My name is Nick Bellando. I came to Japan in 2008, basically for two reasons. For one, I wanted to know Jesus in a new context. I became a Christian in part through studying Zen and shakuhachi; I also hoped to find some stimulating interaction with Buddhists in Japan. I had considered becoming a missionary, but felt that it would be better to do so in an unofficial context, supporting myself by working. Again, I felt that I had a lot to learn - a lot of listening to do, and a lot of personal growth to go through - before I could really be someone that people could see Jesus in. I was also deeply concerned with presenting Christianity not as a set of (cultural) rituals or beliefs, but as a relationship with the living God who made the whole world, who loves people as they are, creates them new, and with his love causes them to blossom into unique expressions of his own being, heavenly lights on earth. I particularly enjoyed Taoist and Zen Buddhist thought, and felt that it could be a good vehicle to point to Jesus, who I believe fills it up with an even deeper meaning - or rather, a deeper love, which is so full and present that it isn't concerned with "meaning" anything at all.

Secondarily, I wanted to study shakuhachi. I was originally drawn to shakuhachi when I found plans to make one out of PVC piping on the internet back in 1999 or 2000. I made one, and started playing around with it. This was a time of seeking for me; in 2000, I entered Philadelphia Biblical University with a desire to learn if the faith I was raised with really had something to it or not; I had been inspired upon reading Hesse's Siddhartha with the main character's determination to find truth. After a year and a half of studying the Bible, making Christian friends for the first time and enjoying the shared life - singing together, praying together, and eating together - I found that I still had doubts. Was this sort of community something that could last? Again, I had subscribed to a very Calvinist brand of Christianity, wherein God arbitrarily damns certain people to eternal torment. That God just didn't seem real to me. What about other religions of the world? What about people who wanted to know him but never learned his name? I dropped out of school and started studying Indian religions, and later on Chinese Taoism and Zen Buddhism.

Around that time, my mother happened to mention to her friend that I had been messing around with this flute that I had made. Her friend, Patricia, just so happened to have studied the shakuhachi for six years or so, and offered to teach me. I took her up on the offer, and began learning folk tunes on the shakuhachi. My time learning with Patricia was very special. She is a Christian, and had walked a similar path in some respects, so she was able to listen to me with my doubts as well as my interest in Zen without criticism. She herself is someone who values intimacy with God; the comfort and presence of Jesus, I mean Jesus himself, was with us while we played shakuhachi, talked, and prayed together. I learned to be quiet and listen to his voice. I learned how shakuhachi is a very honest instrument, and tells you when you are feeling tense and need to relax. After talking together, sometimes we would go out on a boat on the lake and improvise together; when I played after praying, my heart was settled and my breathing was open and free, and our sound was pleasant. Looking back, although I hadn't learned any honkyoku at the time, the music we played was probably closer to being "honkyoku" (one might interpret it as "true music") than anything else. It was during this time that I decided to follow Jesus, without turning back.

I went back to school in 2005 to finish my degree. I had decided that I wanted to come to Japan, and figured that to find work, it would help to have a 4-year degree. In the mean time, I started studying shakuhachi with Barry Weiss, who had taught Patricia before and had since moved to Tokyo. He also kindly introduced me to Suiko Takahashi, a Myoan player living in Chiba. I started studying Myoan Honkyoku from that time on. It was honestly confusing to me; I couldn't immediately find myself in the pieces. When I came to Japan, I proceeded to lose myself altogether. While on one hand I learned the value of persevering at something that you aren't immediately skilled at, on the other hand I took that philosophy to the extreme. To really be able to grow, I think we need to maintain a relationship of safety and comfort while at the same time moving on to new and mysterious things. If we don't begin from a place of rest, we have no way to ground the new things that we learn, no way to make them our own. In Japan, I lacked that place of safety and rest; the stress of having to make my own way in a new culture with no friends, no family, and sometimes even no money (I ran out after a few months of not being able to find an employer to sponsor my work visa) took its toll on me.

I still managed to learn some things, though. From Barry "Daido Ho-un" Weiss, who became a Zen monk during the first few months that he opened his home to me to stay in while I continued my job search, I learned that a true sound is not a beautiful sound. I had a tendency to please people, to let others decide my way for me. Even for a Christian, this is not a helpful way of being. We are responsible first and only to God. Peoples' judgments and estimations of us should never determine the course of our actions. In the end, even if you do manage to please some people, they may not act as you expect them to or return your love. You just end up bitter and angry, or even worse, bitter and angry on the inside while pretending to be at peace with everyone on the outside. This is why a true sound is not beautiful. Being honest with others, and in my case following Jesus, doesn't always win you friends. You may lose some friends in the process. Still, the friends you manage to keep, while few, will be true friends who stick "closer than a brother." The friends you lose were never true friends in the first place, because their friendship was contingent on you acting in accordance with their expectations. I learned from Jesus that a true friend is someone who loves you because of who they are, not because of who you are. God loves, because he is love. Even if you don't love him back, hell, even if you kill him, he loves you, because he is love, and he doesn't change.

From Suiko-sensei, I learned that there are some really genuinely kind people in Japan. I'm more of a reserved person, and don't go for much by way of hand-clapping and touchy-feely stuff, but I was surprised by how much the cultural lack of human contact affected me. When I left Tokyo for Sapporo, I asked Suiko-san if Japanese people hug sometimes, and he gave me a big hug with a big smile. He also had what I imagined to be a very Zen spirit in approaching shakuhachi. I would ask him about how to play certain phrases, and he would say something like, "This is my style. What's your style?" Some Christians seem to have the impression that Zen is by nature something that is self-rejecting rather than self-affirming, but I think this is a gross misunderstanding. There is, at least among some, a genuine desire to affirm the individual spirit as-is.

I finally found a job at a Christian Kindergarten all the way up north in Sapporo, Hokkaido. I had never considered myself someone who "likes kids;" I like all people, whether they're young or old. I hated the "genki gaijin" image, though (i.e., the stereotypical loud, goofy, energetic short blonde-haired white guy who dances and blows up balloons and all that ridiculous business), and took a more Mr. Rogers approach, i.e. instead of "becoming a kid" I decided to just be myself, an adult who is still a child of God and very much fascinated with all of the new and old things that are happening in the world. We discovered rocks, bugs, and rivers, and I began to see how unique personalities unfold in different ways at different times, and how each one requires its own brand of care and discipline. I also saw how important it is to keep a relaxed, changable rhythm to our lives, and how that rhythm changes as our bodies and hearts adjust to the changing seasons throughout the year.

During that time, while my work was immensely fulfilling in some respects, I was also immensely lonely and frustrated, tired and sick. I still couldn't speak Japanese, which was one of the reasons I was in Japan in the first place. I lived away from the city, which was great for taking walks, climbing mountains, and watching waterfalls, but it was hard to make friends. Finally, I'm not a very outgoing person, and the work was draining on me. I was sick for about two weeks out of every month; two years after I left that job, I found that this was also due to coeliac disease, i.e. an increasingly common condition in which wheat gluten destroys the nutrient-absorbing cilia in the intestines, so that one's body cannot produce energy. After two years, I literally burnt out.

The straw that broke the camel's back was my encounter with a missionary who had come to visit. To give you some background, at the time I was utterly physically and mentally exhausted, and in a bit of a state of culture-shock. My mind had become hyper-vigilant; after being criticized and rejected in several different situations, even though I knew in my mind that I was OK, my body was in a state of panic, always on-guard, never able to rest. Every thought that came into my mind was scrutinized for veracity; if I prayed, I couldn't settle my heart; I saw all my faults and felt that it wasn't safe to stop and rest. If I just tried to meditate, the little guardian in me would say, "No, perhaps this is wrong, too! Better keep thinking and criticizing, just in case it's not safe!" Everyone has a guardian aspect of their personalities; he or she is very well-meaning, but also super type-A about everything. Criticizing him only makes matters worse ("Oh crap! I just started criticizing myself again! I'm so stupid! Agh, I did it again...!"). Maybe it's good just to say "thanks, but I'm ok right now. You can rest." For me, the psalms were good in these times, but honestly even the Bible offered little comfort, as it was mere words without living presence.

So as I was saying, this missionary came to visit. She seemed very spiritual, but in hindsight she had some deep issues of her own that she was still working out; when we're in this kind of situation and try to help others, we tend to do nothing but inflict our own damage on others. (I hope that I haven't "helped" too many people in this way...) I was a little concerned at the time about whether or not it was OK for me to play shakuhachi, given its Zen origins and all that. She told me to ask Jesus about it. I did, and I felt him say, "make songs for me with it." The missionary, however, wasn't looking for that answer. She wanted me to come back with "IT HAS DEMONS IT MUST BE DESTROYED!" Her opinions were strong enough to make me feel some doubt, and I decided that if God isn't happy with it, then I don't need it. I threw away all of my shakuhachi, some several thousand dollars worth had I decided to sell them - I don't have much by way of possessions, but they were the only possessions that I actually valued. After I threw them out, I felt dispair. The dispair wasn't because I had thrown out a physical possession; it was because in doing that, I had rejected myself completely. I had rejected the "me" that God created - someone who likes shakuhachi, who thinks Zen has something valuable to say, who wants to play Jesus' love on an empty stick of bamboo. I had already somewhat rejected myself in taking on a philosophy of "doing things I'm not passionate about," i.e. learning new things, such as teaching children, that I hadn't been specifically drawn to. This is also a good thing, but when it becomes too one-sided, it can make your soul very sad and impoverished. Mine broke, and so did my body. I couldn't physically continue working at the kindergarten any more, so I had to quit.

Shortly after that, I began to put myself back together. I got engaged to Mutsumi, a music therapist living in Hakodate who I met during a trip to a church there during summer break. I stopped teaching English and began to focus more on translating, a line of work that would both provide for me financially and assist me in studying Japanese. I got married, and my stupid ideas about "what it is to be a man" were challenged and brought down to earth, making me softer and more human. I also owe the discovery of my coeliac disease to my wife, who keeps our table wheat-free. Thanks to her, my mind and body have been gradually healing, and I've recently gradually been able to find moments of rest where my mind doesn't feel the need to constantly protect me, where I can just breathe. I also entered Hirosaki University to formally study Japanese (I'll graduate in March 2014 with a degree in Education / Japanese language with a focus in Chinese literature), which is when I began studying Kinpu-ryu under my professor, Dr. Yamada. Dr. Yamada was also literally a god-send; he provided a low-pressure, restful, and creative environment in which I was free to pursue my interests; with him, I've been able to enter the publishing world, perform and research shakuhachi, study Zen texts, read the Bible in classical Japanese, and more. He has been more than a teacher to me; he came to help me move when my wife and I first came to Hirosaki, and he was the first to visit when our daughter May was born in June 2012.

After graduating, my family and I have decided to move to the states for a few years. I'll be working full time and studying counseling with the aim of becoming a marriage and family therapist; she's a music therapist already. Once I get my license, we're planning on coming back to Japan to work here, either privately or through a missions organization such as OMF. We both feel that Japan (read: we ourselves) needs a lot of heart-care, and we want to do something to make that available both inside and outside of the church. I'm currently in the process of looking for employment either in the tri-state (PA / NY / NJ) area or in California; all suggestions are more than welcome.

One of the themes that has been at the front of my mind for several years has been that of playing Shakuhachi as a Christian. The music has Zen origins, and some feel that for that reason Christians ought to have nothing to do with it. I can understand this way of thinking to some extent; in Japan, Zen buddhism, while it does have some very genuine followers and teachers, has become quite corrupt, with a history riddled with political grabbing, mass slaughter of Christians, pederasty, and more. Today, it tends toward "funeral Buddhism," wherein many priests neglect their practice and get rich on the peoples' superstitions, i.e. that they need to pay large sums of money to get a Buddhist name when they die, in order to secure them a firm place in the afterlife. However, if we criticize Zen on this basis, then we also need to criticize Christianity for its sins of murder, child molestation, etc. My point is this: compare bad with bad, and good with good. If we want to say "but that's not true Christianity," we also need to say, "and that's not true Zen."

Zen has some very good things to offer. One of those things has come to be called "mindfulness" in the states - a state of non-judgmental, personal presence. My encounter with Zen meditation helped me to be mindful, to pay attention, to listen; this is a state of being not at all foreign to Christians, though thanks to western culture it has faded into the background. The main difference is whether Jesus is there or not; my only problem with Zen is that it lacks Jesus. I don't think there's much of anything there that Christians need to reject outright; it's just missing something. For a Zen Buddhist, meditation creates a safe place free of criticism in which the self can blossom; for a Christian, silent prayer creates an attitude of trust in God, i.e. trust that he is present without respect to our performance -- a place where we can be re-created, and act, and even change our surroundings because of the unhindered light of the holy spirit within us. Christians often criticize "eastern" aspects of meditation is being too "passive;" this is also a misunderstanding. Silent meditation, in which we are not actively "doing" something with our mind, is to me what Paul calls "being diligent to enter his rest" and "resting from [our] own works" so that we can move on to do God's works (Hebrews 4). To act from the impulse of the Spirit, we need time to rest from our own works and striving; there are many ways to do this, including personal silence, meditating on the word, praying together, singing together, and eating together. There are many seasons in our lives, and we don't always have the luxury of being able to enjoy all of these things. Personally, I have found time alone wherein I can just enjoy God's company without having to think or say anything to be just as essential as the rest, especially living in a context in which I don't generally come across anyone who speaks my language.

Some also quote 2 Corinthians 10:15 in opposition to Zen meditation (i.e. a meditation style in which one is not actively "thinking" something - "taking every thought captive to obey Christ," suggesting that we always have to be thinking so as to protect ourselves from Satan's influence, always on-guard. It's true that even Jesus himself calls us to be watchful, but I think that this interpretation is somewhat off-base. The whole verse reads, "We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ." I think the point here is that while we are not called to judge one another (in a final sense, as that's God's job), we are to judge beliefs as to whether or not they are true. The criticism is that in a meditation wherein one is watching their breath, etc. and non-judgmentally letting thoughts come in and out of their minds, one is opening oneself to negative influence. I don't think, however, that this is even an accurate assessment of Buddhist meditation, let alone contemplative Christian meditation. Our silence is not without a quality; an absence of words does not necessitate and absence of values. For Buddhist and Christian alike, stealing is wrong. When a thought such as "I want to steal something" comes into your mind, you already know that it's wrong. This is not in question. "Non-judgmentally letting it go" does not imply what Bonhoeffer would call "cheap grace," wherein we can do whatever we want since it'll be forgiven at the end. In fact, Zen Buddhism has been criticized in the same way, as it can, just as can Christianity, lead to a sort of "cheap grace," an "anything goes" attitude. In true Buddhism, however, this attitude would also be seen as a form of delusion.

The "non-judgmental" mindset, then, does not have to do with determining the morality of certain thoughts. Rather, it refers to not judging yourself in spite of any immoral thoughts, and not praising yourself for lofty thoughts, either. For the Zen Buddhist, hidden inside their meditation is the belief that "I'm a Buddha, just as I am. I'm ok." For the Christian, deep in our silence is the belief that "there is no judgment for those who are in Christ." He does not judge us, so neither do we need to judge ourselves. If we confess our sins, we are forgiven. "Letting go of our thoughts" means giving up the need to justify ourselves. Even busy thoughts that are not explicitly moral or immoral in nature often have their roots in something sinful, something that misses the mark of pure love and trust in Jesus. For example, I'm currently looking for work, and need to support my growing family. I often get anxious about it, and stay up with my mind spinning; I spend the day searching for jobs and doing my legwork, but I often do it too much. This attitude is born out of a lack of faith; Jesus said, "Don't worry about what you'll wear and what you'll eat. God takes care of little flowers. Don't you think he cares about you?" Even if I say "I trust him," if I take my job search to the extreme, not saying, "OK, that's enough for today. God will give me what he wants me to have," I am effectively ignoring him. "In vain do you eat the bread of toil; God gives to the righteous even in his sleep." When your work is finished, you must stop. God doesn't want you to break yourself. Do what you're given to do, then come back and rest in him, even if you don't know what you're going to eat tomorrow. You've eaten today, and that's enough.

For me, this apophatic approach is essential. I let my thoughts wind down until I find that God is here with me, giving counsel and comfort, just waiting for me to listen. You have to believe that he has a hold of you, and won't let go. Don't you remember that when you were lost he went out to find you? Why do you think that after all these years he won't do the same thing again? Why do you think you have to protect yourself? Is God so incompetant that he can't save you from the devil, or even from your own faults? "Come," says Jesus. It's an open invitation, even to those who have un-invited themselves. You can rest.

Coming soon.