Why Did He become a Monk?

(Yano Jushoku in Amida Temple in Fukuoka)

During our retreat programs, we invite a local Buddhist monk from Amida Temple to join us for a special cultural and spiritual experience. Guests have the opportunity to try practices like zazen meditation and shakyou, the mindful copying of Buddhist scripture, under his gentle guidance.

One of the most meaningful parts of his visit is the time we spend asking him questions. His presence is calm and grounded, and his way of sharing stories always leaves a lasting impression.

(At the annual fire ceremony in March)

One story that has stayed with me is his answer to the question: Why did you become a monk?

He was born into a temple family, so the path seemed natural. In Japan, many temples are passed down through generations, but it's not the case for every family. When he was a child, he asked his grandmother, “What happens if I don’t take over the temple?” Her answer was simple: “Then you’ll have to leave. Only those who protect the temple can live in it.”

At the time, he lived in the temple with his parents and grandparents. His grandfather was the head monk, and his father was next in line. As a young boy, he didn’t fully understand the deeper meaning behind his grandmother’s words—he just knew he didn’t want to lose the place he called home.

(In the countryside, the monks travel between each temples to support each other)

Later, while working in an office job after university, he was encouraged to gain some experience in the world outside the temple before taking over the family role. But life took an unexpected turn—his father passed away when he was only 20 years old, before his grandfather.

Suddenly, the responsibility of carrying on the family’s temple tradition fell to him. Without hesitation, he left his job and began his monk training. He hadn’t expected to return to the temple so soon, but he accepted his path with clarity and humility.

Now, many years later, he continues to live in the same temple he grew up in, sharing Buddhist wisdom with quiet strength and a kind smile.

Every time he visits our retreat, I feel reminded that a person’s path doesn’t have to be loud or dramatic to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s the quiet choices rooted in family, tradition, and love that shape a life.