War

I do not think I have talked about this before, but there have been several moments here in Japan when history forced its way into center stage. There is no doubt that the war and its outcome are deeply embedded in the culture and landscape of this country. Every time I become aware of what has happened here, the juxtaposition, the sheer contrast between past and present, is then as real as an earthquake. 

My city, Mito, has been here in different forms since the fourth century A.D. 

The samurai "castle" and gardens were first built in the sixteenth century. Maps of my city from that samurai period can be seen on display in different museums throughout my city, but the samurai house on the hill is not the original because of World War 2.

          I studied the Wars in school - extensively since I was a history major in college. I know the statistics.  But I did not understand them. I still do not presume to understand them. Nonetheless, for the first time I got a taste of the humanity, the loss, and the destruction of that War.  For the first time I felt chest-crushing loss and a real anger - the kind that makes you feel like you have to do something. I don't know if you have ever come face-to-face with history like that, but I hope that someday you do.

           Mito, Japan was the eighth city targeted for napalm aerial bombings. On August 2, 1945, 68.9% of the city was destroyed by bombs and another 7% was destroyed in fires. There are people in my church who are old enough to remember that. Their experience, their memories are beyond my naivety. If I try to grasp the tragedy my mind still reduces it to numbers. Dehumanizing tragedy is often one of the ways disaster victims cope.  A small information bulletin in the Kaerakuen gardens (http://linguadiscipuli.blogspot.jp/2016/03/plum-blossoms.html ) was more real to me than than the numbers that I have heard about loss of life. The human numbers I still struggle to wrap my head around and feel real emotions as a result. However, there was another number that held my heart and made me still. During the bombings, more than two-thirds of the gardens and the grounds surrounding the samurai house were destroyed. Thousands of trees, dozens of species, were gone in an instant in the night. Standing in the middle of those gardens in full bloom, for the first time, I felt more than just numbers. I felt loss. The scope of the human loss I cannot conceive, but the loss of the beautiful trees was heart-wrenching. It helps me to understand, even if only a little.

       I have never had to witness the terrible reality of war although it is ever-present. I acknowledge that I still cannot begin to grasp the immensity of the human suffering and cultural loss of the War, although the echoes and reflections of it still haunts Japanese culture and I believe will continue to influence them indefinitely. I just want to remind my readers, if you will listen, that history is real and it touches our day-to-day lives even if we do not notice.

In what I write, I am not trying to vilify the fighters who took part in the bombings, nor justify either side's violence. There were so many horrors. I only want to share my grappling with history. Nevertheless, I do not write as one without hope. God is telling His story throughout history and from the ashes comes new growth. Below you can see a placard in my city showing a street corner that is now in the center of the city, next to the train station. The arrow is pointing to two small, fire-worn trees. Below that photo is another image that I've taken. You can see those same trees today, standing tall, witnesses to history, whose trunks are too large for me to wrap my arms around.

http://www.ditext.com/japan/napalm.html                                  

https://vimeo.com/149799416

Thank you God for rejuvenation.

Thank You for hope.