I Drove The Nails

Visiting Hiroshima, Japan was one of the most sobering experiences of my life. I was fortunate to travel there in April, 2011. The Hiroshima Peace museum is a harrowing example of humanity. The first portion of the museum depicts two nations, Japan and the United States, their histories, and that they were not without faults and mistakes in the months and years leading up to the bombing of Nagasaki and Hiroshima. The second portion of the museum is one that I will never forget.

As you walk in the lights dim, and you are confronted with wax depictions of what it looked like that day. What people looked like, what the buildings looked like. The English tour played on my headphones and I stood amazed at the destruction. A little bit farther there was an infant's linen diaper in a display case. The inscription below it read something along the lines of, "Young Boy's diaper, stained with blood. The young boys mother tried to carry him for help." It was donated by this woman's relative to the museum. Further through I saw building pieces, badly broken and liquified plates and dishes. Journal entries of people who reflected on their confusion--their deep fear. The people of Hiroshima had no frame of reference for what had happened. At 8:09 am there was a flash. And then a loud boom. And then 70,000-80,000 people died. The bomb had exploded 580m directly above one of the few remaining buildings, the Hiroshima Prefectural Commercial Exhibition Hall (now the A-Bomb Dome, pictured above), narrowly missing it's target of the nearby Aioi Bridge by 800 feet.

At this point on the tour I was becoming more and more nervous about my surroundings. I was becoming acutely aware that I am an American. I was really distraught by the loss of life and considering what mankind is capable of. I started to wonder, "What do the Japanese people around me think when they see an American walking through here?" As the fear was coming over me, something happened...

"Do you have any questions about what you're seeing?" a voice asked. I turned to my left and an elderly Japanese man was standing next to me. He was dressed as a volunteer for the museum. I honestly don't remember how I responded, or what we even talked about, but I remember his face. I was astonished at his instigation of the conversation. In the middle of my being afraid and nervous, he offered to talk. As I think back to this I'm reminded that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. It was a powerful experience.

In Japan you're surrounded by so much. One of my favorite things are the people, and the culture's openness to other people and their ideas. Every Japanese home I've ever stayed in has been gracious and hospitable, as is customary with guests. As the Lord allows, and as I experience more Japanese culture. I am both more amazed and impressed and more burdened for the tiny Christian population there.

The gospel of Jesus Christ saves the oppressed. It saves those petrified with fear, and those blind to the reality that there is much darkness to be saved from. It also saves the villain. The same gospel that was being bought by Christ on the cross of Calvary is also the gospel that saves the soldier who was driving in the nail. The gospel that I so desperately desire for Japan is also the gospel that saves me. I pray that I don't lose sight of this.