This is another in a series of articles discussing the book, Nichijo: The Testimony of John Provoo.
On Saturday, Jan. 1, 1966, John Provoo sailed for Japan to resume his training at Minobu to become a Nichiren Shu priest.
Nichijo: The Testimony of John Provoo, p227Again my ship docked at Yokohama, this time in an era of peace. There was an enthusiastic reception for me, the prodigal “Furobo-san,” as they called me, since they could not pronounce “Provoo,” and a banquet in a fine hotel. Many among the Japanese population who knew my story had adopted me as their own, and I felt fondness in their welcome. Then the train ride to Minobu: I was overjoyed to find that it had been untouched by the war.
Provoo was raised to the rank of Sozu (Right Reverend) and began his instruction with Archbishop Nichijo Fujii.
Each morning after the otsutome, I would go to the Lord Abbot’s villa. Every two or three days the Abbot would say, “is there something you wish to ask?” and I would offer my interpretation of a particular point and ask if it was correct. I also began to ask if I might be included in a very high training, the “Arai Gyodo” – the “One Hundred Days in Winter,” an ordeal of cleansing and purification. The Lord Abbot would put me off.
I had easily entered into the life of the monastery. The regimen that had been difficult and harsh to me as a young novice [in 1940-41] was now easy. I didn’t have the pressure of being in a strange country that was preparing for war against my own, and the students in my English classes at Minobusan College were not sickly and green from malnutrition.
Eventually the Abbott relented on Provoo’s request to participate in Arai Gyodo and he was allowed to enter the 100-day ascetic practice.
Nichijo: The Testimony of John Provoo, p232After three-quarters of the hundred days had elapsed, I had reached the state of mind that I wanted this to go on forever, and I could understand why the old ones had come again and again. One old monk died during the ritual, and I could see what a sublime death it was, and we were certain that the old monk had been happy to have ended that way.
Having been prepared in this manner, the participants were ready to receive the highest teachings of the order. The attendant masters delivered occult training in the healing arts based on the 16th Chapter of the Lotus Sutra. The teachings of the Arai Gyodo are secret and are not described to outsiders.
After completing the 100-day ascetic training, Provoo was promoted to rank of “Bishop” with the authority to ordain priests and given the name Nichijo Shaka.
Nichijo: The Testimony of John Provoo, p233-236Following my ordination ceremony, I walked down to the village of Minobu’s outer gate, to make the traditional procession up through the winding main street of Minobu chanting “Namu Myoho-renge-kyo.”
I was known to everyone in the village, and today, wearing my new insignia of high rank, I was honored and congratulated by all. The proprietors of every shop and inn asked me to stop and chant a sutra before each of their shrines. It was a triumphant procession, Minobu’s version of a ticker tape parade. After some hours, I reached the huge Sammon Gate, entrance to the temple grounds, and retired to my quarters.
My first official function with my new rank came a few days later, when late one cold evening a schoolboy came to my quarters. The boy had come all the way up the dark stairs and through the monastery grounds to find me. There was an emergency in an old woman’s home down by the river in the poorest part of the village. The woman wanted the “blue-eyed priest and no other.”
I got robed, banked the ashes over the coals in my hibachi to keep them going until I returned, and gathered my sutras and my cape. Guided by the schoolboy, we made our way down the mountain to the old woman’s hut. The dilapidated thatched building was in an advanced state of disrepair. The old woman greeted me at the door and invited me to enter. She was bent way over from age and wore an old padded robe that was faded and had the stuffing coming out in several places. The straw mats on the floor were unraveling and her feet were bare; she hadn’t even tabi. In her hibachi there were only a few small lumps of charcoal and it wasn’t enough to keep the cottage warm, not with the holes in the walls.
Her tragedy was that her hibari bird was dead in its cage. It had died from the cold. She wanted the Lotus Sutra chanted for the happy transfiguration of her dead bird’s spirit. I was touched by this and agreed.
Her shrine was clean, there were artificial flowers and a glass of water as an offering, and there was incense there for me to light. I took off my cape and began the service. I opened my sutra and chanted at least five chapters, the long version of the ceremony.
When it was over, the woman seemed much moved and had become very peaceful. She tried to make tea, but with her small amount of charcoal she could only make the water lukewarm, and the tea was weak when she served it.She rummaged around in her belongings and found two 100-yen notes, wrinkled and dirty, were worth about six cents. She didn’t have the proper envelope, so she wrapped the notes in white paper and knelt down to offer them to me. It was the hardest danna I would ever have to accept. Danna is a Sanskrit term denoting that offering given to a priest which bears the connotation “…where it is understood that there is neither gift, giver nor recipient.” To have refused to accept it from the old woman would have been unthinkable. It would have been a cruel insult.
I returned to my quarters in the monastery. In the following days I arranged, in an indirect way, to have charcoal sent to the old woman’s house as well as some nonperishable foodstuffs.