Thursday, March 8, 2012

Nagasaki - a detour en route to Fukushima

March 8, 2012 - Nagasaki, Japan

It's my fourth visit to Fukushima and this time it includes a detour in the south via Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Why Hiroshima and Nagasaki? We want to learn how Christians engaged in restoration of communities and cities after the atomic bombing at the end of World War II and bring that learning to and for Fukushima.

Today Midori and I spent most of the day to walk around the city of Nagasaki to learn its history, culture and people and visited a couple of museums, including the 26 Martyrs Museum. The museum was opened in February 5, 1961, on 364th anniversary of the crucifixion of the 26 saints in Nagasaki. It was the very first official persecution on Christians in Japan, and only to be followed by thousands and thousands more shortly after that.
It was an inexplicable moment. Horror, sorrow, awe, reverence, and gratitude. This is best I could describe the movements of my emotions. St. Paul Miki, one of the 26 martyrs, a Japanese Christian said to his offenders as he was dying on the cross:
All of you who are here, please, listen to me. I did not come from the Philippines. I am a Japanese by birth, and a brother of the Society of Jesus. I have committed no crime, and the only reason why I am put to death is that I have been teaching the doctrine of Our Lord Jesus Christ. I am very happy to die for such a cause, and see my death as such a great blessing from the Lord. 
At this critical time, when, you can rest assured that I will not try to deceive you and I want to stress and make it unmistakably clear that man can find no salvation other than the Christian way. The Christian law commands that we forgive our enemies and those who have wronged us. I must therefore say here that I forgive Taikosama (Hideyoshi). I would rather have all the Japanese become Christians. 
(From Luis Frois, Martyrs Records, 1597)


Soon after this tragic event took place on the hill of Nagasaki, the rich and the powerful started to build a tight control over foreign trade as they were afraid of Christianity being further spread to Japan. So they built an artificial island, Dejima, to keep all foreigners (Portuguese first then Dutch as part of their East Indian Company trade) on that small area of 120 m x 75 m (9000 square meters, a fan-shaped island with only one bridge to the mainland) and controlled all the trade routes to a small port in Nagasaki. They wanted science, technology, education, weaponry from the West, but no Christianity. 

Japan was a newly unified nation by the warlord Hideyoshi who invaded and kept the war with Korea for seven years, with an ambitious plan to take over the mainland. He died only a year and a half after he ordered the 26 Christians to be killed in Nagasaki. Since mid 17th century Japan closed itself to the rest of the world for over 200 years in fear of the growth of Christianity in its homeland. Some Christians fled to Macau and majority of other Christians went underground. Because of this persecution, Japanese Christianity quietly grew in its unique and authentic form during this dark age. Bibles that were translated to Japanese were all burned and there was no priest to shepherd this secretly growing community. They often carried Buddhist symbols with Christian symbols hidden deliberately so their faith would not get exposed to outsiders.

I stood on the second floor of the captain house in Dejima, where captains of Dutch East Indian Company trade ships would come and stay. Looking though the window, all I could tell was the passage of time. The small artificial island is now completely locked in by the expansion of the city, after surviving the atomic bombing.  I could only see the hills behind the Nagasaki Customs building as if this hidden history is now completely surrounded by the modern urban noise.
 Midori and I walked to the warf and wandered around a bit along the water. This quiet water is enclosed by gentle hills. Honestly, it is hard to believe how much this little narrow port carried the tragedies and silence for the last 500 years or so.

On the plane coming to Japan last weekend, I was overwhelmed by the thought that it's been only twelve months since the disaster happened last March, and we've experienced so much and Japan has been going through a quiet crisis again. What will the future hold? We do not know. 

One thing I am grateful though is that Nagasaki already taught so much about the resilience and unwavering faith of our forefathers and mothers who gave us more than enough to find ways for Fukushima's future, and perhaps for the rest of us, too. 

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