VOLUME 5 • ISSUE 2 • June 2025

Bishop’s Corner: “The Back We Follow”

Bishop Toshiyuki Umitani

This May marks the 20th year since my mother passed away. At the time, I was serving at Makawao Hongwanji on the island of Maui when I received a phone call from my uncle informing me of her passing.

My mother had been battling cancer for many years, and while I understood intellectually that this day would eventually come, when I actually heard the words that she had passed away, I was overwhelmed by a grief too deep for words.

Thanks to the kindness of the temple members and ministers on Maui, I was able to rush back to my family temple in Hiroshima with my wife and our daughter, who was not even a year old at the time.

We arrived just before the funeral began. I went straight to the temple, where I saw my mother lying peacefully in her casket. Her face, released at last from the long struggle with illness, was calm and serene—like that of a gentle Buddha.

That image remains vivid in my heart to this day.

There are many memories I hold of my mother, and I have shared some of them in past Dharma talks. But what stands out most vividly in my memory now is the image of her back — the quiet, unspoken presence she offered as she went about her daily life.

What do you feel when you see the back of a loved one, be it a family member or a friend?

In Japanese culture, it is often considered more appropriate to convey emotions indirectly rather than expressing them openly. The back of a person, without speaking a word, can communicate a great deal.

In fact, I believe that what is truly important is often conveyed more clearly through one’s back than through spoken words.

My mother passed away at the age of 55. Compared to today’s average life expectancy, she died relatively young.

And yet, over the course of eight years, she faced multiple cancer diagnoses and endured painful surgeries and aggressive treatments, all while maintaining a warm and cheerful demeanor toward her family and temple members.

When I recall her enduring and graceful presence, I cannot help but put my hands together in gratitude and recite the Nembutsu — Namo Amida Butsu.

Through the memory of my mother’s back, I am reminded that the value of life is not simply measured in years, but in how we live.

Her days, though filled with hardship, were lived with acceptance of her karmic conditions. She faced her suffering not with bitterness but with gratitude, recognizing each day as a precious gift, and rejoicing in the Nembutsu with a heart full of appreciation.

Even now, her quiet presence — her back as she moved through life — continues to teach and inspire me.

Shinran Shonin taught that this foolish, self-centered being — so full of blind passions — is nonetheless embraced just as I am by Amida Buddha’s boundless Compassion.

I believe that Shinran Shonin, along with my mother and others, continue to show me the path to the Pure Land even now. By illuminating their compassionate presence — expressed not only through their words but also through the backs they turned toward me — they are gently guiding me forward.

As I gradually approach the age at which my mother passed, I find myself wondering: Have I been able to show even a glimpse of the kind of presence my mother had? Am I offering a back that others might find comfort or inspiration in?

Honestly, I don’t think so. More often, I find myself troubled by my own shortcomings and flaws.

Even so, though I may not be able to offer much through my own example, I hope that I can help others encounter the warm and boundless Compassion of Amida Buddha’s great presence.

That is the path I hope to walk, doing my best each day.

As I recall those irreplaceable days with my mother, I once again place my hands together in Gassho and quietly recite the Nembutsu.

Namo Amida Butsu.