Nakajima
“. . . I will build my church . . .”
Matt. 16.18
An article in the World Christian Outlook had described Pastor Isao Nakajima, who
was visiting the United States at the invitation of Dr Atherton Grainge, as the greatest
Japanese preacher since the famous Kagawa. It also praised his newly published book,
Seven Keys to Church Growth, as one of the seminal contributions of the century to
this topic. A photograph accompanying the article showed Pastor Nakajima standing
with his wife in front of a newly built Baptist Church in Osaka, an imposing edifice
seating two thousand people.
For these reasons, Pastor Kleinfeld of Roseville’s Baptist Church felt he had scored
something of a coup when Pastor Nakajima had agreed to take time out from his busy
schedule in New York and fly to Roseville to address his congregation.
In his letter, Pastor Nakajima had apologised for the fact that his spoken English
was poor. His wife Masako was, however, a fluent English speaker and would interpret
for him at the service. His wife would also be pleased to minister to the congregation
through song. Pastor Nakajima had asked for a projector to show some slides. It seemed
he wished to illustrate his address with some photographs of the new Baptist Church
in Osaka.
For various reasons, Pastor Kleinfeld, who had arranged to meet the Nakajimas at
the airport and drive them to the church, was running late that Sunday morning. When
he finally made it into the car and turned the ignition key, the engine coughed apologetically
and then died.
Suspecting the hand of the Enemy, Pastor Kleinfeld rebuked any power that might have
been interfering with the car and turned the key again. There was no response. He
said a brief prayer. He realised the reason for his lack of power when he opened
his eyes and noticed the car’s lights had been left switched on. His wife had driven
the car to a prayer meeting the night before. Better not mention that fact, he decided
wisely.
“Honey, we’ve got a problem,” he said to his wife, back in the house. “That old car
battery’s finally packed up and the garage is closed until tomorrow, so we can’t
get a replacement. How are we going to pick up the Nakajimas?”
“Why don’t you ring Bob Merrick? He lives near the airport. He could collect them
in his cab on his way to church.”
“Honey, you’re brilliant,” said Pastor Kleinfeld. “Not only that, you’re beautiful
too!”
Bob Merrick was more than happy to collect the Nakajimas. The flat battery was actually
a blessing, thought Pastor Kleinfeld, as it would give him more time to check the
set-up in the church. He had decided to record Pastor Nakajima’s address for the
church’s tape library: it could serve as a resource for a workshop he was planning
on the theme “I will build my church”.
It was a fine, sunny morning and Pastor Kleinfeld enjoyed his stroll to the church.
He arranged the seats on the dais for Pastor and Mrs Nakajima, filled the water jug
on the lectern and turned on the microphones to test them.
“Mary had a little son, little son . . .”
They were working fine. Remembering that the Nakajimas were Japanese and probably
on the short side compared with Americans, he lowered the lectern microphone a few
inches. Little details that like made all the difference.
He checked the tape recorder. It also appeared to be working fine.
He set up the daylight screen at the rear of the dais. The slide projector gave him
more cause for concern. From long experience, he knew of its propensity to blow a
bulb at the critical moment, or, failing that, for the carousel to mangle the slide
when the advance knob was pushed. He would get round that by having a spare bulb
at the ready and by feeding the slides in manually.
To be doubly sure, he laid hands on the projector and rededicated it to the Lord’s
service.
Satisfied that everything was in order, he retired to his office to reread the review
of Pastor Nakajima’s book. He made a mental note to order a copy.
The organist, Aileen Lightfoot, struck up the opening bars of “How Great Thou Art”.
Pastor Kleinfeld looked at his watch. It was five minutes to ten. He was beginning
to wonder if there had been a delay in the flight from New York when the door opened
and Bob Merrick ushered in the visitors.
Pastor Nakajima was somewhat shorter than Pastor Kleinfeld had expected. He was casually
dressed in chequered trousers, an open-necked shirt and a wind cheater jacket. The
logo on the pocket bore the words “I’m Power”. His wife was shorter than her husband
and wore a tweed skirt and jacket. Pastor Kleinfeld realised the microphone would
need to be lowered another six inches.
“Good morning. Welcome to the Roseville Baptist Church. I’m Peter Kleinfeld.”
“Aimu preezu meetu you.”
The Nakajimas bowed as Pastor Kleinfeld shook their hands. Pastor Kleinfeld found
himself bowing. The Nakajimas bowed again, lower this time. Pastor Kleinfeld and
the Nakajimas bobbed up and down a few more times.
“We’ll be starting in a few minutes,” said Pastor Kleinfeld. “I’ll say a few words
of introduction, we’ll sing a hymn, and then I’ll turn the service over to you. By
the way, have you got the slides?
“Suraidzu?” said Pastor Nakajima.
His English was poorer than his letter had led Pastor Kleinfeld to expect.
“Your husband wanted to show some slides with his sermon,” said Pastor Kleinfeld
to Mrs Nakajima.
“Ah, suraidzu!” said Mrs Nakajima.
She opened her handbag and handed Pastor Kleinfeld a box of photographic slides.
“Thankyou. If you’ll follow me, we’ll go in,” said Pastor Kleinfeld.
The Nakajimas seemed somewhat surprised to be shown to a place of honour on the dais,
an indication, no doubt, of their humility both as Christians and as Japanese.
Pastor Kleinfeld introduced them to the congregation and during the singing of “How
Great Thou Art” took up his position at the slide projector. It was difficult to
see what was on the slides but they were numbered in what was obviously the correct
order for showing.
Meanwhile, Pastor and Mrs Nakajima were engaged in an animated conversation. Were
they worried about the microphones, Pastor Kleinfeld wondered? He signalled to them
that the microphones were switched on.
Mrs Nakajima opened her handbag and handed her husband a sheet of paper. Pastor Nakajima
put on his glasses. He went to the rostrum.
“Goodo morningu. Aimu preezu meetu you.”
The halting introduction seemed to have taxed his English to the limit. Pastor Nakajima
resumed in Japanese, reading slowly from the sheet in front of him.
“Zisu izu fastu taimu we visitu Rozuviru gorufu kurubbu.”
But was it Japanese? Pastor Kleinfeld could not be certain. He detected one or two
words that sounded vaguely English. Could the pastor be speaking in Esperanto? Judging
from the look on the faces of the congregation, they were no more enlightened about
the seven keys to church-building than he was. He wondered if Sally Westrup, who
had the gift of interpretation of tongues, was having better luck with the pastor’s
sermon.
So far, Mrs Nakajima had made no move to translate her husband’s message. Whatever
language he was speaking, Pastor Nakajima had come to a pause. He nodded at Pastor
Kleinfeld expectantly.
Pastor Kleinfeld inserted the first slide and switched on the projector.
The slide showed Mrs Nakajima, wearing a kimono, standing under a cherry blossom
tree. The building in the background may have been a Baptist Church, although to
be truthful it was built more in the style of a Buddhist temple.
Maybe the next slide would show more of the church, Pastor Kleinfeld thought, slipping
it into the projector.
It was difficult to see what the slide represented. It looked like a patch of grass.
The object in the left-hand corner seemed to be a woman’s shoe.
Pastor and Mrs Nakajima had turned to look at the screen. Mrs Nakajima said something
to her husband in Japanese. Pastor Nakajima scratched his head.
Pastor Kleinfeld felt just a little flustered. He heard, in the background, the sound
of the telephone ringing in his office. He noticed Bob Merrick slip out to answer
it.
Quickly, he put on the next slide. It showed a group of men in an office. They wore
fancy hats and were raising their glasses in a toast. Pastor Nakajima was in the
centre of the group. He was grinning cheerfully. Maybe it was the artificial lighting,
but he looked very flushed in the face. He was holding up a half-empty bottle of
Suntory whisky in one hand and a glass in the other.
Pastor Nakajima turned to the congregation with a broad smile.
“Maiyu offisu,” he explained. “Goodbye party!”
There was a stirring in the congregation, a blend of coughs, shuffling feet, rustling
pages and repressed snorts, whether of outrage or mirth it was difficult to tell.
Fortuitously, the bulb blew on the projector. Pastor Kleinfeld decided against replacing
it with the spare bulb.
Chuck Westrup appeared on the platform with his guitar. He stooped down to the microphone.
“I’m sure we’ve appreciated the message we’ve had from Pastor Nakajima,” he said.
“I’d like to minister to you now in song.”
The side door opened and Bob Merrick appeared. He looked embarrassed. He spoke to
the Nakajimas in a low voice and appeared to be trying to usher them off the platform.
The disgraced Japanese pastor and his wife showed no inclination to leave the stage.
Chuck Westrup had finished his song. To Pastor Kleinfeld’s dismay, Pastor Nakajima
picked up the microphone from the rostrum.
“I sing Kuroda Bushi.”
He cleared his throat.
“Sake wa, nome nome, nomu naraba . . .”
It was a stirring, strangely haunting melody. Pastor Kleinfeld could not understand
the words but he was moved by its deep spirituality. The congregation also listened
in rapt concentration.
“Pastor Kleinfeld. I think I’d better go talk to them.”
It was George Norris. Pastor Kleinfeld recalled that George had been a missionary
in Japan for many years and spoke fluent Japanese. He had a feeling that a lot of
trouble could have been avoided if he had involved George in the first place.
“I think you’re right, George.”
Pastor Nakajima had finished the song. It had obviously moved the congregation deeply.
Pastor Kleinfeld announced the hymn “Great is Thy Faithfulness.”
“There’s been a slight mistake,” said Bob Merrick, as the organ struck up the opening
bars. “Mrs Nakajima rang from the airport. She and her husband have been waiting
for the last hour for you to pick them up. I said there had been a misunderstanding
and would they mind getting a taxi. They’re on their way now.”
“Who are these people?”
“I’ve no idea. Come to think of it, though, there were a lot of Japanese at the airport
this morning.”
George Norris was talking to the Nakajimas in rapid Japanese. There was a good deal
of bowing and smiling and nodding.
The congregation, though singing heartily, watched the proceedings with lively interest,
regretting they could not hear what was going on.
“I can explain what’s happened,” said George. “This is Mr Nakajima — Mr Jiro Nakajima
— and his wife Sachiko. Mr Nakajima works for the Daiichi Petrochemical Company.
He had an invitation to play in a tournament at the Roseville golf club. It seems
he thought Bob’s taxi had been sent to take him to the club.”
Mr Nakajima said something in Japanese to George Norris.
“He and his wife would like to thank you for your warm welcome. They’re very impressed
by the club facilities. They were touched that you wanted to see their snaps of Japan.”
“Tell them we’ve enjoyed having them.”
“Mr Nakajima would like to know where the bar is so he can buy you a drink.”
“In a Baptist Church on Sunday? Tell him . . . you’d better tell him the taxi will
take him over to the golf course in a few minutes. Say we have another club room
there with a full bar facility. Tell him I’ll be along later to watch the tournament.”
The congregation had finished the hymn. To their great disappointment, the organist
began again at the first verse.
“I’ll go with them in case they need an interpreter,” said George.
“Good idea. But maybe you don’t need to tell them about the mix-up . . .”
“I won’t,” said George.
“Tell Mr Nakajima how much we enjoyed his singing. What was the song about?”
“Kuroda Bushi? It’s a famous sake drinking song. The tune is said to be based on
an old Buddhist hymn.”
“Maybe we could set some new words to it and use it in our services,” said Pastor
Kleinfeld. “Everyone seemed to enjoy it.”
Pastor Kleinfeld waited outside the church for the arrival of the taxi with Pastor
and Mrs Nakajima. Inside, the congregation was singing “Great is Thy Faithfulness”
for the third time. Pastor Kleinfeld was not a drinking man, but he suspected that
if the church had a bar he might have been tempted to join Mr Nakajima for a quick
scotch.
The taxi drew up.
Japan’s greatest Christian preacher since Kagawa was a short, stocky, cheerful-looking
man. He was dressed for power preaching, in an opened-necked chequered shirt and
wind cheater jacket. It bore the words “Grate Happening” on the pocket.
They shook hands.
“Goodo morningu, Kurainfuererudo-san. Aimu preezu meetu you.”
“My husband is very pleased to meet you,” said Mrs Nakajima. She spoke in a clear,
accentless English. “He was delighted to receive your invitation to preach on the
seven keys to successful church-building.”
“Preezu Rodu,” said Pastor Nakajima.
“Praise the Lord,” Mrs Nakajima translated.
“Praise the Lord,” said Pastor Kleinfeld.
