An Encounter with a Religion I Didn't Want to be a Part of

Religion is a pretty sensitive topic. As a person, I usually stay away from this topic whenever it comes up, and I usually don't have much to say about it. However, sometimes the way beliefs are spread bother me, and it just so happens that my first real brush with recruitment happened to be with a Japanese religion.

This happened maybe some time during my second year of staying in Tokyo. At this point, I had settled down a bit into my box of an apartment and I sort of knew the landscape of the western wards of Tokyo. I had made a Japanese friend one night through practicing street dance at a park. He seemed like a nice enough fellow, and I didn't think much of him.

I learned eventually that maybe making friends in a dark alleyway by a park isn't a good idea.

That same night, he tried in very rudimentary English to get me to go to a temple because he wanted to teach me how to pray. He said he wanted to thank me for being nice to him. I politely declined and went home. I met him a few more times after that night at various places and he never mentioned the prayer thing during those occasions, so I thought that was that.

I was wrong.

About a half a year after meeting him for the first time, this guy contacts me saying he wants to take me to dinner as thanks for allowing him to meet other street dancers that he otherwise would never have met. It was fairly random, so it seemed strange; my instincts were telling me something was up. I was broke at the time, so I used that as an excuse to try to get out of meeting him, but he insisted that he would cover the meal. I decided to accept then, thinking that I could use a free meal. The worst case I imagined would be me losing a kidney, but that was a story that would be an interesting tale, so it didn't stop me.

Photo by Dick Thomas Johnson, taken from flickr.

We met at a Saizeriya in Ikebukuro on the same night he contacted me. It was nothing fancy, but I didn't care. It was free after all. In an attempt to be as obnoxious as I could to try to discourage any further interaction, I ordered the most expensive things on the menu and ate my fill. The dinner went as well as could be expected from an interaction between a non-English speaker and a non-Japanese speaker, maybe even better, so I was starting to feel a bit guilty for taking advantage of his perceived generosity.

That sense of guilt waned quickly as I noticed he was getting a bit antsy. As we were finishing off our food, he explained that a friend of his was going to meet with us. My suspicions earlier that night were justified. Another Japanese guy with slightly better English joined us at our table. This new guy had the same energy as a used car salesman - not the kind that was apathetic, but the kind that was overly enthusiastic to the point that it was uncomfortable.

I asked them how they knew each other and they said that they went to university together. I didn't really believe it, but I accepted the answer. I learned that the new guy was three years older than the friend that invited me for dinner. I could see the power dynamics between the two, as my friend would sometimes squirm slightly at some things the new guy said. My friend was also very compliant to requests the new guy made. Their interactions with each other made it seem, at least to me, that they probably weren't really friends.

After some banter, they did their big reveal. My friend brought up the night we met, and how he had offered to teach me how to pray. I replied by saying that I did, and my friend seemed very happy. The two of them offered to take me to a main temple, and I agreed. They piqued my curiosity and I was already pretty far from home. I could afford to lose that kidney.

I realized as we left the family restaurant that Ikebukuro was a planned location. When we were deciding where to go for dinner, my friend was fairly adamant on that area, and I could see why: these two wanted to use the Seibu-Ikebukuro line. This was the only line that would take us to Hoya Station in Nishitokyo.

The train ride was about twenty minutes of awkward jokes from car salesman and nervous, not-really-English-or-Japanese conversation from my friend. When we arrived at Hoya Station, I was fully on guard. I tried to keep the two in front of me at all times, and I think I spoke much less. The two tried to keep me relaxed by talking to me often, using Google Translate whenever necessary as they led me further into the dimly lit suburbs away from the station. After about a ten or fifteen minute walk, we arrived at a sort of church complex.

I became hyper-aware when we reached the destination. There were tables set up under an awning in the small courtyard outside the building. As I was being led to a seat, I observed a lot of Japanese people in suits. It would have been a normal sight, but it was in the dead of night, and most were staring at the building as if guarding it. The ones that weren't were attending to other foreign people. These foreign people seemed about as uncomfortable as I was, and they really looked like they wanted to leave.

I was told to sit at a specific chair, furthest from the gates of the property. Car salesman told my friend to get something from inside as he sat down at the table across from me. He gave me a piece of paper, all in Japanese, and an accompanying translation. The translation explained something about how most people were unhappy and would continue to do so if they didn't join the religion, among other things I didn't really care about.

The translation on the left, the original on the right. Both A5 size.

My friend came back shortly with a notebook and a pen, and the guy I met that evening said that they wanted my information: my name, address, and phone number. When asked why, he explained that this religion that they wanted to share with me is not meant for "suspicious people," and I had to use every ounce of willpower I had to stop my face from showing any hint of incredulity.

"Don't worry," I remember Mr. car salesman saying. "We'll give you the information back."

My curiosity was still strong, so I wrote down a random address in my neighbourhood and a fake phone number. Unfortunately, I had to use my real full name as my friend already knew it. I'm glad I faked most of the information though, as when I finished writing it down, my friend rushed inside the building again and actually checked the address. He came back moments later saying it was verified, and this told me that my information was probably recorded in some capacity. I was given back the sheet of paper with my information on it, and told that they had no other need for it.

Shortly after, they gave me a prayer booklet, all in Japanese, and some prayer beads. I was shown how to hold the beads and then led inside a prayer room as a group of bewildered people, both foreign and local, walked out. The prayer room was tatami, so we had to take our shoes off. It wasn't that big, but it felt quite large as my friend and I were the only occupants. At one end of the room was a statue and a bunch of candles. My friend instructed me to sit in the seiza position (the traditional way of sitting) and we waited for a short time.

Prayer beads and accompanying booklet. The booklet is about the size of a wallet.

A lady in a business suit appeared from another entrance and spoke in Japanese, I assume to introduce herself or what we were doing. After a short monologue, she turned towards the statue and started a stream of Japanese. I was instructed to bow during this time. As we were bowing our heads, my friend opened my booklet to a page, and began pointing out certain characters. I clued in that this was a chant, and did my best to follow along. My friend also showed my that I should be holding the beads the way the other guy showed me.

This went on for about twenty minutes before it ended in an anticlimactic manner. The lady turned to us, and held up a sign in Japanese, bowed, then left the room. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that. We left the room and met up with the other guy outside. After an short exchange and wishes that we would see each other again, they accompanied me back to the train station, where we went our separate ways.

So there you go, proselytism does exist in Japan. I told this story to my Japanese coworkers, and they all cringed in fear. One lady actually almost swatted the things out of my hands, afraid of even seeing the objects when I tried to show her. I kept the booklet, paper, and beads, but I have no intention of doing anything with them. They serve as a reminder for me of this odd experience. I haven't seen that friend since that night, but I do hope he's at least okay, and that he isn't being exploited in some capacity.