Nagasaki is a small city,
easy to walk around.
Not quite quaint,
but it has an old town feel.
Young families,
kids coming home from school.
Nor a one of them alive when the bomb exploded.
And its harbor,
with its modern skyline,
still handling freight from around the world.
But the day of the blast, when so many were killed and just as many wounded, has not been forgotten.
Visitors from all over,
come to pay their respects,
and learn.
Walk the area at or near the hypocenter and you’ll find reminders.
We attended the late Mass
at Urakami Cathedral,
located on a small hill 500 meters northeast of the blast.
Started in 1895 and completed in 1914, it was nearly destroyed on that August morning in 1945,
with just a portion of the southern wall remaining.
Despite the fact that it’s been totally rebuilt, walking the grounds afterward,
brought home the reality
that nearly 9,000 Catholics perished in the bombing.
Pa and I were talking about how hate and anger can be passed down from one generation to another, often for centuries.
We wondered what it is about the people of Nagasaki that they’ve turned their city of ruble
into a city of peace.
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