Passing The Baton

Intro
In the episodic 2015 Japanese film ‘Midnight Diner’, one of the story threads involves somebody leaving the cremated remains behind in the diner. The regular customers and the diner owner discuss what to do and decide to keep it at the diner in case somebody comes back to claim it, becoming a kind of conversation piece that runs through the film. One of the characters, played by Japanese actor Michitaka Tsutsui, is Kenzo Oishi, a man from Fukushima wasting time doing nothing in Tokyo after losing his wife in the 2011 Tohoku Earthquake Tsunami. He doesn’t belong in Tokyo but doesn’t want to go home. One scene in particular resonates with me. A somewhat drunk Kenzo gets into an argument with one of the diner regulars who urge him to go home. “Well let’s toast to the departed!” he yells picking up white ceramic cremation urn, lifting on the lid with the intention of pouring the toast glass of sake into it. Looking down, he stops. “Huh?”

The urn has dirt inside, not remains, but he is not surprised and immediately comprehends what nobody else in the diner can. He gently picks up some of the dirt. “This is what you do when there is no body to bury. You don’t want to bury an empty urn…you put some dirt in to make it feel real. What else can you do?” His wife’s body had never been found. Jolted into the reality of his situation, he decides to get his act together and go home.

When I help with temple services such as the 49 day ceremony after one passes away, the urn is placed on the altar for the service then given to the family to take to the new grave site. Each urn has a different weight. Some are very light, some are not, but after doing it many times you get a sense of how the deceased left this world by the weight. This person suffered from cancer, this person had a strong body, and so on. You can almost feel the story of their life in your hands.

I had the great pleasure of meeting and working with Rev. Ryuken Mita during  the August Obon of 2024 on Niijima island. The history of Niijima is unique in that the entire island population is Nichiren Shu, centered around Choeiji Temple which has a history of over 500 years and has served as a mainstay not only of spiritual practice but also culture, education and administrative record keeping.

By some mysterious connection we both ended up at Niijima to help Choeiji cover hundreds of home altar chanting visits during the extremely busy traditional Obon period running August 12~15. I never met a fellow priest with such a generous capacity for work and the ability to think and act instinctively on his feet with lighting speed. It’s a gift one can only be born with.

On our last day together at Choeiji he gave the following Dharma talk in the traditional manner: starting by chanting the Lotus Sutra and Odaimoku, followed by a short prayer that flowed into his talk about a temple member’s trauma of losing her mother in a tsunami and the journey of coming to terms with her grief. As I listened, the scene from Midnight Diner flashed in my mind, how many people who lost loved ones never to be found put dirt in the urn to make it feel real? I learned a lot from Rev. Mita and look forward to working with him again someday.
Kanjo Bassett

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Passing the Baton

“Your body, your head, feet, 10 fingers, and mouth, had been inherited from your parents. The relationship between your body and your parents is as inseparable as the seed is from its fruit and the body is from its shadow.”

Writings of Nichiren Shonin
“Leaving the Personal Copy of the Lotus Sutra Behind” (ST 212)

My name is Ryuken Mita, I was born and raised in Hokkaido. We, the people of Hokkaido, inherit our sweatiness from our parents, but even there I am known as the priest always drenched in sweat. Though I am particularly weak in summer heat, what made our hearts “burn hot” in the summer of 2024, not just for everyone in Japan but also around the world, were the Paris Olympics and Paralympics.

Athletes who have been striving and practicing daily to do their best at this once-in-four-years event compete and sweat, which deeply moves and warms the hearts of us who watch them. Various sports like gymnastics and swimming are popular, but what excites me the most is the track and field events at the main stadium.

Though I am now speaking to you in the attire of a priest, in my high school days, I was actually an athlete in the track and field team. Being fast was the only thing I was good at since I was young, so I specialized in sprinting, like the 100-meter dash, and relays.

Among those, my favorite was the relay race. Unlike most track events like the 100-meter dash which are individual sports, the relay is the only team event. As the anchor, I would run with all my might to the finish line, carrying the baton imbued with the hopes passed down by the three runners before me. The people who supported me until I could run in the competition, those who cheered for me, my teammates passing the baton – we all ran together with our hearts united. That feeling of joy is what made relay so special to me.

Similarly, the “Ekiden” or relay marathon, where runners pass the “tasuki” (sash) to continue the race, is something that originated in Japan. Perhaps the spirit of inheriting thoughts and passing them on to the next person is deeply ingrained in Japanese culture.

In that sense, we, including myself and all of you, are actually running a relay in our daily lives. We all have our biological parents and adoptive parents, and we inherit and pass on many things from them. What do we inherit from our parents? Is it our identical facial features? Or perhaps our similar personalities?

We inherit many things, but above all, what should be most precious is life.

We, who are running this relay of life. What kind of baton are we holding as we chant the Odaimoku of “Namu Myoho Renge Kyo” with the connection we have received?

It is the true heart of the Buddha, which is embedded in the Odaimoku, as spoken by the Buddha himself in the teachings of the Lotus Sutra, the teaching that the Buddha most wanted to convey to us. In the “The Duration of the Life of the Tathagata” Chapter 16 of the Lotus Sutra, we always read:

“I am always thinking:
“How shall I cause all living beings
To enter into the unsurpassed Way
And quickly become Buddhas?””

The eternal Buddha is always, everywhere, thinking of everyone, all living beings, and how to help them reach the same goal as the Buddha. This most important heart of the Buddha, which we always recite, wanting to save us from the sufferings of life, is the very baton that we, who chant the Odaimoku, receive and pass on to the next person. By participating in this relay, we also pass on life.

The desire to honor and send thoughts to deceased family members, wishing to convey the heart of memorial service, arises from the very fact that we are running this relay of life. My current self exists because of my parents and ancestors.

When I reflect on this, feelings of gratitude and the desire to repay kindness emerge. These feelings, which have been passed down through the life we’ve inherited, transform into the strength to live earnestly, asking ourselves, “What can I do now with this life?” That is the baton of faith in the Odaimoku that we hold in our hearts through the connections we’ve received.

Lately, while it’s unfortunate to hear stories about how we, living in the present, are becoming detached from temples and priests due to the lack of mental space and energy in our own lives, I absolutely do not believe that the heart of gratitude, repayment of kindness, and memorial service towards those who have passed life onto us is diminishing.

During the Great East Japan Earthquake, those who were forced to evacuate from their homes were allowed to return temporarily and were told they could only take as much as would fit in a small plastic bag. Among the many important items like seals, bankbooks, and medicine that people brought back, there were small photographs of ancestral tablets and portraits in those bags. I cannot forget this. I do not believe that the heart of memorial service, born from gratitude towards those who have passed life onto us, is fading away, nor will it fade in the future.

Having witnessed, felt, and experienced the connection of life firsthand, it was this experience that motivated me to decide to become a Nichiren Shu priest.

Currently, I am in charge of Hōeiji temple in Yayoi Town due to the connection with the Buddhist chant “Odaimoku,” but my hometown is elsewhere. My hometown is Okushiri Island, located in the southwestern part of Hokkaido, floating in the Sea of Japan. Okushiri Island, known for its fishing and tourism, is rich in marine products like sea urchin and abalone, attracting many tourists.

There, my mentor serves as the head priest of Nichiōji temple. Some of you might have heard of Okushiri Island before; it became nationally known due to the devastating damage it suffered from the Southwest Hokkaido Earthquake on July 12, 1993, at 10:17 PM.

Many people have suffered due to earthquakes occurring in various places. This year, there was a disaster centered in Kumamoto Prefecture. Some of you might have family or acquaintances who are still going through tough times, but now I will share about “Odaimoku” from the perspective of someone who was once a disaster victim. Please forgive me for this.

On July 12th, in the midst of the tourist season, the island was hit by a massive tremor that felt like the ground was being struck from directly below. Then, about two and a half minutes later, the tsunami arrived. It’s said that the maximum height was 30 meters, which is about the height of the seventh floor of a building, and it moved at a speed of 500 kilometers per hour, twice as fast as a bullet train, engulfing the town of Okushiri multiple times.

The earthquake caused almost all the buildings in the town to collapse. Then, a tsunami completely swept the town into the sea. After that, fires engulfed the entire town, and the wind generated by the fire carried sparks that fell like a winter blizzard over the heads of those who had taken refuge on higher ground. Many people who could not evacuate to high places lost their precious lives.

Nichiō Temple also burned down completely, leaving nothing of the main hall or the priest’s quarters. Including my younger brother beside me, the temple family managed to escape safely by running up the mountain behind the temple, but across Okushiri Island, about two hundred people were victims, including twenty-two members of Nichiō Temple who chanted the same sutras as us and lost their lives in an instant.

With nothing left of us or the temple, we thought, “Isn’t it impossible to rebuild the temple’s dojo for chanting sutras?” However, we soon received support and encouragement from people with the same connection through the sutras. At that time, the head temple was also calling for disaster relief donations, and thanks to the support from Nichiren Shu temples, priests, and parishioners from across the country, the reconstruction of Nichiō Temple was accomplished ahead of other sects. We were able to hold the consecration ceremony safely three years after the earthquake, in Heisei 8. Although it might seem impolite to say from such a high position, I would like to express my heartfelt gratitude to everyone who supported us and to all of you who are listening today. Thank you very much.

From right after this disaster, I have seen many people who wanted to convey their current feelings of devotion and the sound of the sutra to the loved ones they lost. They believe that their current selves exist because of their family and parents. They cannot give up on the life on the island that their family has worked hard for. While sincerely offering prayers through the sutra, they must continue to strive on this island for the sake of the children. I have witnessed the inheritance of this relay of life through the baton of the sutra, which is the true heart of the Buddha.

Seeing the figure of my master, who plays the role of a bridge connecting the Buddha, the deceased family members, and those left behind through the sutra, I was inspired to become a priest myself, which became my motivation for ordination.

The town is gradually, step by step, moving towards recovery with the warm thoughts embedded in the abundant support, both material and emotional. However, even now, twenty-three years after the disaster, there has not been enough time to heal the emotional wounds. Every time disasters occur in various places thereafter, the memories that are recalled from the images we see do not fade away.

Four months after the Great East Japan Earthquake of 2011, in July, just before the month of Obon. I received a phone call at the temple from my childhood friend, Hiroko Tanaka. 

This Hiroko is the daughter of one of our temple’s parishioners and is three years younger than me. Before the earthquake off the southwest coast of Hokkaido, she had lost her father, who was a fisherman, in a sea accident, and was raised by her mother. 

In the small town of Okushiri, age differences didn’t matter; all the children, including Hiroko, played together. After the earthquake, she was taken in by relatives, and we lost touch. This phone call came through the temple in Okushiri. 

Hiroko said at that time, “I just want someone to listen to my feelings that I don’t know who to talk to about,” and she later visited the temple. 

At first, we talked about memories from when we played together as children, but her tone suddenly became heavy, and she began to talk about the day of the earthquake, when she had to evacuate from the tsunami.

“After the earthquake, they said a tsunami was coming, so my mom and I hurriedly got into the car and headed towards the lighthouse hill. Right after we started climbing, we got stuck in traffic and couldn’t move. A tremendous sound came from the ground. Realizing we wouldn’t make it in time to escape the tsunami, we got out of the car. I tried to climb the mountain by grabbing the grass with my hands, but I kept slipping and couldn’t climb up. Then, from behind, my mom shouted, “Go!” and pushed my behind so hard I finally reached the top. When I looked back, my mom was no longer there, only a pitch-black sea.”

Hiroko-san was overwhelmed by the shock of losing her only family member, her mother, right before her eyes. She was filled with guilt, feeling as if her mother had disappeared in exchange for her own life. Her aunt, Mayumi-san, who is her mother’s younger sister, came to get her five days after the earthquake. Hiroko-san has no memory nor even an echo from the time when she was all alone until she was embraced. Even after twenty-three years, her mother’s body has yet to be found.

Hiroko-san, the sole survivor, was taken in by Mayumi-san and lived together in Hakodate until she got married. She’s married and has a daughter, Rina-san, and the family of three live together in Hakodate. However, she has kept the story of the disaster in Okushiri hidden from Rina-san. Even on every July 12, the memorial day the earthquake, she never returned to Okushiri, only looking up at the sky in the direction of Okushiri.

Recently, she had a fight with her aunt Mayumi-san over the topic of returning to Okushiri, and she has been out of touch since. She said, “I don’t want to remember that sad feeling. I don’t want Rina to know, so I ended up fighting with my aunt,” and she looked down.

I sensed it took a great deal of resolve for her to talk about her most painful experiences up to this point. She said, “What can I do now? With the earthquake, tsunami, and fires in Tohoku, when I saw the same images on TV as those from Okushiri, I realized this sad memory will never go away. When I thought about what to do, I remembered my mom. I clasped my hands in prayer towards my father’s photo, said ‘Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō,’ and then my mother’s face, talking to the photo, came to mind. Maybe what I can do now is to pray, right?” 

Feeling the connection to the Odaimoku, I said, “This is a Nichiren Shu temple, so let’s pray by chanting ‘Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō’ and convey the feelings in your heart,” and we started the memorial service. However, as soon as the sutra chanting began, Hiroko-san started crying, unable to move while still clasping her hands, unable to chant Odaimoku, unable to even walk forward for the incense offering at the altar.

Even after that, she came several times to join in the prayer, but was unable to move, still deep in her sorrow. The same kind of prayer continued afterwards.

Time passed, and in 2016, the 23rd anniversary of the Okishiki earthquake, Hōei Temple organized a pilgrimage trip to Minobu-san In March to coincide with the cherry blossom season. There, I really wanted to take Hiroko-san to a particular place, so I invited her. Initially, she was hesitant about the invitation, but after entrusting Rina-san to a friend, Hiroko-san decided to join the trip.

After arriving at Minobusan, we first paid our respects at the Main Hall and Nichiren Shonin’s grave, then took the ropeway to the place I most wanted to take Hiroko-san to, Okunoin Shishinkaku at the top of Mt. Minobu. While looking at the plaque of Shishinkaku at the mountain gate, I said,

“This temple is called the Hall of Remembering Parents., ” and explained the origin of Shishinkaku. 

Shishinkaku is a temple built on the mountain where Nichiren Shonin spent his later years, continuing to show filial piety towards his deceased parents. For nine years, without a single day off, he climbed to the mountain top, faced the direction of his hometown in Awa Province, now Katsuura City in Chiba Prefecture, and chanted Odaimoku to repay his gratitude to his parents. The temple was originally built by Nichiro Shonin, one of his disciples, the year after Nichiren’s passing, at the mountain top to convey the profound filial piety of the master to future generations.

I wanted Hiroko-san to connect with the heart of the Great Sage, who chanted the daimoku of gratitude towards his parents in the direction of his hometown, Kominato.

With a face that seemed to be holding back tears, Hiroko-san listened to my story and said,

“Maybe I’m the same.”

After this one word filled with various emotions, in front of the bronze statue of Nichiren standing in the temple grounds, clasping his hands in prayer for his distant parents, Hiroko showed us a smile for the first time in a while.

After returning to Hokkaido, Hiroko set up a small altar and her parents’ memorial tablets at home, and the memorial services began again. Each time I visited to pray monthly, she no longer cried, and little by little, I could hear the sound of her chanting Odaimoku behind me.

Three months later, perhaps the Odaimoku was gradually opening her heart. Hiroko-san, who had been adamantly against returning to Okushiri and had even fought with her aunt about it, decided to contact her after a long time. She wanted to tell Mayumi-san that she had started to perform memorial services for her parents and that they should go back to Okushiri together on July 12.

Then, Hiroko-san learned that Mayumi-san was fighting terminal cancer. There had been times when she rebelled against her as a child, and they had recently fought as well. However, feeling the need to repay the kindness of Mayumi-san, who was like a foster parent to her, she began taking care of her. Free from any lingering resentments, she felt that by being by aunt’s side, she was conveying her gratitude and filling all the old gaps of post argument silence.

“Thank you for everything. Thank you.”

The last words she spoke to her were filled with gratitude. Mayumi-san passed away in January, 2017.

The following month, I visited Hiroko-san’s home for the memorial service. Sitting behind me, Hiroko-san took out her usual prayer beads from a small pouch, and the service began. After offering prayers for her parents and Mayumi-san, Hiroko showed me the pouch and said, 

”I got this pouch from my aunt. She received it from my mother when she was a child. She used the pouch that my mother made at school as a keepsake to store her medicine. Now, I use it to keep my prayer beads. When I chant ‘Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō,’ I feel connected to both my mother and my aunt, and it makes me happy. Everyone’s lives are connected, right?”

I was glad to feel that Hiroko’s heart was opening up a little more, sensing the connection of lives.

“It’s because you chant ‘Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō’ that you can realize everyone’s lives are connected,” I said.

In the passage we just read from the “On Forgetting the Sutra” (Bōjikyō Ji), Nichiren states:

“My head is my parents’ head, my feet are my parents’ feet, my ten fingers are my parents’ ten fingers, my mouth is my parents’ mouth. If I offer, it is like offering seeds and fruits, like body and shadow.”

This “On Forgetting the Sutra” is a letter written to the devoted follower Toki Jonin, with whom Nichiren shared a deep bond. Toki Jonin, having fulfilled his filial duties, came to Minobusan with his mother’s ashes, who had passed away at ninety, to be buried there, overwhelmed by deep sorrow. Nichiren, unable to visit his own parents’ grave in his distant hometown, empathized with the pain of a child who has lost a parent, lamenting together, and gave these words with heartfelt sympathy.

These words of Nichiren mean that our bodies are what we inherit from our parents, we are filled with the gratitude for having been born and raised, and are one with our parents.

Everyone will face the sorrowful pain of losing their father or mother at some point. However, if our bodies are one with what we have inherited from our parents, then our hearts are also one.

Nichiren Shonin always teaches that the Lotus Sutra is the teaching of the lotus flower. When a lotus blooms, the seed is already present within the flower. In the same way, if our parents are saved by the Buddha’s heart, the world of the Lotus Sutra, then we are also saved. Of course, the reverse is true as well. He teaches us that the relationship between parent and child is like that of seed and fruit, body and shadow, an inseparable unity.

Upon hearing these words of Nichiren, Toki Jonin was also finally convinced that both his mother and himself were embraced and joined by the merits of the Lotus Sutra. He was overwhelmed with tears, realizing that his parents continue to live within his body and mind.

The life we have received, along with the baton of chanting the Daimoku, is imbued with the most precious teachings of the Lotus Sutra from the Buddha. It contains the wish to save all of us from suffering, to understand the meaning of living, and to live with gratitude, hoping for our happiness. By deepening our faith and chanting the Daimoku, both we and our parents wish to be enveloped in the vast heart of the Lotus Sutra.

I believe that the Buddha’s heart, embedded in the Odaimoku, will surely save Hiroko-san from her suffering, as she feels the connection of life. By chanting the Odaimoku together, she understands that she is slowly being lifted from the depths of deep sorrow.

On the 49th memorial day after Mayumi’s death, Hiroko-san, for the first time, told her daughter Rina, about the disaster in Okushiri, explaining how it felt as if her mother’s life was lost in place of her own. She had not been able to speak of it before because overwhelmed by grief, she only wanted to forget everything. Rina responded saying:

“I knew about it. Auntie told me at the hospital. She said that you were very sad and couldn’t talk about it now, but when you’re ready to move forward you would tell me and that I should help you. That’s what auntie and I talked about.”

Once again, Hiroko was moved to tears by the warm heart that her foster mother, Mayumi, had left behind.

The following spring, Hiroko, who had reached the same age as her deceased mother, went to Okushiri for the first time since the earthquake, crossing by ferry with her daughter Rina.

Upon returning to Hakodate, during the memorial service the following month, Hiroko said with a smile, “When I went to the place where I parted from Mom, I thought about it. When she pushed me saying ‘Go!’ at the last moment, what she meant was ‘Live on,’ looking forward. Auntie’s words meant the same thing. I’ve only been looking down and not moving forward, but now, I need to work hard to move ahead.”

For some reason, she also gave me a T-shirt with Okushiri’s mascot “Unimaru-kun” as a souvenir.

Now when she faces the Buddhist altar and connects her heart with the hearts of her parents and Mayumi-san, Hiroko finds the deepening of her chanting of Odaimoku to be the force that helps her re-examine the meaning of life, move peacefully towards happiness, and move forward at her own pace.

The childhood memory that Hiroko had of her mother’s back as she chanted towards a photo of her father was the baton of faith that was passed down to her.

“I too will one day pass something on to Rina.”

With these words from Hiroko, I believe that the baton of Odaimoku she now holds will surely be passed on to Rina.

It was Nichiren Shonin who showed us and handed down this most precious heart of the Buddha, the baton of Daimoku.

As Nichiren Shonin always reflected on gratitude towards his parents, we would like to offer our gratitude to our families and ancestors, and chant Odaimoku to contemplate the connection of life.

“The splendid bonds of Odaimoku, I pass it to others, and I too take it.”

Traditional saying attributed Nichiren Shonin

To all who have listened, I would like to ask you to share the wonder of Odaimoku with those around you who have yet to encounter its teachings. This concludes my Dharma talk. Thank you very much for your effort in listening to the teachings.