磐城日誌
信仰，讓日本災民重聚
報道 2013年03月12日
Kyodo, via Reuters
周日黎明時分，磐城市居民面朝大海，紀念周一到來的地震和海嘯兩周年紀念日。
日本磐城市——毀滅性的隆隆巨浪消退後，在距離受到重創的福島第一核電站(Fukushima Daiichi)不遠的一個小教會成員們發現，新一輪的困難才剛剛開始。
兩年前，一場地震引發的海嘯造成了核電站的災難性事故，自那以來，教會的150名成員幾乎沒得到任何喘息的機會，先是逃離核電站的輻射，後來隨着回家的希望越來越渺茫，他們又試圖尋找一個更適宜永久居住的地方，好重新安頓下來。
在日本，許多被迫撤離的社區一直在艱難地展開重建，背井離鄉的人們也從很多地方汲取了力量和堅韌的意志。但是在回歸正常生活的路上，小小的勝利卻能夠孕育希望，重振精神。
周日，福島第一浸禮會(Fukushima First Baptist Church)就邁出了這樣一步。在核電站以南約30英里（約合48公里），大風肆虐的磐城市，教會用支持者的捐款，建了一所新的小教堂，並在那裡舉行了 第一次禮拜。不過，一些年長的教區居民沒能參加。其他人則分散在日本各地，由於孩子或工作的原因，或者因為需要遠房親戚的接濟，所以不願回來。
周日，當50名教友俯首禱告時，教會的副牧師佐藤將司(Masashi Saito)說道，“有時，我們覺得自己失去了一切我們珍視的東西，我們會問：‘上帝，這是為什麼？’ ”
日本東北部海岸遭襲已有兩年的時間，而福島的一些社區才剛剛開始承認這樣一個慘痛的現實：他們可能永遠失去了自己的老家，而且他們需要再尋找別的地方，重建家園。
在福島及其周邊地區，生活在很多方面已經回歸常態。但是，政府已承認，在核電站周邊污染最重的地區，原來的居民可能還需要數十年的時間才能回來居住，而棄用被摧毀的核電站也同樣需要這麼久時間。
在那些一度疏散一空，而現在疏散令已經撤銷的地區，返回居住的人群分佈並不均勻。有些人選擇回來，而有些人則寧願留在外面，城市和村鎮的居民就此分離，甚至連親人也因此天各一方。根據當地的人口普查數據，過去兩年里，福島的人口減少了6萬，不過人口減少的步伐已經趨緩。
現在，原本位於福島縣大熊町(Okuma)的第一浸禮會，有很多成員仍然沒有回來。但是，該教會本月新開的小教堂至少結束了一段長達兩年的顛沛流離。教會成員稱，在這段歷程中，即使是最虔誠的教友，信仰也受到了考驗。
第二次世界大戰結束後最初的幾年裡，從明尼蘇達州到達日本的美國傳教士，建立了這個教會。教會創立時，將福島貧瘠的海岸，變成該地區最為繁榮的城鎮之一的核電站尚不存在。
教區居民稱，教會發展得很快，在東京電力公司(Tokyo Electric Power Company)開始建設福島第一核電站，僱傭年輕工人來該地區工作之後，教會更快地壯大起來。在一個由佛教和本土傳統的神道教所主導的國家，150人的 教會已是不小的規模。據政府估計，日本信仰基督教的人很少，在1.27億人口中，基督徒僅有不到300萬人，佔總人口的2.3%。隨着教會成員的不斷減 少，很多教會都在艱難求生。
今年60歲的中田敬二（Keiji Nakada，音譯）當年從栃木縣來到福島幫助東電建設核電站。20歲時，中田加入了教會，在那裡結婚，並在大熊町定居。他和妻子生了四個孩子，他在主日學校里也十分活躍。
中田的妻子已去世多年，而在他從東電退休後不到一年，九級大地震襲來，他的家被震得搖搖欲墜。
第二天一大早，政府下令疏散，要求大熊町所有居民撤離。中田說，他離開家時在想，幾個小時後就能回來。但自那以後，除了白天快快地回來取東西，他再也沒有回來過。
“我當時說不出話來，”中田說，“我幫着建設的核電站沒了，我的教會，我的家，都沒了。”
同一天早晨，現年92歲的佐佐木友子（Tomoko Sasaki，音譯）在寒冷中等了六個小時，才等到日本自衛隊(Self-Defense Force)的巴士把她帶出大熊町，送往附近的一座體育館。她整夜都躲在教堂里避難，在混亂的三周時間裡，她曾與包括中田在內的約60名教區居民一起，輾 轉其他兩個疏散地點。之後，東京以西的一個營地為他們所有人提供了住所。
佐佐木今年進入了東京的一家養老中心，她說憑自己的力量是無法在疏散過程中活下來的。
她是福島教會第一名皈依者，在65年前她受洗時，鄰居們向她投來了奇怪的眼光。她說，就在受洗之前幾年，她還宣誓過效忠天皇，將他當作日本之神。身在東京的佐佐木在電話中說，“日本的基督徒人數還是太少，可我覺得這也意味着我們應當相互照顧。”
但人們也常常會灰心。2011年5月，救災人員從仍舊散落在海灘上的破損殘骸中挖出了一名教區失蹤居民的遺體。兩名更年長的教會成員則在醫院中去世。目前該教會身處東京西部的60名疏散人員在兩周之內舉行了三次葬禮。
不過，教會也吸納了新成員，一個決定與教會一同疏散的七口人的家庭，在當月請求接受洗禮。
在一年之後的2012年6月，中田娶了一名教友，51歲的溝口惠子（Keiko Mizoguchi，音譯），後者的丈夫在災難發生一個月後去世了。中田和溝口都留在了福島，他們每個月都驅車前往東京西部去拜訪臨時教堂。
“在日本，很容易失去自己的方向，”佐藤牧師說，“實際上，這場災難讓我們變得更堅強。”
兩年前，一場地震引發的海嘯造成了核電站的災難性事故，自那以來，教會的150名成員幾乎沒得到任何喘息的機會，先是逃離核電站的輻射，後來隨着回家的希望越來越渺茫，他們又試圖尋找一個更適宜永久居住的地方，好重新安頓下來。
周日，福島第一浸禮會(Fukushima First Baptist Church)就邁出了這樣一步。在核電站以南約30英里（約合48公里），大風肆虐的磐城市，教會用支持者的捐款，建了一所新的小教堂，並在那裡舉行了 第一次禮拜。不過，一些年長的教區居民沒能參加。其他人則分散在日本各地，由於孩子或工作的原因，或者因為需要遠房親戚的接濟，所以不願回來。
周日，當50名教友俯首禱告時，教會的副牧師佐藤將司(Masashi Saito)說道，“有時，我們覺得自己失去了一切我們珍視的東西，我們會問：‘上帝，這是為什麼？’ ”
日本東北部海岸遭襲已有兩年的時間，而福島的一些社區才剛剛開始承認這樣一個慘痛的現實：他們可能永遠失去了自己的老家，而且他們需要再尋找別的地方，重建家園。
在福島及其周邊地區，生活在很多方面已經回歸常態。但是，政府已承認，在核電站周邊污染最重的地區，原來的居民可能還需要數十年的時間才能回來居住，而棄用被摧毀的核電站也同樣需要這麼久時間。
在那些一度疏散一空，而現在疏散令已經撤銷的地區，返回居住的人群分佈並不均勻。有些人選擇回來，而有些人則寧願留在外面，城市和村鎮的居民就此分離，甚至連親人也因此天各一方。根據當地的人口普查數據，過去兩年里，福島的人口減少了6萬，不過人口減少的步伐已經趨緩。
現在，原本位於福島縣大熊町(Okuma)的第一浸禮會，有很多成員仍然沒有回來。但是，該教會本月新開的小教堂至少結束了一段長達兩年的顛沛流離。教會成員稱，在這段歷程中，即使是最虔誠的教友，信仰也受到了考驗。
第二次世界大戰結束後最初的幾年裡，從明尼蘇達州到達日本的美國傳教士，建立了這個教會。教會創立時，將福島貧瘠的海岸，變成該地區最為繁榮的城鎮之一的核電站尚不存在。
教區居民稱，教會發展得很快，在東京電力公司(Tokyo Electric Power Company)開始建設福島第一核電站，僱傭年輕工人來該地區工作之後，教會更快地壯大起來。在一個由佛教和本土傳統的神道教所主導的國家，150人的 教會已是不小的規模。據政府估計，日本信仰基督教的人很少，在1.27億人口中，基督徒僅有不到300萬人，佔總人口的2.3%。隨着教會成員的不斷減 少，很多教會都在艱難求生。
今年60歲的中田敬二（Keiji Nakada，音譯）當年從栃木縣來到福島幫助東電建設核電站。20歲時，中田加入了教會，在那裡結婚，並在大熊町定居。他和妻子生了四個孩子，他在主日學校里也十分活躍。
中田的妻子已去世多年，而在他從東電退休後不到一年，九級大地震襲來，他的家被震得搖搖欲墜。
第二天一大早，政府下令疏散，要求大熊町所有居民撤離。中田說，他離開家時在想，幾個小時後就能回來。但自那以後，除了白天快快地回來取東西，他再也沒有回來過。
“我當時說不出話來，”中田說，“我幫着建設的核電站沒了，我的教會，我的家，都沒了。”
同一天早晨，現年92歲的佐佐木友子（Tomoko Sasaki，音譯）在寒冷中等了六個小時，才等到日本自衛隊(Self-Defense Force)的巴士把她帶出大熊町，送往附近的一座體育館。她整夜都躲在教堂里避難，在混亂的三周時間裡，她曾與包括中田在內的約60名教區居民一起，輾 轉其他兩個疏散地點。之後，東京以西的一個營地為他們所有人提供了住所。
佐佐木今年進入了東京的一家養老中心，她說憑自己的力量是無法在疏散過程中活下來的。
她是福島教會第一名皈依者，在65年前她受洗時，鄰居們向她投來了奇怪的眼光。她說，就在受洗之前幾年，她還宣誓過效忠天皇，將他當作日本之神。身在東京的佐佐木在電話中說，“日本的基督徒人數還是太少，可我覺得這也意味着我們應當相互照顧。”
但人們也常常會灰心。2011年5月，救災人員從仍舊散落在海灘上的破損殘骸中挖出了一名教區失蹤居民的遺體。兩名更年長的教會成員則在醫院中去世。目前該教會身處東京西部的60名疏散人員在兩周之內舉行了三次葬禮。
不過，教會也吸納了新成員，一個決定與教會一同疏散的七口人的家庭，在當月請求接受洗禮。
在一年之後的2012年6月，中田娶了一名教友，51歲的溝口惠子（Keiko Mizoguchi，音譯），後者的丈夫在災難發生一個月後去世了。中田和溝口都留在了福島，他們每個月都驅車前往東京西部去拜訪臨時教堂。
“在日本，很容易失去自己的方向，”佐藤牧師說，“實際上，這場災難讓我們變得更堅強。”
Iwaki Journal
Uprooted by Tsunami, Church’s Flock Regroups
March 12, 2013
IWAKI, Japan — After the rumbling and the
devastating waves had ceased, the members of a little church a stone’s
throw away from the stricken Fukushima Daiichi nuclear power plant discovered that a new set of troubles was just beginning.
For two years since an earthquake set off a tsunami that caused the disaster at the nuclear plant, the church’s 150 parishioners have had little respite, first fleeing radiation from the plant, then seeking a more permanent place to reassemble as prospects dimmed for a return home.
Many dislocated communities in Japan have been grappling with
recovery efforts, and the uprooted draw strength and resilience from a
variety of sources. But small victories nourish hopes and fortify
flagging spirits on the road back to normality.
On Sunday, the Fukushima First Baptist Church took such a step with its first service in a new chapel it built from supporters’ donations in Iwaki, a wind-swept city about 30 miles south of the plant. Some elderly parishioners did not make it, though. And others remain scattered across Japan, unwilling to return because of their children or their jobs, or because they still need the support of distant relatives.
“There were times when we felt like we lost everything that we hold dear, and we asked: ‘God, why?’ ” Masashi Saito, the church’s junior pastor, said Sunday as about 50 members bowed their heads in prayer.
Two years since the destruction along Japan’s northeast coast, some communities in Fukushima are just starting to come to terms with a sobering realization: their old homes are probably lost forever, and they must start anew elsewhere.
In the wider Fukushima region, much of life is back to normal. But the return of former residents to the most heavily contaminated areas around the plant is likely to take decades, the government has acknowledged, as will the decommissioning of the ravaged plant itself.
In once-emptied areas where evacuations orders have now been lifted, re-population has been uneven. Cities, towns and even families remain divided between those who choose to return, and those who stay away. Over the past two years, Fukushima’s population has fallen by more than 60,000, according to local censuses, though the pace of the population decline has now slowed.
The Baptist church, in Okuma, its original location in Fukushima Prefecture, is also still missing many of its members. But the opening of its new chapel this month, at least, ends a two-year journey that members say tested the faith of even the most faithful.
Founded by American missionaries who arrived in Japan from Minnesota in the early years after World War II, the church predates the nuclear plants that transformed a poor village on Fukushima’s hardscrabble coast into one of the region’s most prosperous towns.
The church grew swiftly, parishioners say, and swifter still after the Tokyo Electric Power Company, or Tepco, started work on the Daiichi plant, drawing young workers to the area. The congregation of 150 was a sizable number in a country dominated by Buddhist and native Shinto traditions. The Christian presence is tiny; just under 3 million in a country of 127 million, according to government estimates, or about 2.3 percent of the population. With dwindling congregations in Japan, many churches struggle to survive.
Keiji Nakada, now 60, was a worker who traveled from Tochigi to help Tepco build the plant. He joined the church at 20, married there and settled in Okuma. He and his wife had four children, and he became active in the Sunday school.
Mr. Nakada’s wife died years ago, and then less than a year after he retired from Tepco, the magnitude 9 quake jolted his home.
Early the next morning, all residents of Okuma were ordered to evacuate. He said he left home thinking he would be back in a matter of hours, but he has not returned since, except on short day trips to retrieve a few of his belongings.
“I had no words,” Mr. Nakada said. “I’d lost the plant I helped to build, the church I belonged to and my home.”
That same morning, Tomoko Sasaki, now 92, waited six hours in the cold for Japan’s Self-Defense Force to bus her out of Okuma to a nearby gymnasium. She had taken refuge in the church overnight, and for three chaotic weeks she traveled with about 60 parish members, including Mr. Nakada, to two other evacuation sites before a camp site west of Tokyo offered to take them all in.
Ms. Sasaki, who entered an elder care center in Tokyo this year, said she would not have survived the evacuation on her own.
When she was baptized 65 years ago — she was the Fukushima church’s first convert — she got funny looks from neighbors. Only a few years earlier, she said, she had pledged allegiance to the emperor as Japan’s deity. “There are still so few Christians in Japan, but I suppose that also means we look out for each other,” Ms. Sasaki said by telephone from Tokyo.
But morale often ran low. In May 2011, relief workers pulled the body of a missing parishioner from the mangled debris that still lined the coast. Two more elderly church members died in hospitals. The 60 evacuees from the church, now in west Tokyo, held three funerals in two weeks.
Still, the church also gained new members: a family of seven who decided to evacuate along with the church asked to be baptized the same month.
A year later, in June 2012, Mr. Nakada married a fellow church member, Keiko Mizoguchi, 51, whose husband had died a month after the disaster. Mr. Nakada and Ms. Mizoguchi, who both stayed in Fukushima, had been driving down every month to visit the temporary church in west Tokyo.
“It’s easy to lose your way in Japan,” said Mr. Saito, the pastor. “The disaster, in fact, has made us all stronger.”
For two years since an earthquake set off a tsunami that caused the disaster at the nuclear plant, the church’s 150 parishioners have had little respite, first fleeing radiation from the plant, then seeking a more permanent place to reassemble as prospects dimmed for a return home.
按图放大
Shizuo Kambayashi/Associated Press
On Sunday, a family visited where its house stood in Miyagi Prefecture. The tsunami caused extensive damage there.
On Sunday, the Fukushima First Baptist Church took such a step with its first service in a new chapel it built from supporters’ donations in Iwaki, a wind-swept city about 30 miles south of the plant. Some elderly parishioners did not make it, though. And others remain scattered across Japan, unwilling to return because of their children or their jobs, or because they still need the support of distant relatives.
“There were times when we felt like we lost everything that we hold dear, and we asked: ‘God, why?’ ” Masashi Saito, the church’s junior pastor, said Sunday as about 50 members bowed their heads in prayer.
Two years since the destruction along Japan’s northeast coast, some communities in Fukushima are just starting to come to terms with a sobering realization: their old homes are probably lost forever, and they must start anew elsewhere.
In the wider Fukushima region, much of life is back to normal. But the return of former residents to the most heavily contaminated areas around the plant is likely to take decades, the government has acknowledged, as will the decommissioning of the ravaged plant itself.
In once-emptied areas where evacuations orders have now been lifted, re-population has been uneven. Cities, towns and even families remain divided between those who choose to return, and those who stay away. Over the past two years, Fukushima’s population has fallen by more than 60,000, according to local censuses, though the pace of the population decline has now slowed.
The Baptist church, in Okuma, its original location in Fukushima Prefecture, is also still missing many of its members. But the opening of its new chapel this month, at least, ends a two-year journey that members say tested the faith of even the most faithful.
Founded by American missionaries who arrived in Japan from Minnesota in the early years after World War II, the church predates the nuclear plants that transformed a poor village on Fukushima’s hardscrabble coast into one of the region’s most prosperous towns.
The church grew swiftly, parishioners say, and swifter still after the Tokyo Electric Power Company, or Tepco, started work on the Daiichi plant, drawing young workers to the area. The congregation of 150 was a sizable number in a country dominated by Buddhist and native Shinto traditions. The Christian presence is tiny; just under 3 million in a country of 127 million, according to government estimates, or about 2.3 percent of the population. With dwindling congregations in Japan, many churches struggle to survive.
Keiji Nakada, now 60, was a worker who traveled from Tochigi to help Tepco build the plant. He joined the church at 20, married there and settled in Okuma. He and his wife had four children, and he became active in the Sunday school.
Mr. Nakada’s wife died years ago, and then less than a year after he retired from Tepco, the magnitude 9 quake jolted his home.
Early the next morning, all residents of Okuma were ordered to evacuate. He said he left home thinking he would be back in a matter of hours, but he has not returned since, except on short day trips to retrieve a few of his belongings.
“I had no words,” Mr. Nakada said. “I’d lost the plant I helped to build, the church I belonged to and my home.”
That same morning, Tomoko Sasaki, now 92, waited six hours in the cold for Japan’s Self-Defense Force to bus her out of Okuma to a nearby gymnasium. She had taken refuge in the church overnight, and for three chaotic weeks she traveled with about 60 parish members, including Mr. Nakada, to two other evacuation sites before a camp site west of Tokyo offered to take them all in.
Ms. Sasaki, who entered an elder care center in Tokyo this year, said she would not have survived the evacuation on her own.
When she was baptized 65 years ago — she was the Fukushima church’s first convert — she got funny looks from neighbors. Only a few years earlier, she said, she had pledged allegiance to the emperor as Japan’s deity. “There are still so few Christians in Japan, but I suppose that also means we look out for each other,” Ms. Sasaki said by telephone from Tokyo.
But morale often ran low. In May 2011, relief workers pulled the body of a missing parishioner from the mangled debris that still lined the coast. Two more elderly church members died in hospitals. The 60 evacuees from the church, now in west Tokyo, held three funerals in two weeks.
Still, the church also gained new members: a family of seven who decided to evacuate along with the church asked to be baptized the same month.
A year later, in June 2012, Mr. Nakada married a fellow church member, Keiko Mizoguchi, 51, whose husband had died a month after the disaster. Mr. Nakada and Ms. Mizoguchi, who both stayed in Fukushima, had been driving down every month to visit the temporary church in west Tokyo.
“It’s easy to lose your way in Japan,” said Mr. Saito, the pastor. “The disaster, in fact, has made us all stronger.”
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