church in Japan and the Church in Japan and Church period

Yesterday I went to church in Moka for the first time. The congregation was small (including Jennifer and me, the pastor, and the parishioners, there were eleven people total in attendance that morning); and so the service was intimate, to say the least.

I've been wanting so much to get connected to the Church in Japan and to feel part of some larger Christian community in my area. But I've been in a bit of a slump on account of the fact that there just isn't an English-speaking church in Moka or anywhere nearby. I've followed Jennifer to church a couple times to places outside of Moka (last weekend to somewhat disastrous but mostly just humorous results when what was described to be an English-speaking Evangelical church turned out to be a Spanish-speaking Jehovah's Witness congregation; but if you want to know more about that, I'll let you read Jennifer's account), but have never exercised much initiative on my own part to find a "church family" with which to associate myself.

The church I attended on Sunday was conducted entirely in Japanese, so I understood nothing of the Message and very little of the service as a whole; yet, it was powerful and refreshing and entirely beautiful just to be there worshiping with other believers.

How is this possible? The answer is, Jesus.

I don't understand how Christianity works in Japan. By this I mean, my own grasp of Christianity is so embedded in Western culture and has been shaped and influenced by two-thousand years of Western thought. And Japan is not Western. At all. And this general clashing of worldviews is one of the myriad reasons why only about one percent of all people in Japan refer to themselves as Christians. And yet there are people in this country who know and love and serve Jesus Christ, despite the centuries of culturally-biased gunk that cling stubbornly to our collective notion of this person that English speakers call Jesus but in Japan is known as イエス ("iesu"). But though the numbers are small, they are still a testament to the truth that God is so much bigger than language or culture or boarders or continents.

A Sunday school class for children ran concurrent to the church service in an adjacent room. After the service had finished, a boy came into the chapel holding a heavy white book. I noticed with surprise and delight that it was the exact same illustrated Bible that I had owned as a child (except this one was, undoubtedly, written in Japanese). But I assume, with a tinge of sadness, that the pictures must be the same: that Adam and Eve, Abraham, Moses, Elijah, and Jesus are all depicted with white skin and auburn hair. I think about my friend Ebi confessing only two nights before that she, as a child, had bought into an assumption that White people where somehow innately superior to Asians. Today she has, at least consciously, outgrown this perception, and yet how heartbreaking it is to hear this! How devastating that there are children who don't know that they have been made in God's image; that they are beautifully and lovingly crafted individuals with a unique capacity to give glory to their Creator.

Sometimes I feel weighed down by the spiritual deadness that pervades Japanese culture. People don't seem to really believe in much of anything. Most people cling to their work, and the people (mostly women) who don't have to work constantly find other (mostly materialistic) avenues for passing their time. Fanaticism and radicalism, in general, are looked down upon. Which makes things tough for Christians because following Jesus can look like a pretty fanatical and radical thing. But God is bigger than all these variables. And so, regardless of them, the Church exists in Japan. It is small, but against incredibly unfavorable odds, it exists.

I want to go back to this church, and I ask that you would continue to pray for the community that I'm surrounded by here in in Moka. And please pray for Japan.

Proof That I'm Turning Japanese

MyHeritage: Celebrity Collage - Pedigree charts - Historical photos

Yeah! I look like Ayumi Hamasaki!
P.S.: Thanks Vicki.

Igirisu & aamondo

My English bulletin board for February and March. Sometimes, I err toward information overload. Especially when I'm talking about something I get really excited about. Like the U.K.



And, for those of you who are as unceasingly amused by awkward Engrish as I am, here's the bemusingly obscure message that I found on my package of almonds the other day:

How like a winter...

As I stand in the bathroom tonight, ready to leap into a scalding-hot shower, I first gaze down, astonished, at the mountain of clothing that has just come off of my body: a pair of sweater-knit tights, track pants, wool socks, leg warmers, heat-reflective tank top, long-sleeved shirt, sweater, fleece jacket. And what is more astounding than the towering heap itself is the realization that, even with all these things on, I still felt cold! In my own house! With the heaters on! I shake my head confoundedly before slipping into the steaming shower.

Yes, it’s still winter in Japan. My bike-ride to work in the morning still requires all the above-mentioned articles of clothing, plus the addition of a heavy topcoat, gloves, scarf, earmuffs, hat, and warm boots. And despite the brief lapse into slightly more spring-like weather that we were graced with this last weekend, I still found myself cursing life itself as I plopped down at my desk in the teachers’ room this morning and furiously attempted to rub life back into my sorely frosted fingers.

But, otherwise, life is good. Which is weird, because life has also been exceptionally difficult lately. I haven’t taken the time to update the readers of this blog on any of the major events of the last few weeks. And, even though I could sit here and type out a half-hearted and tactfully censored version of my February in Japan so far, I’m going to put it off just a little bit longer, until I feel I can more adequately reflect on what all these events have meant for me and my life and my future life in Japan. What I will say is that, when the representatives from the Board of Education came to my school last Tuesday to meet with me, my principal, and Ms. Shimowada, my English teacher, I felt no hesitation in informing them of my intention to renew my contract for a second year. Yes, living in Japan is difficult. However, gently and persistently, God reminds me of the incredible beauty that can still be found in this country and these people. More on this later. I promise. Until then, thank you for your readership, your prayers, and the little comments you occasionally leave. They mean so much to me.

A Few Simple Reasons

There are several little things that make life in Japan lovely. Here are just a few:

1. Sometimes, the English translations on signs and packagings are so strange that they read like poetry.

A sign on the Utsunomiya Line train.

The glare sort of interfered with this one, but it says, "I threw my cigarette butt in the drain. That is to say, I hid it in the drain."

2. The children are always excited to meet me.

I didn't know which teacher's room to go to, so I just went to the teachers' room.

3. It forces me to be creative.

Our own desperate version of Girl Scouts' Thin Mints: one Mentos (or Mento, as Jennifer put it, in the singular) between two squares of Meiji chocolate. Yum.

Sayoonara, ichi-gatsu

It's really easy to learn the names of the months in Japanese. Basically, you just need to learn the numbers one through twelve and add the word for month, gatsu, to the end of them. So, January is 1月, or ichi-gatsu. Pretty easy, huh?

What's not so easy is believing that it's already the last day of the first month of 2009! The last thirty-one days have involved traveling in Bali and returning to Japan; finding out that I'm officially invited back to teach for a second year; getting the flu and getting over it; and finally deciding to disregard the guilt and awkwardness of reading books at my desk at school because, let's face it: there's nothing better for me to do.

And, finally, though I'm not as proud of it as I was of my December creation, here's my English bulletin board for January. The light reflecting off the laminated papers makes it a little difficult to see what's on it, but I dedicated the month to information about President Barack Obama and Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

Hajimete: "Frostbite"

Well, maybe. After all the time that I spent today agonizing over the Wikipedia article on frostbite, I still feel pretty ignorant as to exactly what qualifies as frostbite and at what point it becomes seriously threatening. And let me abate the fears of my parents, who are undoubtedly my most devoted readers, by saying right off the bat that everything turned out okay in the end and that as I'm typing these words I have full feeling in all of my extremities and, as far as I can presume, nothing's going to have to get amputated any time soon.

However.

When I arrived at school this morning, I didn't give a lot of thought to the numbness in my feet. It's cold here in Japan and, as of late, it's quite common for my fingers and toes to get a bit chilled on my morning bike ride to work. But when, an hour-and-a-half later, I still had no feeling in my left big toe, I began to wonder if I should feel alarmed. Mostly, I just felt stupid for not having warmer shoes. Like I said above, I know nothing about frostbite; born and raised in San Diego, California, I remember thinking it was a rare and special occasion if I could see my breath while outside (nowadays it's a rare occasion if I can't see my breath while I'm inside). My ignorance, coupled with my embarrassment at not having upgraded earlier to more adequate footwear, prevented me from mentioning anything to anyone. I just told myself that if I still couldn't feel my toe by lunch time, then I would really start to worry.

I might as well come forward with the already obvious: this is not a very interesting story. By the beginning of third period, my feet were entirely back to normal. And yet, through this experience, I was struck once again by just how starkly different my life in Japan is from anything and everything I've ever known before coming here. As I sat on the floor in the teachers' locker room, poking my toe with my finger and marveling at the way my finger could feel my toe but my toe could not feel my finger, it was another one of those hajimete moments. And, despite my then-fear of ensuing amputation, I couldn't help but feel slightly amused.

And Mom and Dad, rest easy: on my way home from work, I stopped at the store and bought a new pair of boots. They are very warm and should keep my toes nice and toasty on future morning commutes.