Akasuka Stop

I had some time in the late afternoon and decided to visit the shrine at Akasuka. Emerging from the subway, I walked under an overcast sky toward the run-up to the temple. Ironically, this path — with merchant stalls on both sides — was more like a bazaar than a holy place of worship. Just the thing to get one in a spiritual mood.
“Jim-san!” I followed the voice to see Ueda-san from KV walking along the narrow pathway. “Nice to see you! I am here with one of our vendors.” He gestured to a young man; both wore suits and looked a bit out of place among the tourists.
“Good to see you too!” I replied. “Are you going up for your religious education or to say prayers for better sales?”
He laughed and said, “We already went. Now we are going somewhere to relax.” I gathered there were places of entertainment nearby. I wished them a pleasant evening and continued my pilgrimage toward the shrine. There was a slight uphill grade to the walkway, as if one were climbing to a revered site, mountaintop, or heaven itself — except for the tourist riff-raff.
The goods for sale were little different from other open markets — trinkets and t-shirts — perhaps a greater prevalence of incense. This latter seemed the only item tied to the place of worship at the end of the line.
I walked on until I stood in front of Sensoji Temple. I admired the building — classic Japanese roof lines, several stories tall. To the side and before the steps that led into the building was a transparent wall. Not really a wall: a line of posts with wires running through them, a narrow roof on top protecting the small, folded pieces of paper tied onto the wires.
Exploring further, I read the instructional clues sporadically written in English. I had guessed these notes were blessings, sacrifices, confessions, or memorials to the fallen. Instead, they were wishes — prayers asking for … whatever. Really? You come to a holy site and before you even enter, you’re asking for things? There was an option to burn the paper you just tied — thus the metal wires. Maybe your wish ascended to heaven faster as a rising flame. This didn’t seem like the way to earn your entry through the heavenly gates.
I skipped the papers and walked up the stairs. After a quick scan of the temple, I headed back down the commercial strip. I was unimpressed. The architecture was nice, but the whole spiritual thing was off. I knew my evaluation lacked understanding and context; admittedly, I just didn’t get it.
Usually, I could find Western equivalents to Japanese behavior, however strange it seemed to me. What was it in this case? No, there was no wishing wall at the entry to churches. Parishioners donated money, prayed for others, confessed their sins and asked forgiveness.
But they also prayed for personal things: curing of disease, help for their families, assistance with troubles — be they emotional or financial. They did so while kneeling in a pew rather than on a scrap of paper, but was the delivery method really an important distinction? Was lighting a candle in a Catholic church so far afield? Our prayers are not just for an end to poverty and world peace. We too are asking for help. What’s the difference?
Somewhat less confused, I headed toward the station. When I arrived in Shinjuku, I would ask for a good meal, some street entertainment, and if the gods were smiling upon me, someone with whom I could talk in my native tongue. Perhaps I should have written that last one down, tied it on, and lit the match.