I’ll never forget the time I was sitting around the lunch table with my Japanese coworkers and someone asked me about my religion.
At the time, I subscribed to a New Age religion. Nervously, I told them its name.
The reply? “I’ve never heard of that before. Where is it from, Europe?”
My religion wasn’t “from Europe” or anywhere else, really. It wasn’t anybody’s tradition; it was a modern invention. As I struggled to answer, I felt the dissonance between our worldviews. To my Japanese coworkers, religion was as matter-of-fact as nationality. Having a personal, pet explanation of how the world works, some kind of “ism” that one subscribes to, might be considered enlightened and fashionable in the modern West, but in Japan it makes you sound like you’ve given up on reality and gone off to live in la-la land.
Which, to be honest, I had.
I realized, in that moment, that my religion was something fragile that needed protection inside an accepting mind. When it was exposed to the harsh light of reality, it was exposed as disconnected from that reality.
And I felt that the next time I was asked about my religion in a Japanese office, I wanted to give a different answer.
It was an opportunity I would be granted.
Some time later, my organization rented out the second floor of an Italian restaurant for the welcome party for our new coworkers. As was the practice, we drew numbers to see where we’d be sitting. My tablemates turned out to be my boss’ boss and his boss, two men each old enough to be my father. They belonged to a strict and serious generation with impeccable posture.
Just when it looked like things were about to get horribly awkward–they didn’t. Both men turned out to be humble and fascinating, and we were soon deep in a conversation about Buddhism. Then my boss’ boss turned to me and asked, “But you’re a Christian, aren’t you?”
I was still a New Ager. But I knew what he meant. I was your average white American. It was safe to say that my family had Christian roots. In the context of a conversation with a Japanese man of his age, the correct answer to this question was yes. It wasn’t about my personal opinions. It was about where Providence had placed me.
Then it struck me. Looking into the grave but kind face of this man old enough to be my father, I got the feeling he wasn’t the one asking me the question.
I got the feeling things were about to get crazy.
“Yes,” I said.