Читать книгу Soldier for Christ - John Zeugner - Страница 7

Later the rector said, “You know Owen, Yasuko said you shouldn’t spend so much time on Judas, when most people don’t even know Christ.”

Owen watched the rector carefully—was there a trace of smile in his tone, a put-on, was that it? Or was there a message beyond the irony and the knowing comradeship of being evaluated by Yasuko.

“I wanted them to think about God’s will and Judas, God’s plan and Judas. Wasn’t Judas necessary?”

“Betrayal was necessary. Judas wasn’t necessary. And fully culpable.” The rector said, running a fat hand through his thinning hair, slicking it straight back off the red ellipse of his birth marked forehead. “Fully culpable.”

“I think it’s like being a Christian in Japan, isn’t it?”

“How so?”

“You have to reconceptualize it—in different terms, beyond the categories in the Gospel.”

“I don’t follow,” the rector answered, peering beyond Owen toward the French doors that blocked entrance to the wide circular room, for dining or meeting downstairs.

“Maybe we’re too hard on the Japanese Christian community—” Owen said.

“There is one?” the rector replied.

“Oh, I think so, but it’s not the same as we might like. It’s not had an easy time.”

“What’s the point?” the rector smiled “Maybe only that—I don’t know.” Owen answered.

“Pray on it, my boy,” the rector continued “Ask and it shall be given to you.”

“If you say so.”

“I don’t say anything.” the rector corrected him. “Now why don’t we get some coffee and rolls.” He motioned toward the doors.

“I only meant that I didn’t understand how hard it was to be Christian for Japanese, until I came here. How unusual it makes you, how vulnerable, how separated from the flows of life here.” Owen continued while the rector nipped slowly at a tiny cinnamon roll. They stood against the vast curving windows of the meeting room, looking down the hill past the train lines, past the accumulated concrete apartment complexes and small shops to the erector set, shipyard cranes in Kobe’s harbor.

“It’s no stand to be a Christian in the states,” Owen continued.

“Try it in the Navy” the rector said.

“It’s still within the norm, still permitted, admired even.”

“Admired?” the rector’s eyes sparkled.

“Still within the parameters.”

“Ah, parameters—there’s a recent concept.”

“I’m only saying that within the category of thinking, you could imagine all the Christian message and still feel as if you were normal, acceptable, worthy. There might be embarrassment, but surely no shame. No shame.”

“So what’s the point?” the rector said, still staring down the hill. The windows were thick and imposing, lined with bronze straps and ratcheted into chrome holders.

“The point, the point is that it’s not that way to be a Christian here—nothing provides for that decision. Nothing makes it all right. Everything makes it wrong.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything, and you have to admire any Japanese who does it.”

“Most do it to learn English,” the rector said, smiling at Owen now.

“I don’t think so.”

“The Lord moves incomprehensibly, my boy. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“I concede all that, “Owen answered, dumping off the rector’s sardonic stance. “It’s very hard to be so, so unplugged in this society as to be Christian.”

“There’s a rather tight knit Christian community, in fact,” the rector answered—perhaps a trace of exasperation with Owen.

There was a pause. Yasuko joined them. She carried a green mug and vapors off the top of the mug seemed momentarily as grey as the grey of her hair, close cropped, just to the tops of her ears.

“Ah, Yasuko, just in time,” the rector said. “You can explain how easy it is being a Christian nowadays in Japan.”

“Compared to when?” Yasuko said.

“Let’s say World War II—maybe that’s what Owen needs to do, fill in Church history during World War II. Maybe some oral interviews and a little update on the church history text, a few more pages on the easiest time to be a Christian in this country..”

“It must have been the hardest,” Owen said, rejecting the tone of the rector’s remarks and puzzling over them at the same time.

“You have read the church history?” Yasuko said to Owen.

“The little yellow book?” Owen asked.

“Yes, “Yasuko answered.

“You see that building up there beyond the water tower, way up?” The rector pointed away from the harbor to the pines above the church. “That’s the main classroom of Oxford University here in Japan.”

“I know that,” Owen answered.

“Dons in robes, walking around the top of the mountain, looking at the harbor and wondering why no students come, but they’re here for life since Fuji steel has committed to offering Oxford. I tried to get one of them interested in the church’s history during World War II, but that looked like work to the ‘historians’ there. Would’ve disturbed their posturing—their slow strolls around the empty campus—their musings about the absent students. So nobody bit, but now I see I should have looked closer to home. Why don’t you do it? It’s an interesting story—this church was saved by Nazis from a takeover in ‘42.”

“By Nazis?”

“Well, by the local German community and Pastor Rielmann.”

“And by Mioko, “Yasuko said.

“Oh yes, she’ll have to give you her side of the story. That should be your first interview—how she saved the church from her people. Single-handedly.”

“She and Mogens Nielsen.”

“Ah yes, the Danish saint. Mioko and Mogens saved the church from the dread Thought Police. Or so she’ll tell you, and tell you and tell you. Very strong willed woman, Mioko. Now I must speak to the trustees at the coffee line.” And the rector was gone.

Yasuko sipped her tea, “Have you read the yellow book?”

“Only parts of it,” Owen answered. The sun off Kobe bay seemed a chrome brilliance; he squinted at it, determined to find the cranes that had suddenly blurred into sun spots on the water.

“I will get you a copy,” Yasuko said, “from the office.”

“I suppose I should read it—charged to do so from the pastor himself.”

“I think the Mission is not so demanding. If you would like to read it I will put one on the table upstairs. You can pick it up before you get on the bus.”

“How much you know about my comings and goings,” Owen said smiling, but it seemed she saw no edge in the remark.

“If you want to interview Mioko, I can take you there. I’ve been meaning to visit her for a long time anyway. She’s in a home outside of Akashi; she has no family—only the church, and I should be paying her a visit.”

“Did she save the church?”

“She found out the government was going to takeover the church and she and Mogens went to see Pastor Rielmann and then Pastor Rielmann and Mogens went to Tokyo to the German Ambassador, pleading for the church to remain under its own control.

“And it was?”

“Yes, Pastor Rielmann jointly held the rectorship for the German church and for this one—he gave sermons in English all through the war. Then in the last month of the war the church was bombed, almost totally destroyed. If she had not heard the threat of takeover; if she hadn’t told Mogens and involved Pastor Rielmann, then perhaps the church would have been absorbed by a Japanese church or the government directly. The German Ambassador really saved the church, however, not Mioko. It’s all in the yellow book.”

Yasuko put out more than just the Little Yellow book for him. The brown envelope on the table upstairs contained several documents, including three prior histories of the church—pamphlets only about 12 pages long, but the ones in 1952 celebrating the re-enclosure of the church, and in 1969 at the opening of the second class room building, and 1978 commemorating the move out of Kobe to property near Ikuta shrine and in 1990 at the opening of the new church on the mountain top, all contained the same story of Mioko Tanaka, meeting a Dr. Sugiera on the train back to Kobe from Osaka on the night of March 23rd 1942 and hearing from him that the government planned to takeover the church, the only English speaking foreign church in the area and close it down—since it was mostly Brits and Danes and Dutch who came to services, all enemies of the Rome/Tokyo/Berlin axis. And that Mioko had gone home and immediately phoned Mogens Nielsen, who immediately called a meeting with Pastor Rielmann. Together they went to Tokyo for a direct appeal to the German Ambassador; allegedly the Ambassador intervened at the foreign ministry and the takeover stopped; instead, Pastor Rielmann assumed pastoral duties—the church’s regular rector had been arrested the day after Pearl Harbor, and Rielmann kept up English services, monthly communion, and even Sunday school classes right through until the church was bombed.

In each post war history, then, Mioko Tanaka was the first fighter for the church, the Paul Revere of Christian salvation during the long night of fascist pagan attempts.