Sunday, August 11, 2002
Tuesday, June 11, 2002
Monday, June 10, 2002
The wonders of communication
Communication is an incredible thing.
The Heartlanders team was in Okinawa for a team retreat last month - eating REAL American food for the first time in months, enjoying the warm wind (and warm rain), watching morning break across the ocean and silhouette slender palm trees against the sky.
We met new team members and team members who have been around for years. We prayed. We talked strategy. We sang hymns.
And on the way home, God gave me a breakthrough.
I was riding in the front of a taxi-van which hauled seven of us (plus our luggage) from the hotel to the airport in Naha, Okinawa's capital, about an hour away. As we loaded everything in to the van, I noticed our driver - a little old man who appeared to be in his late 60s or 70s... pleasant face, gray hair, cute fishing hat.
I have a soft spot for older people, especially older Japanese, so my interest was peaked immediately. And that cute fishing hat... That did it for me. I had to talk to him.
"Good morning," I said to him in Japanese as he swung our suitcases into the back of the van.
"Good morning," he replied with a big smile.
"Do you speak English?" I asked hesitantly in Japanese.
He laughed and waved his hand back and forth. "No, no. Not at all." He paused, loaded some more suitcases, then tipped his hat back and said, "You speak good Japanese. Where are you from?"
Aha! He WAS friendly. And he wanted to talk to me, too!
I sat in the seat behind him as our taxi-van caravan took off, watching the fields of skinny sugar cane and summer blue sky slide past the windows. I asked him about the sugar cane fields, Okinawa food, where he was from and what things he liked.
And he answered me in fast, gutteral Japanese with a strange, slurred Okinawan accent, beaming all the while.
He told me the Japanese names of the flowers as we passed by, what to call palm trees, how to say "hello" and "thank you" in strange Okinawa language. We listened to part of a baseball game on the radio.
"Do you like baseball?" I asked him.
"Not really," he replied. "How about you?"
"I love baseball," I said. "And I really love soccer."
"Is that right..." He watched the road a while. "So what do you do in Japan?"
"I teach in English and Bible in Sapporo," I said.
"Really! You're a missionary?" he asked.
"Yes. I came to Sapporo last August."
We talked about Sapporo ramen and the long winter, the feet and feet of snow that fell every year.
So the two of us talked almost the whole way to Naha - a little brown-haired missionary daughter sleeping in my lap, the driver (hard of hearing) tilting his head to hear my broken Japanese.
It wasn't until we were zooming through the narrow, crowded streets of Naha that I realized what a miracle had just happened.
He hollered something in Japanese over the noise of traffic.
"He says people aren't allowed to ride bicycles in town because the streets are so narrow," I told the others in the van.
I asked him another question, and he was listening so hard that he had to tap his brakes to slow down in the traffic flow.
"Oh, sorry - I'm dangerous," I joked in Japanese.
He roared with laughter - face crinkled in a big smile, watching the other cars in the rearview mirror.
Wait a second - what just happened?
Did I just have an hour conversation (and tell a joke) to old Okinawan man - all in Japanese?
Did he really just tell me something about bicycles and crowded streets and I UNDERSTOOD?
Did he actually UNDERSTAND what I said and laugh?
It was like a gigantic neon sign suddenly burst into brilliant, gaudy light overhead: Jenny, this is COMMUNICATION!
I could almost hear the Hallelujah chorus showering down in our little taxi-van as I took it all in.
I just COMMUNICATED with someone.
I just carried on an entire CONVERSATION with someone. Not an, "Excuse me, where's the bathroom?" question or even the typical, "I'm from America. Nice to meet you," thing.
No, this was a conversation - a giving and taking of information, a blending of lives at tiny, interconnecting points.
And the miracle - IT WAS NOT BECAUSE OF MY JAPANESE!!!
I've been in Japan a year, but believe me - years of Japanese could not prepare me to talk for an hour with an Okinawan man.
No, it wasn't my SKILL but my TOOLS! I didn't even realize it, but being in Japan has taught me how to say some basic things: "Could you say that again, please?" or "I don't understand this word. What does it mean?" or "I don't know what that means. Does it mean...?" or "Could you repeat that slowly?"
I've learned how to ask questions a different way when I come to a roadblock.
I've learned how to DESCRIBE what I mean if I can't think of the word.
I've learned to locate the problem words and go around them.
In short, I've learned to communicate. I can't translate. I speak many grammatically correct sentences. I could NEVER write a paper in Japanese.
But God has taught me, without me even realizing it, to communicate.
DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS???!!!
IT MEANS I'M NOT ALONE!
It means I can erase the invisible lines that separate me from other people!
It means means I can share questions, joys, pain, faith, funny things, strange things, ANYTHING with a person, even a stranger, if they're willing to talk to me!
It means I have my life back!
It means I have a connection to other living human beings, a connection to lives beyond my own!
For almost a year I have lived in Japan feeling lonely and isolated, trapped behind a massive language barrier like jail bars. And God has been slowly handing me the keys. Keys to freedom. Keys to my old talkative self. Keys to let people know that I'm more than a friendly American - I'm a CHRISTIAN.
I said good-bye to the taxi-van driver at the airport as we loaded suitcases out onto the hot sidewalk.
He shook my hand with his worn, calloused hand, and said, "Thank you," several times in Okinawa slang and then Japanese (just to make sure I understood).
I thanked him back and told him to take care.
"I had fun," I told him. "Thank you."
"Me, too," he said. "See you later."
He waved to me from the taxi-van as the caravan pulled away, probably headed off to pick up more people.
I waved to him until the van was gone.
See you later. No, I probably won't see him again. I don't know his name, his email address. I couldn't even pick his face out of a crowd now.
But the miracle is still there.
When I met friendly Japanese strangers back in Sapporo, I chatted with them and listened to their lives.
When I gave a fragile old lady my bus seat, I let her know that I was a Christian.
I sit here even now, amazed.
Thank you, little Okinawan man, for showing me the gift of conversation.
Thank you, God, for working as you so often do - in tiny, undiscovered ways that suddenly pop out in stark relief one day (to our great surprise!) Thank you for the spoken language, the sharing of words and blending of lives, the intersection of thought between two people.
Use our mouths, God - whether we speak English or Japanese, like a translator or in broken syllables, to declare your praise to a lost world.
Make us like Moses - whose "slow" speech set a nation free.
Set this nation free, God.
Set Japan free.
Let your people go.
The Heartlanders team was in Okinawa for a team retreat last month - eating REAL American food for the first time in months, enjoying the warm wind (and warm rain), watching morning break across the ocean and silhouette slender palm trees against the sky.
We met new team members and team members who have been around for years. We prayed. We talked strategy. We sang hymns.
And on the way home, God gave me a breakthrough.
I was riding in the front of a taxi-van which hauled seven of us (plus our luggage) from the hotel to the airport in Naha, Okinawa's capital, about an hour away. As we loaded everything in to the van, I noticed our driver - a little old man who appeared to be in his late 60s or 70s... pleasant face, gray hair, cute fishing hat.
I have a soft spot for older people, especially older Japanese, so my interest was peaked immediately. And that cute fishing hat... That did it for me. I had to talk to him.
"Good morning," I said to him in Japanese as he swung our suitcases into the back of the van.
"Good morning," he replied with a big smile.
"Do you speak English?" I asked hesitantly in Japanese.
He laughed and waved his hand back and forth. "No, no. Not at all." He paused, loaded some more suitcases, then tipped his hat back and said, "You speak good Japanese. Where are you from?"
Aha! He WAS friendly. And he wanted to talk to me, too!
I sat in the seat behind him as our taxi-van caravan took off, watching the fields of skinny sugar cane and summer blue sky slide past the windows. I asked him about the sugar cane fields, Okinawa food, where he was from and what things he liked.
And he answered me in fast, gutteral Japanese with a strange, slurred Okinawan accent, beaming all the while.
He told me the Japanese names of the flowers as we passed by, what to call palm trees, how to say "hello" and "thank you" in strange Okinawa language. We listened to part of a baseball game on the radio.
"Do you like baseball?" I asked him.
"Not really," he replied. "How about you?"
"I love baseball," I said. "And I really love soccer."
"Is that right..." He watched the road a while. "So what do you do in Japan?"
"I teach in English and Bible in Sapporo," I said.
"Really! You're a missionary?" he asked.
"Yes. I came to Sapporo last August."
We talked about Sapporo ramen and the long winter, the feet and feet of snow that fell every year.
So the two of us talked almost the whole way to Naha - a little brown-haired missionary daughter sleeping in my lap, the driver (hard of hearing) tilting his head to hear my broken Japanese.
It wasn't until we were zooming through the narrow, crowded streets of Naha that I realized what a miracle had just happened.
He hollered something in Japanese over the noise of traffic.
"He says people aren't allowed to ride bicycles in town because the streets are so narrow," I told the others in the van.
I asked him another question, and he was listening so hard that he had to tap his brakes to slow down in the traffic flow.
"Oh, sorry - I'm dangerous," I joked in Japanese.
He roared with laughter - face crinkled in a big smile, watching the other cars in the rearview mirror.
Wait a second - what just happened?
Did I just have an hour conversation (and tell a joke) to old Okinawan man - all in Japanese?
Did he really just tell me something about bicycles and crowded streets and I UNDERSTOOD?
Did he actually UNDERSTAND what I said and laugh?
It was like a gigantic neon sign suddenly burst into brilliant, gaudy light overhead: Jenny, this is COMMUNICATION!
I could almost hear the Hallelujah chorus showering down in our little taxi-van as I took it all in.
I just COMMUNICATED with someone.
I just carried on an entire CONVERSATION with someone. Not an, "Excuse me, where's the bathroom?" question or even the typical, "I'm from America. Nice to meet you," thing.
No, this was a conversation - a giving and taking of information, a blending of lives at tiny, interconnecting points.
And the miracle - IT WAS NOT BECAUSE OF MY JAPANESE!!!
I've been in Japan a year, but believe me - years of Japanese could not prepare me to talk for an hour with an Okinawan man.
No, it wasn't my SKILL but my TOOLS! I didn't even realize it, but being in Japan has taught me how to say some basic things: "Could you say that again, please?" or "I don't understand this word. What does it mean?" or "I don't know what that means. Does it mean...?" or "Could you repeat that slowly?"
I've learned how to ask questions a different way when I come to a roadblock.
I've learned how to DESCRIBE what I mean if I can't think of the word.
I've learned to locate the problem words and go around them.
In short, I've learned to communicate. I can't translate. I speak many grammatically correct sentences. I could NEVER write a paper in Japanese.
But God has taught me, without me even realizing it, to communicate.
DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS???!!!
IT MEANS I'M NOT ALONE!
It means I can erase the invisible lines that separate me from other people!
It means means I can share questions, joys, pain, faith, funny things, strange things, ANYTHING with a person, even a stranger, if they're willing to talk to me!
It means I have my life back!
It means I have a connection to other living human beings, a connection to lives beyond my own!
For almost a year I have lived in Japan feeling lonely and isolated, trapped behind a massive language barrier like jail bars. And God has been slowly handing me the keys. Keys to freedom. Keys to my old talkative self. Keys to let people know that I'm more than a friendly American - I'm a CHRISTIAN.
I said good-bye to the taxi-van driver at the airport as we loaded suitcases out onto the hot sidewalk.
He shook my hand with his worn, calloused hand, and said, "Thank you," several times in Okinawa slang and then Japanese (just to make sure I understood).
I thanked him back and told him to take care.
"I had fun," I told him. "Thank you."
"Me, too," he said. "See you later."
He waved to me from the taxi-van as the caravan pulled away, probably headed off to pick up more people.
I waved to him until the van was gone.
See you later. No, I probably won't see him again. I don't know his name, his email address. I couldn't even pick his face out of a crowd now.
But the miracle is still there.
When I met friendly Japanese strangers back in Sapporo, I chatted with them and listened to their lives.
When I gave a fragile old lady my bus seat, I let her know that I was a Christian.
I sit here even now, amazed.
Thank you, little Okinawan man, for showing me the gift of conversation.
Thank you, God, for working as you so often do - in tiny, undiscovered ways that suddenly pop out in stark relief one day (to our great surprise!) Thank you for the spoken language, the sharing of words and blending of lives, the intersection of thought between two people.
Use our mouths, God - whether we speak English or Japanese, like a translator or in broken syllables, to declare your praise to a lost world.
Make us like Moses - whose "slow" speech set a nation free.
Set this nation free, God.
Set Japan free.
Let your people go.
Friday, June 7, 2002
Thursday, May 30, 2002
Hiking Mt. Moiwa
My senior adult class and I hiked up Mount Moiwa, a small mountain in the outskirts of Sapporo. The grass and trees were green and lush, but it made me sad to see mountain shrines and offerings to the gods left along the forest trail.
Yoshie and Keiko
A wildflower called "kurumabaso," which translates, "car leaf flower" because the leaves are shaped like the spokes of a wheel.
Our fearless leader, Ken, looking up flowers and plants in his guidebook. He loves nature and has a beautiful vegetable garden, besides teaching physics or biology (I forget which) at a local university.
The mountain path we took was dotted with all kinds of Buddhist statues and stone idols. There is a Buddhist monastery nearby, and I met a female "monk" (nun? not sure of the name) when we were almost to the top. She was so surprised (and happy!) to see a foreigner (me) that she let us take a picture together, although I think I heard her telling the other Japanese that she usually doesn't let people take pictures but this time it was okay. She was wearing a long robe. I can't remember her name, but it started with "Ko" - "Koko," "Koro," something. Please pray for her, that she would find God's truth... Romans says that creation speaks of Him, so pray that she would reach out for God and live.
Mr. Horimoto, one of my favorite people in all Japan.
Yoshie and Keiko
A wildflower called "kurumabaso," which translates, "car leaf flower" because the leaves are shaped like the spokes of a wheel.
Our fearless leader, Ken, looking up flowers and plants in his guidebook. He loves nature and has a beautiful vegetable garden, besides teaching physics or biology (I forget which) at a local university.
The mountain path we took was dotted with all kinds of Buddhist statues and stone idols. There is a Buddhist monastery nearby, and I met a female "monk" (nun? not sure of the name) when we were almost to the top. She was so surprised (and happy!) to see a foreigner (me) that she let us take a picture together, although I think I heard her telling the other Japanese that she usually doesn't let people take pictures but this time it was okay. She was wearing a long robe. I can't remember her name, but it started with "Ko" - "Koko," "Koro," something. Please pray for her, that she would find God's truth... Romans says that creation speaks of Him, so pray that she would reach out for God and live.
Mr. Horimoto, one of my favorite people in all Japan.
Monday, May 27, 2002
Wednesday, May 22, 2002
An Undiscovered Treasure?
This letter is dedicated to my friend Mr. Kenji Miwa, a faithful Christian and Gideon in Saitama who prayed for me to come to Japan as a missionary...
* * * * *
Most of you have probably heard about the "greying of Japan," where the population of elderly Japanese is swelling far above the rest. People are having fewer babies these days, and the Japanese life span is increasing, so nursing homes, golf clubs and retirement facilities are full to overflowing with elderly Japanese.
Now put those statistics aside and witness a small miracle with me, right here on the windy streets of Sapporo...
My friend Barb, a missionary with another evangelical denomination, was getting ready to go back to America when she pulled me aside.
"You're like me," she said. "You're energetic, talk a lot, love to laugh. I think you'd be great with my best friends here in Sapporo. Only one of them is a Christian even though they've been studying English at our church."
So I went with Barb to meet the group - expecting college students, young people, made to match bouncy Barb - and instead I found a group of retired Japanese seniors, the youngest one being probably in his late 50s. Talk about a shock! As we sat around the table eating yakiniku (Japanese barbecued lamb and vegetables), I was even more shocked by their life and exuberance.
Yoshie is a mountain climber who climbed the Himalayas about two years ago.
Mr. Horimoto, probably in his 70s, made Japanese jokes and taught me how to punch the plastic bag around the napkin so it made a loud, "POW!" and startled the tables around us.
Keiko kept filling up my plate with meat and ordering Korean rice, all the while speaking perfect, beautiful English.
And Ken, the lone Christian, watched over everything like a wise old owl and printed up a special sheet with grammatically horrible Hokkaido slang ("for you to practice," he said with a laugh).
With Barb leaving, they wanted a new English teacher - so badly that they agreed to meet me on MY schedule, at MY apartment (all the way across town), and even study the Bible. Ken smiled. The women grumbled but agreed. "If that's the only way we can learn English," they said. "Only once a month. And only for 20 minutes." Mr. Horimoto just nodded and popped another plastic napkin bag.
So two Wednesdays ago I was scrambling to set up a space in the living room when the doorbell rang. In piled the four seniors, all laughing, all rowdy, with TWO OTHER WOMEN of the same age. They were toting coffee, a coffee maker, Ken's printed sheets about the "English club," and cameras.
I am not an English teacher by nature, not even an English Bible teacher, so with much prayer and trepidation I pulled out a stack of red Gideon Japanese-English New Testaments given by my dear friend Mr. Kenji (also in his 70s).
"This man gave me these Bibles to give to my friends," I told them, pulling Mr. Kenji's picture off my bulletin board.
That grabbed their interest in a heartbeat. They passed around Mr. Kenji's picture lovingly, speaking Japanese in low tones. "Wow," they were saying. "That was so nice of him."
Keiko asked in Japanese, "Is he a Christian?"
"Yes, he is," I replied, and told them Mr. Kenji's testimony. They were impressed, moved. They nodded and passed his picture around again. "Please tell him thank you for the Bibles," one of the women said, and everyone agreed.
When they picked up the Bibles this time, they handled them carefully.
Then it came, out of nowhere.
"So how did you become a Christian?" Keiko asked. All eyes fastened on me.
I told them my whole story - how I became a Christian, why I decided to come to Japan. Ken translated everything as they listened with rapt attention. "That's wonderful," they were saying in Japanese. I spoke for 15 minutes, and no one interrupted me. No one changed the subject.
When I picked up the Bible to explain to them what it was, they picked up theirs.
"This is the New Testament," I explained. "This is the story of Jesus' life and letters written by early church leaders."
Again - surprise. Light bulbs coming on in their heads. (Had no one ever explained to them the Bible before?)
I explained the difference between the Old and New Testaments, using a Japanese Bible for reference, and told them about the books in the New Testament.
"That's not hard!" one of them said in surprise as we paged through the Bible.
A huge mental wall just crumbled and fell. And I saw it. So many Japanese are afraid of the Bible, intimidated by the big words and formal Japanese. I hear an ancient Ethiopian whispering, "But how can I understand unless someone explains it to me?"
No Bible degree, no teacher's license - and here I am, witnessing a miracle just by being a Christian and telling what I know.
(Is it really that simple?)
I told them it was okay to write notes in the margins or underline parts, and every single one of them grabbed their pencils and made notes on the contents page: "Jesus' friends," one wrote by "Matthew, Mark, Luke and John."
"Let's try reading a couple of verses," I said, and showed them how to find books, chapters and verses.
We turned to 1 Corinthians 13 about love and began to read - first in English, then in Japanese.
Awed silence. People put on their glasses and looked closer, reading again silently, lips moving.
"Good words, good words!" they were saying in Japanese. "Wow! Amazing! I love this!"
"I love these words!" Keiko exclaimed to me in English.
Mr. Horimoto drew a big box around the verses in his Bible. And as we talked the next hour, he kept reading.
After discussing the Bible another half hour, I had to actually turn the conversation to the class so I would be remembered as keeping my word.
When the class ended, the women cleaned up the coffee maker and washed all the dishes (even the old ones I had left in the sink!) When I protested, they pushed me out of the kitchen. "We're housewives!" they said. "We're good at this!"
After eating hot bowls of ramen at a nearby restaurant, they dropped me back off at the apartment to meet again in two weeks. I spent the rest of the day in wonder... feeling like I had just stepped into something big. REALLY big.
This morning was the second class, and just like before, the doorbell sounded as I was putting coffee cups on the table.
Two of the members couldn't come today, but they'll be here next week, they assured me.
I prayed for another miracle as I spread Japanese zabuton pillows on the floor, everyone talking at the same time. Ken pulled out immaculate, alphabetized copies of new Hokkaido slang definitions for me. Keiko attacked the coffee maker. Everyone got out their red Gideon testaments.
(Wait a minute - didn't they only want to study the Bible once a month? And for 20 minutes only...?)
Then Keiko spotted our English children's Bible, with LARGE TYPE (why didn't I think of this before?) and we spent the REST OF THE CLASS PLUS 30 MINUTES OVERTIME reading from the children's Bible as Ken translated.
We practiced looking up verses in the Gideon testament - even had a race to see who could find 1 Thessalonians 5:16 first. Keiko won. She read it in English (twice) and in Japanese.
Yoshie washed all the dishes before I could protest, everyone gathered money for me to buy two new children's Bibles (one in English, one in Japanese) for class use only. Ken produced perfectly typed directions and a map for us to meet this Saturday (we're climbing Mount Moiwa!).
And when they left, as left time, I sat in the quiet of the room and marveled at the way God works.
I heard a soft whisper, "How can I understand unless someone explains it to me?"
Dear Ethiopian, I hear your words!
I pray that these precious seniors may let me come near to their chariots and lovingly turn the pages of their Bibles, showing them what it means to be a Christian, to be loved, comforted and convicted from these pages of God's word, to know the promise of abundant life, eternal life, and the One called "The LIFE."
Oh, how I pray I may bend my ear and hear the same words spoken to Philip from beautiful bronze lips: "Look, here is water! Why shouldn't I be baptized?"
The "greying of Japan" indeed... if these seniors, with their energy, time and resources could be changed by the Spirit of God, what a mission field is waiting for them in their own backyard.
Pray with me that the "grey" of Japan may turn to silver, "shining like stars as (they) hold out the Word of Life..." (Philippians 2:15).
And may we join the Ethiopian who went on his way "REJOICING"!
PRAY for the six members of the English club: Ken (a believer), Mr. Horimoto, Keiko, Yoshie, Etsuko and another lady with a really hard name.
PRAY for older believers like Mr. Kenji who have an unparalleled opportunity to witness to Japanese seniors.
PRAY for the elderly of Japan, that churches would be started among them and they would set a magnificent example for younger Japanese, children, and grandchildren - that entire generations may follow in their footsteps. Because the elderly are respected and revered in Japan, seniors (like Mr. Kenji) receive a special standing, and their testimonies carry a lot of weight. Pray for a special blessing on these seniors!
About the last photo...
Q: How many seniors can you fit in an apartment elevator?
A: Six, plus one young whipper-snapper. :)
Here are their names so you can (PLEASE!) pray: From left to right - Etsuko, Yoshie, Mr. Horimoto, Ken, and the lady with the hard name. Keiko was standing beside me, so she didn't show up. But she was there. Did I mention Keiko brought a coffee maker called "Carioca?" (I know, I know - all the Brazilians out there reading this are getting excited. If you want to know about "cariocas," ask a Brazilian. :)
And last but not least, here is Mr. Kenji's picture so you can pray for him...
This letter is dedicated to my friend Mr. Kenji Miwa, a faithful Christian and Gideon in Saitama who prayed for me to come to Japan as a missionary...
* * * * *
Most of you have probably heard about the "greying of Japan," where the population of elderly Japanese is swelling far above the rest. People are having fewer babies these days, and the Japanese life span is increasing, so nursing homes, golf clubs and retirement facilities are full to overflowing with elderly Japanese.
Now put those statistics aside and witness a small miracle with me, right here on the windy streets of Sapporo...
My friend Barb, a missionary with another evangelical denomination, was getting ready to go back to America when she pulled me aside.
"You're like me," she said. "You're energetic, talk a lot, love to laugh. I think you'd be great with my best friends here in Sapporo. Only one of them is a Christian even though they've been studying English at our church."
So I went with Barb to meet the group - expecting college students, young people, made to match bouncy Barb - and instead I found a group of retired Japanese seniors, the youngest one being probably in his late 50s. Talk about a shock! As we sat around the table eating yakiniku (Japanese barbecued lamb and vegetables), I was even more shocked by their life and exuberance.
Yoshie is a mountain climber who climbed the Himalayas about two years ago.
Mr. Horimoto, probably in his 70s, made Japanese jokes and taught me how to punch the plastic bag around the napkin so it made a loud, "POW!" and startled the tables around us.
Keiko kept filling up my plate with meat and ordering Korean rice, all the while speaking perfect, beautiful English.
And Ken, the lone Christian, watched over everything like a wise old owl and printed up a special sheet with grammatically horrible Hokkaido slang ("for you to practice," he said with a laugh).
With Barb leaving, they wanted a new English teacher - so badly that they agreed to meet me on MY schedule, at MY apartment (all the way across town), and even study the Bible. Ken smiled. The women grumbled but agreed. "If that's the only way we can learn English," they said. "Only once a month. And only for 20 minutes." Mr. Horimoto just nodded and popped another plastic napkin bag.
So two Wednesdays ago I was scrambling to set up a space in the living room when the doorbell rang. In piled the four seniors, all laughing, all rowdy, with TWO OTHER WOMEN of the same age. They were toting coffee, a coffee maker, Ken's printed sheets about the "English club," and cameras.
I am not an English teacher by nature, not even an English Bible teacher, so with much prayer and trepidation I pulled out a stack of red Gideon Japanese-English New Testaments given by my dear friend Mr. Kenji (also in his 70s).
"This man gave me these Bibles to give to my friends," I told them, pulling Mr. Kenji's picture off my bulletin board.
That grabbed their interest in a heartbeat. They passed around Mr. Kenji's picture lovingly, speaking Japanese in low tones. "Wow," they were saying. "That was so nice of him."
Keiko asked in Japanese, "Is he a Christian?"
"Yes, he is," I replied, and told them Mr. Kenji's testimony. They were impressed, moved. They nodded and passed his picture around again. "Please tell him thank you for the Bibles," one of the women said, and everyone agreed.
When they picked up the Bibles this time, they handled them carefully.
Then it came, out of nowhere.
"So how did you become a Christian?" Keiko asked. All eyes fastened on me.
I told them my whole story - how I became a Christian, why I decided to come to Japan. Ken translated everything as they listened with rapt attention. "That's wonderful," they were saying in Japanese. I spoke for 15 minutes, and no one interrupted me. No one changed the subject.
When I picked up the Bible to explain to them what it was, they picked up theirs.
"This is the New Testament," I explained. "This is the story of Jesus' life and letters written by early church leaders."
Again - surprise. Light bulbs coming on in their heads. (Had no one ever explained to them the Bible before?)
I explained the difference between the Old and New Testaments, using a Japanese Bible for reference, and told them about the books in the New Testament.
"That's not hard!" one of them said in surprise as we paged through the Bible.
A huge mental wall just crumbled and fell. And I saw it. So many Japanese are afraid of the Bible, intimidated by the big words and formal Japanese. I hear an ancient Ethiopian whispering, "But how can I understand unless someone explains it to me?"
No Bible degree, no teacher's license - and here I am, witnessing a miracle just by being a Christian and telling what I know.
(Is it really that simple?)
I told them it was okay to write notes in the margins or underline parts, and every single one of them grabbed their pencils and made notes on the contents page: "Jesus' friends," one wrote by "Matthew, Mark, Luke and John."
"Let's try reading a couple of verses," I said, and showed them how to find books, chapters and verses.
We turned to 1 Corinthians 13 about love and began to read - first in English, then in Japanese.
Awed silence. People put on their glasses and looked closer, reading again silently, lips moving.
"Good words, good words!" they were saying in Japanese. "Wow! Amazing! I love this!"
"I love these words!" Keiko exclaimed to me in English.
Mr. Horimoto drew a big box around the verses in his Bible. And as we talked the next hour, he kept reading.
After discussing the Bible another half hour, I had to actually turn the conversation to the class so I would be remembered as keeping my word.
When the class ended, the women cleaned up the coffee maker and washed all the dishes (even the old ones I had left in the sink!) When I protested, they pushed me out of the kitchen. "We're housewives!" they said. "We're good at this!"
After eating hot bowls of ramen at a nearby restaurant, they dropped me back off at the apartment to meet again in two weeks. I spent the rest of the day in wonder... feeling like I had just stepped into something big. REALLY big.
This morning was the second class, and just like before, the doorbell sounded as I was putting coffee cups on the table.
Two of the members couldn't come today, but they'll be here next week, they assured me.
I prayed for another miracle as I spread Japanese zabuton pillows on the floor, everyone talking at the same time. Ken pulled out immaculate, alphabetized copies of new Hokkaido slang definitions for me. Keiko attacked the coffee maker. Everyone got out their red Gideon testaments.
(Wait a minute - didn't they only want to study the Bible once a month? And for 20 minutes only...?)
Then Keiko spotted our English children's Bible, with LARGE TYPE (why didn't I think of this before?) and we spent the REST OF THE CLASS PLUS 30 MINUTES OVERTIME reading from the children's Bible as Ken translated.
We practiced looking up verses in the Gideon testament - even had a race to see who could find 1 Thessalonians 5:16 first. Keiko won. She read it in English (twice) and in Japanese.
Yoshie washed all the dishes before I could protest, everyone gathered money for me to buy two new children's Bibles (one in English, one in Japanese) for class use only. Ken produced perfectly typed directions and a map for us to meet this Saturday (we're climbing Mount Moiwa!).
And when they left, as left time, I sat in the quiet of the room and marveled at the way God works.
I heard a soft whisper, "How can I understand unless someone explains it to me?"
Dear Ethiopian, I hear your words!
I pray that these precious seniors may let me come near to their chariots and lovingly turn the pages of their Bibles, showing them what it means to be a Christian, to be loved, comforted and convicted from these pages of God's word, to know the promise of abundant life, eternal life, and the One called "The LIFE."
Oh, how I pray I may bend my ear and hear the same words spoken to Philip from beautiful bronze lips: "Look, here is water! Why shouldn't I be baptized?"
The "greying of Japan" indeed... if these seniors, with their energy, time and resources could be changed by the Spirit of God, what a mission field is waiting for them in their own backyard.
Pray with me that the "grey" of Japan may turn to silver, "shining like stars as (they) hold out the Word of Life..." (Philippians 2:15).
And may we join the Ethiopian who went on his way "REJOICING"!
PRAY for the six members of the English club: Ken (a believer), Mr. Horimoto, Keiko, Yoshie, Etsuko and another lady with a really hard name.
PRAY for older believers like Mr. Kenji who have an unparalleled opportunity to witness to Japanese seniors.
PRAY for the elderly of Japan, that churches would be started among them and they would set a magnificent example for younger Japanese, children, and grandchildren - that entire generations may follow in their footsteps. Because the elderly are respected and revered in Japan, seniors (like Mr. Kenji) receive a special standing, and their testimonies carry a lot of weight. Pray for a special blessing on these seniors!
About the last photo...
Q: How many seniors can you fit in an apartment elevator?
A: Six, plus one young whipper-snapper. :)
Here are their names so you can (PLEASE!) pray: From left to right - Etsuko, Yoshie, Mr. Horimoto, Ken, and the lady with the hard name. Keiko was standing beside me, so she didn't show up. But she was there. Did I mention Keiko brought a coffee maker called "Carioca?" (I know, I know - all the Brazilians out there reading this are getting excited. If you want to know about "cariocas," ask a Brazilian. :)
And last but not least, here is Mr. Kenji's picture so you can pray for him...
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