On Caskets and Callings

On the beach in Guam

Caskets. I’ve been told that missionaries of bygone eras packed for the mission field in caskets—their own. There was no sugar-coating the truth that answering the call to missions in a foreign land was a lifetime commitment. To fulfill this, these stalwart men and women were prepared to give their lives—literally. Not a few were buried on foreign soil, the news of their passing not reaching their faraway loved ones for months, perhaps even after grass had begun to grow over their burial plots.

The Victor Maiden family is one example in the annals of Church of God missions history. Victor and Florence and their four children sailed from the United States for India, arriving at their final destination in the northeastern state of Meghalaya in 1906. But after only six months on the field, the two oldest children, a boy and a girl, died from malaria. Their funerals were hardly finished before a second son died three days later, and a short three weeks after this, Florence also succumbed to malaria.

Unbelievably, more grief and pain were ahead. Within another week, Victor buried his only remaining child, a five-year-old boy. Even then, although he changed locations and assignments, he did not turn his back on what he believed was a non-negotiable and forever call to India. Faithfulness to that call cost him his own life one year later. The entire Maiden family is buried in a cemetery in Meghalaya’s capital city, Shillong, a bittersweet testimony of the price some have paid to proclaim the gospel in foreign lands.

Sometimes I feel really soft. After all, even though we’ve spent nearly 28 years in Japan, it has never really cost us much. We’ve missed some births and weddings we would have liked to have celebrated with family and friends, as well as the funerals of five of our grandparents and a niece. But actually, living in one of the most modern nations of the world, we know little of true sacrifice.

I feel this all the more as I reflect on our quick trip to Guam to visit our son last weekend. Only a three-hour hop from Tokyo, the island is close enough for an occasional get-away from the grind of the big city. It’s never difficult to trade crowded trains (see our last “Random Thoughts”) for nearly deserted beaches, gray skies interspersed between Tokyo’s many non-descript buildings for colorful fish playing hide and seek in the coral reef, velvety blue starfish hugging the sandy ocean floor, and the wide open canopy of Guam’s clear blue sky. If I could spare the time, I’d jump on an airplane tomorrow and return. Or I’d fly three hours in another direction to be with our daughter—and we did this at the end of last year. While good-byes are never easy, I’m able to say hello often, and I’m very grateful. But I admit I’m also a little embarrassed and wonder if I would have signed on the missionary dotted line of another generation.

Sometimes I remember that Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me” (Luke 9:23). Having just returned from a beautiful tropical paradise, I’m pretty sure that the cross he was talking about wasn’t made from palm trees.

On Commuter Trains

Did I really want to get on this train?

I didn’t want freshly squeezed orange juice for breakfast this morning, but I almost had it anyway. It wouldn’t have been at the breakfast table, however, but all inside my backpack and not the last bit drinkable.

Jiyugaoka Station during rush hour seemed more packed than usual. I would have preferred to have stepped out of the ever-lengthening lines of people all waiting for the same Toyoko Line express commuter train bound for Shibuya. After all, a local was sitting on the other side of the platform and would depart only a minute behind the express train. But I was afraid I was going to be late for an important appointment.

Everyone had the same thought—no other train would do. With a surprising surge of power that came from somewhere, I pressed forward and made it onto the train. Amazingly, so did everyone else, although not without the help of three train line employees who turned their shoulders into the crowd and pushed until the doors of our car finally inched shut. But I’d forgotten about the mikans in my backpack. They were squarely between me and what seemed like at least half the population of Tokyo. (According to 2006 statistics from the United Nations Population Division, 12 million people live in Tokyo proper, and over 35 million reside in the greater Tokyo area.)

This is absolutely inhuman, I complained bitterly to myself as I struggled to breathe. I felt trapped in a human vice and shuddered at the thought that some Tokyoites ride like this every single day simply because this is life in the world’s most populated city. (An estimated 3.5 million passengers ride every day on the Yamanote Line that services 29 stations, including Shinjuku, through which over 1 million people pass daily. For comparison, the New York City Subway carries 4.8 million passengers a day on its 26 lines linking 468 stations.) Unbelievably, there are no passenger limits imposed on commuter trains. If you can get on, you can ride.

And ride we did, uncomfortably and completely at the mercy of the train. As it picked up speed, everyone was thrown back on top of those behind them; as it slowed, we all fell forward onto those in front. My feet never touched the floor; I was either in the air or on top of someone else’s feet. I was getting madder by the moment until suddenly, from out of nowhere, I was startled by a question: “I wonder how many of these people have ever heard of Jesus Christ?” I heard no voice, but it was as clear a question as if I had.

And the questions continued: “How about that man next to you sending a text message on his cell phone? Do you think he’s ever heard?” (More than anything, I was amazed that he could possibly be using his cell phone.) “Or how about that businessman asleep on his feet? What about the woman in the red coat with the fur collar or the school uniform-clad girl managing some last-minute studying? Or the slouching teenage boy shutting out the world with his head phones? Has even one of these heard of me?”

Suddenly the questions became a command: “Look at these people around you and see them one by one. It is how I see them; it is how I love them. It is how you must love them, too.”

Truthfully, I cannot say that I am eager to return to Shibuya later this week. But I am confident I will never ride another commuter train without remembering my morning epiphany. And as I do, I pray for eyes to see and a heart to love as Jesus does.

On Aging

We need more than food these days.

Bernie and I clinked our glasses together this morning, but it wasn’t a toast. In fact, they weren’t drinking glasses that touched, but our eye glasses. We always pray together at the start of the work day, share a kiss, and then go our separate ways. But when we kissed this morning, our glasses clinked and we laughed about how things are changing as we age. Neither one of us used to wear glasses; now Bernie has reading glasses in every room of our apartment (so they’re always handy) and wears prescription bifocals all day long at school. I wear my glasses much less than Bernie does, but I’m not very far behind him. There’s no denying the aging process.

Recently, I was asked to think of a movie title that best describes me now. I chose “Death Becomes Her,” a 1992 comedy about two women (Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn) who try to roll back the inevitable physical effects of aging by drinking a secret potion. In the end, despite all their efforts, their bodies break apart and, as they fall down a flight of steps, their legs, torsos, and heads roll off in all different directions. I have no magic potion, but I don’t go anywhere these days without my vitamins, calcium, aspirin, and Bengay, and if I forget my glasses, I get a headache from squinting when I need to read. (Good thing the aspirins are handy.)

I’ll turn 52 years old next month, but I so clearly remember an incident when I was 36 that it could have happened yesterday. Operation Mobilization was seeking volunteers to help when its ship, the Doulos, docked in Kobe, Japan. We were living in Kobe then, and I was excited about the opportunity to serve. Imagine my shock when I heard that they wanted volunteers between the ages of 18 and 35. I couldn’t believe I was too old! That was the first time I’d ever thought about aging. I seem to think about it more and more these days. It certainly didn’t help a couple of months ago when a young woman with whom we work told me that she feels comfortable at our house because our Pfaltzgraf dinnerware is the same pattern as that of her grandparents! (Earlier, I’d heard from someone that our pattern is no longer made and can be found only in antique stores, but I’d chosen to ignore the implications.)

Obviously, not thinking about getting older doesn’t arrest the aging process. So I guess my only choice is how I go about it. Even if there were one, I wouldn’t buy a magic potion (although I’m okay with spending a little money on hair color). I know the spirit and the focus of one’s life are far more important than physical appearance. Therefore, I affirm with the psalmist, “Since my youth, O God, you have taught me, and to this day I declare your marvelous deeds. Even when I am old and gray, do not forsake me, O God, till I declare your power to the next generation, your might to all who are to come” (Psalm 71:17-18). May it be so in my life!

On Appreciating Thorns

Spring staff meeting participants in front of Bible Home,

Minakami, Gumma Prefecture

A gift of God
“To keep me from becoming conceited because of these surpassingly great revelations, there was given me a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me” (2 Corinthians 12:7, NIV).

Thank you for your prayers for our annual spring staff meeting, March 27-29. Our staff of ten missionaries was joined by Don and Lori Doe, pastors of McDowell Mountain Community Church, Scottsdale, Arizona, and Terri Teague, of Vancouver, Washington, parents and aunt of Randee Doe, our SAM (special assignment missionary) in the Kansai central district of Japan. We were so grateful to get out of the big city and into the beauty of Japan’s mountainous Gumma Prefecture, but we were even more appreciative of the three messages Don shared to encourage us in our various assignments.

Among Don’s messages, his comments from 2 Corinthians 12:1-10 were especially challenging. He noted that although, “God, use me,” is an important prayer, “God, keep me useable,” is even more crucial for persons in ministry. And how are we kept useable? It is through God’s gift of thorns—the very same thorns that Satan uses to try to destroy us. But through the thorns, God shows us his power, giving us reasons for rejoicing despite the difficulties. Certainly we were encouraged by a new perspective on thorns!

Some Japanese statistics
If statistics are true indicators, there are a lot of thorns in the Christian church in Japan. Here are some 2006 statistics published recently by Church Information Service:
►There are 7,281 Protestant churches in Japan—18 fewer churches than in 2005.
►60 new Protestant churches were planted in 2006, while 78 churches were closed.
►8,555 people were baptized in these churches in 2006.
►Total church membership is 556,055, but weekly church attendance is only 276,686.

Church of God statistics verify the difficult state of the church. No churches have been planted in more than 20 years, and one congregation usually has a Sunday attendance of 2—the pastor and his wife. In addition, Japanese worship attendance at another CHOG averages 9 people. The average age of CHOG pastors is nearly 60, and two pastors are well into their 70s. The youngest pastors are in their 40s and there are no young people in their teens, 20s, or 30s who are preparing to enter the ministry. (Is it any wonder that Tarumi Church still has no a pastor nearly 4 years after we left Kobe in June 2003?)

How to pray
So, what can be done about this very difficult picture? You can pray, pray, and pray even more. Specifically, pray about the following:

1) That some youth will answer the call to ministry at the upcoming national youth convention, May 3-5, in Okinawa;

2) That God will send a Japanese pastor to Tarumi Church soon. Pray also for us as we encourage the Kobe church by going there one weekend a month for the coming year;

3) That our SAMs will be able to make good contributions to the CHOG in Japan: Zonia Mitchell (Saga Church, Saga); Randee Doe (Tarumi Church, Kobe; Konoike Church and Sakai Church, Osaka); Mike and Makiko Boyle and Mike Wagner (Hagiyama Church, Tokyo); and Rachelle Bargerstock, Alina Croall, and Abby Spear (Nishi Kunitachi Church, Tokyo);

4) For retired missionary to Japan, Ann Smith, as she prepares to speak to the national church at its summer conference, August 3-5, that she may know how to encourage the church towards a new vision as it begins its second hundred years in 2008; and,

5) For revival to come to the church in Japan.

Did you know?
Did you know that the Protestant church in China is celebrating its 200th anniversary in 2007? Robert Morrison, born into a Scottish Presbyterian family in 1782, was sent to China in 1807 by the London Missionary Society. At that time, it was against the law for a Chinese to teach their language to a foreigner or for anyone to preach or print books about Christianity in Chinese. Despite these difficulties, Morrison did not give up. He finally had the joy of baptizing the first Chinese Protestant Christian 7 years later. Very interesting was his response when he was asked if he expected to have a spiritual impact on China. “No, sir, but I expect God will,” Morrison answered. He served 27 years in China until his death in 1834.