Earth and Altar

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I USED TO THINK I WAS HAUNTED

Photo from Unsplash.

I used to think I was haunted

by the holy ghost of Rev. Shimada

who pastored the Japanese Methodist Church

for twenty years, back when the few

remaining baby boomers were young

and there were so many people

in the annual church photo

the photographer had to stand

across the street.

I heard so many stories

from the living members

of his severe seriousness

that when the beams

creaked and groaned

in Butler Chapel

and when the lights flickered

in Ellis Hall

I thought it must be him.

How could I not be haunted

by a man who was beaten

and almost killed

for his faith in Japan

then imprisoned

in an internment camp

while I cry like a baby

after bad council meetings

in which I have to apologize

that the minimum salary standard

is so high

for a church of 20 people

who cannot afford

to fix the furnace.

One day I heard a colleague

from Seattle reference

his old pastor Shigeo Shimada,

Shig for short, and

then I could see him

relaxing with a cup

of green tea

in the meeting room

they named for him

as a parting gift

in 1970.

The couches in there

are terrible

but sometimes on Sundays

I think he keeps the door open

just enough

to listen to my sermon

and see the kids

he baptized

complain about Medicare

and Social Security.

I wondered if I had imagined

the shadows of judgment,

the feelings of being watched

with coldly appraising eyes

until I opened the archives

and stared into the hollow faces

of Mrs. John Butler

and Mrs. David Ellis

white women

from Central Methodist downtown

who volunteered to organize

a Bible study

English classes

American cooking lessons

Sunday services

for these immigrants

from Japan

who did not yet have

a pastor of their own.

I felt their resentment

hiss from the filing cabinet drawers

to see me

ordained and paid

and presiding

over disaster.

I could not find

their first names

anywhere. I cannot

invoke them

to help me.