She brushed away the vines that had encased the stonewall over passing years. Her hand worked its way across the walls coarse stone surface seeking any sign of a crevice the right size. As her hand passed stone after stone and the sun fell to the western horizon she began to loose hope of ever finding the keyhole. The wall seemed to extend in an endless expanse of stone meeting ground with no sight of a break. Just as she was about to end her search for the day her fingers went from the consistent texture of the coarse wall to a small crevice. It was so sudden that she passed it, and had to return as the impression spiked an intrigue. There it was, so well hidden amongst the monotony of stone that she was uncertain she would be able to locate it again. She reached her hand to the old leather string tied around her neck and pulled it up to reveal a key she had discovered nights before. Her intrigue for the mystery before her grew with every passing moment.
As she worked the key into the crevice pieces of broken stone fell to the sides. The hollow knock of a wooden door releasing itself from years fastened into stone echoed from only feet away. Removing the precious key from the crevice, she secured it around her neck and dashed toward the sound in fear that it might be her ears deceiving her. She came to a halt where light leaked through crossing leaves, and pulled back the vines to uncover a wooden door showing signs of the years it had been forsaken within these walls. She placed both hands on the door and pushed it open, with all the force she could muster as it shifted the dirt beneath, to discover an expanse of branches, decaying leaves upon decayed leaves, and shrubs without foliage amongst oppressive weeds existing in a garden of desolation. There was no life to be seen in this land that left remnants of a once lush garden.
“A missionaries graveyard.” These were words shared with us before departing to Japan and repeated within hours of arrival. Japan is a collectivist culture. For one to accept Christianity it would mean turning away from the beliefs of their family, the tradition of their nation and accepting that ones job standing is not of the highest importance in life. Life in Japan is centered on being a committed and contributing member of communities. The central communities include your family, friends, work, nation, and faith, but go as intricate as to include your sports club, and farmers you may never see face-to-face. It is of the utmost importance to be aware that your everyday actions affect others, and your life as a whole affects those you encounter daily. Honor, saving face, and respecting others is central to the lifestyle. Making the decision to believe in the existence of one God, rather than the many gods of your family, could shame your family and the years they have committed to their gods. Coming to such beliefs would require a commitment of putting faith above your job, your friends and even your family. In Japan, missionaries may spend years building relationships, and even experiencing the joy of disciplining them in their recently planted seed of faith in Christ. Yet, these same individuals when asked by their family to return to the shrines for the cleanings and praying at the end of the year will go. Thus, the graveyard is created, a place where even new life seems to quickly return to the grave. Missionaries give up hope, and locals are lost in seeking the truth amongst so many different voices of scientology, Buddhism, Hinduism, and ancestry worship – to name a few. The key to the garden is forgotten, and as one sits in desolation past hurts leave remnants of fear of pressing in further into dry bones.
“What you sow does not come to life unless it dies,” (1 Corinthians 15: 36).
(Is there hope for this ‘graveyard’ to become a garden? Continue to part 2)
