Growing up in Japan, I had many encounters with the Bodhisattva Jiz?¥. Almost every day I passed little stone statues of Jiz?¥ next to flooded rice paddies, in cemeteries, off mountain paths, at crossroads. His bald head was often covered with moss or snow, but his serene smile always shone through his weather-beaten features. Sometimes I‚Äôd find that someone had knitted a bright red shawl or pink bonnet for him, or had placed some toys and candy at his feet.

I heard stories about him as well. Standing at the threshold of Nirvana, he looked back and saw the suffering of all living beings. He then vowed not to become a Buddha until the multitude of hells was emptied and their former prisoners had achieved bliss ahead of him. Again and again, he descended into hell and freed humans from the most horrific torments imaginable, always offering his body to appease the demons.

I‚Äôm grateful for Jiz?¥. I think he helps me to understand Jesus. It‚Äôs hard for me to envision the connection between my sins and Christ‚Äôs suffering in Gethsemane and on the cross. The Atonement is a grand idea to me, but like many ideas, difficult to personalize. I tend to think of Christ‚Äôs sacrifice ‚Äúfor humanity‚Äù or ‚Äúfor the sins of the world.‚Äù

The stories of Jiz?¥, on the other hand, are vivid and easy to liken unto myself. I can picture Jiz?¥-Jesus descending into my own private hell. He stops the devils with a glance, and turning his serene smile on me, he unties my bonds, gently nurses my wounds, and sends me on my way. And though I am not willing to turn and look, I can picture him back there, receiving the blows, the flames, and the internal writhing intended for me.