On Farewells

Papaw and Little Ben: not looking forward to saying good-bye.

As if it were yesterday, I can still hear the anguish in Benjamin’s voice as he asked, “Why do we always have to say good-bye to Grandpa Don and Grandma?” We were at the airport and our three-year-old son was resisting the inevitable parting from his beloved grandparents who were returning home to the United States. We would remain behind in Japan. As many times as that scene was repeated over the years, farewells just never got any easier.

More than 25 years later, saying good-bye continues to be an unwelcome but predictable part of our lives. Recently it’s been especially difficult, beginning with seeing off our now grown children and grandson at the airport after their Christmas-New Years visits. Then this month we got the surprising news that part of our Tokyo small group “family” will soon return to their home country—permanently. Only weeks earlier, we’d learned that another founding member of this group was being reassigned to a different nation. And on Thursday, yet another member announced she’s leaving Japan by the end of March. Such is life in an expatriate community: lots of comings and goings. But this knowledge doesn’t make it easier.

And then there’s little Rebecca in Zimbabwe. Touched by the story of this infant born with hydrocephalus, our small group tried to help her. Despite our best efforts which, unfortunately, were just too late, the doctor’s evaluation is that her little brain is irreparably damaged and that she cannot survive even six months more.

Death is a farewell of a different type. Although I’ve never met Rebecca, her situation (and all these farewells of late) have caused me to do some serious thinking. Without sounding morbid—believe me, I have no death wish—I’m slowly realizing yet again that confronting death should help me to live my life better. But the truth is, most of the time I resist thinking about death, especially my own. It’s as if I assume it can’t happen to me. Never mind that way down deep inside I know this is absurd. I just don’t go to that deepest place often and, as a result, I can pretend that life and death are not inexorably intertwined into one and the same package. But my foolery doesn’t change the truth.

“Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom,” Moses of old prayed wisely (Psalm 90:12)—a pray I echo today. When I stop avoiding the truth and remember that my days are limited, I will indeed live them differently. With gratitude to God for each hour he entrusts to me, I resolve not to squander my time or grasp it selfishly for myself. Instead, I determine to spend my days in people and activities that will outlive me. Only in doing so can I know without doubt that my time has been invested in ways that really matter. With this assurance, I can approach my own farewell confidently, knowing that it is far more than simply a good-bye to this earth. It is the arms-wide-open, ear-to-ear smiling welcome to an eternity where farewells are banished in the forever presence of God, my Father.

Three Strikes, I'm Out!

Trains aren't the only crowded places in Tokyo.

It wasn’t until after 7 p.m. that I struck out on Thursday. It had been a way-too-busy day, but thanks to a two-hour nap in late afternoon, I was managing.

I’d endured a crowded-beyond-capacity commuter train into Shibuya first thing in the morning. Such trains are perhaps the part of living in Tokyo that I most detest. But there was nothing I could do about it but ride the Toyoko Line if I would make my appointment. Fortunately, I was at the front of the queue when the doors opened, so I was able to worm my way a little further into the car than those at the end of the line who needed the help of pushers to make it onto the train—and then, faces crammed up against the door and one another, they managed to stay breathing, but only barely. I had clear space all around my head and the closest person to me was wearing a mask, for which I thanked him silently, grateful he would share no cold germs with me. So, I’d made the 10-minute express ride into Shibuya not horribly worse for the wear and decided I wouldn’t write a blog about the indecency of having to tolerate yet another commuter train. Despite everything, I was feeling pretty good.

But then came the bank. Actually, it’s a tossup as to which I loathe more: jam-packed commuter trains or Japanese banks. Just as the presence of so many uniformed train pushers on the platform should have warned me that the trains were especially crowded that morning, I should have known that the presence of a new bank clerk would mean two things: I would be “lucky” enough to get her and I could expect problems. But, as I said, I was feeling pretty good.

Until she called me up to the desk. I handed her my properly endorsed check and my driver’s license and told her my business, adding, “I come here every month and do the same thing every month.” To which she replied, “Do you have an account at this bank?” “Yes, look at the check, please. I come here every month for the same business.” I was getting a little warm under the collar, and it wasn’t because I’d not yet unzipped my coat or loosened my muffler. Somehow smiling, but still with a quizzical look on her face, she thanked me and asked me to wait in a chair while she processed my check.

No sooner than I’d sat down did she call me back again. She wanted to know about my name. Which was the first name: Cheryl, Ann, or Barton? “It’s just as it’s written here on the check I want to cash, the same business I do here in this bank every month,” I responded. “And how do you pronounce these names?” she asked. “What difference does it make?” I wanted to reply, but didn’t. Finally, after an English pronunciation lesson, she invited me to sit down again.

I did, but only for a split second. My name was being called again. This third time at the counter I was asked how my name is written in katakana, the Japanese phonetic alphabet for foreign words. When I protested that I do this same business every month and with the same driver’s license (no katakana there) and with the same check written to me from our account (no katakana there), she continued, “Well, don’t you have something written in katakana?” By now I was sweating profusely and, although I did indeed have some katakana identification in my wallet, I wasn’t about to admit to it. My reply instead was, “Every month I show my driver’s license,” which is true. Finally, the clerk gave up and cashed my check—the same way it’s done every month. My irritation was definitely on the rise. But I swallowed it, took a deep breath, and walked out of the bank with a smile on my face, thankful I’ll not have to go there again until next month.

The rest of the day went well until after dinner. Bernie and I were walking to an evening meeting and came up behind a woman pushing a stroller on the side of the road. There were no sidewalks or wide shoulders for pedestrians, so a line of cars with patient drivers was beginning to back up behind her. Finally, I decided that since the cars were waiting, I’d dash into their lane and move around her. Fully expecting to see a cute, gurgling baby as I passed—maybe one the same age as my grandson—I was totally unprepared to find the young woman pushing two cats in the baby buggy! The annoyance with daily life in Japan that had apparently been building all day suddenly boiled over as I ranted on to Bernie about how the woman was holding up traffic—not to mention us—because of CATS!

“Three strikes, I’m out!” I thought to myself later. It’s not because I’m the only person who’s ever been exasperated by being a foreigner in a different culture. It’s because that very morning I’d been memorizing Philippians 4:8 on the train: “Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” How ironic! How badly I’d failed to implement this wonderful advice for successful living. No wonder I had a headache and suddenly felt exhausted.

On a Corner in Aoyama

Outside Children's Castle in Aoyama

Surprise. That was my first reaction when I saw him. Not that there aren’t any homeless people in Japan. In fact, the numbers are growing as even large, seemingly well-to-do and insulated companies like Toyota, Canon, and Sony announce factory closings, work slow-downs, and employees being let go as positions are eliminated. One headline this week publicized Nissan’s decision to slash 20,000 jobs worldwide.

Even some unlucky upcoming (March) university graduates have learned that the jobs they’d been promised have been retracted. Now they are at the bottom of the heap of people scrambling for work, with all predictions being that things are only going to get worse. Toyota, for example, recently revised its economic forecast for the fiscal year ending in March. They are expecting a loss three times larger than what the company had feared. This will be the first ever fiscal year loss in the company’s 71-year history.

In Japan, those feeling the immediate crunch of the worldwide recession are temporary workers. Although they are the lowest class of workers—the employees that are both hired and fired first—these people make up one-third of Japan’s labor force. According to the government, some 85,000 temporary workers will lose their jobs between October 2008 and March 2009. While not all will end up in shelters or on park benches, there is no doubt that the number of homeless in Japan is on the rise.

Still, I was surprised to see the man that day—not because he was homeless, but because of his location. He was not keeping warm in the underground metro approaches where men can often be found lined up head to feet, sleeping on cardboard, newspaper, or directly on the ground. Nor was he in one of the large parks in Tokyo in makeshift cardboard or tarpaulin tents. He was on a corner in Aoyama, considered to be one of the most popular entertainment and fashionable shopping areas in this city, the place where Tokyo’s “beautiful people” hang out. This man was dirty and anything but beautiful, but there he was anyway, sitting on a curb next to his raggedy suitcase. He had a cold, and I cringed to see him blowing his nose into some scraps of newspaper.

I was on my way to a meeting and, as usual, running late. Assuming there was nothing I could do for him, I hurried on past. But, to my surprise, I stopped several feet beyond him and began fishing in my purse. I’d just received a tissue package at the train station. I could give him that so at least he wouldn’t have to use newspaper. So I turned back, handed him the packet, and heard a grateful, “Thank you” in response.

Actually, it was an embarrassingly little thing I did. What sacrifice is there in giving away a free package of tissues? This act didn’t cost me anything other than a minute of my time, at most. But there was definitely a new spring in my step as I continued on my way. I was so happy that I’d done something rather than just walking on by as usual. Recently I’ve been praying that God would open my eyes to the needs around me and use me to touch people with his love and little acts of kindness. I have no illusions that my little tissue packet will change this man’s life, that suddenly he’ll get up, bathe, put on clean clothes, get a job, and become a contributing member of society. But maybe, just maybe, even for an instant, he realized that he is a valuable human being worthy of someone’s notice in an upscale part of Tokyo.

In fact, I want to notice more. I pray that stopping on a corner in Aoyama was only the start.

February Fun Facts

My Valentine and I enjoy the New Years Sumo Tournament in Tokyo.

Six more weeks of winter! That was the big news from Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania on February 2, 2009 when Punxsutawney Phil, the groundhog, emerged from his burrow on Gobbler’s Knob and supposedly saw his shadow, scaring him enough to run back inside.

According to legend, the same Punxsutawney Phil has been about the weather-predicting business for 120 years! This year 13,000 people gathered for the momentous news event. Some who have endured one of the most vicious American winters in their recent memories went home very disappointed to learn that the famous groundhog predicts it’s going to be some time yet before they can retire their winter coats for this season.

In this country, rather than watching for Phil on February 2, Japanese are watching out for roasted soybeans and evil spirits on February 3, the month’s first eventful day. Called Setsubun, this day marks the start of spring—no matter what the weather is like (and no matter what Phil says). Setsubun is best known for the ritual of mamemaki—walking through your house to throw handfuls of the hard beans at any evil spirits that might be lurking in order to drive them out. Often times, parents of younger children will don paper devil’s masks to give their little ones a moving target and a little more fun. But you have to watch out. Those little beans can pack a mighty punch (in more ways than one!).

February 11 is the month’s only national holiday—Foundation Day. Emperor Jimmu is said to have founded Japan on this date back in 660 BC, but it took until 1872 before the country decided to make it a national holiday. Then the day was called Empire Day, resulting in it being banned after World War II in response to Japan’s imperialistic fervor that had emerged and subjugated much of Southeast Asia. The national holiday was reintroduced in 1966 with new softer emphasis on the nation’s founding.

Finally comes Valentine’s Day on February 14. But the Japanese have “Japanized” this celebration of love. In Japan, it’s only the women who are expected to mark the day by giving chocolates to at least some of the men in their lives. Interestingly, while they probably won’t give chocolates to their husbands, they’ll give some to their male co-workers. Lest you think they’re having affairs at the office, they’re most likely just upholding the tradition of giri choco, which translates as “obligation chocolates”.

For this wife at home, Valentine’s Day in Japan means that on the evening of February 14, Bernie will bring home a lot of delicious chocolate from his female faculty and staff at Tamagawa Seigakuin. I won’t mind it one bit, though my waistline will probably groan. But don’t worry! I’ve long ago perfected the solution: eat it all as quickly as possible so that the “pain” is kept to a minimum of days. Mmmmmm! I can’t wait.

A Lovely Fragrance

Hanawa-san making her pledge before being baptized.

The aroma of Christ
“For we are to God the aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing. To the one we are the smell of death; to the other, the fragrance of life. And who is equal to such a task?” (2 Corinthians 2:15-16, NIV).

Paul asked an important question as he reminded the Corinthian Christians of their vital task to represent Christ with a lovely fragrance: who can do it? Truth is, without total reliance on the Holy Spirit, we’re more apt to be a sickening odor than a pleasing and compelling fragrance.

Bernie had a shocking reminder of this during a recent presentation at Tamagawa Seigakuin. The lecturer, a researcher/analysist at one of the two Shinto universities in Japan, shared two especially hard-hitting statistics: only 50% of Japanese trust Christians; and an increasing percentage of Japanese young people don’t see religion (any religion) as significant in their lives. As Philip Yancey wrote in Disappointment with God, one of the biggest risks God ever took was to put evangelism into the hands of the church. And yet he did. God help us to be the pleasing aroma of Christ in our worlds.

Also at Tamagawa Seigakuin
Another recent thought-provoking discussion at the school occurred this week when the Bible Department hosted a question and answer time on the theme, “If God Exists then Why ….” (Why war, hunger, social inequality, and so on.) The voluntary forum attracted eight high school students, four junior highers, and four teachers. One non-Christian teacher asked an interesting question: “Since these things are going on anyhow, what difference does it make if God is or not?” The planned hour-long program stretched another half hour longer and may have continued on if it hadn’t gotten to be 6 o’clock, the mandated time senior high girls must leave school. (Junior highers must leave by 5:30 p.m.) Please pray that the discussion will bear fruit in the hearts of participants.

Please also pray for high school graduation on March 16, a significant day in the lives of the 181 girls and their families. Taniguchi Hall, named for the school’s founder, will be packed with as many as 700 people and Bernie will have the privilege of sharing the gospel with them during the ceremonies. One graduating senior wrote in her Bible class notebook that she expects to put away her Bible for good as she leaves Tama Sei. Please pray that seeds planted at the school will indeed be harvested one day.

Two encouraging stories
In fact, we know this happens. Recently, a retired staff member shared with Bernie a postcard he’d received. The writer graduated more than 10 years ago and hadn’t been to church in the intervening years. However, as circumstances in her life changed, she knew she would find the answers she sought in the faith she’d learned about during her six years at Tama Sei. Now she is going to church again.

Last Sunday we worshipped at Tamagawa Church of God. There we met a woman whose daughter had taken Tama Sei’s entrance examination two years ago. After she failed, the mother wrote to Bernie, thanking him for the school’s good impact on her family throughout a year of attending school introductory meetings and special showcase events. “We’ll never forget Tamagawa Seigakuin,” she wrote in what was surely the only letter of its kind Bernie has ever received—thanks despite failure. Last year, in the midst of severe depression, Tanaka-san (not her real name) seriously contemplated suicide. Suddenly, she remembered the school and nearby Tamagawa Church and decided to visit. Our Sunday was her second time there. While talking with Bernie, she prayed to receive Christ. Certainly other seeds were planted in her life over the years (her parents are faithful Christians), but most recently it was seed planting and watering at Tamagawa Seigakuin that finally helped Tanaka-san choose Christ in her 40s. Please pray for her to grow in faith. Pray also for Tamagawa Seigakuin and for many harvests to come.

More on Hanawa-san
Last month we wrote about Keiko Hanawa, a woman who finally accepted Christ and was baptized in her 70s at Hagiyama Church of God. Here are some of the many seeds planted over the years in her life: Sunday school as a child; attending English-Bible classes taught by a missionary after her own children were grown; the prayers of the class for her adult daughter as she suffered severe post-partum depression, prayers that were answered miraculously; attending the monthly evangelistic small group meeting in the home of a Christian member of the English-Bible class; and being impressed by this woman’s smile, caring heart, and the Bible verses which decorated her home.

Remember: God wants to use us all to plant and water in a world that is watching and sniffing. The harvest WILL COME if we are faithful and do not give up.