When I first came to Fukushima, what I wanted to say to the Japanese people was that there was hope. A lot of other people were carrying that message too. The Christian version of hope is, of course, a little different from the Japanese word that was scrawled across every business, stretched across bridges...a word that sometimes makes me feel a little feisty. It's the word "Ganbatte!"It's often translated "Fight!" but really has a wide range of meanings. Don't give up. Do your best. Keep at it.
At the worst of times, when I hear this word my heart sinks, because it means, "Nothings going to change, so you just carry on no matter what it costs you." Which is when it makes me feisty...I like to believe things can change for the better. Other times someone tells me to "ganbaru" and I find myself strangely encouraged and realize that somewhere along the line the word has worked it's way into me, and if it's said in the right way, it really does make me feel stronger.
The Japanese people have definitely "ganbaru"ed in response to the disaster. Parks, schools, and riversides have had the top soil scraped away over the years we've been here so that they could be recovered in radiation free top soil. Radiation detectors are usually proudly placed in these areas so we can see the lower levels. Recently my students have been telling me about the government's work to redo their own personal homes. One student had 20 workers at her house over a number of days. They washed her roof and drain pipes, scraped the top soil off most of her garden and built a small concrete tower on her property which they used to contain the top soil. She was told they would pick it up at some point, but she and her classmates chucked at the promise. I suggested she paint it since it might be around for awhile.
I think it's why I've stopped talking about hope. Not because the Christian message of hope has anything to do with getting top soil radiation levels down, but because that's what people think hope is. Over and over I have heard people give their hope: that Fukushima will be normal again. That all will be as it was. And I am left thinking...I don't hope that at all. I hope that in the midst of fear and shame, you'll find a God whose love is so amazing that your lives will never be the same again. I hope you'll find that he's more than one of the shrine gods that you leave wishes for, hoping for their power but not expecting a relationship. I hope you'll learn He's father, savior, living, close and holy.
My message has changed, though it's not one I have very many chances to tell. And it's not just changed from watching the Japanese people, lest I give the wrong impression. I've found that each city I've followed the Lord in there is a different challenge...something that threatens to suck the faith right out of a person. You see it as you watch the people, and you feel it as it pulls at your own heart. The longer I'm with people the more I find that their struggles become my struggle, and as I've lived in Fukushima I find that the battle, the war, the daily challenge is delight. The lesson Fukushima is teaching me is that delighting in God, not just serving him, not just expecting him in the future, not just proclaiming him, is the difference between life and death. Delight knocks down self-pity, defeats "the grass is always greener" mentality, and opens doors for intimacy with him that otherwise feel sealed shut.
I guess that's a long blog to say something really simple, but it's a simple thing that I find I need to remember every day. Delight means He is good and has good things in store with us even when our city is polluted with radiation. Delight means there is Someone beautiful to look at when morning sickness is insanely strong and a little scary. Delight means that no matter how bad things look, we know we are headed for an amazing home, that we aren't there yet, and that every hard moment has a treasure somewhere inside it.
"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." ~2 Corinthians 4:16-18
