
Catholic Mass in Vietnamese serves as a tether for community
Soft light streaming through the ceiling blanketed over a thousand parishioners attending a recent Sunday afternoon Mass at St. Ignatius Catholic Church as strong voices sang an uplifting hymn in Vietnamese.
The weekly 3 p.m. Mass at the church near JR Yotsuya Station in Tokyo's Kojimachi district is a lively one, with little children running around the space.
Priest Nguyen Thanh Nha, 42, began conducting Mass eight years ago and is loved by the people who call him "Cha," Vietnamese for "father," at the church.
Nha came to Japan in 2009 as a seminarian and studied at Faculty of Theology at Sophia University, whose Yotsuya campus is next to the church, and other institutions before being ordained.
St. Ignatius offers Masses in six foreign languages that include English, Indonesian and Spanish.
While Catholics from the United States or European countries used to make up the bulk of attendees, the parish has seen an increase in churchgoers from Southeast Asia and South America since the 1980s.
For context, Japan's Vietnamese population was about 50,000 in 2012. It exceeded 600,000 in 2024.
Vietnamese Mass went from being held once a month to twice a week last year, with some commuting two hours by train to attend.
'I believe it reaches deep into their hearts because it is in Vietnamese,' Nha said.
A youth group consisting of 170 individuals assists with each service and includes choir members, those in charge of livestreaming the Mass and a team that cares for any attendees in need.
'My job is hard, but I look forward to coming here, singing together and eating together after a week,' said choir member Nguyen Phuong Ngoc, 25, who works at a hotel in Tokyo's Omotesando area.
Many of these members get married after working on church activities together. The church has officiated around 100 weddings annually over the past few years.
It is also becoming common for couples unable to return to their home countries to instead hold ceremonies in Japan with the intent of visiting family and holding celebrations in the future.
LAWYERS AND PRIESTS
The church also handles difficult cases, one involving Nguyen Van Anh, 32, who grew up in central Vietnam and is from an impoverished family. He borrowed 1.1 million yen ($7,700) and came to Japan as a technical intern in 2022.
As a technical intern, he worked at a demolition company in Shizuoka Prefecture where he got up at 5 a.m. and earned 116,000 yen a month. Anh sent 85,000 yen home each month, but ran away after working for the company for five months because he was unable to pay off his debt.
He then worked for a farm in Ibaraki Prefecture before transferring to a scrap factory in Chiba Prefecture where he sorted aluminum and other materials from piles of metal scraps. Despite poor living conditions, Anh told himself it was better than the technical internship since he was earning about 170,000 yen a month.
Anh lost two fingers on his left hand and injured three on his right at work last April. His employer, fearing the repercussions of hiring illegal labor, did not call an ambulance and instead had an acquaintance drive Anh to the hospital five hours later.
He was arrested for not having a passport after the hospital called police. After a 20-day detention, Anh was reassigned to an immigration facility where he was taken in by a priest and a lawyer.
After completing an interview part of the examination of his work-related accident, he returned to Vietnam in March.
COUNSEL, NOT CONDEMNATION
The number of consultations from technical intern trainees continues to grow. At the end of last year, a man in his 20s shared with the church that he had been fired for dating a fellow intern trainee despite the workplace prohibiting relationships.
Following Nha's advice, he told the supervisory organization that he would consult with a lawyer, and was able to transfer to another company.
In a more somber incident from two years ago, the priest picked up the cremated remains of a 27-year-old man who had committed suicide. The man wasn't able to speak Japanese, and was troubled by not being able to repay the debts he owed when he came to Japan.
"It must have been difficult for him, not being able to confide in anyone," said Nha. Six months later, the remains were returned to his family.
Many intern trainees are unable to find work after returning to Vietnam.
'They only let them work when they can, and then they treat them like disposable tools,' Nha said, who hopes that he can help young people who find themselves being pushed into a corner.
'I thought that because I'm a priest, people would call me 'Father,' but I hope to become everyone's true father,' he said.
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Yomiuri Shimbun
18 hours ago
- Yomiuri Shimbun
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Asahi Shimbun
21 hours ago
- Asahi Shimbun
From acceptance to anger: Path trod by Nagasaki bomb survivors
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Takashi Nagai in his shelter called Nyokodo (Provided by the Takashi Nagai Memorial Museum) Nagai wrote 17 books from his hospital bed even while suffering from the effects of radiation exposure. Many of his works described the sense of guilt felt by survivors. The Urakami district, home to a cathedral of the same name, was ground zero in the bombing, which Nagai called 'divine providence.' He likened the victims to live animals sacrificed in religious ceremonies, known as burnt offerings, and said they were a sacrifice to God. Junshin operated a Catholic school in Urakami. Other accounts published in the volume contained references to burnt offerings. Years later, Nagai came under heavy criticism for seemingly having taken little issue with the atomic bombing. But since his works were written during the U.S. Occupation, Nagai likely found it difficult to say anything that the authorities did not approve of. The 1951 peace declaration issued by the Nagasaki city government on the anniversary of the bombing said the atomic attack hastened the end of war. Shijo felt that the survivors in Urakami must have believed what Nagai said as they tried to make sense of the magnitude of the destruction and anguished over questions about faith, justice and evil. 'The narrative of accepting the good people who died as being a sacrifice to God helped with the reconstruction of Nagasaki,' Shijo said. When Junshin rebuilt its school, it set aside a grave for the remains of the students who died in the bombing. Because the students were symbols of filial piety, Junshin also decided to construct a retirement home for those who lost family members and were left by themselves. POPE'S HEALING WORDS Pope John Paul II visited Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1981. In a speech in Hiroshima, the pontiff did not mince words, saying, 'War is the work of man.' 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The Mainichi
a day ago
- The Mainichi
93-yr-old man pays tribute to classmates lost to 1945 Nagasaki A-bomb
NAGASAKI -- As the 80th anniversary of the U.S. atomic bombing of Nagasaki approaches, a 93-year-old survivor has reflected on his classmates who lost their lives just four months after entering junior high school while preparing for this summer's memorial ceremony. The estimated death toll from the atomic bombing on Aug. 9, 1945, to the end of that year is about 70,000. However, due to the loss of administrative records and cases where entire families were killed, these figures are only estimates. "There were classmates I had played with just days before the bombing. Even now, when I see their names, their faces come to mind," says Kazuo Maruta, who was 13 and a first-year student at the former Nagasaki Prefectural Keiho Junior High School when he was exposed to the radiation from the atomic bombing. With tears in his eyes, he holds a list of the names of 299 first-year students, recording their circumstances after the bombing, including instant death and other causes of death. Of these, 114 were victims of the atomic bombing. This list was created by their homeroom teacher shortly after the bombing and has been carefully preserved by Maruta. On the day of the bombing, the young Maruta had returned home around 10:50 a.m. after finishing his English final exam. While wiping sweat from his bare upper body, he heard the sound of a B-29 bomber and was then struck by a blue-white flash. He was about 1.3 kilometers south of the hypocenter. It felt like his entire body was being dragged through a pitch-dark tunnel. When he regained consciousness, he found himself trapped under his house, hearing someone outside shouting, "There's a fire!" He managed to escape, only to find glass embedded in his back, leaving him covered in blood. He learned from a neighbor that his mother, Matsue, had died instantly while talking in front of a neighbor's house. Two years after losing his father to illness, he lost his mother as well. Maruta fled to the hillside behind his house, where he was drenched by heavy black rain. That night, diarrhea set in, and by morning, he realized he had bloody stools. An uncle he met by chance helped him evacuate to the city of Isahaya, about 20 kilometers away, by train on Aug. 11. At a first aid station set up at an elementary school, a doctor, unaware of acute radiation syndrome, diagnosed him with "dysentery" upon seeing the bloody stools. After treatment at a hospital, he returned to school in November. The school building of Keiho Junior High, located about 800 meters south of the hypocenter, was completely destroyed. Of the approximately 1,200 students, around 400 perished, including Maruta's classmates and higher-grade students who had been mobilized to work in military factories. After the war, Maruta graduated from high school and became a police officer. About 30 years ago, upon retirement, he began sharing his experiences as a hibakusha, or an A-bomb survivor. This year, at 93, he has already given over 20 talks to groups including students on school trips. "Losing my classmates just four months after starting school is the foundation of my storytelling," he said. Maruta is also a member of the Nagasaki Foundation for the Promotion of Peace's photo material research committee, examining photographs that document the aftermath of the atomic bombing. As a caretaker of Keiho Junior High's Suiran-kai, the successor organization to the school's alumni association which disbanded in 2011, Maruta organizes an annual memorial service on Aug. 9. However, the aging of alumni and bereaved families has led to dwindling attendance. "How regretful my classmates must have felt. We must not forget them. We must continue to tell their story," Maruta insists. This year, he once again handwrote the names on each invitation postcard for the memorial service. (Japanese original by Naoki Soeya, Nagasaki Bureau) 99,130 holders of A-bomb survivor's certificates As of the end of March 2025, the number of holders of atomic bomb survivor's certificates totaled 99,130, falling below 100,000 for the first time since the issuance system began. This is just over a quarter of the peak number of 372,264 recorded in fiscal 1980. The average age of certificate holders stood at 86.13 years. By prefecture, Hiroshima had the highest number at 48,310, followed by Nagasaki at 23,543, Fukuoka at 3,957, Tokyo at 3,307 and Osaka at 3,186. Yamagata Prefecture had the fewest, with six holders. There were also 2,178 "overseas hibakusha" -- A-bomb survivors who returned to their home countries or emigrated abroad after the war.