19 Buddhist monks have captivated Americans – including me | Opinion

In late October, a Texas news headline caught my eye: "Buddhist monks embark on walk of peace from Fort Worth to Washington, D.C."

As a U.S. citizen whose family fled here when I was 8 after the Vietnam War in 1975 and who was raised as both a Buddhist and a Lutheran in Phoenix, of course I was curious. I clicked on the Fort Worth Star-Telegram's story and read that about 20 monks had begun a 2,300-mile walk "to promote national healing, unity and compassion."

Awww, the skeptical journalist in me thought. That's ... nice. I wished them well, but really let's break it down: Buddhists make up just 1% of U.S. adults, so who cares? And wait, who knew there's a Huong Dao Vipassana Bhavana Center in Fort Worth? Plus, minority monks in robes walking for peace in these not peaceful times ‒ let alone through America's Deep South ‒ seemed dangerously wishful. I wondered how long they'd last, then forgot all about them. Winter was coming.

Oh me of little faith. The Walk for Peace ‒ even after one of the monks lost a leg when a pickup hit their pilgrimage outside Houston, leaving 19 to carry on ‒ has gained millions of followers of all faiths worldwide on social media as the monks have hiked through sun, rain and snow and arrived in our nation's capital Feb. 10.

On the 109th day since the monks left Texas, their concluding ceremony is scheduled for Wednesday, Feb. 11, at the Lincoln Memorial.

Why are folks greeting Buddhist monks as if they're rock stars?

It wasn't until December that the Walk for Peace caught my attention again. Suddenly, the Buddhist monks ‒ bald heads blending into brown and saffron robes, some walking with no shoes, all of Asian descent, ages ranging from late 20s to 70 ‒ flooded my social feeds. Accompanying the single-file procession was Aloka, a stray dog that the monks had adopted after he followed them on a prior walk in India ‒ and whose Facebook page now has nearly a million followers.

Black, Brown and White folks of all ages turned up in communities big and small to greet these pilgrims, hooting, hollering and clapping as if they're rock stars. Many offer flowers, water bottles, fruits or lip balm; others play musical instruments or dash out rainbows of bubbles.

In Selma, Alabama, people followed the Walk for Peace across the Edmund Pettus Bridge, site of the 1965 Bloody Sunday beatings of Civil Rights marchers, and watched the monks release flower petals into the river from the bridge as they chanted and prayed in remembrance of those who lost their lives.

In Georgia, thousands of the curious lined the roads and showed up for the talks at the monks' daily lunch stops and nightly resting sessions. These people ‒ many of them Christian and surprised that these Buddhists weren't trying to convert anyone ‒ were as astounded by their own reaction as I was.

On New Year's Eve, theartistlisalove posted on Instagram: "I found myself standing in the cold for hours, feet aching, waiting to see monks pass by. Why? ... For so many of us, these Buddhist monks became the only living image of Christ we’ve encountered. ... I don’t know anyone who would walk a mile barefoot for me, much less 2,300 miles. Yet here they were ‒ embodying the humility, grace, humanity, and compassion I’ve studied in scripture. Despite being surrounded by hundreds of churches, this is the first time in my life I’ve witnessed these virtues in such profound action."

Indeed, when these austere monks started walking in the fall, they ate their one meal a day outside and slept in tents, supported by volunteers who follow them in an RV and a couple of cars. But as news of the Walk for Peace spread ‒ through photos and videos taken by pilgrims texted to a savvy social media handler back in Texas ‒ churches opened their doors to shelter these followers of the Buddha.

Volunteers along the way also coordinated with local law enforcement to protect the walkers from harm, with sheriffs and police and fire chiefs welcoming the monks at their borders before deputies and officers shepherded them to the next county, the next big city.

These uniformed men and women who greeted the Walk for Peace with such respect and care provided quite the contrast from inhumane federal immigration raids and deadly federal agents dominating the news. For these monks, local law enforcement has been their peace officers, their shield.

What should be commonplace ‒ respect, compassion, humanity ‒ seems a miracle in these times of hate and division. But maybe that's what these quiet monks have achieved, what so many Americans need right now: healing.

Walk for Peace has gone so viral that the overwhelmed group had to create a Facebook page called Walk for Peace ‒ Official Community so devotees could have a place to post their own images and thoughts, so the curious could ask questions and receive answers. It has gained nearly 400,000 followers. Health care workers have volunteered at some night stops to check on both the monks and Aloka.

Speaking of Aloka, the monks' best friend earned his own profile in People magazine, which called the 4-year-old Indian pariah dog the star of this "moving meditation."

People are following the Walk for Peace as if they're running after Forrest Gump

I live and work in Virginia. On Feb. 2, as the monks had done at other Southern state capitals, they invited the public to follow them on a walk to a government building in Richmond. And thousands followed just like thousands of others had trailed behind Walk for Peace to the other seats of government, as if they were inspired by Forrest Gump to run after something they didn't fully understand but knew they needed.

And like other mayors and governors had done, Richmond Mayor Danny Avula and Virginia Gov. Abigail Spanberger welcomed the monks with proclamations and well wishes.

After reaching the nation's capital Feb. 10, the monks held an interfaith ceremony at the Washington National Cathedral. On Wednesday, they're scheduled to walk from Capitol Hill to the Lincoln Memorial for an afternoon peace gathering. The next morning, the Buddhist monks plan to walk to Maryland's capitol, then board a chartered bus home.

On Valentine's Day, the bus is scheduled to arrive in Fort Worth, where the monks have invited the public to walk with them about 5 miles back to the temple where it all began.

Already, followers are mourning the end of this Walk for Peace to Washington. To which the monks have answered: You are not alone. We will still walk together in spirit. Get up every morning and make a choice ‒ today is going to be our peaceful day.

Thuan Le Elston, a USA TODAY Opinion editor, is the author of "Rendezvous at the Altar: From Vietnam to Virginia."