1000 Paper Cranes

This sermon was delivered at Central Congregational Church in Galesburg, IL.

Today’s reading from Luke took me right back to the vespers area and my summers at church camp. In particular, the “knock, and the door will be opened unto you.” verse takes me directly to sitting around the campfire. This Gospel this morning probably sounds familiar, as we just sang it in the hymn Seek Ye First. In the song, the first verse is from Matthew 6:33, but the second verse is pulled directly from the verses in Luke that we just heard. I first learned this song at church camp as a kid.

One of the most formative events of my childhood was attending church camp. I went to a Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) camp in Yosemite, Kentucky. Yes, it’s pronounced Yo-Si-Might in Kentucky rather than Yo-sem-it-ee, for funzies, we also have a Ver-Sailes instead of a Ver-Sai. This camp, Camp Wakon’Da-Ho, was my favorite summer home from the time I was 8 years old until I graduated from high school, at which point I went back every summer to counsel. I spent at least a week there every summer for over twenty years.

As a young child, my camp experiences were all about making new friends and learning cool things.We played capture the flag, made s’mores, had watermelon seed-spitting contests, and sat around the campfire singing Peter Paul and Mary songs, hymns, and silly camp-only songs like "Muff the Tragic Wagon" and "Matilda the Gorilla." But my favorite part of every evening was vespers. Around dusk, we'd all walk quietly through the woods to the vespers area. The canopy of trees would shield what was left of the setting sun from our eyes, and our feet would crunch along the gravel and twig covered path. We'd be reminded along the path to be quiet, but somehow we always managed to remember. The vespers area, in retrospect, wasn't all that spectacular, but it had this sense of awesomeness, a sense of reverence. The trees reached high into the sky forming an almost-ceiling of leaves. The altar was situated in front of the pond, a cross reflecting upon the water's surface. Less-than comfortable wooden benches held your legs at just the right height so your toes could swing in the gravel.

Worship in the vespers area was somehow more special, more holy, and more magical than in any other place I had ever worshiped (or have ever worshipped since). I always heard God's voice most clearly at that time. Maybe it was the wind blowing in the trees a certain way, or the deep barrr-uppp of a bullfrog, or perhaps the chirping of crickets, but in those sounds I heard God's still small whisper. I knew that I was loved, that I was accepted and that in my constant quest for myself that ultimately I would find wholeness. These were very important whispers to a young girl already struggling to figure out her identity and her place in the world. It was in this vespers area where I first truly accepted God and Christ into my life, and it was in that same vespers area where I answered my call to ministry.

Every single transformational faith experience from my youth and childhood occurred at camp. I want to share one particular experience with you today.

In the summer after I finished 5th grade, we had visitors from Japan staying at camp. Our entire camp curriculum was built around their visit, and around the story of Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes.The story of Sadako became famous in 1977 with the publication of a children’s book by Eleanor Coerr. It chronicles the life of a young girl who was born in Japan in 1943. Sadako Sasaki was two when the bomb fell on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945. And while her family survived the bombing, Sadako was one of the thousands of children who developed leukemia as a result of the radiation. Leukemia was the deadliest long-term health effect suffered by survivors of the bombings at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.¹

In Japan, the crane is believed to be a mystical creature that lives for 1000 years, and its wings carry souls to paradise. It is also believed that if a person folds 1000 paper cranes that a wish will be granted. 1000 origami cranes is called a senbazuru, and they are strung on strings so they can be hung. A visitor to her bedside shared this tradition with Sadako and she began folding cranes in hopes to wish for her own healing. Her classmates, nurses, and family all saved paper for her so she could continue making her cranes. Sadako folded and folded- through good days, through bad days, to recover from the death of a friend, to keep herself from feeling lonely...to keep hoping. When she surpassed 500 cranes, her health started improving and she began to feel like herself again- she was even able to leave the hospital to celebrate a festival with her family. But all the while, she kept folding her cranes.

After folding crane number 644, Sadako Sasaki died. Her classmates folded the remaining 356 cranes so that 1000 origami cranes could be buried with Sadako. Sadako’s story continues to inspire others. In Hiroshima Peace Park, there is a statue of her standing with an outstretched hand- holding an origami crane. People drape the statue with their own senbazuru or leave folded cranes at Sadako’s feet. She has become a symbol of hope and peace.

Remember, I was 11 when I heard this story for the first time. As children at camp we were about the same age as Sadako when she died. As the week at camp progressed, we worked feverishly to make our own senbazuru- carefully folding hundreds of paper cranes. We talked a lot about peace and about not being afraid to ask for things from God or from each other. We folded cranes during small group, during worship, after meals, while singing around the campfire. At every waking moment, at least one crane was being folded somewhere at camp. Sometimes our fingers got tired, sometimes we got frustrated because it isn’t all that easy to fold a paper crane- especially when you’re 10 or 11 years old. But we did it...by the end of the week at camp, we had somehow folded 1000 paper cranes, and together we offered up our wish:

PEACE

The whole process had been transformational- for me, for us. As an 11 year old in 1985, I wasn’t old enough to remember Vietnam. WW2 and Korea were my grandfathers’ wars. The biggest concern I remember was the famine in Ethiopia and the very famous “we are the world” song recorded to raise money. The cold war was happening, and we were still a little wary of Russia, but in all, 1985 was a pretty peaceful time. An 11 year old from rural Kentucky did not have a visceral connection to any war- and therefore, no driving need to ask for peace.

Until I learned about Sadako.

Hearing Sadako’s story put a very real face on the bombing of Hiroshima. Sure, I had learned about WW2 in school, but from a victor’s perspective. We had learned that the bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had led to the ending of the war. We had learned of the great Allied victory. And please understand, I am grateful for those who fought, those who died, those who served. I cherish the freedoms provided by their sacrifice. I am grateful that WW2’s end brought an end to the Holocaust, the concentration camps, the power of the Third Reich and the Nazi party. But hearing Sadako’s story added a new layer of understanding to all of that.

Even in victory, there are victims. Children die in war, and not just because the “bad guys” are doing something terrible, but sometimes because the “good guys” have to do something even worse in order to secure victory. And sometimes, children die years after a war has ended, still victims of a fight they didn’t start.

That one week at camp turned me into a mini activist. Suddenly the Peter Paul and Mary songs we sang around the campfire had new meaning. Where have all the flowers gone, Down by the riverside, and yes.. Seek Ye First. That second verse-

Ask and it shall be given unto you

Seek and ye shall find

Knock and the door shall be opened unto you...

Sadako’s story taught me that “ask, seek, and knock” does not always mean that we get exactly what we wish for- what we pray for. Sadako made her cranes and with every crane she wished to be healthy again. But even if she had made it to 1000 cranes, wishing on cranes doesn't cure leukemia. It couldn’t undo the damage caused by war.

I still have so many complicated feelings about WW2 and how it ended, and current events in the world make me wonder if we are headed to the same place. The rise of nationalism, people crammed into camps, the increase in violence and anti-semitism. Shootings at temples, mosques, and black churches. Violence by angry white folks against those with darker skin, different faiths, different backgrounds. Camps. Nationalism. Angry Rhetoric. I wonder if we are standing at the precipice of another great war. Another holocaust. A world ending bomb.

Sadako’s legacy lives on in the Peace Crane Project, a project started by her older brother and Su DiCicco, a peace activist. A non profit dedicated to Sadako, Sadako Legacy NPO, works “to bring the world together in an effort to abolish discrimination, conflict, war, nuclear and non-humanitarian weapons.”² In Sadako’s name, there is an effort to mitigate the situations that lead to war- that lead to the dropping of bombs.

At the base of her statue it reads...

This is our cry,

this is our prayer;

peace in the world.

May it be our prayer too.

Amen.

Watch Becca deliver this sermon.

¹ "Hiroshima and Nagasaki: The Long Term Health Effects | K=1 Project,” accessed July 22, 2019, https://k1project.columbia.edu/news/hiroshima-and-nagasaki.

² Sue DiCicco, “Sadako Legacy NPO,” Sadako Sasaki (blog), accessed July 22, 2019, https://sadakosasaki.com/sadako-legacy-npo/.