We’re on our way, we’re on our way
We’re on our way to the temple of Paradise,
To the temple of Paradise,
To the great temple…
-song of the martyrs in Silence
Just over six years ago, I took a theology course during my senior year at the University of Notre Dame called World Christianity. Fr. Paul Kollman, CSC - one of my favorite teachers ever teaching what turned out to be one of my favorite courses ever - had us read a book called Deep River, which follows a man who seeks his late wife in the mystery of reincarnation and paints a colorful portrait of culture and religion in East Asia. 1
As we concluded our discussion of the book, Fr. Paul pointed us for further reading to what he deemed to be this author’s, Shusaku Endo, true masterpiece: Silence. And as a further endorsement, he shared that Martin Scorsese had long owned the rights to make it a film and hoped to complete the project in the coming years. I bought the book that next summer and tore through it voraciously, looking forward to the release of the movie. After a few years and nary a thought about it, the publicity for the movie release started, and I decided I had to re-read the book. I finished reading this past Saturday and attended a screening this past Sunday that was followed by a discussion with Cardinal Blase Cupich of Chicago. 2 Here are some of my thoughts from this experience. 3
On the whole, the title word “silence” plays into the story in layers that invite reflection on the spiritual nature of silence. The story opens with the Jesuits in Goa and Macao not knowing the status of their provincial, Father Ferreira (Liam Neeson), who has been lost on his mission in Japan. As Father Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield) and Father Garrpe (Adam Driver), two missionaries from Portugal follow in his footsteps to Japan, Rodrigues frequently voices his frustration and confusion at the apparent silence of God toward his prayer and throughout his life. The movie deepens this motif well, staging some moments over only the hum of nature and even setting others completely without diegetic sound.4
Eventually, Rodrigues’ frustration extends to the apparent silence of God in response to the persecution of Japanese Christians as well. The martyrdom of Japanese Christians repeatedly comes to the fore. After Japanese Christians are killed by the sea in coastal executions, Rodrigues decries the relentless persistence of the tide; after a Christian is slain and buried at a prison, Rodrigues is plagued by the unchanged soundtrack of the forest. He struggles with how the world, the things of Creation, how life itself, all go on unencumbered by the atrocities they’ve experienced. How can Creation not cry out - how can God be silent toward this?
The motif of martyrdom underpins the whole story. Japanese Christians, when discovered, are prompted with the fumie.5 From the Japanese for “stepping on a picture,” this is an icon of Christ upon which the Christians must step to demonstrate their apostasy. The authorities assure them it’s simply a formality that only means they have done their duty as citizens. The reader ventures into internal conflict over whether or not such a physical gesture equals apostasy. Cardinal Cupich remarked that such an action represents the confiscation of the external faith life and forces one to commit to earnest interior spirituality; he also noted that spiritual-but-not-religious types often are at a loss because spirituality is something meant to be shared communally and in relationship. Here, we can see the tension for the oppressed Japanese Christian.
The fumie then prompts a closer inspection of martyrdom. The Japanese Christians have learned from the missionaries that the death for a believer is a gateway to eternal life with God. While they have learned the concept of “paradise,” they identify with it most strongly as the end of paying taxes, of interminable labor, and of living a clandestine life.#SilenceWithCupich Spiritual but not religious is tricky because the interior life only grows when shared & realized in community/rel'ship.— Dan Masterton (@jesusandchicago) January 16, 2017
While Rodrigues affirms that the blood of martyrs is the seed of the Church - so crucial in “the swamp of Japan” where foreign plants cannot take root, or otherwise, when they do, have their roots cut off of them - the narrative of martyrdom is cutting and abrasive. Fathers Garrpe and Rodrigues witness the death of Christians, knowing implicitly and explicitly that the faith which the Portuguese brought has prompted it, though Rodrigues tries to attribute it more widely to the Church and Christ than to himself and his brothers. The palpable suffering and wretched state of these martyr deaths brought me as close to tears as I come in literature, and even more closely when watching their stark portrayal in the film.
Endo observes through Rodrigues the potent parallels between these martyrs and Christ - the sake offered to victims before execution like the vinegar offered to Christ, the culture of informants between villages who snitch on Christians like the betrayal of Judas, the price of silver put on Christians’ heads like the blood money Judas earned. It all left me to wonder whether or not I could face martyrdom.
Would I hold to my faith when witnessing with the death of brothers and sisters? Would I hold to my faith when offered a seemingly minor action to apostatize? I’d like to think I have the courage of my convictions. I’d like to think I’d pursue and achieve the same peace and surrender of the martyrs, the total detachment and the transcendence above the pain that those holy men and women showed.6 But that image of martyrdom involves an abrupt confrontation and a decisive end; Silence painfully yet artfully draws out the social, mental, emotional, spiritual torment as they keep Rodrigues alive and contort his will with calculated assaults from every angle but the physical.
And even as I’m drawn into the shoes of Father Rodrigues and as I weigh my potential state in the face of martyrdom, seeing the film and its portrayal of Kichijiro (Yôsuke Kubozuka) helped me realize the trap there. While the appeal of martyrdom and its salvation is so juicy for spiritual self-speculation, it’s the earthy, mundane, everyday storyline of Kichijiro that can speak even more to the average reader/viewer. Endo does well to narrate the challenges for Rodrigues, but snaking through his whole story is the more directly relatable Kichijiro: the lowly and solitary Japanese exile in Chinese Macao, found in the dregs of the port city, reeking of sake, exuding little to no dignity, and identified as the key to reaching Japan’s shores.
Kichijiro is often described like a dog - servile, sidling even while leading, head bowed and back bent, almost more Gollum7 than human. The fathers enlist him as their guide on the ship that will smuggle them to Japan, and this squirrely shell of a man becomes their catalyst. He will be their link to secret Christians, their navigator through the jungles, their translator and connector to begin their mission.
As we learn Kichijiro’s backstory and see him in action as the story moves forward, we learn of his spinelessness, both with his shaky faith and wider personality. Through actions past, present, and future, Kichijiro bemoans that he was born into a time and place with such persecution. We find out early on that Kichijiro is an apostate, and at one point, Kichijiro regrets, “Listen to me, father. I am an apostate; but if I had died ten years ago, I might have gone to paradise as a good Christian, not despised as an apostate. Merely because I live in a time of persecution...”
This whole narrative transpires on the edges of the sea, and just as the tide rises and falls, Kichijiro is always coming and going. In my first reading, through most of my second reading, and as I began watching the movie, I remained enthralled with the story of these missionaries and followed the trials for their faith with great interest. But in seeing this story in film, seeing the physicalities, mannerisms, and sheepish nature that Kichijiro takes on when he’s relocated from my literary imagination and onto the big screen, I find that my deepest connection is to him.
Few are given the crown of martyr; however, all of us who seek to hold to the faith have to live it out each day. From Kichijiro’s insight about the timing of his life to his actions that we are tempted to judge throughout the story, it’s him with whom I sympathize most. When faced with the persecutions of my life, in a free country, where I can worship freely, where I publish thoughts on my faith, where I can stand up for the truths I believe, how can I live out my faith? Do I strive for courageousness, conviction, and candor? Or do I shrink away from challenges to what I believe?
Kichijiro further asks openly, “I was born weak. One who is weak at heart cannot die a martyr. What am I to do? Ah, why was I born into the world at all?” Can the weak find strength and be emboldened? The atmosphere of persecution to the point of apostasy and death may be foreign to most Catholics in the developed and democratic world, but the question of purpose and prophecy endures. What voice are Catholics called to have in society? How can our evangelization in word and, more importantly, in deed manifest the providence of our being created by a good and loving God? As Kichijiro runs and slinks along the edges of this story, I feel like he tugs me from the glorious hypotheticals of martyrdom and the severity of their lot, and instead forces me to confront how I live my faith everyday.
I struggle to let go of doing “big” ministry, of worrying about page-views on the blog and counting the attendees at the ministry events I lead; I struggle to value the small differences I make for my students while bemoaning their shortcomings in responsibility; I fall short in having the humility to be mindful of the way my students impact and minister to me.
Ultimately, one of the answers that Silence offers to the mystery of God’s apparent silence in our world is that everyone that one does with their life speaks of God. So as you read and watch, and as you wrestle with the profound crosses given to these Japanese Christians and their Portuguese Jesuit fathers, keep an eye out also for the “dog” Kichijiro, and ask yourself: how can your life, its faith, and its works be the voice of God that dispels the apparent silence?
#SilenceWithCupich We have to lean on God and hold on for the ride - it's not about right or wrong but complete or incomplete revelation.— Dan Masterton (@jesusandchicago) January 16, 2017
1 Full synopsis, courtesy of Amazon: A trip to India becomes a journey of discovery for a group of Japanese tourists playing out their "individual dramas of the soul." Isobe searches for his reincarnated wife, while Kiguchi relives the wartime horror that ultimately saved his life. Alienated by middle age, Mitsuko follows Otsu, a failed priest, to the holy city of Varanas, hoping that the murky Ganges holds the secret to the "difference between being alive and truly living." Looking for absolutes, each character confronts instead the moral ambiguity of India's complex culture, in which good and evil are seen as a whole as indifferent to distinction as the Ganges River, which washes the living and transports the dead. This novel is a fascinating study of cultural truths revealed through a rich and varied cast. Endo, one of Japan's leading writers, skillfully depicts the small details of life, investing them with universal significance. Highly recommended.↩
2 I live-tweeted Cardinal Cupich’s comments, some of which are embedded in this post, which you can view here via Twitter.↩
3 I wouldn’t quite call this a review, as I’m not rating the book, the movie, or the differences between them. I’m just gathering some reactions about how I took it all in and offering some approaches you might consider if you choose to see the movie, or better yet, read the book and then see the movie. I will steer clear of major spoilers, but the context needed for some of my comments will require minor spoilers.↩
4 Diegetic sound is the sound of the scene’s setting, like the characters’ voices, the natural sound from the streets or the room they’re in, etc.; removing diegetic sound means that the viewer hears nothing from the scene. This sometimes means background music added for effect or can even mean total silence.↩
5 Fumie in short means stepping on a picture; in this case, Wikipedia actually has a decent summary with a solid set of related links for further reading.↩
6 I’ve always found this to one of the most amazing mysteries of our Tradition. The stories of our saints and martyrs are surely fraught with exaggerations and embellishments, but I think there’s definite truth to the accounts. I’ve been most spiritually in awe of the total detachment martyrs seem to achieve in the lead up to their execution. It seems to liberate them from experience the depths of pain and suffering that martyrdom entails and brings a lightness and joy to their trial. Reminds me that I’ve got much work to do.↩
7 Gollum meaning the creepy character from Lord of the Rings whose pursuit of the ring has made him a shell of a person, manifested in his grizzly appearance, skeletal and sallow body, and labored, cloudy way of speaking.↩
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