Our Stories As Part of God's Story:

Here we are in Vietnam holding lots of money! I am holding 40 – 100,000d bills! It is 4,000,000 dong! Erica is holding several 500,000 bills! I have never held this many dollars and never even seen a 100,000 dollar bill. But in Vietnam the economy is very different. There are 19,000 dong to the dollar here. So 4 million dong is only about $200. Alas, I am not a millionaire even in Vietnam. A bottle of water costs 8,000 dong in the hotel where I am staying. That is less than 50 cents. A very nice meal I had with two other people in Hanoi cost 275,000 dong! This is less than $30 dollars. And it was a fabulous, multi-course meal. For an American almost everything is much cheaper in Vietnam. But for the average Vietnamese these numbers represent fortunes. The average annual income for Vietnam is between $200 and $300 a year. There are very rich people in Vietnam but there are also very poor people and most of the people fall on the side of poverty not wealth.

The whole currency exchange thing has had me pretty confused as I have gone from country to country. It is a little startling when you get a restaurant check that says 275,000 on it! But in Honk Kong the currency is also much more but things are much more expensive there because it is a very developed and thriving economy. It is under the recent reunification agreement between China and Hong Kong of “one country, two systems” so China affords it relative economic and political autonomy (for the next 50 years). Hong Kong has its poor but it primarily caters to high end business and finance people from all over the world. The Philippines has very visible stark contrasts. There are very high end megamalls everywhere! It’s hard to imagine there are enough people to support all this shopping! And not far from the megamalls you can find very poor living conditions and subsistence commerce. It is a nation that seemingly has not developed very evenly. Of course, the US has its economic disparity as well.

While we were in Hong Kong we had the very unusual opportunity to have lunch with some of the most prominent business people in the city. Their world of business and finance are as foreign to me as anything I have experienced on this trip. However, these men (and one woman!) were different. They were meeting to share their wisdom and experience on how to use their position and influence to evangelize Hong Kong and China. They are interested in the well-being of the entire country and believe that the gospel has something to offer. They know that all the wealth in the world cannot buy eternal life. That is a gift. And people need to hear the good news of the gospel, that God offers this gift to every person. And when accepted it produces harmony and goodwill for people of all nations. This is something even the government of China wants for its people! It was humbling and encouraging to hear these people discussing how to leverage their experiences doing business in this part of the world for the sake of the gospel.
All this it this is to say only what the scripture makes very clear, “What shall it profit a person if they gain the whole world and lose their own soul?” When measured by eternal standards all those who claim Christ as Lord and Savior are millionaires. We have been promised an inheritance that is not perishable.

No matter how high the finance, it can come tumbling down in an instant. But the promises of God are sealed with the blood of Christ and the Spirit of God is our downpayment assuring us that God will deliver what he has promised! The riches God has lavished on us cannot be expressed in any denomination or in any currency! I am a millionaire, in Christ!

I am back in Vietnam. Some things are the same. Some things have changed. It is still a beautiful country. It is still a communist country. The cities are still bustling with traffic—motorcycles, cars, and bicycles. And as one member of our team described it, it looks and feels like ordered chaos. There are few traffic lights and the bikes, and cycles, and cars all go in every direction flowing in and out of each other’s paths with amazing precision. For a westerner it looks like the sure makings of a traffic accident at every moment. But somehow these people have learned to navigate this “system” and it works for them. You would think it would create gridlock, but surprisingly, traffic moves along quite nicely. People still transport amazing amounts of material on their bikes and motorcycles. Whole families can be seen going somewhere on a motorcycle. Dad is usually driving and has one small child sitting in front of him hanging on to the handlebars. Mom sits behind dad but with a second small child in between mom and dad. And often, another infant is being held in the arms of the mother—a family of five on a motorcycle!

Increasing prosperity means there are more cars than there were three years ago. And as we travel south, the car traffic will increase. Life continues to pour out into the streets as I described it last time I was here. There is life going on everywhere and it is hard to tell the difference between business and family. A family store has a completely open front (like a garage door) on the street and small plastic stools surround small plastic tables (think small child size furniture) and many people can be seen at all times of the day eating in these places all along the street. It may be a restaurant where food is being sold to passersby or it may be family and friends sitting down for lunch. You cannot tell the difference just by looking. And shops that do not sell food also have these tables and stools out front of their shop where they are eating. Their lives seem to be very open to the world. Without the rigid separation of personal and work life they are able to enjoy being together with family and friends more. And in Hanoi you can get an excellent meal for two or three dollars. A very nice restaurant meal is only 10-15 dollars.

The best part of my return to Hanoi has been the continuation of the relationship with one of the students we met the last time we were here, Dung Trong. His first name is pronounced like “Zoom.” In 2007 he was a university student who had just become a Christian through his uncle’s house church. He spoke very little English but toured with us to learn English and to enjoy the fellowship of other Christians. Now Dung has just completed his second year at Payap University studying theology! The Lord has called him into full time Christian ministry and he has answered ,“yes!” His English is greatly improved. He has been studying at Payap University and Seminary in Chiang Mai, Thailand where all the courses are taught in English. This is the same school where the Thai dance troupe we saw two years ago came from. Dung has been our guide and interpreter on this tour of Hanoi and it has been sheer joy to be with him again and to see what the Lord is doing in his life.

While we have been on the road touring around Hanoi we have had the opportunity to share conversations of faith and ministry that are rich and encouraging to all. Dung loves Vietnam and the people of Vietnam and because of that he is having a significant impact on all those who he meets. He is now working with his uncle in the house churches in the northern part of Vietnam. What a blessing to be with him for these four days!
 
Today we fly from Hanoi to Danang. There our dear brother Vinh will meet us! And there we will have the blessed opportunity to continue our relationship with him and with the congregation of the Tin Lanh Church in Danang. There is no better way to travel the world than to see what God is doing in every place. God’s story really is a very big story and it is so exciting to be a part of it.

Of the three Union churches we were able to visit, I had the most time with the staff of the Union Church of Hong Kong. The senior pastor is a childhood friend of Drew’s and was in our wedding.  We were able to stay with he and his wife Holly part of the time we were in Hong Kong and they live right above the church so it enabled me to interact with the staff more.

UCHK’s staff, like ours is very diverse, but the reverse.  They have a male head of staff and an ordained female associate  and a female youth director.  Greg is from Minnesota, May is from Hong Kong, and Kristin is from Indianapolis.  They also have a retired pastor working part time who is from Singapore, and they accommodate a Filipino congregation in their facility. It is a very rich multicultural staff and the congregation reflects the same.

Drew and I were able to visit three different services.  The services are in English (this is the distinctive of all the Union churches because they were established to minister to English speaking missionaries and business people working in these foreign countries). They are united by their common commitment to be disciples of Christ and share the good news of the gospel.

I was encouraged by my conversations with them because it is so obvious that God is at work writing his story through the lives of people in Manila, Tokyo, and Hong Kong just as he is in Downey and every other city in the world. God is demonstrating his faithfulness to his promise to gather his people from every tribe and every nation. God is writing his story in the lives of people being changed by  the love and grace of God.  The names and cultures are very different but the theme is the same—the love of God is greater than anything that separates or divides us and causes men and women and boys and girls who are very different to be brothers and sisters in Christ.

I was encouraged by the evidence of God calling people—both professional and lay—to serve him and be the hands and feet of his redemptive story all over the world.  The diversity of God’s eternal kingdom where every tribe and nation will be gathered at the throne giving praise to the God of all the universe is a present reality. In all these places believers were singing the same songs.  In all these places people were giving testimony to the same power of God in their lives.  In all these places  God is alive and working in and through whatever the cultural context . In all these places people struggle and churches have problems but in every place God works everything together for good to those who love him!

We have new partners in ministry around the world! We have much to be thankful for as our church is a demonstration of these same powerful truths as we grow in our commitment to be a multicultural Christian community  committed to knowing Christ and making Christ known. God’s story is very big—big enough for the whole world.

I ended my last blog by saying that I had taken a picture of what I believed to be the name of my uncle on the walls of the Cabanatuan memorial. One problem. My uncle was my mother’s brother, not my father’s brother so his surname was not Davis it was Brown! A few minutes after I took the picture of “Davis William K” I realized I had done a very stupid thing. I had taken a picture of the wrong name. So I returned to the wall and found the “B’s” and thankfully there was a “Brown William E” on the wall. I took a picture of the right name this time. I am not sure this is my uncle because I am not sure where he died or what his middle initial was. I have been so concentrated on my father’s story I have not taken the time to get the details on my uncle. In any case, I took the picture just in case.

But remember, when I took the pictures at this monument I thought the names were only of those who had died. My father’s name would not be there. He survived. I went on my way taking in as much of the site as I could. This excited, eager traveler is snapping pictures right and left, but also missing some important ones along the way.

When the day’s travels were complete I settled into the van on the way back to Manila. I decided to redeem the time by viewing and beginning to organize the photos I had taken during the day. I have tried to do this every day so that I do not end up with pictures of places and things I cannot even remember! I also do this to facilitate better access to individual photos and to help me process each day’s experiences more slowly. So I am in the van carefully viewing these photos for the first time. I am also deleting some that either did not turn out or are obvious duplicates that I do not need (one of the great features of digital cameras!). I remember that I took the wrong photo of my uncle’s name inscribed on the wall. Remember? I looked in the “Davis” section instead of the “Brown” section. So I am looking for the “William K Davis” photo in order to delete it. Also, remember that I thought these names were only of the deceased so I had not even looked for my father’s name.
I cannot tell you the feelings that rushed through me as I almost deleted this photo. Because all of a sudden I saw there at the very top of the photo, just slightly cut off, was the name, “Davis Kenneth E”! This was my father’s name! I had a picture of my father’s name from the memorial wall of Camp Cabanatuan and I did not even try to take it! Then I looked more carefully at the other photos of this monument and saw that the names were not the deceased of Cabanatuan but of the decedents! God in his great grace and mercy and relentless providence had given me a picture as a result of my stupidity that I did not even try to get on my own! I wanted to break out in the Hallelujah Chorus! What would my driver Steven think? I wanted to show him! But he was driving and I imagined that looking at a photo on my computer screen while he was driving likely was not a good thing. But, oh, how I wanted to show someone! I had a picture of my dad’s name on the memorial way of Cabanatuan! My only regret is that I did not get to touch these inscribed letters as I did the others. I had almost missed my father’s name. But thanks to my heavenly Father, he worked through my weak and tired mind that got my uncle’s name wrong, and gave me a photo that is priceless. What a providing God we have! What an amazing stroke of providence for my journey. I could not stop looking at the photo. My dad’s name WAS on the monument. Another piece of the historical evidence of the amazing journey he survived. And another piece of evidence of God’s overwhelming grace to me in taking this journey to retrace his steps. My error God redeemed. For me a priceless gift from the heavenly Father.

God can redeem even mistaken photographs! Oh how grateful I am. King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah….. Ha – le – lu – jah!

Toward the end of my last blog I said that I had taken a picture of what I believed to be the name of my uncle on the walls of the Cabanatuan memorial. One problem. My uncle was my mother’s brother, not my father’s brother so his surname was not Davis it was Brown! A few minutes after I took the picture of “Davis William K” I realized I had done a very stupid thing. I had taken a picture of the wrong name. So I returned to the wall and found the “B’s” and thankfully there was a “Brown William E” on the wall. I took a picture of the right name this time. I am not sure this is my uncle because I am not sure where he died or what his middle initial was. I have been so concentrated on my father’s story I have not taken the time to get the details on my uncle. In any case, I took the picture just in case.

But remember, when I took the pictures at this monument I thought the names were only of those who had died. My father’s name would not be there. He survived. I went on my way taking in as much of the site as I could. This excited, eager traveler is snapping pictures right and left, but also missing some important ones along the way.

When the day’s travels were complete I settled into the van on the way back to Manila. I decided to redeem the time by viewing and beginning to organize the photos I had taken during the day. I have tried to do this every day so that I do not end up with pictures of places and things I cannot even remember! I also do this to facilitate better access to individual photos and to help me process each day’s experiences more slowly. So I am in the van carefully viewing these photos for the first time. I am also deleting some that either did not turn out or are obvious duplicates that I do not need (one of the great features of digital cameras!). I remember that I took the wrong photo of my uncle’s name inscribed on the wall. Remember? I looked in the “Davis” section instead of the “Brown” section. So I am looking for the “William K Davis” photo in order to delete it. Also, remember that I thought these names were only of the deceased so I had not even looked for my father’s name.

I cannot tell you the feelings that rushed through me as I almost deleted this photo fo “Davis William K”. Because all of a sudden I saw there at the very top of the photo, just slightly cut off, was the name, “Davis Kenneth E”! This was my father’s name! I had a picture of my father’s name from the memorial wall of Camp Cabanatuan and I did not even try to take it! Then I looked more carefully at the other photos of this monument and saw that the names were not the deceased of Cabanatuan but of the decedents! God in his great grace and mercy and relentless providence had given me a picture as a result of my stupidity that I did not even try to get on my own! I wanted to break out in the Hallelujah Chorus! What would my driver Steven think? I wanted to show him! But he was driving and I imagined that looking at a photo on my computer screen while he was driving likely was not a good thing. But, oh, how I wanted to show someone! I had a picture of my dad’s name on the memorial way of Cabanatuan! My only regret is that I did not get to touch these inscribed letters as I did the others. I had almost missed my father’s name. And now, I had almost deleted the mistake that had become a gift. Thanks to my heavenly Father, he worked through my weak and tired mind that got my uncle’s name wrong, and gave me a photo that is priceless. What a providing God we have! What an amazing stroke of providence for my journey. I could not stop looking at the photo. My dad’s name WAS there on the monument. One more piece of the historical evidence of the amazing journey he survived. And another piece of evidence of God’s overwhelming grace to me in taking this journey to retrace his steps. My error God redeemed. For me it is a priceless gift from the heavenly Father.

God can redeem even mistaken photographs! Oh how grateful I am. King of Kings and Lord of Lords, Hallelujah, Hallelujah,Hallelujah¸Hallelujah….. Ha – le – lu – jah!

I am back in Hong Kong after returning from my “Unfinished Business” trip back to Manila, Philippines. I am so glad I took the time, energy and expense to return. I had missed so much! In one day I was able to see the sites and memorials related to the two POW camps my father was in. This was a return to many tears for sure. But they were tears of joy as well as sadness. I could write a book (I might!) but for now I will try to focus on two main experiences to represent this incredible day I had returning to the Philippines.

I had seen the beginning kilometer markers for the Bataan Death March. Now I was seeing the final markers. KM 109, 110, 111 and 112. At KM 109 there is the memorial at the location of the train station where after over 60 miles of marching the POW’s had been loaded–actually packed like sardines only standing up—for another several kilometers to this train station where they were unloaded—many of them dead from suffocation and complications of the heat and their malnourished and sick bodies—then those that survived the boxcars were marched again for another 2-3 miles to Camp O’Donnell.

KM 110-112 are marked along the final road to Camp O’Donnell. At KM 112 there is another small memorial to the Defenders of Bataan and Corregidor. The marker is not the same as the other 111 but it is surrounded by beautiful fuscia bougenvillas. Another stunning contrast and there were many more to come. All of these are located in the city of Capas, and the province of Tarlac.

This is the real terminal point of the Bataan Death March. The one I saw last week was a memorial park in Capas to the Filipinos who suffered. It was nice but it was not the actual site of Camp O’Donnell. This was it now—the place my father was for the first two months of his 3 ½ years as a POW. A place where after almost 20,000 died getting here, another 10,000 died in the first two or three weeks at the camp.

As you approach you can see the main monument over a mile away. It is a very tall dark concrete pointed obelisk that is actually made of three separate obelisks connected by several circles. It is a stunning presence in the landscape. It does not fit in but it feels like it belongs. The entrance is a wide and beautifully landscaped marker that says “Capas National Shrine.” The usual green and white sign like the ones we have in the US also welcomes you to the Capas National Shrine. And yet another sign explains who is responsible for the Shrine. As you enter you cannot see the obelisk. It is hidden behind some of the trees planted around the entrance marker. But as you pass the entrance marker you can see it. A wide concrete parqueted walkway leads several hundred feet to the monument. It is massive, but somehow gentle—another contrast. In a month when the country celebrates the anniversary of the beginning of the Death March this place will be filled with visitors and ceremonies. My driver tells me that in days gone by several bus loads of veterans and their families would come each year. But as this Greatest Generation has aged, fewer and fewer buses come. All the more important that the descendants of these heroes of history keep the memory alive! This day, I am the only visitor at the monument. I am surprisingly glad for this. This is such a personal journey for me I am grateful to be alone.

But before we go to the obelisk, we drive around the left side of the monument area. There are rows and rows of trees planted on both sides of the walkway and we are driving along the one side and I am so grateful for whoever planted these. It makes the place feel so much warmer and redeemed. I notice to my left there are cows and goats in a pasture behind barbed wire—60 some years ago there were men here imprisoned by barbed-wire. On this side of the monument property there are several small memorial structures and plaques. The main one is to all those who died at this camp. It is a replica of the original white cross that was erected here to remember those who died. The original is in Andersonville, Georgia at the national historic site. All I could do was kneel down and touch the word O’Donnell. This is where my father was. I cry because I thank God he survived. I cry because so many did not. The inscription on this marker says many things but it ends with, “freedom is not free.” I knew this before. I know it on a different level after this pilgrimage.

I am now walking toward the main monument but coming from the left side. Along this path is the only remaining railroad boxcar like the ones the POW’s were loaded in at San Fernando and brought to Capas. Imagine the sudden horror when men who were starving and deathly ill had been walking for almost 60 miles and now saw that they were going to be taken wherever they were going by railroad. They must have assumed this would be a great relief. They were wrong. They were crowded in with standing room only and many suffocated or died of complications related to their malnourishment and disease in the 110 degrees plus heat of the cars. When they opened the doors in Caps, as many dead bodies fell out as living ones climbed out. I wanted to open the door and look in. I could not. But no one who was not there can begin to imagine the sounds and smells, let alone sights these boxcars held. There is a large welcome sign made out of concrete letters right in front of the box car—another contrast. Visitors now are welcomed to see a railroad car that was an unwelcoming tomb for many.

Then after just being in this space for awhile I continued walking to the center monument. This is a gorgeous structure. Besides the imposing obelisk that strangely seems austere and gentle at the same time, there is a huge arched wall in four pieces surrounding the monument. Made of black marble, all of the names of the Filipinos who served are inscribed on these walls along with two or three poems written by exPOW’s and an etching of one soldier bearing up another holding a flag. The monument resembles the Vietnam Wall in Washing DC, if anyone has seen that memorial. In between the four pieces of the oval that surrounds the monument are beautiful flower boxes and off in the distance is the serene landscape of the now peaceful countryside of Capas, Tarlac, Luzon, Philippine Islands. And it was especially meaningful to find the name of Jaime Marcelo 3Lt on the wall. He is the father of Ellizabeth Evangelista, a member of First Pres Downey. He was also a Bataan Death March and Camp O’Donnell survivor. While I was in Manila I had the privilege of talking to him and his lovely wife about his experience during the war. Over and over again all I could do was thank God for this opportunity to be in this place and see and touch what I was seeing and touching. Over and over again I thanked God for the resources—time, energy, and finances—to be able to make this journey.

After less than two months the Japanese transferred all but a few hundred prisoners to another camp—Camp Cabanatuan. It was hard to leave O’Donnell but I did because I wanted to make it to Cabanatuan before the day was up. We had another two plus hours to drive to get to the memorial site of Camp Cabanatuan. It is located in the city of Cabanatuan, the province of Nueva Ecija. Today Cabanatuan is a thriving, bustling city. The streets are filled with people and tricycles (open air taxi’s made of motorcycles and custom-built side cars of every color and style that comfortably seats two but often is filled with three or four people for economizing travel) and cars and people. When we came to the monument it was quiet and serene. Again, I was the only one there. The entrance gate was open and there was a long grass covered road (just two slight tire tracks tracing gently through the grass) leading up to the monument several hundred feet away. Young trees lined the way and barbed wire fence again held domesticated animals on my left and separated the monument area from a children’s play area on the right.

I walked toward the monument and could see as I approached a very well kept landscaped area that surrounded it. There was an American flag and a Filipino flag flying one on each side of the monument. It is beautiful and simple and is inscribed with the letters CABANATUAN. I again knelt down and just touched the letters of the inscription. And, again, I cried. My dad was here! In spite of his disease riddled, malnourished body he survived here for more than two years before he was sent to Japan to work in a copper mine.

The Cabanatuan Monument is set on a large concrete platform. Again, behind the monument are two walls with the names, I thought, of those who died here. I remembered as I was here that my mother’s brother, Billy, died during the war and likely at this camp. So I went to the wall to see if I could find his name. I found a William Davis but was not sure of his middle initial. I took a picture of the name since it was the only William Davis on the wall. Like O’Donnell, today the surroundings are serene and beautiful. Green rice fields and pasture land as far as the eye can see. Again, barbed-wire fence now encloses domesticated animals where once human beings were enclosed and treated worse than animals. It was again staggering to think about the amount of suffering that took place on this land. I was glad for the flowers and trees planted and growing and for the care the property was being given. The only other person there besides my driver was a caretaker who was raking leaves from the grass off in the distance.
 
It was hard to leave this space, too. But it was now past three in the afternoon and we had at least two hours to return to Manila. I would have time while in the van on the way home to look at my pictures, journal a little and reflect on what I had seen and touched this day. Over and over again, I prayed, Thank you Lord for this day, for this space, for the privilege of being here and walking this path my father took so long ago. It was definitely worth coming back—every penny and every minute of missed sleep and every ounce of energy. Thank God I came back! I had finished my business in the Philippines. And what a surprise I found when I began looking at pictures in the van on the way home. Stay tuned!

I have some. I was trying very hard to convince myself I did not. I was trying very hard to concentrate on what I had done, not what I had not done. I was trying to be positive about the amazing gift this sabbatical has been. Try as I might I just could not get past the part that I missed. I am in Hong Kong preparing to go to Vietnam to meet the rest of the team from Downey First and I cannot get the Philippine Islands out of my mind. So tomorrow, I am going back. Yes, I am going back to the Philippine Islands for really just one day. Here is what happened.

The day we toured Bataan we ran out of time and were not able to go to Cabanatuan where the second POW camp my father was in was located. Our gracious guide and his wife and two of their friends had accompanied us all day. We had driven hundreds of miles over almost 11 hours and there just was not time to go to Cabanatuan. I was disappointed but decided to be grateful for what I WAS able to see and do. We had also gone to a different starting point than from where my father started the Death March. We went to Bagac, not Mariveles. But if you remember I did end up being able to go to Mariveles from Corregidor and actually walked 15 or 16 kilometers of the beginning of the Death March route. This was such an amazing experience.

But at the same time we did this march we learned that the memorial that we visited in Capas, Tarlac was NOT the memorial to Camp O’Donnell were my father was. It was very close to that memorial but not the same one. What we had seen was actually a memorial to the Filipinos who were on the march. Now I was really stunned. This meant that I had not seen the location of either of the camps my father was in in the Philippine Islands. What was I to do? I did not have any more time, nor anyone to guide us if we did have the time. I was going to have to leave the Philippines without seeing these to very important landmarks in my father’s story. I could not see any other way around. I consoled myself by saying that one day I would return and then I would visit them.

I could not get this out of my mind. I had traveled over 7000 miles and spent a lot of money and emotional energy and I had missed seeing two of the places that in combination accounted for three years of my father’s life as a POW. But I was trying not to think about this. I tried to concentrate on all the things that I was able to see. It was not working. I finally admitted to myself and then to Drew that I had to try and see if there was a way to go back while I was still so close. I felt much better just admitting to myself and saying out loud to Drew that this unfinished business was not okay! I had to try.

I looked at my calendar and realized I had a very small window of opportunity when I could return to Manila from Hong Kong without much difficulty. So I contacted the gentleman on Corregidor who knows so much about the Pacific Theatre and he said he would be able to arrange a driver and car. I checked on the internet and found a pretty good price for a round trip to Manila from Hong Kong. And I found a really good deal on a hotel in Manila near the airport. Once I had all the possibilities investigated, I made the reservations and confirmed all the plans. Wow! I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders! Tomorrow I am on my way back to Manila! And on Monday, I will see the location and memorials of the two POW camps dad was in—Camp O’Donnell and Camp Cabanatuan. I am so excited I will likely not be able to sleep. Good thing! The one thing this return will cost me more than anything is sleep!

This whole episode reminded me of how hard it is sometimes to determine the right thing to do. We often have this debate going on inside of us as to whether or not we should or should not do something. The feelings of ambivalence are exaggerated when it is something we could have done and did not do—unfinished business. Often, for me, it is something I should have said to someone. Then the question becomes, should I go back and say it? Usually the argument goes something like, it is too late now and it would not be the same with the lapse of time. So usually we do not go back and say what we should have said. Or, at times it is some action that we should have taken and at times it is impossible to go back and take that action. But sometimes, it is possible to return and to do the thing we did not do the first time.

Life is full of these kinds of tensions in our life. The great news for Christians is that either way God works with us and through us. With the grace and love of God operating in our lives it is never too late for anything. Unfinished business can be finished. And when it cannot it can be forgiven or redeemed by God’s great power. If I did not return to the Philippines, it would have been okay. I still would have gained so much from this journey. But I am grateful for all the possibilities that are available to me that, in this case, allow me to go back and finish the business. Likely more tears ahead. But also deeper joy as I do what I set out to do—retrace the steps of my father and reflect on how his story has influenced me and how it has become a part of a much bigger story—God’s story. Stay tuned! I am going back! This time I will finish the business.

We are having a great visit with a childhood friend of Drew’s (and his wife) who is a pastor at the Union Church of Hong Kong. He is one of three PCUSA minister’s who are serving English speaking international churches that we have visited. It is really wonderful to see these ministries. They vividly display that Jesus is Lord of all the nations and that God’s people can work together across all sorts of differences in order to accomplish mission and enjoy rich fellowship.
But we are also enjoying seeing this amazing city. It is expansive. It stretches as far as the eye can see all around Hong Kong Harbor which almost wraps 360 degrees. We took a tram up one of the mountains to the peak and were able to look over the entire city and its neighboring cities. It makes New York and Manhattan Island look small! The view is breathtaking but also intimidating. It is hard to imagine the amount of people, business enterprise, and cultural influence that is Hong Kong and the surrounding cities. We had the privilege of having lunch with some of the most influential Christian business men in Hong Kong. It was quite an education to just listen to them discuss how to be evangelists in this very complex context. We learned a great deal just from being with them. These were businessmen and one business woman from all over the world who are presently working in Hong Kong—some for a couple of years and some for over 20 years—all who want to make a difference for Christ. It was wonderful to hear how God is using these people to further God’s kingdom. God is alive and well and working in Hong Kong and China.
The sheer expanse of it all makes one feel very small. But it reminded me that God is even bigger than this city. God is bigger than the world and has it all in the palm of his hand. Jesus died for the world and God has determined to reconcile the world to himself—I hope you remember this from one of my last sermons before I left from 2 Cor. 5:16-20! The massive influence of China and this city of Hong Kong in the world only reminded me that God is even more influential. All the high finance in the world is nothing without his blessing and he can use it or dismiss it. Praise God these people are using their high finance and high influence for the cause of Christ.

We are riding the bullet train back from the Akita Prefecture in the north (global orientation) or west (national orientation) after visiting the location of the Japanese POW camp my father was in from August 1944 until September 1945. It was called Sendai #6 or Hanawa. He was shipped there by the Japanese to work in one of their mines to produce war materials. This one was a copper mine. After the war it was developed and modernized and became known as the Osarizawa Mine. It produced gold and silver, as well as pirate and quartz. This part of the journey was full of stark contrasts.

I was able to tour the mine and walk through its tunnels. It is no longer operating as a mine. But it is a tourist and educational site. Throughout the tour music was playing. It was the sound of children’s voices. The mine tunnels were clean and well lighted and there was exhibits of modern machinery everywhere. Our tour guide talked about the concern for the safety and health of the mine workers and the ease of their work due to the powerful machinery they used. This is not the mine operation my father worked in. This may be the modern version after the war but it is not what my father described. It was dirty, dark, demanding and dangerous work. There was no concern for the POW miners safety or health. They were starving, sick men who walked up and down the mountain 2 ½ miles each way every day even in the dead of winter (we are here in the end of winter and the snow is deep and the temperatures are cold) without coats or gloves or boots. If they were lucky they might get a cup of cold rice and a sip of water at the end of the day. They were doing work that required strong bodies when theirs were all near half their normal body weight.

When I entered the tunnel I immediately had a sense of my father and others like him being there, walking these tunnels. I felt like I could hear my father’s voice echoing through the tunnel. I felt like I could hear the pain and suffering of hundreds of men who had struggled to survive now over 3 years. I cried. The contrast was jolting as I began to hear the sound of children’s voices singing. How 65 years has changed things!
The contrast was reinforced as I visited the site where my father and the POW’s were housed in barraks. It is now a middle school. Sixty five years ago an unheated barracks with beds made of wooden slats stacked two and three high was on this land. There were no blankets or pillows. There was no cafeteria. There was only relief from the day’s work and the hope of a small ration of rice and water. I walked the sidewalk along the front of the school. I stopped and looked around. I could see the very top of the mountain where the copper mine was located from here. I could see other hills and mountains around. It is a beautiful view. My dad saw this view every day for over one year. The mountain for him did not represent beauty. It represented torment and the daily threat of death. Such a contrast. I loved walking the ground. I wanted to lay down and embrace it. I walked and I wept—the contrast so great.

Thanks to a Japanese woman named Nori Nagasawa Drew and I were given the royal treatment in Kazuno-Hanawa, the city where the mine and school are located. Nori is part of a Japanese-ExPOW dialogue to foster reconciliation. A man whose father also was a POW in the Pacific connected me with Nori. She made all of our arrangements for our trip to Hanawa. We were guided by three people—two local Japanese city workers and an American who is teaching English here. When we got to the mine, we had the site manager give us the royal tour and at the end of the tour he presented us with samples of material taken from the mine. Nori arranged for all of this top-notch care for us because of her desire to foster reconciliation. She also saw that we were housed at a traditional Japanese Hot Springs Hotel—another blog for another time! This, however, added even more to my ambivalent feelings and the sense of stark contrasts. So much care and service were given to me. My father got none of this. I know that these people today are not responsible for what my father suffered but nonetheless, it is jarring to realize that the fathers and uncles and grandfathers and brothers of some of these people likely were part of the inhumanity dad endured.

Then I was jarred by the contrast I am discovering more deeply than ever before. It is the contrast between what my father could have been and what he was. He could have been an angry, bitter, and hateful victim. He could have been prejudiced against the Japanese the rest of this life. He was not. The contrast is amazing. My father was a kind and forgiving person. He held no grudges and had not animosity for the Japanese people. He did not consider himself a victim. He lived and spoke as a blessed man. What he suffered, by the grace of God and the power of Christ in his life, made him stronger and kinder. I will reflect on this for a very long time.

Today I worshipped at the Tokyo Union Church (TUC).  What a sacred privilege! I was able to sit next to Elder Paul Fukuda, a new friend who has been an invaluable help to Drew and I while we have been in Tokyo. A few Sundays ago I told a story about Paul and his father during WWII.  His father was a civilian manager of one of the mines that provided war materials for the Japanese. It was not the mine my father worked in. It was a mine that used Korean POW’s as laborers.  But as I told the story, the Korean workers actually went out of their way after the war was over and before they returned home to bring Paul’s father gifts in appreciation for his “kind management” of them as workers.  Paul’s father was a good Japanese man. But Paul and his family suffered as a result of the war.  My father suffered as a result of the war. Yet, here we were sitting together in worship as brother and sister in Christ.  What a vivid example of the biblical teaching that our primary identity is our identity as children of the living God. All other identities, any hostilities, any differenceS, and everything that divides are all nothing compared to our identity as members of the body of Christ.

I also got to meet and visit with Paul’s wife, Julie, who is a Bohemian American from Ohio!  She explained that when they first started attending Union Church they were not welcome. The church did not want Japanese members. They were told to go somewhere else! Can you believe this?  And now Paul (Japanese) has served the church faithfully for almost 40 years and loves the church and speaks no ill of it. But a larger challenge faces TUC.  Established as a haven for Christian missionaries in Japan and later for English speaking people from all over the world working in Japan, it now is facing the need to rethink its mission.  The country and circumstances have changed radically over the last 30 years. Sound familiar? Only 1% of the country is Christian.  They are being led to reach out to those outside of the church. They are struggling as they are faced with the need to stop doing things they have been doing things for many years and start doing things they have never done before. Sound familiar?

This is all very familiar because the human condition, both sinful and transformed by grace, are the same all over the world. And the church belongs to Christ and is sustained by Christ all over the world. The church is being challenged worldwide to respond to a very rapidly changing world in order to be the light to the world as Christ has called us to be.  Christ commissioned the church to go and make disciples of all nations not to establish Christian clubs for ourselves.  It was the sin of Israel and it is our sin today when we live and act as if the church’s primary purpose is for its members meaning those who know Christ.  It is not. It is for “non-members” meaning those who do not know Christ.  That is why our mission is so important—to know Christ and to make Christ known. The church is meant to nurture its members and provide fellowship and worship but all this is to equip us to go out into the world—our schools, our workplaces, our neighbors, even our homes—and share the love of Christ.  TUC is discerning how that will look in their future.  So are we.  If because of the love and reconciliation of Christ  Paul Fukuda and Candie Blankman can worship together anyone can! We are all one in Christ!