Christmas, Part 2: Christmas Eve.

This year's was possibly the busiest Christmas Eve of my life. After running out to the drugstore to pick up, among other things, deodorant and laundry detergent, I threw on my nicest clothes and headed to my church around 1:45. Mind you, the service wasn't until 6:30--they wanted me to come for the afternoon children's Christmas party, too.

The Sunday School teachers at my church have some serious skills. Not only did they create four games that would span the length of the party, they also made them so the kids would be occupied and engaged the whole time. The first was a self-introduction game where each child went up the the front and introduced him or herself. Then they were to say their grade in school, their favorite food, and their least favorite food. The first six or seven kids said they didn't really have a least favorite food, which made me think that perhaps that was secretly the correct answer. But then a kid came up and declared he hated asparagus, so maybe the kids at my church just have undiscriminating palates.

Then it was the teachers' turn, starting with my pastor, who happily went up to the front and said his name and that he was 69 years old, prompting laughter and reassurance that stating your age wasn't a requirement for the adults. I was surprised and reassured when another teacher said she hated raw things like sashimi, but then the person after her said he loved raw things like sashimi. My favorite answer was given by a 24-year-old grad student who acts as (for lack of a better word; she's been so much more than this) my translator during the last two months at this church. "My favorite food is God's Holy Word," she said. Cue laughter and approving applause.

Then it was my turn. "My favorite food is ramen," I said. Gasps all around--it often surprises people here to learn how much I like Japanese food. ("You also like pizza and hamburgers, right?" my pastor asked me over a soba-noodle lunch the other day. "Sometimes," I replied, "but I think they're really greasy, so I don't eat them too often.")

After the self-introduction game was a giant board game, and then a game where the kids had pedometers clipped to their clothing and had 30 seconds to get as many steps registered on it as possible. (The adults participated in this one, too, which was hilarious.) The final game was a scavenger hunt with word scramble clues. Those kids are geniuses! They unscrambled words like "ballpoint pen" and "Ikeda-sensei's signature"--and on top of that, the letters were all over the paper in different sizes and at different rotations. I was still scratching my head over some by the time the game was over. Maybe it's easier when your native language is Japanese, but I'm still thoroughly impressed.

My church has pageants down to a science.

After a light dinner of finger sandwiches, they practiced the night's pageant, a series of tableaux accompanied by Biblical narration from the junior-high students interspersed with carols and choir anthems. The costumes made me smile--some of the pieces were made of fabric with obviously Japanese prints. It made me think of the days back at my home church when the Wise Men in our pageant wore Burger King crowns. (They were spray-painted gold, but you could still totally see the Pokémon underneath.) Meanwhile, I was practicing with the choir and getting steadily more nervous--I'd been asked to preach the Christmas Eve service sermon a month beforehand and although I'd had it ready for several days by that point, I still wasn't sure how a Japanese audience would take a sermon written by an American girl who'd been on the ground in Japan for less than two months and wasn't even a real pastor. My translator (the aforementioned 24-year-old grad student) had assured me after she translated it into Japanese that she loved the message, but I was still tense.

Bulletin cover.

As more and more people arrived, several with non-Christian significant others in tow, I was ushered into the vestry where I put on an alb for the first time in probably twelve years, when I was an acolyte back at my home church. I was happy to find that I still knew how to put on the thing, but they definitely get more snaps and ties as you get bigger!

After I got a little pewter cross strung around my neck, the prelude started, and I followed my pastor down the center aisle, casting sideways glances at him to gauge how long we were supposed to bow at the altar before taking our seats up at the front (pro tip: when it starts to feel awkwardly long, you're halfway there).

My choir music.

I sang with the choir, too: an SATB arrangement of "Away in a Manger" together with the children. (A lot of folks from my home church have asked me if I've been able to sing in a choir: happily, the answer is yes! I've been in this choir since I told my translator I loved to sing.) A little awkward to be in my white alb with the crimson-robed choir, but it worked. And then it was time for me to go up and start talking. I took my place at the pulpit, while my translator stood next to me with a micophone in one hand and her notes in the other.

It's a strange experience to stand in front of an audience with full knowledge that many won't understand your native words, nervewracking even with a skilled interpreter at your side. Shaking, I began my sermon, talking about the differences between Christmas in Japan and America, how much I wished Christmas cake was a thing in the U.S., and how stores in Japan are filled with every bit of Christmas paraphernalia you can imagine--except Nativity scenes.

Sermon, with translation.

So I took that angle. I talked about how for myself, growing up around so many beautiful Nativity scenes every Christmas gave me the unconscious impression that being born in a stable is a glamorous occasion. I talked about how the Savior of the World was born in a smelly, dirty animal stall. I talked about how God loves us so much that He is willing to come to us even though our lives are messy and full of shame and guilt. I used a Max Lucado quote* that was on one of the Christmas cards I received this year. (Many thanks to the sender of that card!)

Did the message reach anyone's heart? I really don't know. I did get lots of "thank you"s in English and Japanese after the service, and my translator did tell me that when I talked about how a stable would be a pretty dirty and lonely place to have a baby, I made an obstetrician in the audience cry. (In a good way, I hope.) But I'll leave the heart-workings to God.

A gorgeous choral rendition of "O Holy Night" later, the service was done. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as the pastor handed me a basket of goodies to hand out to the kids as they exited the sanctuary. The basket emptied in about 15 seconds, so I went back to the vestry to take the alb off. And then my translator's mom wanted to get pictures of us up at the pulpit together so I had to throw it back on. "Send these pictures to your mother!" she told me as she held up the camera. (I did, so if you'd like to see them, feel free to bother either of my parents about it!)

By this time it was about 8:00, but the festivities were just beginning at the house of my translator's aunt and uncle, where some visiting members of their extended family and their boyfriends and fiancés were gathered to celebrate Christmas. I was invited to come along and treated to a feast of salad, roated veggies, fresh-baked bread, pizza, pasta bake, and a turkey, with cheesecake, tiramisu, and--yes--Christmas cake for dessert. Even though I was totally crashing this family's Christmas party, they still welcomed me with open arms. Quite a few people there had lived or studied in the U.S., so they spoke English fluently, or close thereto. My translator's mother, a piano teacher, brought handchimes (Suzuki ToneChimes--the exact same kind that we use at my home church!) and we all laughed as we attempted to play "Silent Night" and "Angels We Have Heard on High" together under her direction. My translator told me that her mother always brings handchimes to gatherings, because it brings people together. "You can't play a song with handchimes on your own," she explained as we put our chimes back in the case. "Everyone needs to work together."

And there I was, in a strange house in suburban Tokyo, an ocean away from my family, and yet I felt at home the whole evening, laughing and chatting and making music with people I'd either just met that night or known for barely more than a month. What a blessing everyone is! I don't know how I can pay back the gifts (both tangible and intangible) I've received from my new church family here in Tokyo. I could write an entire book about the generosity and kindness of my translator alone. We leave for Kumamoto in less than two weeks--it will be tough to say goodbye.

Just some of the Christmas gifts I've received from my church family in Japan.
Not pictured: the smiles and hospitality, the mountain of food and candy, how good the candle smells, the pile of thank-you cards I need to write.

But not all was well in the J-3 world that night--Caroline was unfortunately not having such a great time, and Morgan was off visiting her old high school host family a two-hour bullet train ride away, so while I waited for my train to take me home that night Caroline and I decided over the phone to spend Christmas Day doing fun stuff together, in English. More about that in the next entry.

Also: a Happy New Year to one and all! Sheesh, these holidays are happening faster than I can blog them.

*"He went from commanding angels to sleeping in the straw. From holding stars to clutching Mary's finger . . . Why? Because that's what love does. It puts the beloved before itself."
Max Lucado, A Love Worth Giving (Thomas Nelson, 2002), 58.

And Mary said:
"My soul glorifies the Lord
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior."
Luke 1:46-47 (NIV)