We teach a single man named Konishi. He's a good-natured, rotund fellow in his forties. He ekes out a living by doing laundry. His home is filled with clothes hanging out to dry. He heats his house with a simple coal-burning stove. At some point in the past, the fire had gotten so hot that the steel had melted, leaving the stove misshapen, pulled down by gravity, a la Oldenburg.
We learn that Knoishi eats only boiled eggs and small hard biscuits that he buys in big thirty-pound bags. Whenever we visit, he prepares this simple meal for us.
It's a joy to teach him. He loves to sing the hymns and to hear about Jesus's Atonement. "The gift of resurrection and the possibility of redemption from sin is given to everyone," we teach him. I myself am just beginning to understand why salvation is a gift and not something that we earn.
***
As I write this, I'm filled with memories of walking down the narrow streets of Muroran with Konishi. Everyone we meet greets him as if he were Hotei, the beloved laughing monk. After a month or so I get transferred back to Sapporo to work in the mission hone. Fortunately, my new job comes with a lot of traveling. We visit Muroran a few months later for a zone conference, and Konishi shows up on his scooter. He hands me a brown paper sack, and gives me a warm smile and a handshake.
On the train back to the city, I open the bag. It's filled with hard-boiled eggs and biscuits.
Charles Shiro Inouye
Zion Earth Zen Sky (Maxwell Institute, 2021)