Michiko's America

When I was in high school in Japan, I had a music teacher who once asked me,

“What color do you like?” I thought about it for a few seconds, and responded, “White.”

“You’re lying.”  What?  She continued,

“That is not the color you like.  I like the kids who give me honest answers.”  She didn’t even ask me why I liked white.  The question seemed tricky, and I felt trapped.  If I was asked about color for clothes, I may have answered light green.  For flowers, red.  But the question was about color itself.

That evening, I examined every color in my head and asked myself if I liked any other colors.  I couldn’t come up with a different answer.  What was the teacher’s intention?  Maybe she wanted me to play music more passionately?  And my bland choice of color squandered her plan?  Why did she think I was lying?  What does it mean to be honest?

I liked and still like white because to me it’s the color of sun light.  I like reading with the sun behind me.  Seeing my own shadow and feeling the warmth on my back, I feel the presence of the sun.  It is a wonderful feeling.  And sun light includes every color in the spectrum, and for that reason, it is special and somewhat mysterious.  Knowing scientific facts, I still can’t grasp why violet is part of sun light.

So, I don’t feel compelled to pick a color from within the color spectrum, I’d rather keep all the colors together.

However, in general, people are interested in having specific and defined answers.

One of the questions that Japanese come across in the U.S. and are stumped by is,

“What is your religion?”

Knowing that most Japanese will eventually encounter this question during their time in the U.S., I ask clients in my intercultural programs that exact question.  And most Japanese say,

“Well, I don’t have one.”

These days, people who call themselves humanists who don’t pledge their allegiance to a religion but to live an ethical life are more accepted in the U.S. than in the past.  However, I have heard people say,

“I can’t trust someone who doesn’t have a religion.” Or

“Non-believers are arrogant, and I can’t deal with them.”

So, I recommend that my clients pick one from what they practice.  They claim that they don’t have a religion, but they usually practice at least one.

Japanese who are born to Japanese parents are Shinto.  However, most of those who visit Shinto shrines don’t recognize it as religious behavior.  For them, it’s part of life: a custom or habit that comes naturally from living in Japan.

My father is a good example.  His first activity of the morning is praying to his Shinto home altar, kamidana.  It is a simple wooden shelf with “ofuda”, a sacred piece of paper or wood that brings virtue and good luck to the house.  A glass of water and small plates of salt and rice are also arranged on his kamidana.  From a westerner’s perspective, my father follows a religion because he prays every morning.  However, for my father it is to greet family guardian gods. In his view, his actions don’t make him religious.

I’m interested in human beings, and think that believing in a religion is a uniquely human experience.  So, I’ve read the bible, books on Islam, Sufism and Buddhism.  They’re all fascinating.  But I’m reluctant to make a pledge to one of them.

Religions are wonderful.  They give us comfort when we need it the most, and communities to rely on.  Many friends of mine are Catholic.  Most relatives on my husband’s side are Protestant.  Some friends are Jewish, some believe in Buddhism.  They’re all good people who always want to help others.  I want to keep them together and call them friends.  I don’t want to see any lines running through that circle.

My children occasionally ask me,

“Which child do you like best?  Me?” My younger one looks up with wide eyes.  “I know you love me more because I’m the first-born. Right?” The older one chimes in.  To that I say, “Both are correct.  Believe what works for you.  I love my family all together.” And that’s how I feel about my friends too.

My personal sense is that god won’t ask me after my death,

“What was your religion while you lived on earth?”  Rather, I’ll be asked, “Did you live well?” “Did you love well?”

I envy my friends who know what they believe in.  It must be nice to say with confidence for example, “I’m Christian!”.  On the other hand, I feel it’s also nice that I don’t have to be categorized by the name of a religion.

If someone presses me to choose a religion, my answer will be “Shinto”.  Growing up, I walked through the sacred grounds of the Takekoma shrine every day on my way to elementary school.  But I don’t really know what I believe in, as Shinto doesn’t have a holy book.  It’s a worship and appreciation of nature and an animistic religion like the native American belief system.  In other words, I believe in life; life is a gift.  But this probably doesn’t mean much, as we all cherish life.

This vagueness around Shinto is exactly why I’m comfortable saying that I’m Shinto.

However, a believer of another religion may think that I’m being tactful, if not an outright liar. Usually in life, being honest is the best strategy.  Unfortunately, this is one of the exceptions where honesty isn’t conducive to trust.  People may become suspicious of me because they expect others to be specific when it comes to religion.  Religions are seen in the U.S. as an integral part of a person’s identity and an expression of character.

I know what color I like.  I know where I want to go to pray when I visit Japan. That is enough for me.  In my view, vagueness allows inclusiveness.  Vagueness helps me share life experiences with believers of other religions.  We’re all together in living on earth.