| |
|
|
Shopping for the Dalai Lama
BY CHRIS WRIGHT
|
|
|
|
|
When a Krispy Kreme franchise opened in Medford earlier this year, few people thought the town could top the pageantry of that event anytime soon. So news that the Dalai Lama would be stopping by a Medford Buddhist temple last Friday generated quite a buzz — not all of it positive. Hank Peirce, a local clergyman, attended a town meeting a week before the visit, and found himself calming the nerves of a jittery populace, many of whom were haunted by visions of trampled flower beds and mangled bus schedules. Peirce, meanwhile, was harboring some serious misgivings of his own. A minister at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Medford, Peirce, 37, had been chosen to greet the Tibetan holy man on behalf of the town’s clergy — a task which involved presenting him with some sort of offering. "We were told you’re not supposed to go to the Dalai Lama empty-handed," Peirce explained the day before the visit. He was speaking on his cell phone from Davis Square, where he was concluding a long, fruitless search for a suitable gift for the Buddha incarnate. "I’m driving myself nuts," he said. "What do you get the man who has nothing?" It’s not like Peirce didn’t have ideas. For weeks, his friends had bombarded him with suggestions — from socks to ties to wind chimes. None of them seemed quite right. One person proposed a pair of Birkenstocks. "I’m not gonna get the guy some stupid hippie shoes," the reverend replied. "Besides, I don’t know what his shoe size is." Another advised a Red Sox shirt with DALAI LAMA on the back. "What number would I put on it?" Peirce asked. "A zero?" For Peirce, the most important thing was to get the Dalai Lama something tasteful. For this reason, he rejected the suggestion of a makeover — "Oh yeah, Queer Eye for the Buddhist Guy." Likewise, the T-shirt that read WHAT WOULD BUDDHA DO? was a non-starter. He thought about gifts that captured the flavor of Medford. But what? "There used to be Medford rum and Medford crackers," he lamented. "But the town’s not famous for anything anymore. Do I say, ‘Here’s a coupon for a nail salon’? ‘A cheese-steak sub’? I think he’s a vegetarian." Peirce’s quest was further complicated by the fact that he didn’t want to be ostentatious. "You don’t want to be like, ‘I present you with this jewel-encrusted clock,’" he said. "You don’t want to be too full of yourself. And you don’t want to spend too much money." He paused for a moment. "There’s a watch I found outside my church. I could give it to him and say, ‘Here, I found this.’ But then someone might come in looking for it and I’d have to say, ‘Oh, I gave that to the Dalai Lama.’" As he spoke, the shops were closing around him. The next morning, Peirce had made peace with the fact that he would have nothing to offer the Dalai Lama but a warm smile and a short speech. "If God had meant me to give him something," he thought as he arrived at the rendezvous point, "I’d have something." Then he saw a friend of his in the crowd. "Here," the friend said, holding out an orange knit cap. Seconds later, Peirce overheard a small boy saying, "It’s colder here than it is in India. The Dalai Lama’s going to get sick!" When Peirce was eventually presented to His Holiness, he handed him the woolly cap, explaining that it was a gift from the children of Medford, who were concerned for his health. There were a few excruciating moments before the Dalai Lama took the hat, put it on, and, grinning broadly, turned toward a bank of photographers. "Look in the papers tomorrow," Peirce said afterward. "You’ll probably see the Dalai Lama wearing my hat."
|
