Krishna Prema’s Food for Thought 2026 #2 – Who Gives Us Protection—and From What?

Lessons from an Interfaith Monastic Dialogue on Frauenchiemsee

The evening light settled gently over Lake Chiemsee as we gathered beneath the shade of lakeside trees at Frauenwörth Abbey. Representatives of different religious traditions had come together to explore a question that concerns us all: How can we find protection in a world marked by uncertainty, conflict, and rapid change? Who gives us protection—and from what? What can the world's spiritual traditions offer people today?

This dialogue was part of our annual gathering organized by the Weltkloster Association, an interreligious initiative that brings together monastics and spiritual practitioners from different traditions for several days of shared practice, dialogue, and friendship. This year, our host was Frauenwörth Abbey—a Benedictine monastery with more than 1,200 years of history, situated on an island in Lake Chiemsee near Munich, Germany. It was a remarkably beautiful setting for such a conversation.

Due to other commitments, my participation was limited to just twenty-four hours on the island. I arrived in the late afternoon together with my friend, Bhikshu Tenzin Peljor, a German monk in the Tibetan Buddhist tradition, and departed the following day after the public program.

Although my stay was brief, it became an unforgettable experience.

After settling into our rooms, we gathered for dinner and later walked across the peaceful island to a quiet place by the lake, where our first dialogue continued beneath the evening sky. The following morning we practiced together according to our respective traditions, enjoyed a guided tour through the monastery and church, held another discussion before lunch, and finally participated in a public panel discussion where we shared our reflections on the theme of protection.

During one of our conversations, Bhikshu Tenzin Peljor shared a remarkable story from the Chinese occupation of Tibet. During that time, many Tibetan monks endured imprisonment, torture, and unimaginable hardship at the hands of the Chinese military.

After these events, His Holiness the Dalai Lama welcomed groups of monks who had survived the persecution. Many were deeply traumatized and spoke openly about the suffering they had endured. Among them, however, was one monk who appeared unusually peaceful, balanced, and even joyful. There was no outward sign that he had been broken by his experiences.

The Dalai Lama noticed him and asked, "What about you? Did you not also face great danger during those years?"

The monk replied, "Yes, Your Holiness, I did indeed face a very great danger."

The Dalai Lama asked, "What danger was that?"

The monk answered: "The greatest danger came at the moment when I almost lost my compassion for those who were torturing me. Had I lost that compassion, I would have lost my humanity."

For a moment, his words lingered in silence.

His response is a profound reminder that our greatest danger is not always the suffering inflicted upon us by others, but allowing that suffering to destroy the qualities that make us truly human. Even in the darkest circumstances, compassion remains a source of inner freedom and strength.

As I listened, I was deeply moved. I found myself asking, Could I ever respond like that? At the same time, I realized that his story expressed almost exactly what I had prepared for the discussion from the perspective of the Gauḍīya Vaiṣṇava tradition.

Every spiritual tradition has prayers for protection, sacred figures associated with protection, and teachings that encourage taking shelter in the Divine. In our tradition, Lord Nṛsiṁhadeva is worshiped as the supreme protector of His devotees. Naturally, we pray for His protection—but an important question follows:

What is He protecting us from?

Our first thought is usually of external dangers—illness, accidents, violence, natural disasters, or war. And certainly, it is natural to pray for protection from such hardships. Yet the prayers of our ācāryas reveal an even deeper understanding.

A devotee is ultimately more concerned about protection from the inner enemies than the outer ones. We pray not merely for physical safety, but for the preservation of our most valuable possession: our devotion to God, our compassion for others, and our spiritual consciousness.

Prahlāda Mahārāja prays: "O Lord Nṛsiṁhadeva, source of all power, please destroy the demonic desires within my heart. Appear there, dispel my ignorance, and by Your mercy make me fearless in the struggle for existence.“ - SB 5.18.8

Similarly, Bhaktivinoda Ṭhākura offers a deeply personal prayer: "Six enemies constantly dwell within my imperfect heart—lust, anger, greed, illusion, pride, and envy. Along with them come fault-finding, the desire for recognition, and dishonesty. O Lord Nṛsiṁha, please purify my heart and make it wholly devoted to loving service unto Śrī Kṛṣṇa."

These prayers reveal that the deepest form of protection is not simply that nothing bad happens to us. Rather, it is that we do not lose our connection with God, our hope, our compassion, and our integrity—even in the midst of suffering. Protection often means that God carries us through our difficulties rather than removing them altogether.

Listening to Tenzin's story, I realized how beautifully this understanding transcends religious boundaries. The Tibetan monk prayed for the strength not to lose compassion. Bhaktivinoda Thakura prayed for protection from lust, anger, envy, pride, and forgetfulness of God.

Different traditions may use different language, yet both point toward the same spiritual truth: our greatest danger is not always what happens to us, but what happens within us. Both point toward the same inner transformation—preserving the heart in the midst of adversity.

Perhaps this is one of the greatest gifts that authentic spiritual traditions can offer today's world: enabling us to remain loving, compassionate, and spiritually awake, regardless of external circumstances.

As I left the island by boat on my way to Munich—the next day, my schedule already continued with the Ratha-yātrā festival in Cologne—I reflected once more on how valuable these interfaith encounters truly are.

They not only send an important message of mutual respect and cooperation to the wider world; they also deepen my appreciation and understanding of my own spiritual tradition.

Sometimes we discover the depth of our own faith most clearly when we listen carefully to the wisdom of another.

Photo: Susanne Windischbauer, Europakloster Gut Aich