When the Miracle-Wine Runs Dry

It’s a rainy Sunday afternoon, and I’m at the beach. That is to say, I’m at a café at the beach. I thought no one would be here, but apparently I am not the only one who enjoys looking at the ocean when it’s raining.

Today was one of the days when neither Keith nor I had to preach (which meant we were assigned for piano and vocal leader duty). The retired pastor of a nearby church has agreed to preach once a month, and today was the second installment in his series in the Gospel of John. The passage was John 2:1-12, the wedding at Cana.

One Sunday three years ago, Keith and I sat together with Pastor Takahashi at the head of a big long table around which were seated about 25 church members--more than half of the church. That day we read John 2 together, introduced the inductive method of Bible study, and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company as we worked through the passage. I had watched with delight as the Bible came alive, as each person was able to find how the passage connected with their own life.

So, I listened to the passage being read this morning with complicated emotions. Pastor Takahashi isn’t here any more. The idea of everyone sitting together around one table, laughing and enjoying one another’s company seems like a distant dream. It seems like we’ve run out of wine--but perhaps we had forgotten where the wine was coming from.

I’m eating a slice of a spectacular gateaux chocolate cake right now, accompanied by Darjeeling tea. All around the café, wild roses are blooming, and the ocean is calm. These things are like the miracle-wine in the story, which was so delicious that the master of the feast pulled aside the bridegroom to compliment him for saving the best for last. And yet, neither the master of the feast nor the bridegroom knew where the wine came from. Only a few knew--Mary, the disciples, and the servants.

I have been given a great blessing; I know where the wine came from. I must not forget who made the miracle-wine from which I drink every day, or become distracted by its exquisite taste. And when the miracle-wine seems to run dry, I must not forget that the giver is infinitely greater and more beautiful than anything he gives.

Faking it

Today was the day when my fake smile cracked. It has cracked before--last Tuesday, at the Hokkaido pastors’ gathering, in fact--but I managed to hide in the back stairwell, sniffling, dabbing my eyes with a wet handkerchief, and fanning my face until it turned back to its usual shade of pale pink. But today, the gentle missionary facade that I had been cultivating started to crack at the church leaders’ meeting… because I can’t fake it anymore.

Faking is a performing art. I was just talking to Shino about faking when we were rehearsing the Rachmaninov cello sonata last Thursday. The cello part isn’t too difficult… but the piano part is beastly, written by a man whose hands were twice the size of Shino’s. Thus she was bemoaning the difficulty of a certain passage. “Just fake it,” I said in English. “Just fake it,” she repeated, smiling. I continued in Japanese: “The left hand is all that matters; the right hand is just decoration. Even if you flub half the notes, no one will notice,” I suggested. She looked unconvinced. “Well, you should certainly try to hit as many notes as possible, but don’t worry about it if you miss a few.”

Faking well is part of the performance. All musicians do it. Even if I make an obvious mistake in the middle of a concert, my face must not give away any sign that I didn’t play that note on purpose. After the concert, I must smile and graciously receive everyone’s thanks and compliments, even if I feel like a hypocrite.

Faking is a part of the performance of life around the world, but especially in Japan. Here we call it tatemae. Tatemae can be a good and healthy practice; we consider the feelings of other and think before we speak. Tatemae can also be an unhealthy practice when we hide what is truly in our hearts and build an entirely different persona to face the world, or perhaps a different persona in every social situation.

Introvert that I am, in some ways I appreciate this aspect of Japanese social interaction. I am free not to talk if I don't want to. Interactions with others tend to be respectful and peaceful. I have never been pressured to spill my guts in front of strangers in some sort of intimacy-building activity. I can take my time making friends, gradually sharing more and more of what’s in my heart. Shino is a friend like that; I’ve known her for eight years now.

And yet, I fall into the trap of building personas. I want to be strong for the church right now. I want people to like me, to think well of me. Celia the musician, Celia the missionary. I’m even different depending on what language I’m using. Celia speaking English, Celia speaking Japanese. But no facade can hold up forever. The shock of finding out that a person you thought was kind and gentle is actually vindictive and angry, for example, is distressing, to say the least. One feels lied to and betrayed. And yet, it shouldn’t be a shock to discover the darkness in another person’s heart, because there is darkness in all of our hearts.

Last Wednesday, we read James 4:1-10 together at the church prayer meeting. (I have been leading the group through James doing a made-for-Wakaba version of Lectio Divina.) For some reason, I really like this passage. Especially this part: “Be wretched and mourn and weep. Let your laughter be turned to mourning and your joy to gloom.” There’s something incredibly healing about grieving properly for things that ought to be grieved. Sin is grievous. It separates us from God and from one another. Here was an invitation to be real, to drop the fake smile, to stop pretending things were okay when they weren’t.

It wasn’t until after I went home that I realized how counter-cultural this passage was. As I observe the reaction of our church to our current challenges, it seems that the members instinctively try to patch things up quickly and move on, because we in Japan care about peace. But peace achieved by faking it--like covering a festering wound with a bandaid--won’t do any good in the long run. I need--all of us need--to grieve, to stop faking it. The road to recovery and reconciliation runs through the valley of grief. “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you.”

In the Right Place

Today’s coffee… is whatever Tokumitsu is serving with their lunch set. This morning I had Tokumitsu’s lovely 春色ブレンド (Spring-colored blend… but actually it’s coffee-brown like normal. Because spring in Ishikari is coffee-brown before the daffodils come up?)

I decided that I need to start writing again. Writing helps me to process what is going on in my life. Practicing cello and puttering around in the garden have also helped a lot.

Crocuses in our garden

God has a sense of humor. I told him, I think back even before I went to Regent, that I did not want to be a pastor (too much responsibility… I’m more of a team player). I also told him that I especially didn’t want to be a pastor’s wife (too many unspoken expectations, and I don't fit the image).

Well… essentially, due to our current circumstances, I have unexpectedly become both a pastor and a pastor’s wife. Of course, missionaries are somewhat different than pastors, but what we’re doing right now boils down to preaching, leading prayer meetings, providing training for church leaders, following up with church members and seekers, planning worship services, and sitting through (sometimes leading) lots of leadership meetings… that doesn’t look so different than what pastors do. Yep… God has a sense of humor. Mental note: be careful what I tell God I absolutely don’t want to do.

This really isn’t what I wanted to do, and I’m feeling completely inadequate to do what I’m currently doing. It’s kind of weird that people trust me and listen to me as much as they do. Japan is like that… I have a seminary degree, so that makes me “Sensei.” Perhaps this is what Moses felt like when he asked God to send someone else. There’s no way I would have said “yes” to this calling if it hadn’t happened seemingly by default. But people keep telling us that God brought us back to Wakaba “for such a time as this.” On good days, that’s encouraging. On bad days, I just want to run away from the pressure and the pain.

Still, shortly before we found ourselves in our current situation, God seemed unusually insistent in telling both of us that he was there, and he was walking with us. Both of us had an uncomfortable sense that something big was coming, so when it did, we weren’t all that surprised. “Ah, so that’s what it was.” That odd realization helped confirm in our hearts that we are in the right place, however difficult it might be at the moment.

I started doing an inductive study of the whole Bible last October. It turns out, that was a really good idea. I set a pattern of spending a lot of time on my “quiet time,” which has really helped me lately. I began to see that spending time with God was the only way I was going to survive, but beyond mere survival, I would even have something to share with others. (More on that thought later, probably.) That’s how I was able, despite never having preached in Japanese, to commit to preaching once a month--each sermon (so far) flowed out of my morning study/devotion times. From next month, I start a series in the Psalms! My very first sermon series!

Preaching on Easter Sunday

I still feel rather like I’m on a roller coaster riding between despair and joy… and there’s no end to that in sight. But I’m trying my best to find joy in remembering all that God has done for me, giving thanks for those little confirmations that we are in the right place, and God is right here with us.

February News(letter)?

Dear friends,

It's been a while. Although we've both been writing in a variety of genres, including some attempts at blog posts, we have been up to our ears in a difficult situation which we can't write about on the blog... and it has been all-consuming. Thus, nearly all of this month's newsletter has been censored. (Please let us know if you would like a copy emailed to you.) Please do keep us in your prayers; we need it. Hopefully we will have many bloggable experiences in the near future, so that when things calm down, we will be able to post here again.

So, instead of copying what little of the newsletter we could post here, we would like to share some recent pictures and things we are thankful for.

At Christmas, we put together a “choir” at church, and sang John Rutter’s Nativity Carol (in Japanese translation) in 4 parts! (Celia got choked up and barely got through it.) Celia also learned, memorized, and gave her first performance of Bach’s fourth cello suite, also as part of Wakaba’s Christmas festivities. (The second performance was a private concert for Mom and Dad.)

Wakaba Choir!

Private concert for Mom and Dad

We're thankful for a visit from Celia's parents over New Year's! There were many meals with friends, a Christmas carol party, work done on the house, and even a couple of ski days!

Christmas carols at Matsu House with viols and recorder!

We went to 2 different Tokumitsu coffee shops! This is the downtown Sapporo store.

I had no time to make Osechi this year. Thankfully Mrs. Tamura did. We ate it at their house!

I love Hokkaido trees! (I did this on purpose...)

After skiing: onsen (not pictured) and meat!

Mt. Yotei

Dad skis through the birch trees

Dad joins the worship team!

Speaking of ski days, Celia went skiing with her friend, Hannah too.

Keith led communion in Japanese for the first time!

Celia preached her first sermon in Japanese (on Luke 5:17-26), wearing a kimono!

With kimono-friends after preaching

Celia learned to play the ukulele—a handmade Christmas present from Dad! Both of us are now using our respective instruments to accompany singing at Wednesday prayer meetings.

Our instruments are siblings! Keith's is a guitar (Jackson), and Celia's is an ukulele (Jackie), both with red cedar tops, and back and sides made from the same maple tree in Celia's backyard!

We are thankful for progress made on our house! The dining room was finished in time for entertaining at Christmas time. The floor of the tea room, which is also the guest room, was finished in time for Celia’s parents to sleep on it. Celia’s Dad made us a new sink cabinet and worked on a number of other improvements (paint, plumbing, wiring, etc.) in the bathroom. We are thankful for Celia’s Dad, and also for Mr. Inoue, who sometimes calls us to ask when he can come and work on our house.

The moment we realized there was a random bit of foundation right where we wanted to put the tea-hearth. Thankfully, Mr. Inoue knew what to do!

First tea in the tea room, for Celia's parents! (Walls and various other details still yet to be completed)

That glorious moment when Dad reconnected the toilet intake and we could flush again... we were all getting a little tired of carrying water from the kitchen.

Almost finished! We need to do the backsplash tile, and then we can actually hook up the sink. (Mirror and light fixture, not pictured here, have already been installed.)

We thank God that he has been feeding us and encouraging us through his word.

Morning devotions (Celia) and sermon preparations (Keith) in the newly-completed dining room

We thank God for all of you who pray for us. We couldn’t do this without you.

Love in Christ,
Celia and Keith