Formed in the Shadows, Birthed in the Light
I recently finished a book titled "Silence and Beauty" by internationally renowned artist Makoto Fujimura. It's not very often that a book grabs me like this one. In the book, Fujimura tells pieces of his story in parallel to a novel that profoundly formed him — "Silence" by Sausalito Endo.
It is safe to say that Fujimura is an unlikely Christian convert. His faith journey is not unlike mine in some ways—a long, winding, unorthodox path to finding the coexisting grace and truth of Christ. If you don't know of Fujimura, it is worth your time to look him up. He is a world-renowned artist and author who lives a deeply formed Christian life. It is sad yet true that we don't often think of Christian artists as those who belong on the grandest of stages. I have spent a lot of time lamenting why that is. What we put out in the world should be filled with substance and wonder— a kind that pulls people in toward a mystery that ultimately leads to the person of Christ. It should be seen in our movies, read in our writing, and felt in our art. We should be creating from a place so deep that we may not, at first, even grasp the connection between what our souls are telling our hands to make.
Central to the theme of this book are the centuries of persecution that Japanese Christians have endured. In a culture still bent towards homogeneity, those who carry the Christian faith have been historically forced to hide at least parts of their faith. Ironically, this hiddenness has been the driving force behind the hauntingly beautiful aesthetics of Japan. I could write a whole review about this book, but that is not my goal. It would not be a waste of your time to read it. It takes you on a journey outside our western culture and shows us a place not at all hospitable to outward expressions of the Christian faith. In this place, the beauty of Christ has become embedded and deeply hidden in art, architecture, literature, theater, and hospitality. It's a haunting history full of persecution to the point of death. Centuries of history still reverberate today.
As Fujimura and Endo have explored, this idea of hiddenness has left me pondering long after reading more of the story. It is about faith formed in the shadows and birthed in the light, waiting to be discovered. These aren't expressions paved along easy street; they are forged along the road of suffering and isolation. I'm becoming more convinced that it is only in those places where we can understand the depth of the ultimate sacrifice of Jesus.
Makoto Fujimura says it this way, "If we care to know how deep the suffering of Christ goes—and how vast and even violent is the restoration process through Christ's suffering—then we had better start with knowing the dark, cruel reality of the fallen world. If we care to embrace hope despite what encompasses us, the impossibility of life and the inevitability of death, then we must embrace a vision that will endure beyond our failures. We should not journey toward a world in which" solutions" to the "problems" are sought, but a world that acknowledges the possibility of the existence of grace beyond even the greatest of traumas, the Ground-Zero realities of our lives."
Fujimura came up with the term "ground-zero realities" after 9/11. He was living in NYC when the Twin Towers came down, just blocks away from ground zero. Throughout the book, Fujimura references Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and destructive tsunamis, all historical events leaving behind their ground-zeros. He further makes the point that we all have ground zero realities.
I've never been persecuted or forced to hide my faith, nor have I had to denounce it in order to live. But I have endured my own ground-zero realities. Some have been forced on me, and others I have chosen, primarily out of desperation to forget. I see now that kind of motivation is a powerful pull toward the shadows. I have been forced into some darker corners of the world. I have had to look in the mirror to see the reality of my brokenness. I have come to make or break moments, and it is there where I have found a love so deep that light broke through when I have all but forgotten its existence. I hesitate for that to sound romantic. The reality of working through trauma is that it is often never-ending and messy at best.
I have been deeply and intricately formed in the shadows. It's confusing there. It's hard to find your bearings in the dark. It's nearly impossible to see what is in front of you when your mind is occupied with how you arrived. A way out isn't apparent when you're stuck inside the confines of failure and shame. Even in my darkest days, there was always a glimmer of hope—not a willy-nilly-head-in-clouds kind of hope, but the gritty kind, a stubborn one that hopes against hope. I know now that I needed to name the dark, cruel realities of this world, of my circumstances. Something profound unlocked inside me when I could put words to shadows of failure and shame—not simply words in a journal, but ones that connected me to the people who would eventually help me out of the pit. You know it's God when He sends people to rescue you.
I can now look back on my past for what it is, and I have come to terms with evil being evil and not from God. Somewhere inside that journey, I have come to an understanding of shadows that flips what was once my reality on its head.
"He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the almighty. I will say to the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in Him I will trust."
Psalm 91:1-2 NKJV
G. Campbell Morgan calls this Pslam, “one of the greatest possessions of the saints." I could not agree more. To be under the shadow of something is to suggest a closeness to the provider of the shade.
"Hidden faith born of suffering." That is the subtitle of Fujimura's book. Maybe it's just my personality, but this sparked my interest. To me, hidden faith is almost an oxymoron. As somebody born into western culture, the idea of hiding our faith has a negative connotation. We are told to be bold, loud, and forthright with our beliefs. We are encouraged to do this partly because we can. This kind of boldness hasn't been the case among Japanese Christians. For centuries they have been, at best oppressed and ostracized and, at worst, crucified. It was necessary for survival to hide their faith, largely in the arts. These tangible artifacts point us back to the psalmist's words, where even in our darkest times, we can "dwell in the shelter of the Most High and abide in the shadow of the Almighty."
Somewhere along my healing journey, I began to imagine that God was very near. Not a distant, uninvolved God, but one who was so close that His shadow would be cast on me—a shadow of protection. It was there, the knowing He was near, where my senses and desires became attuned to finding God in all things. My personal ground-zero realities will never disappear as parts of my story, but their effects on my everyday life have faded into the background. I have arrived at a place where to paraphrase Fujimura, I both understand the dark, cruel realities of the world and yet, hold fast to the hope and grace that only comes through the person of Jesus. I will spend my days attuning my eyes and ears toward the good, beautiful, and true things.
I'm grateful for this beautiful book by Makoto Fujimura. He offered me a look inside another culture that has widened my worldview. He allowed space to hold the crushing realities of life but didn't leave you without hope. I'm walking away with this as a charge:
"We should not journey toward a world in which "solutions" to the "problems" are sought, but a world that acknowledges the possibility of the existence of grace beyond even the greatest of traumas, the Ground-Zero realities of our lives."
Some of the greatest authors and artists do their most profound work hidden in the shadows. I learned of the passing of one of my heroes in writing yesterday. Frederick Buechner says this. "Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid." Buechner lived this. He wasn't afraid to be honest about life. He understood that pain and beauty could coexist and, as a result, left us with a library that will be read for decades to come. Let's be people not afraid to be formed in the shadows. Let's be honest about the reality of this broken world, and let's not be afraid to turn it into something beautiful.
Beautifully written
I am quite grateful to have read this today. A glorious gift from God. Thank you.