I did have 2 hours to kill.  The heady feeling of having no-one else to confer with took me by surprise. Before I knew it, Miyako and I had linked arms and we were marching towards the Tokyo Metro.

The first train ride was packed to the seams. It was rush hour. White-gloved officials were pushing and shoving commuters into carriages like sardines. 

It was stuffy and unpleasant. 

The second train ride was a little less crowded and Miyako and I stood next to each other and talked about our families and friends, catching up on the many years apart but nothing in our conversations prepared me for what was to come.

The third train was practically empty. There were only three other people sharing our carriage, bobbing to the sound of the train in half slumber. The hustle and bustle, the crowds and the chit chat had made the time pass by in a flash. I caught a glimpse of the time on Miyako’s watch and realized that we had been traveling for almost an hour.

“Miyako, where are we going? I have to be back in town in just over an hour” I said in a slightly alarmed tone. I never thought to ask where she was taking me assuming it would be an eclectic book shop, a trendy coffee bar or somewhere with a beautiful view.

I had noticed whilst running from one train to another, keeping up with Miyako’s practiced brisk pace, that we were now on the Musashino line on JR East indicating we were going east of Tokyo. I realized that I didn’t recognize any of the names of the stations the train was stopping at. Even during the time I’d lived there, I hadn’t traveled in this direction before. This was unfamiliar territory for me.

“I’m glad you asked. I didn’t know how to tell you but…I’m taking you to my church!” Her face beamed. “I’ve always wanted to take you there…to share it with you.”

I knew how important this church was to Miyako. She found solace and strength through it and had gotten through many a hardship with their help.

But her answer shook me. Honestly, it annoyed the hell out of me. I didn’t want to spend these precious hours of my time visiting my church, let alone someone else’s. However, I tucked those feelings away and decided to go with the flow.

We arrived at our stop. Miyako had picked up the pace and we were out of the Metro and into a quiet neighborhood in no time. We’d left the city’s noise and bright lights far behind. Hushed tones met us through sashed windows, grey slate roofed porches and quaint wooden multi-leveled homes. The dim lamp posts made it hard to see the ancient cobbled streets we were walking on.

After only a few minutes Miyako slowed down.

“We are here” she said looking up towards a stark office-like structure. 

In contrast to the humble but welcoming homes we had just passed, the building she walked up to had a rather unfavorable look to it with its dark grey walls and naked windows. I noticed a shiny plaque at the side of the front door which had a small Christian cross and Japanese characters written on it. I presumed it announced to those entering what denomination and Church they were. I wondered what kind of church she had brought me to. I remember feeling a little comforted when I saw the cross; the only familiar sign around me at that particular moment. Once Miyako had announced where she was taking me on the train, my imagination had run away with me. I had created an idyllic setting in my mind for Miyako’s church that she held in such high esteem; small, warm, welcoming, soft wooden pews, maple trees drooping above the churches entrance; a far cry from the reality; a concrete, cold, stark facade looming up in front of us. By now the sun had set. I huddled my jacket closer around my body to keep the cold air out.

There were stairs leading to the front door and as we climbed and approached the entrance I could hear a faint eerie-like chanting coming from inside.

I glanced surreptitiously at my phone to check on the time. I still had an hour until my dinner. This will only take a few minutes I thought so I should be fine and slipped the phone back into my pocket. 

The door opened for us as if we were being expected. I had noticed Miyako texting earlier so I assumed she had let someone know that we were on our way. A rather stooped older lady greeted us whispering kind welcomes in Japanese whilst bowing with respect. She ushered us into a large entrance hall. Apart from the muffled chanting in the background, the sense of stillness and silence enveloped me like a heavy blanket.

The lady beckoned me to take my shoes off and offered to unburden me from my shopping bags and coat. I sheepishly smiled and nodded to her as if to say thank you. It took me a while to remove my Nike Air Force One’s – not the easiest to take off in a hurry. I glanced sideways and noticed that Miyako had already removed her coat and shoes – I marveled at how the Japanese had the art of taking-off-shoes-with-as-little-fuss-as-possible down to a tee.

Neat rows of beige plastic slippers were lined up in the hallway waiting to be slipped on. I slipped a pair on and shuffled towards my friend.

As I followed Miyako and the old lady along the corridor I silently urged them both to hurry and start the tour. I was aware of time ticking by and I began to regret my decision in accepting Miyako’s unexpected invitation.

The same unassuming lady showed us into a room off the entrance hall. I expected to be shown into their place of worship but it was only a standard carpeted room with three or four tables and chairs around each of them. We were the only ones in the room. I remember noticing that the chanting had stopped.

We were asked to sit at the table where there were three delicate china teacups set out. 

“Itadakimasu” “Dozo” she said gesturing for us to take a seat. 

I looked quizzically at Miyako, but she was already making towards one of the chairs so I followed.

I remember thinking “Maybe they want to tell me a little about their church’s history before showing me the church” and “this was definitely going to take longer than I realized.”

After a few minutes, the door opened assertively. Miyako shot up and bowed the moment a small but self-assured woman came through the door.  Dressed in a light grey starchy suit, she bowed stiffly and sat down. I gathered she must be someone of importance from Miyako’s reaction to her. Miyako seemed a little flustered. Or was it excited? I wasn’t sure. The confident woman introduced herself as the pastor. We exchanged a few pleasantries about the weather and about where I came from and the pastor proceeded to ask what brought me there that evening.

I looked across the table at Miyako and after only a slight hesitation I blurted

“I’m here for Miyako….she wanted to show me her church”.

I felt my cheeks flush red as I realized how abrupt that explanation may have sounded, but I was keen to make it clear to everyone that I wasn’t here for myself. Not at all. I was there purely as a supportive friend.

Miyako then piped up and mentioned that I was a very open-minded person, that I’d lived all over the world and was pretty much open to anything. I’m not really sure what she meant by “open to anything” but I do remember thinking “what am I getting myself into?”

The pastor, after my short reply, seemed to wait for more but when I didn’t say anything else, asked if I wouldn’t mind praying with them. In my head, I rolled my eyes and gave an invisible shudder – I was raised Roman Catholic but for the past few years I had been questioning my faith – so to be asked to pray was something I didn’t want to do. However, again, I thought of Miyako. She clearly wanted me to do this. I reluctantly grabbed hold of the hand that was reaching out to me across the table.

*Photo by Gary Barnes from Pexels