Rapid urbanization and a tech-driven lifestyle have pulled younger Vietnamese ever further from temple courtyards. Smartphone screens outshine incense burners, and the steady drumbeat of modern entertainment often drowns out the quiet rhythms of Thiền and Tịnh Độ practice. In big cities, Buddhist festivals still dazzle, yet the turnout tilts heavily toward older generations.

State regulations present another tightrope walk. Official “religious services” must register under government oversight, which can curb spontaneous community initiatives or full Sangha autonomy. Pilgrimage hotspots—like Perfume Pagoda and Bái Đính—draw massive crowds, but a growing emphasis on tourism revenue risks turning living traditions into mere photo-op backdrops.

Overseas, Vietnamese temple communities hold down the fort in Los Angeles, Paris or Sydney. Yet second-generation families, caught between two worlds, often treat Saturday classes as more cultural heritage exhibit than spiritual anchor. Language barriers compound the drift: chanting in Sino-Vietnamese or classical Chinese doesn’t always translate into meaningful engagement for kids fluent only in English or French.

A global mindfulness boom has opened curious doors, but mainstream “app-based Dharma” sometimes feels like fast food—cheap, convenient and lacking nourishment. Few digital platforms match up to the intimate warmth of a teahouse chat with a monk after zazen. The pandemic’s Zoom dhamma marathons showed great promise, yet digital fatigue is real.

Meanwhile, climate anxiety and social justice movements are nudging temples to play a more vocal role in environmental and humanitarian causes. Balancing Zen’s disciplined stillness with Pure Land’s devotional chants, plus local spirit-worship customs, keeps Vietnamese Buddhism unique—but that very fusion can confuse newcomers searching for a clear-cut path. In a world racing ahead, preserving genuine practice without fossilizing traditions has become the community’s greatest rub.