Word of God Sunday

Note: winter’s wicked winds are headed this way. The milk and bread shelves are empty in the local stores. Our church is located on a hill with a steep entrance and exist. The projected sleet and ice make the prospect of transiting the hill potentially perilous. And in an abundance of caution, our Sunday Masses have been cancelled. .. I have a homily holiday … so I posted this from the trove of homilies past


I remember when I was a kid, I was fascinated with a place of mystery called Timbuktu. I loved the sound of the name and the possibility of being as far away from home as Timbuktu. No doubt it was a place of mystery, intrigue, and stories. There were tales of gold, riches, and the place where East Africa and Saharan Africa met. The stories abound so much that in 1855, the French Geographic Society offered a major prize to the first European to go there and report back. What amazing, fantastic stories could be in Timbuktu! 

I have always been drawn to stories of people and places, adventures and mystery, where fates and fortunes were found, lost, and again pursued. In time, my appreciation of stories broadened to include narratives of all kinds. Stories told of love and love lost; stories of wisdom and tomfoolery; never-ending stories and stories with no end; stories that entertained and ones that pressed the mind to an inner exploration of meaning.

In my homily of last Sunday, I shared my experience of growing up in the Baptist South and attending tent revivals. In its own way, the tent revivals were as far from my Catholic experience as Timbuktu was from my front door. I described the experience as one in the well of stories, “Where men stood up and testified, words honed by years of practice. There were epic tales of sin and redemption wherein Jesus pulled them from the devil’s grasp and washed them in His blood.  Women spoke of love betrayed, and of loss and pain and joy so fierce that it almost seems to slice apart the humid summer air. Everyone praised the times Jesus saved them from despair, raised them up, wiped away their tears, and set them on the road to righteousness.” This was a very specialized form of storytelling: giving witness, giving testimony – but storytelling, nonetheless.

Today we celebrate “Word of God” Sunday. There are so many things that could be said about the Word of God, but I would say this: it is a collection of God’s stories as God reveals Himself to his people and the world. It is the greatest stories ever told and our most basic job is to be people who tell these stories to our family, our loved ones, our friends, our neighbors, and folks on the highways and byways of life.  When historians consider simple letters and other written items from the first and second centuries, they have described the spread of Christianity – not as simply the evangelical efforts of the big-name people like St. Paul and others – but as people telling stories over the backyard fence.

To know, tell, and share the stories in our own voices is to weave the stories into the fabric of our lives. So much so that in the shared knowledge of the stories, they can be shared with simple phrases: “O say can you see…”  Simple, short and brings to mind the story of Ft. McHenry, the War of 1812 and Francis Scott Key’s composition of our nation’s anthem. Our connection to the Bible, the Word of God, is the same way.  Think of the stories of Scripture you know and are brought to mind with simple words or expressions:  the Good Samaritan, the Good Shepherd, the Prodigal Son, Garden of Gethsemane, Calvary, River Jordan, and so much more. The stories are already there in the fabric of your life. Share them!

…and then the hesitation begins… “Do I really know the story?”  My experience is that people are really asking themselves, “Can I quote the story?”  Over the backyard fence, “quotologists” are not needed. Story tellers are needed.

Isaiah was the one who told a story in the first reading when he spoke of “the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali.”  For folks in Isaiah’s time, the reference was as clear as “oh say can you see.” They heard the phrase and instantly knew of that these were two of the tribes of Israel that were conquered by the Assyrians – but in the gloom of their fate, they were given the promise of a Savior and a new light to cover their lands, rescuing them from the darkness of their enslavement. This is a story of our shared history and the promise given.

In the second reading, St. Paul reminds us all that between here and the final there, the final land of light where joy and great rejoicing reside, there will be suffering. Christ suffered and so we should not be surprised if we too suffer at points in our life. St Paul’s story reminds us that the promise endures, but only in the name of Christ. This is the life: sent to live the Gospel. 

The Gospel? Today’s story is about the Call and Mission. Today we hear of the account of Simon Peter, Andrew, James and John –  it is but a reminder that the promise is carried to ends of the earth by people just like you and me. The Word is carried from the lake region of Galilee to the end of the earth – even to Timbuktu! 

We are called to people who carry the Word of God in our lives. Maybe you are called to carry it only so far as the end of the driveway – then do that. It is in reading children’s bible stories; it is reminding yourself to be a good Samaritan; it is receiving and accepting the prodigal son or daughter – it is reading, listening to our family stories. From the land of Naphtali, to Galilee, to your house, to Timbuktu.

And then telling them in your words, as your stories, over the backyard fences of your life.

Then just as we have enthroned the Word of God in a special way this weekend, you will enthrone the Word of God in your life.

Amen.

A Summary of Jesus’ Activities

This coming Sunday is the 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time.  In the previous post we discussed the phrase: “the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” Today we summarize the gospel as a prelude to the Sermon on the Mount – the gospel for the 4th Sunday. 24 His fame spread to all of Syria, and they brought to him all who were sick with various diseases and racked with pain, those who were possessed, lunatics, and paralytics, and he cured them. 25 And great crowds from Galilee, the Decapolis,  Jerusalem, and Judea, and from beyond the Jordan followed him.

Although Jesus’ activity is confined to the region of Galilee, word of it spreads to the whole province of Syria. The outward movement of Jesus’ reputation as a teacher and healer results in the movement of many people toward him. People suffering from all kinds of diseases are brought to him, and they are cured (v. 24). People from every region of Israel except Samaria join the crowds that follow him (v. 25). Such people, along with the disciples, form the audience for the Sermon on the Mount.

Matthew 4:23–25 encapsulates the ministry of Jesus. It may be viewed as a concluding summary of Jesus’ early ministry in Galilee, or as the introduction to the Sermon on the Mount. It is noteworthy that 4:23 is repeated almost verbatim in 9:35. Both 4:23 and 9:35 are located just before major discourses of Jesus, and they serve to summarize his deeds as the context for his words. But there is likely more to the repetition than that. Taken together, 4:23 and 9:35 form an inclusio, a set of literary bookends, which summarize Jesus’ words and deeds at the beginning and end of two sections that present his words (Matt 5–7) and deeds (Matt 8–9) in detail. Significantly, both the words and deeds demonstrate Jesus’ Kingdom authority, an authority he passed on to his disciples. As his words and deeds proclaim and demonstrate the Kingdom, so will the words and deeds of his disciples (10:7–8; 24:14).

By way of preparation for the Sermon on the Mount, Matthew has established Jesus’ superiority to John the Baptist (3:1–12), recounted the divine acknowledgement of Jesus as the Son of God (3:13–17), and shown what kind of Son of God Jesus is (4:1–11). He has also explained why Jesus taught and healed in Galilee (4:12–17) and how he attracted an inner circle of disciples (4:18–22) and a larger circle of interested followers (4:23–25). The Sermon on the Mount (5:1–7:29) will reveal what a powerful teacher Jesus is.


Image credit: Detail  of Domenico Ghirlandaio: Calling of the First Apostles | 1481–82 | Sistine Chapel, Vatican | PD-US

The First Sino-Japanese War

The series to this point has attempted to “paint a picture” of the nation of Japan at the doorstep of the 20th century. In one way it can be viewed as Japan’s experience and reaction to the western world. There was a point in time when Japan, as the apprentice, looked to China as the master of knowledge, spirituality, statecraft, governance, and the model of Japan’s aspirations. But by the late 9th century AD, the apprentice had matured and the master diminished. Japan stopped official missions to China. For the next 800 years or so, until the late 16th or early 17th centuries, the relationship was largely trade with occasional moments of diplomacy when one side or the other wanted something. As Japan entered the Edo Period, as mentioned in an earlier post, Korea became a point of contention between China and Japan with a series of wars in the 1590s fought on the Korean peninsula. It was at this point that Japan entered the Tokugawa Shogunate period and the nation of Japan implemented severe maritime policies that isolated the nation and the people from outside contact – which at this point meant the western powers and proselytizing Christian denominations. When Japan emerged from isolation with the fall of Tokugawa and the rise of the Meiji era, the world of Asia was radically changed. The once great China had been humbled and reduced to a near vassal state under the power of western commerce supported by its military.

This is when the theory of social darwinism left its mark on Japan. The leaders of Japan concluded that nations are competing organisms with only two outcomes: domination or eradication. China was the proof. Japan’s national strategies began to coalesce around this idea, especially buffer zones and strategic depth. Korea was described as “a dagger pointed at the heart of Japan.” And since conflict was inevitable, preemptive expansion was critical and the first goal was Korea. Leadership and thinkers concluded that if Japan did not dominate Korea, another power would. Japan rapidly modernized along Western military, industrial, and administrative lines. The most recent posts outlined the transformation of Japan’s military in support of these conclusions.

Meanwhile, China was a shell of its former self but Korea was still a tribute state dependent upon them.

Korea would be the flash point. The First Sino-Japanese War (1894–1895) did not arise from a single crisis but from the collision of long-term structural change and immediate political triggers, centered above all on Korea.

Changes in Asian Dynamics

For centuries China presided over a tributary system in which Korea was a loyal client. By the late 19th century Western imperialism shattered this system and Japan has evolved into a nation ready to resist that same Western force to maintain its sovereignty even as China was losing theirs. Critical to Japan’s sovereignty was control of the “dagger pointed at the heart of Japan” – Korea. Japanese elites concluded that China was structurally incapable of defending Korea and that delay would allow Western powers or Russia to intervene. If Korea fell under hostile control, Japan would be exposed. Control of Korea, not its independence or vassalage to China was acceptable. Control of Korea was non-negotiable to Japan. Under such assumptions, diplomacy would fail and war was inevitable.

During the late 19th century, Korean society faced various social problems such as inequality, corruption, and excessive taxation. These problems later sparked a series of peasant-led rebellions culminating in the 1894 Donghak Peasant Rebellion. In the decade before this uprising, China and Japan signed the Tientsin Convention (1885) agreeing to withdraw their troops from Korea and agreed to notify each other before future deployments. During the rebellion, the Korean government requested troop support from China, who did not notify Japan. Soon enough Japan deployed army and navy assets to Korea – in far greater numbers than China’s deployment. Japan quickly captured and occupied Seoul and installed a pro-Japanese government.

Japan demanded joint Sino-Japanese reform of Korea and an end to Chinese vassalage. China rejected these terms and insisted on traditional authority. With terms and conditions far apart, Japan feared that further delay would give Western powers space to insert themselves into the problem. China feared humiliation. Negotiation collapsed, military incidents happened, fighting intensified and eventually war was formally declared. The First Sino-Japanese War resulted from the collision of Japan’s modern, survival-oriented strategy and China’s declining tributary authority, with Korea’s instability transforming long-term rivalry into unavoidable armed conflict (1894-95)

One step forward, one step back

I leave the details of the fighting to others. Japan won and extracted major concessions from China (Treaty of Shimonoseki):

  • China transferred full sovereignty of Taiwan (then called Formosa), the Pescadores (Penghu Islands) and the Liaodong Peninsula including Port Arthur, a warm water port.
  • China agreed to pay 200 million taels of silver which was about twice Japan’s annual budget.
  • Opening of ports to Japan with the same favored-nation status as the western powers. In addition Japan could operate factories and industries in treaty ports meaning they could engage in manufacturing, not just trade
  • For the first time in history, the two nations exchanged ambassadors – Japan was now one of the great powers.

This was a great step forward for Japan.

Immediately after the terms of the treaty became public, Russia, with its own designs and sphere of influence in China, expressed concern about the Japanese acquisition of the Liaodong Peninsula and the possible impact of the terms of the treaty on the stability of China. Russia persuaded France and Germany to apply diplomatic pressure on Japan for the return of the territory to China in exchange for a larger indemnity. 

At the end of 1895 Russia, France, and Germany (the Triple Intervention) pressured Japan to return Liaodong to China. Russia had the most to gain from the Triple Intervention. In the preceding years, Russia had been slowly increasing its influence in the Far East and had built a warm water port in the Russian east, Vladivostok. The construction of the Trans-Siberian Railway and the acquisition of another warm-water port on the China Seas would enable Russia to consolidate her presence in the region and further expand into Asia and the Pacific. Port Arthur falling into Japanese hands undermined its own need for the additional warm-water port in Asia. France and Russia agreed to help for their own reasons.

Japan complied but felt humiliated calculating it would not be able to resist a military takeover. The Liaodong episode radicalized Japanese attitudes toward Western powers and China. The Japanese public was outraged, especially after Russia obtained a 25-year lease on the peninsula in 1898. The reaction against the Triple Intervention was one of ongoing diplomatic conflicts with Russia.

One step back.

Implications and observations

The Treaty of Shimonoseki marked China’s transition from being the regional power broker to that of a  semi-colonial state. At the same time, it confirmed Japan as a modern imperial power and set the stage for Japan’s later continental expansion outlined in its “strategic buffer” policy.

The First Sino-Japanese war marked Japan as a military power – but was Japan capable of engaging a western military power? That question would be put to the test in the Russo-Japanese War of 1904–1905.

One of Japan’s conclusions about western powers is the pattern of unequal treaties that were forced upon China. Ironically, when one considers the Treaty of Shimonoseki, the terms heavily borrowed the mechanisms of Western unequal treaties but applied them with greater strategic finality. Where Western powers sought access and influence, Japan sought territory, hierarchy, and regional leadership. For China, this made the treaty uniquely traumatic: it confirmed not only military defeat but the collapse of an entire worldview in which China stood at Asia’s center.

In their treaties with China, western powers sought territorial concessions that were limited (e.g., Hong Kong) and strategic enclaves rather than full provinces. Japan demanded entire territories that were permanently transferred and then governed directly as colonies. Japan replicated Western economic imperialism but compressed its demands into a single treaty having learned all the lessons that came before. The treaty directly dismantled China’s tributary system, its regional leadership and removed Korea from China’s orbit. Where the western treaties weakened China globally; Japan destroyed China’s East Asian order.

The Treaty of Shimonoseki borrowed the mechanisms of Western unequal treaties but applied them with greater strategic finality. Where Western powers sought access and influence, Japan sought territory, hierarchy, and regional leadership. For China, this made the treaty uniquely traumatic: it confirmed not only military defeat but the collapse of an entire worldview in which China stood at Asia’s center.


Image credit: various photographs from Naval Aviation Museum, National World War II Museum, and US Navy Archives. 

The Kingdom of Heaven

This coming Sunday is the 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time.  In yesterday’s post discussed some insights about fishing in the first century as well as being “caught” in our time. Today we will consider the phrase: “the kingdom of heaven,” a phrase unique to Matthew’s gospel. He often uses it in place of Mark’s “kingdom of God.” Perhaps, if we assume a Jewish background for Matthew, it is a way of avoiding saying and thus possibly misusing the name of God.

The expression appears twice in our reading: “kingdom of heaven is at hand” (v.17) and at the end of the passage. The work kingdom (basileia) can refer to the area ruled by a king; or it can refer to the power or authority to rule as king. We probably shouldn’t interpret the “kingdom of heaven” as a place — such as the place we go when we die; but as the ruling power that emanates from heaven. One commentator translates the phrase: “heaven rules”.

The verb eggizo (“at hand”) is difficult to translate in this passage. It means “to come near”. It can refer to space, as one person coming close to another person; or to time, as “it’s almost time”. The difficulty is with the perfect tense of the verb, which usually indicates a past action with continuing effects in the present. For instance, the perfect: “He has died” or “He has been raised” or “I have believed” can also be expressed with the present: “He is dead” or “He is raised” or “I am believing”. When we say with the perfect tense that “The kingdom of heaven has come near.” That implies that the kingdom is near or even that it arrived. Its “time has come” or “is now”. Given the ambiguity of the perfect tense and the translation in the preceding paragraph, we might say: “Heaven’s rule has arrived and is arriving.”

And what is the proper response to that arrival? In a chapter called “Worship,” Mark Allan Powell in God With Us: A Pastoral Theology of Matthew’s Gospel, states:

Still if worship is an appropriate response, it is not the ideal one. For Matthew, the ideal response to divine activity is repentance. . . . Indeed, Jesus never upbraids people for failing to worship or give thanks in this gospel (compare Luke 17:17-18), but he does upbraid those who have witnessed his mighty works and not repented (11:20-24). We know from Jesus’ teaching in Matthew that people can worship God with their lips even when their deeds demonstrate that their hearts are far from God (15:3-9). Thus, the responsive worship of the crowds in 9:8 and 15:31 is commendable but will be in vain if performed with unrepentant hearts. [pp. 41-42]

What should be our response to the coming of heaven’s rule? Surprisingly, it is not worship or praise, but repentance. Perhaps this is the big problem with the coming of the Kingdom or the coming of Jesus at Christmas or Palm Sunday (or even “praise services”?) – we are satisfied to celebrate and praise, rather than repent.


Image credit: Detail  of Domenico Ghirlandaio: Calling of the First Apostles | 1481–82 | Sistine Chapel, Vatican | PD-US

Building the Japanese Military

When the Meiji era began in 1868, just as the nation was in transition from the Shogunate to a Constitutional Monarch, the Japanese military was undergoing a similar radical transformation. The underlying impetus was national survival. Having witnessed the fate of China in the face of more modern and powerful western militaries, Japan concluded that they too required a modern, Western-style military. They dismantled the Tokugawa samurai-based system and built a centralized national force modeled on European powers. 

At the beginning of the Meiji period the army was a fragmented, transitional force composed largely of former samurai from the victorious domains that had initiated the downfall of the Shogunate. It was not yet a national army as the soldiers’ loyalty was often domain-based. Training was uneven and nascent and not anywhere near the standards required to face western military power. There was a limited amount of modern rifles, some firearms left over from the previous age, but a wealth of samurai weaponry. But even if there were adequate manpower and suitable training, there was no professional officer corps with an understanding of modern warfare, tactics such as combined arms combat (soldiers and artillery support), and the necessary general staff to wage and support an army in the field under combat. All semblance of modern western military capability was lacking.

The Navy was a small, underdeveloped fleet inherited from the late Tokugawa period. There were sailing vessels and a handful of modern steamships, many purchased from abroad. While they possessed good seamanship and ship-to-ship engagements, fleet engagements were foreign to them, and even then lack the capital ships common to the western fleets, namely, battleships, cruisers, destroyers, auxiliary ships, and logistics capability to be a “blue water” navy. In the beginning they are best described as a coastal-defense force.

Twenty years later the army was fully centralized, conscription was in place, training was based on the ideal of Bushidō and Prussian organization and tactics. The army possessed a professional officer corps and general staff (logistics, intelligence, planning, medical services and more). Weaponry was modern in terms of rifles and artillery. Command and control functions were Prussian: centralized, disciplined and bureaucratic. It was a modern national army, capable of coordinated large-scale operations overseas.

The Navy had been reorganized and closely modeled the Royal Navy. Ships were constructed of steel and consisted of a range of large and small capital ships. A professionalized officer corps was in place, well versed in modern navigation, gunnery, and signaling. Even more, their role was integrated into a larger national planning to support Army operations with control of the sea, troop transport and blockade capabilities. In the Asia-Pacific region, apart from western fleets, they were the premier naval force.

At the start of hostilities, the IJN Combined Fleet composition was :

  • 12 modern warships (primarily cruisers),
  • 8 corvettes,
  • 1 ironclad warship,
  • 26 torpedo boats, and
  • Numerous auxiliaries, armed merchant cruisers, and converted liners used for transport and support

There was a similar buildup and expansion of the Army. All of this came at a cost, but also with benefits. Among the benefits of the military buildup in the late-19th century was the acceleration of Japan’s industrial economy. The state invested heavily in shipyards, arsenals, steelworks, railways, and telegraph lines all of which helped create the foundations for heavy industries which were later transferred to private firms. The build up also stimulated existing sectors such as coal mining, metallurgy, engineering, and shipbuilding. The military buildup acted as a state-led industrial catalyst.

All of this needed to be funded, financed and paid for. To this end the government implemented the land tax reform, creating a stable, cash-based tax system. Revenue became more predictable and as a result enabled long-term military and infrastructure planning. This radical shift in central planning and finance strengthened the modern fiscal state but increased pressure on rural society where the land tax burden landed.

Military expansion was expensive, leading the early Meiji governments to run budget deficits. This problem was compounded by issuing paper currency accelerating inflation throughout the 1870s into the early 1880s. Military spending diverted resources from social welfare, rural investment, and development of the consumer sector of the economy. As a result, the citizens, especially the peasants bore much of the cost through taxes, while economic benefits were unevenly distributed. The social unrest came to a head in the Satsuma Rebellion, a revolt of disaffected samurai against the central government. The rebellion was very expensive for the government, which forced it to make additional monetary reforms including leaving the gold standard. The conflict effectively ended the samurai class. Economic discipline only stabilized in the early 1890s.

Military procurement fostered close ties between the state and emerging industrial conglomerates (zaibatsu such as Mitsubishi). These firms benefited from government contracts, subsidies and technology transfers, and access to capital and overseas markets. This helped create a modern capitalist elite aligned with state goals. Overall, military expansion stimulated economic modernization, but it did so through top-down coercive extraction, embedding a long-term pattern in which economic growth was closely tied to military and imperial priorities.


Image credit: various photographs from Naval Aviation Museum, National World War II Museum, and US Navy Archives.

Fishing

This coming Sunday is the 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time.  In yesterday’s post we looked to the people called to accompany Jesus on his mission. Today we discuss some insights about fishing in the first century as well as being “caught” in our time.

Clearly Jesus is calling the disciples to a life with him.  But every “calling to” is by default a “calling from” in some sense. Fishing was not as easy as getting a boat and having at it. Fishing was controlled by the “powers that be” in two ways. (1) Commercial fishermen worked for the royal family or wealthy landlords who contracted with them to provide a specific amount of fish at a certain time. They were paid either with cash or with fish. (2) Fishermen leased their fishing rights from persons called “toll collectors” in the NT for a percentage of the catch. The “tax” could be as much as 40% (see Malina & Rohrbach, Social-Science Commentary on the Synoptic Gospels, p. 44).

Thus, Jesus calling fishermen is more than just calling them away from their families. It also involves a break from the “powers that be” — the wealthy and or the government — and into a new power: the reign of heaven. Carter (Matthew and the Margins) comments about significance of Jesus calling fishermen:

The double call narrative in 4:18-22, then, utilizes a common form to present Jesus as God’s agent enacting his commission to manifest God’s saving presence, the empire of the heavens, and to legitimate the beginning of an alternative community of disciples called to live on the basis of this reign. The calls occur in the midst of the empire’s close control of fishing whereby licensing, quotas, and taxation secure Rome’s sovereignty over the water and its contents. Jesus’ call contests this dominant reality by asserting God’s sovereignty and offering an alternative way of life. [p. 120]

While the fishermen have some economic resources, their social ranking is very low. In Cicero’s ranking of occupations (De Off 1.150-51), owners of cultivated land appear first and fishermen last. Athenaeus indicates that fishermen and fishmongers are on a par with money lenders and are socially despised as greedy thieves (Deipnosophistai, 6.224b-28c). The two characters have a socially inferior and economically precarious existence under Roman control. It is among such vulnerable people that God’s empire is first manifested. [p. 121]

At one level the phrase does bring up an image of the unwilling being netted and dragged into the boat/the church. Perhaps it isn’t so bad for parents to “drag” their children to church. Maybe we should “drag” more people into church, whether or not they want to come. Put up roadblocks on the street and force the cars into our parking lots! Or maybe the “dragging” indicates that the coming of the Kingdom is out of our control. We are going to be “caught” in its coming whether we like it or not.

Generally we view being captured in such a way as a negative thing; but we also talk about being “captured by love”. The relationship of love is often something out of our control. It happens to us. When its power runs its full effect, it means a change in life — marriage is as much a dying to the old life as it is the beginning of a new life. That new life brings with it new relatives, whether we want them or not. Being captured by Jesus’ irresistible call meant an end to the old life and relations for the fishermen, so that they might start begin a new life together as followers of Jesus


Image credit:Detail  of Domenico Ghirlandaio: Calling of the First Apostles | 1481–82 | Sistine Chapel, Vatican | PD-US

Faith and Fear

In its history the Church has known fear. The empire wide persecutions during the first 300 years. There have been persecutions in Japan, Mexico, France, China and more. In our history, the faithful have had reasons to fear. These are the obvious and loud dangers. But there are also quiet dangers in the life of faith: fear that keeps us from acting.

In the first reading, Israel’s army has been paralyzed for forty days. They are armed, trained, numerous, and yet they do nothing. Goliath’s size and strength dominate their imagination. Fear has convinced them that the situation is impossible.

David sees the same giant, but he sees him differently. David remembers something the others have forgotten: what God has already done for Israel throughout history and what God has done for David. He recalls how the Lord saved him from the lion and the bear. His confidence does not come from denying danger, but from trusting God’s faithfulness in the past and trusting that same faithfulness in the days to come.

David refuses Saul’s armor. Some suggest that it would restrict the throwing notion needed for use of the sling. But David knows that the armor represents a false security; protection without trust. David steps forward with only what he knows, a sling and five stones, and with a conviction: “The Lord who saved me… will save me again.” There is still risk. Goliath is a formidable opponent. Faith does not eliminate risk; it chooses trust over paralysis.

In the Gospel, we encounter a different kind of fear. The Pharisees watch Jesus closely. Israel and Jerusalem have a history of rallying behind one “messiah” after another. In the end the Roman armies quell the commotion, people die, and it is up to the religious leadership to calm things down and assure the Romans they have it under control. They also know the dangers of laxity and corruption of the worship demanded of Israel. They know the privileges and take comfort in control, authority and certainty.

The Pharisees are afraid of what might happen if Jesus acts. So instead of rejoicing in the possibility of healing, they remain silent.

Jesus brings the contrast into sharp focus with a simple question: “Is it lawful to do good on the sabbath or to do evil, to save life or to destroy it?” Their silence reveals how fear can disguise itself as caution, even as fidelity. Jesus chooses to act and heals the man with the withered hand, knowing it will provoke hostility. Faith, for Jesus, means trusting the Father enough to do good even when the consequences are costly.

Both readings confront us with the same choice.

Fear tells us to wait, to protect ourselves, to avoid risk. Faith tells us to remember who God is and to act accordingly. Fear focuses on what might go wrong; faith trusts that God will be present no matter the outcome.

In our own lives, fear often sounds reasonable. It urges delay, silence, and caution. But faith asks a different question: What does love require right now?

Trust in God does not mean being reckless. It means refusing to let fear have the final word. It means stepping forward sometimes with nothing more than what we already have and believing that God will do the rest.

Today’s readings invite us to examine where fear has frozen us and where God may be calling us to act. Not because we are strong, but because God is faithful.

Like David, we are asked to trust not in armor, but in the Lord. Like Jesus, we are asked to choose life, even when we are being watched.

Because faith that acts, even imperfectly, is far more powerful than fear that never moves.


Image credit: Pexels, CC-0

Bushidō and the Japanese Military

It would not be accurate to describe the evolution of the Japanese military in the latter half of the 19th century. It was a radical revolution. After the Meiji Restoration (1868), Japan’s leaders concluded that national survival required a modern, Western-style military. They dismantled the Tokugawa samurai-based system and built a centralized national force modeled on European powers. This was made possible by Universal male conscription (1873) replacing hereditary samurai service, creating a national military loyal to the emperor rather than to domains or lords.

In order to accomplish this radical change, Japan looked to the nations it considered threats to Japan’s independence. This was accomplished by adopting foreign military models under the tutelage of foreign advisors. The army was modeled on Prussian doctrine that emphasized discipline, general staff organization, and state-controlled command. The navy was modeled on the British Royal Navy, adopting British ship designs, training methods, and naval strategy. At the same time, Japan imported modern rifles, artillery, and warships, then rapidly developed domestic arms industries, arsenals, and shipyards to ensure self-sufficiency.

Essential to the development of a modern military was formation and education. To this end, western-style military academies, staff colleges, and technical schools were established, professionalizing the officer corps and emphasizing science, engineering, and modern tactics. Western techniques were combined with emperor-centered loyalty, making the military both modern in form and uniquely Japanese in spirit. In addition, the spirit and lessons of the samurai were not lost. Japan did not simply preserve samurai tradition; it selectively reconstructed it.

Bushidō and the Meiji Military

Under Tokugawa Shogunate rule, “samurai spirit” referred to class-based ideals: loyalty to one’s lord, honor, discipline, and readiness to die. After 1868, the Meiji state detached these values from the samurai class and recast them as virtues for all citizens, especially soldiers. This recasting of the “samurai spirit” became known as Bushidō, and was a national moral code, not a code restricted to the military. But it did serve as a bridge between Japan’s past and its modern conscript army. No longer was there feudal loyalty to a daimyō; loyalty was now absolute and directed to the emperor. The Meiji Constitution made the emperor the “command-in-chief” of the army and navy. Bushidō preserved the form of samurai loyalty while transforming its object.

Formation and indoctrination of Bushidō was incorporated into every level of military training. While Japan adopted western drill, weapons, and organization, it paired them with ethical and spiritual instruction drawn from samurai ideals. Soldiers were taught: endurance, self-control, obedience, and acceptance of death as honorable if done in imperial service. These ideals were reinforced from the oath of service and in every course of education and training. Bushidō was simplified from is historical samurai basis and then standarized for modern instruction.

Bushidō was also incorporated in symbolic practices and rituals. Ceremonial language was ripe with honor and shame, casting failure as disloyalty to comrades and especially to the Emperor. Rituals reinforcing collective identity, willingness to endure hardship, and death as preferable to dishonor. The officer corp carried swords as symbols of moral authority and leadership. Clearly in modern warfare, the use of the sword was limited, but at the end of World War II photographs of kamikaze pilots before their final mission showed the officers with their swords which were carried in the cockpit on the one-way flight. All of this was an effort to link the modern military psychologically to the samurai past. 

Key writers and thinkers such as Nitobe Inazō positioned bushidō as Japan’s equivalent to Western chivalry, and proof Japan possessed a moral civilization worthy of great-power status. This intellectualization helped justify both military discipline at home and imperial mission abroad.

The fusion of western military structure, samurai-derived moral absolutism, and emperor-centered ideology produced a military culture that valued spirit (seishin) over material limits, encouraged endurance and sacrifice, and discouraged surrender and compromise. These traits became especially pronounced in the early 20th century. It is noteworthy that during World War II, less than 3% of imperial Japanese soldiers surrendered – and most of these were extremely sick, starving or critically wounded. In many instances, there were no Japanese survivors.

The effects of bushidō formation was strikingly evident in 20th century combat behavior.

  • preference for death over surrender
  • emphasis on spirit over material reality – commanders often stressed seishin (spiritual strength) to compensate for shortages in equipment or supplies, encouraging frontal assaults and last-stand defenses even when strategically unsound.
  • fanatical defensive tactics where soldiers fought to the last man in Biak, Pelilui, Tarawa, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa reflecting the belief that total sacrifice was the highest form of loyalty.
  • Banzai charges and later kamikaze missions were framed as noble offerings to the emperor, transforming death into a sanctioned military tactic.
  • harsh treatment of prisoners and civilians since their surrender was and thus the prisoners were viewed with contempt, brutalized and executed in violation of the Law of War to which Japan was a signatory.

It also led to actions and campaigns that were strategically and tactically questionable supported by the guise that the bushidō spirit would compensate for all the evident shortcomings.

At the advent of the 20th century

By the late 19th century, Japan possessed a modern, disciplined, and industrialized military, capable of defeating China (1894–95) and Russia (1904–05), demonstrating that Japan had successfully adapted Western military systems to its own political and ideological framework.

When Japan adopted a Social Darwinist lens, East Asia ceased to be a shared moral world and became a competitive ecological system. Bushidō was the ideological element needed to form the military and the citizenry to not simply remain competitive but to become the apex nation in the Asia-Pacific sphere.


Image credit: various photographs from Naval Aviation Museum, National World War II Museum, and US Navy Archives.

Calling the Disciples

This coming Sunday is the 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time.  In yesterday’s post we explored the meaning behind the Biblical land travelog that opens our gospel passage. Today we look to the people called to accompany Jesus on his mission.

17 From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” 18 As he was walking by the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon who is called Peter, and his brother Andrew, casting a net into the sea; they were fishermen. 19 He said to them, “Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men.” 20 At once they left their nets and followed him. 21 He walked along from there and saw two other brothers, James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John. They were in a boat, with their father Zebedee, mending their nets. He called them, 22 and immediately they left their boat and their father and followed him. 23 He went around all of Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the gospel of the kingdom, and curing every disease and illness among the people. 

Matthew includes the first of two important markers for the ministry of Jesus by telling us that “From that time on Jesus began to preach …” (4:17). The focus of the Gospel is no longer the identification of Jesus based upon the witness of others, but rather Jesus’ self-revelation in his words, deeds and signs. It is in these things he is revealed as the messenger of the Covenant, the King who declared that the kingdom of heaven was breaking into the experience of men and women.

The beginning of this record of Jesus’ ministry is marked by a note about those who followed him. Two sets of brothers are called by Jesus and become the first disciples. They are Simon Peter and Andrew, followed by James and John. The first call to discipleship is to fishermen, whose work is now to be ‘fishers of men’ – pointing to the later commissioning and mission to Israel and then to the ends of the earth.  In addition to the special call of the disciples, the ministry of Jesus calls out to a wider audience. As he teaches throughout Galilee and heals the sick, “great crowds followed him” (4:25).  But he does more than heal, Jesus is setting the stage to bridge to the “Sermon on the Mount.”

From that time on, Jesus began to preach and say, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” The very wording of the passage indicates a fresh start, a new phase of Jesus’ activity. At the heart of this new ministry is the proclamation of a message identical with that of John the Baptist (3:2), and later to be echoed by Jesus’ disciples (10:7). Jesus calls for a decisive response to a new situation, the arrival in his ministry of the kingdom of heaven.

The first to make that decisive response are the first disciples. The story of the call of Simon Peter and Andrew is very similar to the following story about the call of James and John. Both stories echo the story of Elijah’s call of Elisha (1 Kgs 19:19–21; and the prophets generally, cf Amos 7:15) – people divinely called, uprooted from ordinary existence. The calls similarly possess a four part structure: (1) the appearance of Jesus; (2) the comment on the work of the prospective disciples; (3) the call to discipleship; and (4) obedience to the call.

The first disciples encountered Jesus coming to them in their everyday occupation of fishing in the Sea of Galilee — then as now, an important and profitable business in Israel’s economy. It is easy to assume that Jesus has made an ad hoc metaphor. However, the image of a deity calling people to a new life – in both Judaism and local pagan cults – as “fishing” was common. The common theme of this metaphor was that the person was being called to participate in the divine work.  Here God’s saving and judging mission to the world is represented by Jesus who calls disciples to participate in the divine mission to humanity.  This scene anticipates the formal mission sending (9:36 ff) and the wider mission imperative to the whole world (28:19-20)

Without any preparation and with little or no deliberation, they leave behind their business and their families in order to follow Jesus. Discipleship is first and foremost being with Jesus, and the quick response of the first disciples (“at once” according to verses 20, 22) suggests how appealing the invitation to be with Jesus must have been. But discipleship also involves sharing in the mission of Jesus (“fishers of men” according to v.19), and that dimension too is stressed from the very beginning.

Boring (The Gospel of Matthew, 169) notes that “Despite its small size, this pericope represents a major subsection of Matthew’s structure…The call of the first disciples is the beginning of the messianic community: the church. Jesus’ baptism and temptation were not merely individualistic religious experiences of a ‘great man,’ but the recapitulation of the birth of Israel in the Red Sea and the wilderness testing; they lead to the formation of a new community, the Messiah’s people (1:21).” 

It is here that we gain some insight into Matthew’s understanding of discipleship. A modern reader is tempted to refashion this biblical picture of discipleship into more manageable categories: accept Jesus’ principles for living, accept Jesus as a personal savior.  Jesus “barges” into our midst and does not call us to admire him or accept his principles, but issues the divine imperative to follow him. The reasonable reply, “Where are you going?” is suborned to discovery along the way.  Even without the language, the call of the disciples is a story of “belief,” “faith” and “trust.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in The Cost of Discipleship, notes that Jesus comes to men already leading useful lives. 


Image credit: Detail  of Domenico Ghirlandaio: Calling of the First Apostles | 1481–82 | Sistine Chapel, Vatican | PD-US

Japan and Social Darwinism

In the previous post we considered the late 19th-century events in Hawaii that led to the overthrow of the Hawaiian constitutional monarchy and eventually the annexation of Hawaii as a U.S. territory. The post ended with the Japanese reaction to these events. This post explores the lens through which the Hawaii events were seen and the rationale for the coming wars with China (1894-1895) and Russia (1904-1905). It also forms the basis on how the United States will be increasingly seen from Japan’s point of view.

If you ask most people who coined the phrase “survival of the fittest,” the most probable reply is Charles Darwin. But the correct answer is Herbert Spenser, a 19th century English philosopher. He is best known for his theory that, much to his chagrin, came to be known as Social Darwinism. Spenser’s work was based on the evolutionary theory of Lamarck, who posited that organs are developed or diminished by use or disuse and that the resulting changes may be transmitted to future generations.  Spenser applied this view of evolution to society, proposing that societies, like organisms, evolve from simple to complex, and individuals/groups best adapted to competition thrive (“survival of the fittest”). He might be thought of as sociological “libertarian” as he advocated for minimal government interference (laissez-faire) to allow natural progress through specialization and adaptation, viewing society as an evolving organism. He argued for individual liberty and believed societal advancement comes from the “fittest” succeeding, leading to a more complex, efficient world.

When Spenser’s work reached late-19th-century Japan it reshaped elite thinking leading to a re-evaluation and view of China and East Asia after the Meiji Reforms. The core assumptions absorbed in Japan was that the nations compete like organisms in which there will always be a struggle for the resources that make life flourish and history will be governed by conflict in which weak states are absorbed or eliminated. Moral intention will not stave off extinction. For a nation that had long been invested in Confucian life where virtue and moral order are essential elements, the shift away from moral intentions to survival of the fittest, the natural pathway was imperialism and permanent competition for local, regional and global dominance.

It was a rapid shift away from traditional and classic ways of understanding the world order because they watched it unfold in the living laboratory called China. For Japanese elites and leaders social darwinism was evident in the Opium Wars, the Unequal Treaties, loss of economic control, and disintegration of internal cohesion. China became the empirical proof that moral civilization without power equals extinction.

Even before Spenser’s work reached Japan in 1870, Fukuzawa Yukichi published “Conditions in the West,” a meditation based on his observations in Europe and America. He introduced the concept that international relations operate by power, not morality and as a result weak nations are exploited regardless of virtue. He pointed out that China, while being morally refined, is politically helpless, no nation at all and is subjugated to the economic interest of the non-Asian world powers.

Among Japanese elites the dialogue asserted that Asia was collectively at risk, only strength and modernization could prevent subjugation, and equality would be granted only to those who could enforce it. Thus national survival required military parity, industrial capacity and territorial buffers

In 1882 Katō Hiroyuki published “A New Theory of Human Rights,” work in which Katō explicitly rejected natural rights, arguing that rights arise from power. He applied what was essentially evolutionary logic to politics: “The strong rule; the weak are destroyed—this is the law of nature.” Why this is significant is that his work marks the moment when evolutionary struggle became normative political theory. And then Spenser’ s work was translated by Katō and was propagated throughout academic journals tied to Tokyo Imperial University. Spencer’s philosophy opposed imperial aggression, but the Japanese elite emphasized struggle and survival.

In 1886, Tokutomi Sohō moved social darwinism to general readership with his work “The Future Japan.” In the popular work he combined social darwinism, national destiny, and historical inevitability. He argued that nations are competing organisms with only two outcomes: domination or eradication. He used China as the proof. This text popularized elite theory for mass readership, turning Darwinism into common sense.

In 1890 social darwinism was explicitly militarized as state strategy in the writings of Yamagata Aritomo. He was not translating western works, but synthesized western military theory to highlight key elements of national strategy: buffer zones and strategic depth. His famous idea was describing Korea as “a dagger pointed at the heart of Japan.” Yamagata asserted that since conflict was inevitable, preemptive expansion was critical and the first goal was Korea. If Japan did not dominate Korea, another power would. 

The ideas of Yamagata pointed to zones of survival that were more than geography. Given Japan’s lack of many natural resources, Manchuria became seen as a repository of needed resources and a buffer against Imperial Russia. Zones of survival were never neutral. It was in this view that imperialism was not aggression but was defensive in nature. The implications are that the “empire” was inevitable and forced by global conditions. This allowed Japanese leaders to claim: “We do not seek conquest; we seek existence.” It is a logic that removes ethical restraint.

Another important work was “Leaving Asia (1985) by Fukuzawa Yukichi. It was an essay that argued that Japan must separate from backward Asia (pointedly referring to China and Korea).  Strategically this transformed these two nations to “zones of survival” for their resources and to position to serve as a buffer against major powers.

The evolving integration of social darwinism into national polity and strategy began to transform Pan-Asianism. Early Pan-Asian thought was focused on solidarity among Asian nations in order to form a mutual defense in terms of culture, economy and border integrity. But under the concepts of social darwinism, Asia needed a leaderJapan’s view was that they were the only viable candidate. Solidarity was replaced by the architecture of hierarchy within Asia.

This thinking was not uniform across the range of Japanese elites. Some Pan-Asian thinkers opposed the imperialism embedded in the fusion of the two forms of strategy. At the same time, business leaders worried about economic stability and national budgets being redirected to military expansion. But military and bureaucratic elites set the national policy

What this means is that, depending on who governed, international relationships would be increasingly less reliant on the role of diplomacy as international relations became zero-sum, evolutionary and amoral. This logic carries will become evident in the First Sino-Japanese War (1894–95), the Russian-Japanese War (1904–05), the aftermath of the Mukdan Incident (1931) and the Second Sino-Japanese War (1937-1945; the opening action the the Asia-Pacific War) and in the attack on Pearl Harbor.

When Japan adopted a Social Darwinist lens, East Asia ceased to be a shared moral world and became a competitive ecological system. China was re-imagined not as a fallen elder brother but as an endangered species whose weakness threatened Japan’s own survival. Russia, Britain, France, Holland, Germany, and the United States were existential threats to Japan’s independence.

From this perspective, imperial expansion was a necessity for the very sake and survival of the nation.


Image credit: various photographs from Naval Aviation Museum, National World War II Museum, and US Navy Archives.