by the Rev. Susan Page Townsley
Preached March 20, 2011, at the Norfield Congregational Church UCC in Weston, CT
There are millions of Great Eastern Japan Earthquake stories. Ours are only 4 of them — and pretty happy stories:
On March 11 2011, I was on a training hike with four of my friends. The five of us were signed up as a team on the Oxfam trailwalker fundraiser. It's a 100 kilometer, 48 hour hike for the purposes of raising money for hunger issues around the world.
After a 90 minute drive from center Tokyo, we were in the Mikake valley and tackling a 3-peak circuit. On the second peak, we ran into some icy patches steep pitches so we had to turn around, circle the peak and take a different route down.
Even so, we made it back to the car about 3:35. The car was in a small lot next to a comfort house. We were the only ones in the lot at time. While two of the team were using the restrooms I was sitting on the tailgate of car. I had just loaded our pet Lab retriever who had come on the walk with us, and was taking off my boots, when I noticed shaking. I turned around, expecting to see the dog scratching. Instead, she was just looking at me. I said to my two teammates: “is this an earthquake?” “No, a truck just passed by,” they responsed. But 15 seconds later when our other two teammates came running out from the now visibly shaking building, we knew what it was. We waited perhaps another minute for the shaking to subside, then immediately we headed home.
Hannah, our daughter, was in Japan on her spring break. She had done some babysitting that morning, and was home in our apartment alone. Two of my teammates had young children at home with helpers. Cell phone calls were clearly not going through, the system being overwhelmed with literally millions of calls. We stopped at the nearest “combini” (convenience store), and used a payphone landline-to-landline to get through to loved ones at home.
Hannah sounded shaken, but OK. She reported that when the temblor started, she thought she was sick, but then realized it was the world around her. She ran outside during the first quake, along with others who had been in the building. A neighbor had spotted her, and made sure she was OK, but Hannah figured it best to go back to our apartment to receive calls.
While cell phone and text messages did not work for a long while, those of us with smart phones were able to make some connections to family via Facebook and email. I stayed in touch with Hannah via Facebook. I could not reach Greg. But Hannah heard from him and conveyed his whereabouts to me.
Greg (who works for General Electric) was just beginning a meeting on the 19th floor of his office building with a newly transferred employee. The pre-meeting small talk had been about a Richter 7 quake that had hit a week before. The new employee commented that though she survived her first one and hoped it would be the last. A veteran of the office said, “don’t count on it!” At that moment the quake hit. Greg’s building sways a great deal. The five people in the meeting all climbed under the conference table and waited for the swaying to stop. Within minutes the office emergency coordinator of his office sent people home, identifying those whose commutes involve commuter rails — now out of service — and made sure they had friends or hotels to accommodate them... Greg grabbed a cab and made it home in thickening traffic within 45 minutes.
Andrew’s school is very well prepared for this kind of event. Actually, the talk of his 8th period science class was the fact that his science teacher had predicted the earthquake that morning. While his school mates reacted as — well, school kids — the teacher told them to be quiet and get under their desks until the shaking stopped. They then moved all the children to the field, where they stayed for 90 minutes until the school was able to ascertain that roads were safe. The busses left, each in 2-way radio contact with the school, which emailed us regular updates with the bus locations, informing us that they were stopping for food and bathroom breaks, kids sharing money to make sure everyone had something to eat... Andrew got an email to us about 3 hours after the quake, but we never worried for his safety. Andrew's bus got home at 11:30 pm — 7 hours. It’s usually a 30-minute ride.
Having been further out from Tokyo than the school, my hiking team did not get home until 2 in the morning. What we observed on our drive home was remarkable. Drivers still politely let other cars in ahead of them, patiently waiting through 15 and 20 lights to make it a single city block — without a single toot of the horn. There were also lots of people walking, and walking, and walking — at 11 and 1 in the morning, having walked for hours from work to make it home. Honestly, the walking pace, we quickly realized, was probably faster than the cars.
We had a 3-day ski trip planned — we were supposed to have left the night of the quake. The next morning we determined that if the dog-sitter was still up for it, and the ski area was running, we’d go head and try to ski Sunday and Monday. We were warned by Japanese friends that some of the strong aftershocks had been located near the ski area, but we figured we’d get aftershocks wherever we went. So we drove up to Hakuba Happo One, location of the 1998 Nagano downhill races. In the 48 hrs we were there we experience one aftershock, beautiful sunshine, uncrowded slopes and great skiing. Greg was constantly cutting out to manage office concerns. By then we were hearing bad news about the nuclear reactors and sad news about the devastation in Sendai and the many small towns north and south. Still, we felt that keeping the kids well informed, but busy and away from the constant distressing media, was the right choice.
On Monday evening we retuned to Tokyo. By then many of our expat friends and neighbors had left town. Many of our Japanese friends had sent family members to relatives to the west and south. Andrew’s school announced that it would be closed for that entire week, his spring break being the next week.
Even so, to us, Tokyo and our building felt safe. Sure, trains were running intermittently, and businesses operating on their low-power protocol. Our apartment had only ½ of the common area lights on, and had turned off all the heat. But our apartment still felt cozy and amazingly solid during the frequent aftershocks. Indeed, even the big one had only knocked over 3 books and a small wooden duck, and sloshed some water out of a vase. The nuclear plant issues were grave indeed, but being from a family of engineers I knew that we were safe from harmful radiation in Tokyo. The media, to our minds, were often reporting the Fukushima reactor story in at worst sometimes sensational and sometimes imprecise ways.
Many people were quietly going about their business. Tokyo was remarkably quiet — like an early Saturday morning — but folks were opening stores, driving cabs, commuting to work, eating in restaurants, slogging off to business offices. Commuting was difficult — trains and subways running on a reduced schedule — when aftershocks were of a certain magnitude, the safety protocol involves taking the train to the nearest station, having the passengers exit, and then visually inspecting every inch of track before service is resumed. Though there were no significant interruptions to supply, people were hoarding: rice, milk and other staples were gone from the shelves, and gas was being rationed, too.
On Tuesday I began researching a second possible jaunt out of town, simply to keep the kids busy and engaged instead of overwhelmed by so much difficult news. We suspected that GE would move Greg’s office to Osaka soon, and we considered all going together. Our only concern was how we were to deliver Hannah back to school in Connecticut. Could we put her on a plane from Osaka — flights to the US all go through Narita? What if another aftershock shut the airport down? Could we driver her up — it's about 8 hours, and with a limit of 20 liters per fill, and with possible lines at the pump that option seemed untenable. So our evacuation became a trip home for the three of us.
We moved Hannah’s return flight up three days, found tickets for Andrew and for me, and gave ourselves 6 hours to make the 90-minute ride to the airport. Good thing too; a Richter 6 quake interrupted train service for a while in the middle of our making our way to the airport.
Greg, getting out ahead of the next panic that ensued when even the US began offering voluntary evacuation to its citizens, left for Osaka Thursday midday with the family dog, where he remains for the time being.
To be sure, a number of our friends were distressed and anxious about life in Tokyo. Yet a number of our friends and colleagues remain in Tokyo. We are not alone in considering it safe.
Moreover, the sad, even tragic state of the coastline in the prefectures of Iwate, Miyage, and Fukushima were — for us — the story to which we could respond, to which we long to respond.
For family reasons, Connecticut is the right place to be. But boy, do I wish I were in Tokyo. It is there that the miracle of the church is about a hope-giving piece of work. And to me this is the compelling part of the witness I have to offer you.
Less than 1% of the Japanese population is Christian. But they have been a mighty force in creating a ministry to the once ignored homeless population, and to migrant workers — primarily from the Philippines — who serve the needs of a wealthy nation. This small Christian witness has been kept company for almost a century by missionaries, mostly from the United States. A huge number were Lutheran, but Methodists, Presbyterians, Baptists and the Untied Church of Christ have served in Japan as well.
Some of the children and grandchildren of these first and second generation missionaries, some current missionaries, have made a life in Japan, raising their children in the Japanese school systems, perhaps marrying a Japanese. Along side the friendships I’ve made with expats, these missionaries and families have been among my best friends these past 18 months. It is a fairly small community, but very well connected.
This is the beauty of the church: Within minutes of the quake I sent a Facebook message to Eric Anderson — the webmaster for the Connecticut Conference, United Church of Christ. I knew my colleague Jeffrey Mensendiek — your UCC missionary to Sendai, could have been in mortal danger. From halfway around the world, Eric worked to find news of Jeffrey’s safety, and send it back to me.
This is the beauty of the church: the director of Second Harvest Japan, Charles McJilton, quickly sent out an email asking Japanese and English speaking churches to collect rice, blankets, toothbrushes, and the like. The response has been so generous that he is out of storage space. He is personally driving a truckload up to Sendai every other day. Does it get where it’s needed? You bet! He has contacts in the Christian churches in that area, and many Christians are among the volunteer workers at the shelters, receiving the material and distributing it.
This is the beauty of the church: a year ago a joint project of mainline denominations opened the Wesley Center in Tokyo. Intended to house not-for-profits, to be a center of Christian leadership development and address migrant worker issues, the space also has a few modest and affordable apartments for visiting teachers and missionaries. Jeffrey Mensendiek — our UCC missionary, is chair of the board of this center. A Presbyterian missionary and friend of mine is the manager of the space. She sent me an email yesterday asking for prayers, as she is expecting somewhere around 70 Filipinos displaced in the tsumani. They will stay in Tokyo until travel arrangements can be made.
For the past seven years (when I served as Regional Minister for the Conference), I used to tell stories about how it was that giving through your church was extremely effective. Now this story is personal, as I see it unfolding,
Giving on a regular basis means that churches can be the church — which means we talk to one another, meet with one another, have conferences, exchange pulpits, discuss (and sometimes fight about) theology. This is not sexy work. But it is the connection and relationship that are the heart of Christian life.
And the fruits of this!! I see it in action now in the dozens of emails I am receiving from my Japan friends. You see regular giving means that, in an emergency, Christians already have person to person contacts that other relief organizations have to go and set up. The United Church of Christ’s Japan relief fund is effective even before you send your first emergency dollar because of those connections. The UCC Japan relief fund is your most cost effective gift now (along with those to other church based organizations), because the community of faith is already doing what you wish you could do, if it weren’t for the miles between us.
Bernard has asked that I keep the Norfield family apprised of specific opportunities to help. I’ve been passing information to him about several church based programs (including the one I’ve mentioned), that are effectively ministering to the tremendous devastation now, and some that are mission programs destroyed, that will need help to rebuild in the long run. I hope you are moved to be generous. But I also hope that you will remember that it is your weekly generosity in support of the United Church of Christ and our ecumenical partners that enables the church to be the church. And that is truly a miracle!
A few days ago I sent an email to my father in law, reassuring him that we felt that “for the time being, Tokyo is safe.” For the time being!” he shot back. ”Are you expecting something else to go wrong?” What I wrote is this: “There is nothing we are expecting to threaten us in Tokyo. That being said — I wrote -- nothing in life is certain but the love of God.” Though mountain shake and waters foam, though mountains tremble with tumult, in faith we know we stand on the solid foundation of the Love of God in Jesus Christ.
And so, where can I end, except for where I began:
Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? … No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth should change,
though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea;
though its waters roar and foam,
though the mountains tremble with its tumult.
There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy habitation of the Most High.
God is in the midst of the city; it shall not be moved;
God will help it when the morning dawns.
The nations are in an uproar, the kingdoms totter;
he utters his voice, the earth melts.
The Lord of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.
Come, behold the works of the Lord;
see what desolations he has brought on the earth.
He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
he breaks the bow, and shatters the spear;
he burns the shields with fire.
‘Be still, and know that I am God!
I am exalted among the nations,
I am exalted in the earth.’
The Lord of hosts is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.
