Part １ – Perpetual Vows Ceremony
Bro. Nobuhiko Yagi, OMI – It was late at night on August 3, 1991. With the Perpetual Vows Ceremony scheduled for the next day, I couldn’t fall asleep. The thought that my life as a formal Brother would finally begin tomorrow made me realize, no matter how I looked at it, that my weaknesses and flaws made it impossible for me to walk as a Brother. I had prepared for the next day right up until that moment, yet the day before, my confidence began to crumble.
I seriously began to doubt whether I could possibly live as a Brother in my current state. Even with the ceremony the next day, I started seriously thinking, “I should run away now,” “I should just disappear,” “Then tomorrow’s ceremony would be canceled and I could escape.” As I tossed and turned, I looked at the clock and saw it was already past 2:00 AM. The next day was such an important ceremony, and the more I thought about how I could possibly face it in this state, the less I could sleep.
Then it happened. Out of nowhere—or perhaps from within me—a woman’s voice spoke clearly, delivering this message: “I love your weaknesses and flaws so much I can’t stand it. I adore them. I want to reveal God through your weaknesses and flaws.” The moment I heard it, I felt deep down that it was okay to remain with these weaknesses and flaws. A profound sense of relief washed over me, and I fell instantly into sleep, as if under general anesthesia. The next morning arrived, and I safely participated in the lifelong vow ceremony, leading me to where I am today.
Still, what does it mean to reveal God through one’s weaknesses and flaws? Over thirty years have passed since that day, and I’ve occasionally pondered this. Only now have I begun to grasp its meaning. Perhaps I’ve gained enlightenment. To put it simply, I believe people must have weaknesses and flaws. They are indispensable to humanity. Without them, arrogance—the belief that we can do anything by our own strength—takes hold and dominates us. We forget to connect with God, to surrender. This sense of self-reliance occupies our inner being, leaving no room or space for God to enter. We become entirely ourselves at our core. However, when we have weaknesses and flaws, events beyond our control occur, and when we discover ourselves helpless, we remember the importance of connecting with God, of surrendering. It is in that weakness and imperfection that God can enter. Something greater than my own limited strength is realized, and God’s glory is revealed. This is what it means to show God through my weakness and imperfection.
At that moment, I felt a deep acceptance of my own weakness and imperfections. That is to say, it was the experience of my true self being accepted completely. It became the starting point for living naturally. Simultaneously, I even began to desire accepting others’ weaknesses and flaws. People often tell me I’m too lenient toward others. I certainly think that’s true. However, I wish to be someone who accepts others’ weaknesses and flaws. This desire stems from the experience of having my weaknesses and flaws deeply accepted and from my heartfelt gratitude for that.
Part ２ – My Mother – the one who gave me life
I chose this photo as my mother’s memorial portrait. This story comes from when I took my mother to see the cherry blossoms in full bloom. It was during peak season at a famous spot in Tokushima Prefecture known for its cherry blossom tunnel. I wanted her to see the magnificent display. The place was already crowded; the path through the blossom tunnel was packed with people. Everyone there was looking up, mesmerized by the beauty of the full bloom. Yet, among them, there was one person walking along, intently looking down at the ground beside the path. That person was my mother. I asked her why she wasn’t looking at the cherry blossoms when we’d come all this way for hanami. She said she was searching for wild garlic growing along the path. This wild garlic is similar to leeks; chopped and cooked in an egg drop soup, it’s incredibly delicious, though not many people know about it. The smile on my mother’s face in this photo was likely more from the joy of finding the wild garlic than from seeing the beautiful cherry blossoms. However, this action of my mother’s would later take on significance. I’ll discuss that later.
Whenever she had time, my mother would pray the Rosary from morning until night, even while working. It took nearly an hour to pray one decade of the Rosary, yet she would pray dozens of decades every single day. While the Rosary is a prayer offered to the Virgin Mary, my mother’s devotion embodied a posture of complete surrender to God. Deeply devoted to Mary, I believe she was especially kind to those pushed to the margins of society. Her youngest brother was disabled and lived in a facility for many years, yet she cherished him deeply. While most people strive for a better life, constantly aiming upward for higher status, better pay, and more wealth, my mother was different. She cherished those who were marginalized, hidden, and out of the spotlight. This incident connects to the earlier story of the cherry blossom viewing. While everyone else looked up, moved by the beauty of the blossoms, only my mother ignored the lovely cherry trees. She searched earnestly along the roadside for the nameless wild garlic growing there, finding it and rejoicing.
I had believed that becoming a Brother in the Oblates was my own decision, a path I chose and walked. But in truth, it was not so. The Oblates are a religious order that cherishes the spirit of proclaiming Christ’s Good News (the Gospel) to the most abandoned people, dedicating everything to Mary Immaculate. I now realize that my mother, through her Rosary prayers, had offered everything to Mary. While many people strive upward seeking higher status and wealth, she looked downward, cherishing the nameless grass and people at the very bottom. It was precisely this way of life, this attitude of my mother, that profoundly influenced my life and led me to join the Oblates and become a Brother. I have finally come to understand this.
In her later years, my mother gradually lost abilities she once had, her memory and appearance fading. However, does this diminish her value as a mother? Quite the opposite—her value only deepened. It is the value of simply being there and how profoundly grateful we are for that presence. Just seeing her smile gave me strength, comfort, encouragement, and hope. This value of simply being present grows ever greater with age and aging. My mother in her later years taught me this principle applies not just to mothers or the elderly, but to all people, young and old, male and female. A mysterious something gives value just by existing; it makes one precious and empowers those around them. I believe this is what we call a “servant of existence.”
We often imagine that when people die, they go far away to the heavens. But I believe the opposite is true: they are reborn into a form that remains close to us, untethered by place or time. After my mother passed, I could only see her smile by visiting nursing homes or hospitals. But now, transcending time and space, she is always near us, watching over us, offering comfort, encouragement, and hope. She has been reborn as a “servant of existence,” which is different from her life on earth. Her role is now complete and will last forever. Perhaps her existence is what we call “faith in resurrection” or “eternal life.”
Through my mother’s life and death, I learned something profoundly important. Above all, she was the one who gave me life.
