It has been well noted at this point that Buddhist studies has suffered from a disproportionate emphasis on its idealized ascetic representations. Family life has, as a result, been marginalized (if not entirely ignored).Recent scholarship has been broadening the conversation, challenging the worldview presented by popular textbook materials such as Walpola Rahula's What the Buddha Taught. The attempt to sever worldly attachments is certainly a key Buddhist goal, but it is not necessarily the practice around which all Buddhists organize their lives. Family ties have surely always bound Buddhist communities together, regardless of how impermanent those families might be or how easily such ties can lead to dukkha. Placing the spotlight on family life brings these ties and practices into focus.The articles in this collection do a wonderful job of describing messy moments that arise when families and religious institutions interact. Each article in its own way reminds us that religious communities are filled with families and that these families necessarily contribute to the organization of those communities. To use a classical Buddhist formula, Buddhist institutions and Buddhist families are deeply and inevitably interconnected. They can never be pulled apart into neatly separate categories. Buddhist clerics may function as institutional authorities in certain contexts, but the articles here remind us that clerics do not have their authority handed over to them in a social vacuum. On the contrary, Buddhist institutional power, in its various community settings, is invariably replete with social and familial ties and dynamics.We (the guest editors) find these articles suggest that the relationship between religious authority and family ties can be one of competition. Although none of the articles identifies competition as a feature of this dynamic, when read together, we see the highlighting of competition as a fascinating by-product of the contributors' analyses.Consider, for example, Joel Gruber's contribution. In it he examines two Ny ingma texts including Blazing Splendor, the memoirs of Tulku Urgyen, which, among other things, tells of his grandmother Konchok Paldron, a teacher in her own right. The family/ religious-authority connection is evident in its very authorship, but Gruber's study goes well beyond this obvious point. Gruber highlights a number of scenes in the text in which the religious establishment comes into conflict with Paldron's own family's history and needs. The most powerful example presented takes place when Konchok Paldron's son is identified as a tulku. After his identification, a monastic committee arrives at the house requesting that the child be handed over to them. The problem, however, is that they have come during a family funeral. Konchok Paldron therefore requests that they return at a more appropriate time. The monastic committee is offended, but does eventually leave, only to return not long thereafter with a much larger group with a more threatening demeanor. To avoid shedding blood, Konchok Paldron finally agrees to give her son away, but a few years later, after the drama appears to have subsided, she asks for permission to have her son visit her at home. The monastic authorities agree, and the son returns. She then refuses to send him back. According to the text, this is how she manages to get her revenge.This scene, as described by Gruber, functions as an extraordinary example of how families and religious institutions can find themselves in a tug-of-war over the children they each believe they have priority over. Elijah Ary, a tulku in the West, describes a similar tension arising around his own identification as a tulku.1 Gruber and Ary ask poignant questions: To whom does a child belong? Does the child belong to religious communities claiming to have power over the supramundane world, or does the child belong to the family? Or to both? And when, if ever, is the child empowered to be part of answering those questions? …