Tales of Old Japan - Maybe You Like It

Japanese Sermons
"Sermons preached here on 8th, 18th, and 28th days of every month."
Such was the purport of a placard, which used to tempt me daily, as I
passed the temple Chô-ô-ji. Having ascertained that neither the preacher
nor his congregation would have any objection to my hearing one of
these sermons, I made arrangements to attend the service, accompanied
by two friends, my artist, and a scribe to take notes.
We were shown into an apartment adjoining a small chapel—a room
opening on to a tastily arranged garden, wealthy in stone lanterns and
dwarfed trees. In the portion of the room reserved for the priest stood a
high table, covered with a cloth of white and scarlet silk, richly embroidered
with flowers and arabesques; upon this stood a bell, a tray
containing the rolls of the sacred books, and a small incense-burner of
ancient Chinese porcelain. Before the table was a hanging drum, and behind
it was one of those high, back-breaking arm-chairs which adorn
every Buddhist temple. In one corner of the space destined for the accommodation
of the faithful was a low writing-desk, at which sat, or
rather squatted, a lay clerk, armed with a huge pair of horn spectacles,
through which he glared, goblin-like, at the people, as they came to have
their names and the amount of their offerings to the temple registered.
These latter must have been small things, for the congregation seemed
poor enough. It was principally composed of old women, nuns with bald
shiny pates and grotesque faces, a few petty tradesmen, and half-adozen
chubby children, perfect little models of decorum and devoutness.
One lady there was, indeed, who seemed a little better to do in the world
than the rest; she was nicely dressed, and attended by a female servant;
she came in with a certain little consequential rustle, and displayed some
coquetry, and a very pretty bare foot, as she took her place, and, pulling
out a dandy little pipe and tobacco-pouch, began to smoke. Fire-boxes
and spittoons, I should mention, were freely handed about; so that halfan-hour
which passed before the sermon began was agreeably spent. In
the meanwhile, mass was being celebrated in the main hall of the temple,
and the monotonous nasal drone of the plain chant was faintly heard in
the distance. So soon as this was over, the lay clerk sat himself down by
the hanging drum, and, to its accompaniment, began intoning the prayer,
"Na Mu Miyô Hô Ren Go Kiyô," the congregation fervently joining in
unison with him. These words, repeated over and over again, are the distinctive
prayer of the Buddhist sect of Nichiren, to which the temple
Chô-ô-ji is dedicated. They are approximations to Sanscrit sounds, and
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