Michio trudged home from school as the sun set on a late autumn evening. There was no end to the fighting at home. His father was often too hung over in the morning to go to work. He would crawl out of bed around noon and start drinking again, calling it a cure for his hangover. He often became violent with Michio’s mother.
His father had not always been this way. He changed three years ago, after Michio’s younger sister by four years became sick and died. His father blamed Michio’s mother, saying their daughter might not have died if she had noticed something wrong sooner and taken the girl to a hospital.
Making matters worse, his father seriously injured his thumb and forefinger in an accident on the job. He had been respected among his peers as a master carpenter specially trained to construct Japanese temples and shrines using traditional methods and materials. Now, with limited use of his hand, he found it difficult to produce the caliber of work that satisfied him. The accident, coming while he still grieved for his daughter, robbed him of his confidence and drive. He began drinking to forget his sorrows. The more he drank, the more violent he became and the more quickly the family collapsed.
Michio could not focus on his schoolwork, and he was losing hope in life. This day, too, he had felt an overpowering reluctance to go home after school. He started walking in the opposite direction, with no particular destination in mind and soon found himself on an unfamiliar street. A building on his right looked like a Christian church. A statue of a woman stood in front.
Michio’s family belonged to the True Pure Land sect of Buddhism, and he knew almost nothing about Christianity. He did not even know the statue was of the Virgin Mary. None of that mattered to him now. He liked that the woman seemed to give him a kind and comforting look.
He thought he sensed a hint of melancholy in her face. Maybe this explained the closeness he felt. Somehow, the woman seemed to understand his sorrow and pain. From that day onward, Michio often took a roundabout way home so he could pass by the statue.
About a month later, on a snowy day close to Christmas, Michio was walking toward the statue. His spirits were even lower than usual because he kept thinking of how his parents had argued that morning before he left for school. Walking in the fading twilight through the gradually accumulating snow depressed him further and slowed his pace.
I don’t want to go home.
When he lifted his head, he saw the church, and he spontaneously quickened his pace a little. As he drew near, he could barely make out the statue through the growing darkness and snowy haze. A cap of snow covered her head. As always, she looked at him with kind and sorrowful eyes. A tree decorated with Christmas lights stood in front of the church. From time to time, Michio could hear cheerful laughter from inside.
When was the last time I laughed?
He felt sad to realize how terribly out of place his troubled heart seemed in this atmosphere of laughter. He did not want to go home, but he did not belong here, either. He lifted his heavy foot to force himself to move on.
When he looked up at the woman one last time, he suddenly thought he saw her shiver in the cold. Feeling sorry for her, he took off his gloves and slipped them over her thin fingers and hands. As he finished, he noticed something shiny drop into the snow. He knelt down to pick it up. It looked like a small silver medallion, about 3cm long and 2cm wide.
Michio used the lights on the Christmas tree to get a better look. It appeared tarnished and quite old. One side had a cross and something like a letter in the English alphabet. The other side had a carving of a full body image of a woman, with what looked like a long shawl draped over her from her shoulders. The woman on the medallion looked very much like the woman whose statue stood near him. The medallion was too small for him to make out the details of the woman’s face.
He could not tell where it had come from. When he happened to look up at the woman’s statue, though, it seemed for a brief moment that he saw her smile.
Is it possible she gave this to me in return for the gloves?
Realistically, it seemed impossible, but the thought made him happy. He instinctively tightened his grip on the medallion. Then suddenly, he thought he heard a faint voice speak to him.
“It’s all right to go in.”
He looked around, but there was no one. It was just him and the statue. He had a ghostly feeling.
Michio could not believe logically that the statue might have whispered to him, “It’s all right to go in.” But he could not deny he had heard a gentle and crystal clear voice. Curiously, he found his heart prepared to obey the voice. So Michio cautiously made his way through the church door.
Inside, he found about 10 people sitting in a circle around a man who looked to be in his mid fifties. They were reading some sort of book. They stopped and turned their attention on him but did not seem annoyed by his intrusion. In fact, he immediately felt welcomed.
“Hi, my name is Michio Fujiwara. I’m in my first year of high school.”
No one would have described Michio as having a delicate build. He was tall and sturdy. He had chiseled facial features with thick eyebrows and a straight and prominent nose. His nervousness, though, was making him speak in a soft voice that seemed inconsistent with his physical appearance.
“Welcome, and thank you for coming,” the middle-aged man said. “My name’s Goto. I’m a priest in this church.”
“I’m sorry to barge in. It’s just that I’ve often been comforted by that statue of a woman you have out front. So I wanted to stop by and say thank you.”
Father Goto looked puzzled.
“A statue of a woman in front of our church?”
A girl in the group, probably a student, spoke up.
“Our church doesn’t have a statue of a woman in front. There’s one of a man, though.”
Her words ignited a burst of laughter from the others. Michio they were laughing at him, and his face turned red.
“No, that’s not possible. I’ve seen her kind expression many times. I’m not wrong.”
“Well, if it means so much to you, let’s all go have a look,” the priest said.
“I’d like that.”
The others followed the priest and Michio toward the door. The snow had not let up.
When Michio approached the doorway and looked out, he froze with shock and stood there, speechless.
The statue of the woman, on whose hands he had placed his gloves and who had smiled at him with such kindness, was not there. The statue of a man with both arms outstretched stood in its place, exactly as everyone in the church had said.
“No, that’s not possible. I’m sure there was a statue of a woman right there. She always gave me that kind expression. You have no idea how much I was comforted and encouraged by her. It wasn’t a dream or a vision. I actually felt this warmth in my heart. I’m not lying.”
Michio could not understand what was happening. Most of all, he could not stand the possibility that people might think of him as a liar. Almost in tears, he protested desperately that he was telling the truth.
Suddenly, he remembered the medallion.
“Look, she gave me this.”
Michio opened his right hand, where he had been holding the medallion all this time. At the sight of it, the group suddenly turned quiet and serious.
“A Miraculous Medal of the Immaculate Mary-sama,” said that same girl. She used the Japanese honorific indicating the highest level of respect.
“Immaculate Mary? Miraculous medal?” Michio had no idea of what she was talking about and could only repeat her words.
“This medallion is called a Miraculous Medal,” Father Goto said.
“In 1830, the Immaculate Mary-sama appeared to a French nun named Saint Catherine Labouré and told her to make these. When we wear one and pray, ‘O Mary, conceived without sin, pray for us who have recourse to thee’, Mary-sama protects us and gives us many blessings. It’s a gift to us from Mary-sama.”
The priest, seeing that Michio still seemed discouraged and confused, gently placed his hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry. I don’t think for a moment that you’re lying.
“You must be cold,” he said. “Would you like to go back inside for some tea?”
Father Goto’s words were another surprise for Michio.
In a situation like this, I’d expect him to say I’m lying.
Despite his fear, no one seemed to be mocking him. In fact, their faces suggested they had just discovered something wonderful.
“It just might be that what you saw really was the statue of a woman,” Father Goto said. “I believe such things are possible.”
His words convinced Michio he was being taken seriously. With his composure regained, Michio let the priest lead the way back into the church.
“That’s enough Bible study for today,” Father Goto said. “Let’s have some tea. After all, Mary-sama has sent us a very special person.”
Michio understood for the first time that the woman he saw was the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ.
“Good idea!” a few of the students said enthusiastically.
Michio was surprised and happy that no one in the church – not just Father Goto – seemed to think he was lying.
Before long, the group was listening with rapt attention as Michio told them how he came to walk by the church, how he was comforted by the statue of the Virgin Mary, and how he decided to come into the church. The moment would remain precious to Michio for the rest of his life.
After he said his good-byes and left the church, Michio went once more to the spot where he had seen the woman’s statue. The statue of the Virgin Mary was not there. In its place, a statue of Jesus stood with outstretched arms.
A sense of calm replaced the confusion Michio felt earlier. The empty, oppressive and dreary feelings that filled him were gone. His heart had been dark and devoid of hope. He had even begun to think his life had no meaning. Now, a bright light began to shine in his heart.
He did not know about Jesus Christ; he did not understand Christianity. Somehow, though, he felt the existence of some supernatural force influencing his destiny. For Michio, the undeniable truth was that the Virgin Mary had been there.
The snow had finally stopped, and soft moonlight shone on Michio’s path. The Virgin Mary’s clear voice, whispering, “It’s all right to go in,” kept echoing in his heart.