Last
week’s anniversaries of the nuclear bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki reminded
me of a deeply moving visit to a church that had faced a difficult transition.
Nearly
30 years ago I led workshops for a congregation in the state of Oregon. The
next day, the pastor who was hosting me took me to “his” church—not the
congregation he pastored, but the one he attended when he just wanted to be on
the receiving end of ministry. As we drove through the hamlets and villages of
the state, he told me how this church experienced a crisis when its sanctuary
burned down to the ground and they had to decide what to do—whether to rebuild
or buy another property.
My
new friend continued his story as we drove into what appeared to be a motel and
parked in its parking lot. The church decided, he said, to practice what it
preached, and instead of building some grand new sanctuary with the insurance
money, to purchase this motel instead. Services were conducted in what had been
the motel’s large lobby, and its rooms were made available to the homeless.
As
if that were not enough, the speaker that day was a survivor of Hiroshima, it being
the 40th anniversary of the bomb being dropped on his city. Some of
you may know that Hiroshima was not so much a military target as a spiritual
target, intended to strike a demoralizing blow to the Empire of Japan.
As
the gentle, elderly man rose to speak, I was mindful that my father, en route
to Japan during WW II, was said to have been saved from actual combat by the
dropping of the bomb. Eventually my father saw the devastation of Nagasaki
firsthand, debarking from his troop ship in its harbor. Soon, as part of the
occupying forces, he was welcomed into one family’s life in another part of the
country, to whom my family sent packages of goods long after his return to
California. At the same time, a Japanese-American family down the street from
us, who became friends, had been among those sent to a so-called “relocation
center” during the war.
The
dignified survivor stood behind the pulpit. He carefully pulled his notes from
the pocket of his suit jacket, and unfolded the silk scarves in which they were
wrapped. The effect was that of unveiling the Holy Grail.
He
spoke of being a child in school when the blast occurred; of hearing planes
overhead and taking cover; of being burned by the flash and bloodied by flying
glass, yet having somehow survived radiation poisoning. He described losing
family and friends, either immediately or eventually. He told us of the
physical devastation to the city and to his own body.
Yet
he did not speak of recrimination. He spoke of redemption. Having seen the
horror of war, he had devoted his life to peace. And that was his gospel to us
that morning. Peace. Peace on earth, good will toward all. In that former motel
lobby, I both saw and heard the gospel of peace and redemption.
You
might also be interested in my article, “AIDS and A-Bomb Disease,” applying Robert Jay Lifton’s analysis of Hiroshima
survivors to the experience of people living with HIV/AIDS. (After clicking on
the title above, scroll down past the initial page to find the article.) It was
first published by Christianity &
Crisis in 1987 and then in the New
England Journal of Public Policy in 1988. At the time I wrote the article,
there was no remedy, and so I write that I had chosen not to be tested. Of
course, once that changed, I was tested. If some of the sentences in the
article sound familiar, it’s because they were used verbatim without
attribution in a subsequent book by another author.
Progressive Christian
Reflections
is an unfunded Emerging Ministry of Metropolitan Community Churches, a
denomination welcoming seekers as well as believers.
Copyright © 2014 by
Chris R. Glaser. Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of
author and blogsite. Other rights reserved.
