My Japanese-Harmony Self, My Apologetic English Self, and My Mystical Greek Self

This morning, I heard a dialogue on the channel "Japan Testimonies," run by a missionary serving in Japan, that resonated with me so deeply it made my heart leap.

The missionary, speaking in fluent and beautiful Japanese, asked his colleague Hiroki (a Japanese Christian), "What do you think about apologetics—trying to logically explain and defend the faith—in the soil of Japan?"

Hiroki’s response expressed exactly what was in my own heart.

First, he pointed out that when it comes to Christianity and faith, the Japanese-language mode and the English-language mode are completely different for Japanese people. He also noted that the Western style of argumentation, which defines things through words—like "God is all-powerful and you are a sinner"—can sound to the average Japanese ear like a form of labeling or imposition, which is why it struggles to take root in the Japanese spiritual soil.

I nodded deeply at his words.

As a fellow Japanese Christian, I was responding in my heart over and over, "Yes, exactly! That’s so true. I feel the same way."

I was born into a family with roots in Jodo Shinshu Buddhism, and during my college years, I encountered the Gospel of Christ through a Protestant missionary while studying abroad.

After that, I spent seventeen years in Greece, immersing myself in an international, interdenominational mission field. I served as a missionary, walking alongside refugees from the Middle East, and in 2019, I converted to Eastern Orthodoxy. On top of that, my husband is an exiled Christian from Iran, so in our home, Persian, English, and Greek are constantly intermingling, and our dining table is a curious, natural blend of Middle Eastern flavors, Mediterranean tastes, and Japanese cuisine.

Even though I feel I have walked within a single faith, my journey is layered with many cultures, languages, and theological traditions.

Looking back on those years, I realize that many "selves" live within me. Among them, the following three come to mind again now.

My Japanese-harmony self.

My apologetic English self.

And my mystical Greek self.

Strangely, while each is a different facet of the same personality, my way of facing God and my choice of words change as if illuminated by different lights.

When I speak in Japanese (Satsuma dialect), I become my "Japanese-harmony self."

I return to my hometown and sit around the table with my family.

Steaming miso soup. The soft sound of chopsticks touching. Someone speaks quietly, and a gentle, "Hmm, I see," comes back in response.

In that calm and gentle space, there is no room for apologetics such as "apologetics regarding atonement," "typological interpretation of the Old Testament," or "biblical arguments concerning the pros and cons of women's ordination."

This is not because such activities are excluded or rejected.

It is simply that they are irrelevant. At least, at the low dining table in this Japanese provincial city.

I feel that for my Japanese self, a way of speaking that resembles a soft fabric of relationships comes more naturally than the sword of direct definition or logic. I remember that in a freshman English essay class at university, an American professor once laughed, saying, "Japanese essays really have a lot of 'maybe' and 'I think'." The Japanese sensibility of softening assertions likely peeks out from within us even when we leave our mother tongue to write in English.

Leaving white space between words and valuing the room for the other person to receive them on their own.

Of course, in a Japanese Christian family, Christian elements are naturally woven into that white space. There might even be dining tables where a surprisingly robust "God talk" breathes within the hazy, gentle conversation.

But for someone like me, who is the only Christian in the family and sees almost no other Christians in the local area, and who furthermore lives abroad, my place as a Christian when I return home feels like it exists only inside the small body that is "me."

The moment I step outside of "me," there is almost nothing there to remind me or make me feel that I am a Christian.

Nevertheless, the aesthetic of sharing the "unspoken," this sensibility that Japanese culture has cultivated over many years, still lives deeply within me. There is a sense of security that requires no explanation, and a peace that makes me feel unraveled just by being there. To be honest, it is truly a relief.

On the other hand, when I speak in English, I awaken as my "apologetic self."

Strangely enough, a logical framework rises up in my mind.

I verify premises one by one, carefully define concepts, and descend to the core of the question. In that endeavor, there is the joy of an intellect that loves God.

I—the English me—think that I really love this world.

One book that taught me that richness was Wayne Grudem's "Systematic Theology," which spans over nine hundred pages.

What kind of person is God?
Who are human beings?
What is the church?
What is salvation?

While looking over the entire Bible, each doctrine is woven together into one magnificent order. As I read through that process, I felt deeply moved.

It was like an experience of looking up at a galaxy spreading across the night sky.

The countless stars are by no means chaotic. Each one has a definite position, and while resonating with each other, they form a single universe.

In the same way, the teachings of the Bible were also beautifully ordered as a single cosmos.

I was captivated by that intellectual beauty.

This is precisely why English-speaking apologetics attracts me.

As long as we can discuss things through language, we do not settle for superficial impressions or the prevailing social atmosphere, but instead try to descend to the essence of things.

Is that really true?
What are the premises?
How is it positioned within the entire worldview?

There is an intellectual integrity that continues to question things so thoroughly.

I hold a deep respect for that stance.

Every time I encounter such a tradition of knowledge, I am made to think about why the community known as the university blossomed in medieval Europe. The philosophical heritage of Greece and Rome, and the conviction nurtured by Judeo-Christianity that truth is worth pursuing. My respect for the fact that these two have intersected over many years to form a single intellectual culture has been deepening year by year.

Furthermore, the enterprise of modern science itself appears to me as an extension of this history of ideas, in that it was nurtured from the soil of a worldview where nature is understandable through reason and the created order is worth exploring. And I feel a quiet sense of exhilaration and deep excitement that faith and science are connected without contradiction.

That is why I can never deny the world of Western apologetics.

There lies a history of pious intellect that seeks to use human reason as a service to God.

And I think that stance is also reflected in contemporary discussions surrounding human sexuality.

In Japan, through contemporary literature and the atmosphere of society as a whole, a sense that "it's about diversity" or "it's fine to have various ways of living" is gradually being shared. And before we know it, the thinking of society and individuals has changed. I feel that kind of "vague," softly drifting atmosphere.

I believe that within that, there is certainly a delicate and kind heart, typical of the Japanese, that breathes—a heart that cares for others and tries to cherish those in vulnerable positions.

On the other hand, the reason I find English-speaking Christian apologetics attractive is that public opinion there does not just change "vaguely" or "softly" on its own.

What is a human being?
What is the body?
What is marriage?
What is freedom?
What does it mean to be created in the image of God?

Rather than discussing each question in isolation, they try to think things through completely while positioning them within the worldview of the Bible as a whole.

The more I learn about such an endeavor to think within the framework of the entire Bible, the more I am reminded of the fact that since the opening of Japan, while Western technology and scholarship have been accepted surprisingly widely, the Christian worldview at their root has remained relatively overlooked to this day. That is precisely why, as a Japanese Christian, I am so grateful that I can walk while rooting that "root" deep in the core of my soul, and at the same time, accepting both what comes from the West and the sensibilities inherent to Japan.

And then, there is another me.

Yes, when I immerse myself in Greek prayers and the liturgy of the Eastern Orthodox Church, I become the 'mystical me'.

There lies a deep current of apophatic theology—negative theology.

We can speak about God.
However, we cannot fully express God in words.

No matter how many precise doctrines we stack up, God remains beyond our words.

The endeavor to define is important.
Yet, what can be defined is not the entirety of God.
In the end, silence remains.

When I encountered this kind of Eastern theology, I felt a strange sense of nostalgia.
That is because it resonated deeply, somewhere, with the sensibility I developed as a Japanese person.

This mode resonates surprisingly naturally with my Japanese sense—the aesthetic of the unspoken and the lingering emotional resonance of things left unsaid.

Here, for the first time, I felt that being Japanese and the mystical theology of Eastern Orthodoxy were becoming united within me.

There was a time when I wondered, 'Which one is the real me?'
For a long time, I worried that I might be somewhat fragmented.

Yesterday, I went to a monastery in Athens to receive the sacrament of confession.

Before the hieromonk (a monk who is also a priest) dressed in black robes, I spoke as follows.

'Since the beginning of this year, I have felt God's grace working deeply within me, and I feel that what I previously thought were separate parts are gradually being integrated into a sense of integrity.'

When I spoke those words, I realized once again the change within myself.

The Japanese me.
The apologetic me.
The mystical me.

These three versions of me do not try to erase one another.
They do not blame or exclude each other.

Rather, they are quietly trying to harmonize within the spirit of 'Wa' (harmony).

Living together and weaving into one another, I feel as though I am walking toward integrity as a single lived faith.

I love the strength of English argumentation, I protect the delicacy of Japanese harmony, and I rest in the depths of Eastern Orthodox mystery.

I am someone who does not fit perfectly anywhere. No matter where I am, I stand out just a little as something foreign. Even so, I think.

This multi-layered existence is surely a gift that God has given to me.

As one who lives between different cultures, languages, and theologies, I want to continue to quietly explore this path of harmony.