Nagasaki was a small
fishing village until the arrival of the Portuguese in Japan. It grew into a
major port with strong influences by Portuguese sailors and Jesuit
missionaries. In 1580, the city became a Jesuit colony. Japanese Christians who
were being persecuted in other regions sought shelter in Nagasaki. It was
called the Rome of Japan. Although there were growing efforts to quash
Western/Christian influence, southern Japan continued to be openly Christian.
Franciscan and Augustinian missionaries also made their way to the region.
In 1614, Catholicism
was banned and the missionaries forced out of Japan. Many Christians fled or
were martyred. Christianity went underground for centuries, until missionaries
returned in the late nineteenth century. In 1890, Nagasaki got its first
bishop, the Catholic population in the diocese doubled. By the twentieth
century, Nagasaki was once again the center of Japanese Catholicism. Of course,
the city is often known for something else.
Yesterday, the
president responded to North Korean bluster by threatening “fire and fury, like
world has never seen.” But the world has already seen pretty egregious fire and
fury, so what was his threat? How far is he willing to go? Seventy-two years
ago today, the U.S. dropped its second nuclear weapon over Nagasaki (the first
being dropped over Hiroshima three days earlier). The events ushered in a new
era – humanity now had the ability to obliterate itself. And it became a
question of whether we were willing to.
In the intervening
years, it has been a testament to humanity that while the number of counties
with nuclear capabilities has grown, no one as resorted to use of nuclear
weapons again. But the threat lingers, and quick-trigger mechanisms and
narcissistic leaders make the threat feels real.
Recently, I read A Canticle for Leibowitz, which follows
the rebuilding of the world after nuclear destruction—right up to the next
nuclear destruction. While the book offers the hope of the persistence of the
faithful, it also articulates the despairing that humans don’t learn from their
mistakes. They repeat the same threats and violence. Sin is uncreative. So of
course the Cold War talk of nuclear annihilation crops up again on the
anniversary of the first nuclear bombings.
In particular, the
Christian community of Japan suffered from the bombings. The Urakami
neighborhood of Nagasaki was the epicenter of Catholicism in the city; it was
also the epicenter of the atomic blast. Of the 12,000 Catholics in the Urakami
district, 8,500 were killed, including those worshipping in the cathedral,
which was the largest Christian structure in the Asian-Pacific until that day. The
Japanese could not understand why Westerners would harm civilians who practiced
a shared (Western) faith.
Dr. Takashi Nagai was
a resident of Nagasaki. He said, “…It was not the American crew, I believe, who
chose our suburb. God’s Providence chose Urakami and carried the bomb right
above our homes. Is there not a profound relationship between the annihilation
of Nagasaki and the end of the war? Was not Nagasaki the chosen victim, the
lamb without blemish, slain as a whole burnt offering on the altar of
sacrifice, atoning for the sins of all the nations during World War II?” On
August 15, 1549, St. Francis Xavier arrived in Nagasaki. On August 15, 1945,
Japan surrendered WWII. Dr. Nagai interpreted the end of the war coming on the Feast of
the Assumption as a divine message. But did anybody hear it? Or does the cycle of violence just start again?
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