The Foundations of Japan | Page 9

had come,
but to think that we should see him and be in the same room with him!"
When he had prayed, the priest read from a roll of the Shinshu scripture
which he had taken reverently from a box and a succession of
wrappings. Afterwards he preached from a "text," continuing, of course,
to kneel as we did. A flickering light fell upon us from a lamp hanging
from a beam. The room was pervaded with incense from an iron censer
which the farmer gently swung. The worshippers told their beads, and
in intervals between the priest's sentences I heard the murmur of
fervent prayer. The priest preached his sermon with his eyes shut, and I
could watch him narrowly. It is not so often that one sees an old man
with a sweet face. But there was sweetness in both the face and voice of
this priest. He spoke slowly and clearly, sometimes pausing for a little
between his sentences as if for better inspiration, as a Quaker will
sometimes do in speaking at meeting. His tones were no higher than
could be heard clearly in the room. There was nothing of the exhorter
in this man. His talk did not sound like preaching at all. It was like kind,
friendly talk at the fireside at a solemn time. "Faith, prayer, morality:
these alone are necessary," was the burden of the simple address. "We
have faith by divine providence; out of our thanksgiving comes prayer,
and we cannot but be good." It was plain that the old women loved
their priest. In the front of the congregation were three crones gnarled
in hands and face. When the sermon of an hour or so came to an end
they spoke quaveringly of the mercy of Buddha to them, and of their
own feebleness to do well. The old priest gently offered them comfort

and counsel.
After the service, in the light of the priest's paper lantern, I made my
way along the road to the temple. At length I found myself mounting
the lichened stone steps to the great closed gates. The priest drew the
long wooden bolt and pushed one gate creakingly back. We went by a
paved pathway into the deeper shadow of the temple. Then a light
glowed from the side of the building, and we were in the priest's house.
It was like a farmer's house only more refined in detail.
About half-past four in the morning I was awakened by the booming of
the temple bell. It is the sound which of all delights in the Far East is
most memorable. I got up, and, following the example of my host, had
a bath in the open, and dressed.
Then I was lighted along passages into the public part of the temple.
The priest with an acolyte began service at the middle altar. Afterwards
he proceeded to a side altar. At one stage of the service he chanted a
hymn which ran something like this:
From the virtues and the mercies of divine providence we get faith, the
worth of which is boundless. The ice of petty care and trouble which
froze our hearts is melted. It has become the water of divine
illumination, bearing us on to peace. The more care and trouble, the
greater the illumination and the reward.
I knelt on the outside of the congregational group. It was cold as the
great doors were slid open from time to time and the kneeling figures
grew in number to about forty. Day broke and a few sparrows twittered
by the time the first part of the service was over.
The priest then took up his lamp and low table, and, coming without
the altar rail, knelt down in the midst of the congregation. In this
familiar relation with his people he delivered a homily in a
conversational tone. Buddha was to mankind as a father to his children,
he said. If a man did bad things but repented, his father would be more
delighted than if he got rich. The way of serving Buddha was to feel his
love. To ask of the rich or of a master was supplication, but we did not

need to supplicate Buddha. Our love of Buddha and his love for us
would become one thing. Carelessness, an evil spirit, doubt: these were
the enemies. Gold was beautiful to look at, but if the gold stuck in one's
eyes so that one could not see, how then? The true essence of belief
was the abandonment of ourselves to divine providence.
So the speaker went on, pressing home his thoughts with anecdote or
legend. There was the tale of a woman whose character benefited when
her husband became a leper. Another story was of an injured lizard
which was