasm. No debate. Just a blessing.

Whenever they stopped to talk with those gathered, their message was the same: peace begins in the mind. We cannot control others. We can only change our own thoughts, words, and responses. And when we meet hate with loving kindness, that changes the world.

Recently, the Pope gave his annual message for Lent, asking Catholics to fast from words that hurt or offend—to give up hate speech for forty days. It’s sad that this even needs to be said. But, we seem to be living in a time where cruelty has become casual. Not shocking or rare. Casual.

And casual cruelty spreads fastest online.

The Distance That Makes Hate Easy

 It’s much easier to hate people you don’t have to look in the eyes.

The internet erased the distance between us and the world, but it also numbed our empathy. We encounter headlines instead of humans. Opinions instead of lives. We scroll past suffering the way we scroll past recipes we’ll never cook.

If you can turn people into symbols, threats, or stereotypes, you never have to wrestle with the messy reality that they are people.

People with fears. With families. People who are certain they are doing the right thing. People you might see very differently if they were standing in front of you.

The Radical Simplicity of “May You Be Well”

 When the monks encountered hostility, they didn’t argue theology. They didn’t defend themselves. They offered a blessing to people who were condemning them.

This seems almost absurd today because we’ve come to believe every attack requires a counterattack.

Someone posts something that frustrates you? Fire off a response.
Someone disagrees with you? Start proving them wrong.
Someone is cruel? Justify being cruel back.

We’ve confused retaliation with strength. The monks demonstrated compassion that doesn’t require agreement.

You cannot escalate a blessing.

Compassion Is Not the Same as Silence

Responding with loving kindness doesn’t mean staying quiet in the face of cruelty or abandoning justice, truth, or accountability.

Many of us believe there are only two options: rage loudly or stay silent. But there is a third option—speak firmly without hatred.

You can say, “I think this policy harms people,” without saying the people who support it are monsters. You can speak up about injustice without cheering when someone you disagree with suffers. You can stand your ground without hardening your heart.

Hate multiplies when it’s returned. It loses momentum when it isn’t. Loving kindness isn’t weakness. It’s restraint with intention. It isn’t passivity. It’s a different kind of strength.

Lent as a Mirror

Lent is traditionally about giving something up as a way to confront the habits that shape who we become. But the Pope’s request this year wasn’t about sugar or caffeine. It was the way we talk about other human beings. Because the way we speak is never just words. It reveals the heart behind them.

In his message, he urged people to avoid harsh words, refrain from rash judgment, and stop speaking ill of others—especially those who are absent and cannot defend themselves. In families, friendships, workplaces, social media, political debates, the media, and Christian communities.

This emphasis on thoughtful speech has been part of Christian teaching for centuries.

In the fourth century, St. John wrote that the person who controls their tongue during Lent practices a fast more demanding than any physical abstinence. The mouth, he said, is where the inner life becomes visible. What comes out of it reveals what is actually inside.

Think about it for a moment. What do your own words reveal about you?

St. Benedict said, “Speak only when it adds something true, necessary, or kind. Everything else is noise.”

Giving up hate speech for forty days is a mirror. It forces uncomfortable questions: How often do we dismiss someone with a quick “They’re idiots”? How quickly do we sort people into groups and stop seeing individuals? How easily do we excuse cruelty when it’s aimed at the “right” target?

Both the monks’ and Pope’s messages point to the same starting place: not the government, not the other side—but the interior life of the individual.

The part we actually can control: ourselves.

How Change Happens

 We want moments like the monks’ walk to wake everyone up now. To suddenly make empathy trend. But cultural change rarely happens overnight. It arrives as repetition.

Small acts. Repeated again and again. Until they become ordinary.

A blessing repeated in the face of hostility.
A religious leader asking millions of people to reconsider their words.
Communities choosing restraint instead of reaction.

Historically, this is how change begins. Slowly and persistently.

Choosing a Different Reflex

 Most of our daily interactions aren’t carefully chosen. They’re automatic and emotional. We react faster than we think.

What the monks demonstrated was a practice of responding differently.

We picture change happening through big events and major turning points. But most of life happens in ordinary conversations and everyday reactions. That split second when we decide whether to prove a point or preserve a relationship. Whether to speak to win or speak to understand.

“Give up hate speech” and “May you be well” are daily practices—small interruptions in the habits that shape the world we live in.

And when enough people begin interrupting the same habits at the same time, a different kind of world starts to take shape.

What If We Took This Seriously?

 Imagine if even a fraction of us treated this as a real challenge for the next forty days. Not to stop speaking up or to stop disagreeing, but to stop dehumanizing. To stop assuming the worst. To stop feeding the algorithm with outrage.

To replace reflex with: May you be well.

It wouldn’t fix everything. But it would shift the emotional climate we all live in, through small, quiet choices no one applauds.

One post you decide doesn’t need to exist because it doesn’t help.
One moment you wait until you’re calm before you respond—or decide not to respond at all.
One pause long enough to remember there is a human being on the other side.

We rarely believe our small choices matter. But the life we experience is the result of millions of small choices made every day.

That’s where every lasting change begins.

With me.